11. Consequences
ELEVEN
CHARITY
“I may have alleviated him of the burden that is a lifetime without you.”
“Do not be cute right now,” I snap, pointing a finger in his face as if that is in any way threatening. “What the fuck did you do?”
The look in his eyes makes me instantly regret the question.
“I drugged him with a medical grade succinylcholine cut with adrenaline, then dropped him in a vat of slow-acting acid.” He pauses momentarily before adding, “I do not know the name of the acid.”
I stare at him for so long that my vision shakes at the edges. “Why?”
“He hurt you.”
“He didn’t.”
“He did, but for the sake of argument, I’ll agree that he didn’t physically hurt you,” he concedes, shuffling up the mattress to lean against the headboard. “He wasn’t going to stop, Charity. He was still in your apartment when I got to New York.”
“You took him out of my apartment building? You could have been seen, Theo! There are cameras.”
“It was fine, Viper. I had Marco with me.”
“Oh, well, as long as you had Marco.” I’m aware that sarcasm isn’t actually helpful in this conversation, but it makes me feel a bit less manic. “I would have handled it on my own.”
“I know, but I didn’t want you to have to.”
He sounds so sincere I want to scream. Of course, the giant asshole thought he was helping by slowly and horrifically killing my ex. “How did you even know where my apartment was?”
“Huh?”
Theo’s voice squeaks—honest to God, squeaks—and I narrow my eyes at him. “Theodore Grady. How did you know where I live?”
“You remember when I said I had something else to tell you, and you wouldn’t like it?”
“Yes.”
“This is the thing you’re not gonna like.”
“Theodore!”
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he blurts. “Like, really, really, really close tabs.”
“How close?”
“I know your kickboxing instructor’s social security number.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“I’m sorry!”
“You don’t sound sorry!”
“That’s, well,” he sighs, rubbing a massive hand across his face. “That’s because I’m not actually sorry. It started out of necessity, to make sure you wouldn’t get me killed by talking about the Mafia to people in France, but then it sort of...spiraled.”
I scoff, sitting back on my heels and staring at him incredulously. “Spiraled?”
“Yes.”
“Into you knowing enough about my life to run a background check on my personal trainer?”
“It wasn’t technically a background check.”
“That is not the point, and you know it!”
He nods, holding his hands out to the sides as if to show he has no intention of fighting me on this. “I know.”
“Okay, so you killed my ex. That’s, that’s...fine. It’s a crime, and it was stupid, but it sounds like you maybe got away with it?”
Theo clears his throat, very quietly mumbling, “Exes.”
“What?”
“Exes,” he repeats, louder this time. “And your landlord.”
In my shock, I’d forgotten he mentioned killing Donnie, too. I don’t know how to respond other than to ask, “How many exes?”
“Just two,” he hurries to assure me as if that isn’t a fucking insane amount.
“Which two?”
“Eric, obviously, and Stellan Malbach.”
Holy shit. “He didn’t ghost me?”
Theo blinks very slowly before giving me a rueful look. “Am I allowed to make the obvious joke here?”
“No, you are not,” I growl, rolling off the bed to search for a shirt. I need to put clothing between us so I don’t get his blood on my skin when I murder him for being an overbearing, stalking psychopath! “Why did you kill Stellan?”
“You told him.”
“Told him what?”
“About the MacAlisters.”
The soft rustle of fabric being pulled over my head isn’t enough to block out the memory of Stellan’s outrage when I told him about my family. He was so angry that I would align him with the Mafia against his will. “How do you know about that?”
“He googled Forest Falls. That alone was enough cause for concern, but when he googled ‘Mingus MacAlister’, I had no choice but to get on a plane. I’d hoped to just scare him into submission, but he...well. He made it apparent he had no intention of staying quiet about the things he’d learned.”
A dark look crosses Theo’s face, and I have to ask. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “How did he die?”
“I want you to know I meant for it to be painless. As soon as I knew I was going to kill a man you had feelings for, I told myself it had to be quick and painless.” His eyes are pleading with me to understand, and I want to, but I won’t be able to until I know everything.
“What happened?”
“He started talking about you.”
“What about me?”
“I’m not going to repeat those words, Charity.”
My arms wrap protectively around my waist as if I can physically hold in the pain of knowing Stellan would use his final moments to say awful things about me. “How did he die?”
“I strangled him with my bare hands.”
“Fuck.”
Neither of us speak for a long time. I don’t know what to say, and I have a feeling Theo is afraid he’ll end up saying the wrong thing.
“He wasn’t good for you,” Theo hedges, moving slowly away from the headboard. When I take an instinctive step away from him, he immediately stops. “He was cheating on you.”
“What?”
“With Brooke.”
“Brooke?” I try to think of anyone I know named Brooke when Stellan’s bitchy assistant pops into my head. “His assistant?”
“Yes.”
“How fucking cliché.”
Theo smiles, moving another inch closer to the edge of the bed. “I didn’t want to kill him, Viper. I promise. I wouldn’t have if he would have just cooperated.”
“Yeah, well,” I sigh, dropping my arms. “He was an asshole anyway.”
Theo reaches the end of the bed but doesn’t move any closer to me. “Are you still mad?”
“A little, yeah.”
He nods, shifting around until he’s sitting on the end of the bed with his feet on the ground. “I’m sorry, Charity.”
“Why?”
“Because I hurt?—”
“No,” I snap, cutting him off. “Why did it ‘spiral’? Why couldn’t you just keep general tabs on me like a normal person?”
“You must know,” his shoulders sag as he looks at me, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You have to know it’s always been you for me. I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was. I used to watch you draw and think stupid shit like how much I wanted to touch your hair where it was lying in the sun. I would spend my money from mowing lawns on groceries so I could give you half my lunch because you never wanted to eat the leftovers your mom made you take to school. You didn’t think it was weird I never dated anyone in high school? Or that I would walk you home whenever your dad was working, even though I lived on the opposite side of town?”
“I just thought you were being nice. That was your thing,” I remind him, feeling defensive of my younger self. “You were nice to everyone.”
He nods a few times, eyes scanning my face for something he can’t seem to find. “I was nice to everyone back then.”
“Just back then?”
“I’ve done a lot of things since then, Charity. And very few of them could be considered nice.”
“Like murder a few boyfriends and a landlord?” His lips curl between his teeth as if he’s doing everything in his power to hold in a laugh. “Do not laugh, Dickbag.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Viper.”
“I need time.”
“I understand.”
“Now, Theo.”
He sighs, pushing off the bed to grab his pants and underwear from a pile on the floor. He dresses quickly, grabbing his shoes in one hand before he steps toward me. I’m not sure what he plans to do, but somehow, the feel of his lips against my temple shocks me.
“Lock the door behind me, sweet girl.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing alone in my brother’s bedroom, surrounded by the scent of the only man who has ever loved me enough to give up his life for my happiness.
And I just made him leave.
“Another!”
“No,” the tiny blonde woman shakes her head at me, dragging out the ‘o’ sound to make sure I’ve heard her. What did Theo say her name was? Lily? Lacy?
“Lucy!”
“Lucy,” I echo the redheaded woman who just yelled the bartender’s name. The two women chat for a moment while Lucy pours a beer that she easily slides across the counter. “Hey! Why does she get another?”
Lucy’s eyes move lazily in my direction, a sympathetic look on her face. I’m starting to think my words might not be coming across as clearly as I believe they are. “Because she isn’t going to get me killed if she passes out on my bar.”
That doesn’t make sense. “I don’t kill people.”
Lucy snorts, pouring two shots that she passes across the bar to a young man who isn’t paying attention to her. He’s looking at me. I don’t like it.
“I know you don’t kill people, sweetheart, but you are the woman Theodore Grady followed out of here the other night, aren’t you?”
She says the words much too loudly for her to be talking only to me. The man with the shots makes an awkward jerking motion as he spins away from the bar. He’s halfway across the room before I hear Lucy mumble, “Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.”
My eyes float across the room, unable to land on anything until I see him. He moves with too much grace for someone that large, and it pisses me off. “You piss me off.”
“I know,” Theo murmurs, gently pushing the hair off my forehead. His eyes are full of concern, and I hate it. I don’t want him looking at me like I need to be taken care of, I want to be my own person who makes her own decisions, Goddammit! “Time to go, Viper.”
“No.”
“Okay.” Theo drops into the stool next to mine, his massive body blocking the rest of the bar from view.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Whatever I want! It’s annoying.”
“You want me to stop doing what you want?”
“I mean, yeah. Kind of,” my brow furrows as I try to put words to what I’m feeling. “I want you to be you and me to be me, and if me pisses off you, I want you to do something about me.”
Theo nods in that annoyingly understanding way he does. It’s like he not only hears me, but he understands me, and I fucking hate it because it’s so cute and sweet and pure and?—
“What the fuck?!”
The bar tips on its axis, the whole room spinning as Theo heaves me over his shoulder. One massive hand snaps up to hold my ass as he calls out to Lucy about settling the tab later.
“Bye, Lucy!” I yell directly at the floor, unable to lift my arms to hold myself up. Theo’s shoulder shakes against my stomach, and I frown. “Are you laughing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.”
“Well, that’s...nice,” I sigh, trying to control the painful pitch and roll of my stomach. “But I think I’m going to throw up on you.”
Theo moves quickly to the door, sliding me off his shoulder just in time for me to lose the contents of my stomach into the bushes. “That’s an unfortunate color, Viper. What have you been drinking?”
“All of it.”
“All of it?” I can feel one of his hands running the length of my back while the other gently pulls the hair away from my face. “That’s quite the undertaking.”
“Had it in hand,” I argue, but it’s cut short by another round of uncontrollable stomach spasms.
Theo makes quiet cooing sounds for the rest of the time we’re hunched over the bush that I’ve started affectionately calling Carla. If you’re going to throw up on someone, you should at least have the decency to learn their name.
“How do you feel, sweet girl?”
“Dying,” I moan, sinking back against his chest. “Not dead because of pain.”
His laughter rumbles against my ear, and I shimmy closer, trying to drown in the sound. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home.” It’s the last word I hear before I slip into the void between consciousness and sleep.
Death would be preferable to this.
My eyelids don’t open when I ask them to, and I groan under the effort of forcing them to cooperate. At least it’s dark here, wherever here is. I’m in a massive four-poster bed, cocooned in emerald silk sheets, and sweating my fucking tits off.
Realizing half the issue is the massive white quilt covering me, I throw that bitch off in a huff. Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I see a note on the nightstand.
Viper,
Take the Tylenol and hop in the shower. There are clean clothes at the end of the bed. I’ll make breakfast.
xx Theo
“Oh, God.” The previous night’s events come filtering through my mind in bits and pieces. Drinking everything in sight. Theo carrying me. Throwing up.
So much throwing up.
If I thought opening my eyes was difficult, dragging myself to the bathroom is damn near impossible. Halfway through the Hellfire-hot shower, the Tylenol kicks in, and I start to feel nearly human again.
Shuffling back into the bedroom, I look over the clothes Theo left out for me. They’re my clothes from my apartment in New York. I thought Eric destroyed them all, but there must have been some salvageable pieces because I’m looking down at my favorite Queen t-shirt and black joggers. There’s a bra and underwear I don’t recognize next to them, but both are my size. I roll my eyes at the idea of Theo buying me underwear, but I can’t deny the little bubble of warmth spreading through my stomach when I pull them on.
That warmth turns into a full blazing fire when I step out of the bedroom and am smacked in the face by the sight of Theo standing in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking.
“Morning, Viper.”
“Morning.”
“I made you coffee.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure how to act right now. I was mad at him, I know I was, but I’m finding it difficult to pull up my anger when I’m this hungover.
Theo takes pity on my poor, confused brain. “Sit on the couch, I’ll bring it to you.”
Nodding, I move to the massive couch between us. It’s L-shaped, leather, and potentially the most comfortable thing I have ever curled up on. Theo clearing his throat makes me open my eyes, and I look up to see him standing there with a full coffee mug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A blanket appears out of thin air, draping across my lap. He tucks it around me, careful not to jostle the mug in my hand.
“Thank you…again,” I joke, meeting his crooked smile with one of my own.
Theo moves back into the kitchen, the smell of bacon wafting through the air within moments of his return to the stove. He brings me a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in the living room, then sits on the couch to eat his breakfast. It doesn’t escape my notice that two full couch cushions separate the spot I’m sitting at from the one he chose.
We eat in silence, but it only lasts until the final bit of bacon passes my lips. Theo takes the empty plate from me, stacking it with his plate on the coffee table.
“Charity,” he waits for me to turn in his direction before he continues. “We need to talk.”
If that isn’t a death sentence for our relationship, I don’t know what is.