CH 31

Liam

“Maybe we got caught in a crossfire of warring gangs?” Josh wondered aloud, stroking his chin. “It’s plausible, right? Why assume somebody ordered a hit on Warren?”

“Are you that simple-minded?” Brad, shirt unbuttoned and barefoot, cinched a deriding eyebrow. “It seems your vacant self was not present this evening, Joshy boy, so I’ll break it down for you. An unlicensed vehicle sped past Mario’s earlier, windows cracked and firearms brandished. The gunmen wore balaclavas to conceal their identities and, in case you require further validation, the driver looked directly at me before aiming at the Boss. Those unidentified attackers did not swing by and take a random hit at the restaurant for shits-and-giggles; they came to kill. Had I not spotted them and put Warren on the ground when I did, mission accomplished.”

Since returning to the penthouse, after tonight’s unforeseen predicament with masked adversaries, the men, mobbed on the balcony, ingesting drugs and alcohol, conjecture if Bajramovic’s allies call for accountability. Nate, particularly, believes our former enemies demise spawned vengeful justice. Flamur’s men, whoever they may be, or whatever’s left of them, rather, crave deadly reciprocation.

My head on a chopping board comes to mind.

Josh struggles to believe the dire concept. He is new, unassumingly young and outright delusional. Brad, however, knows better. He has been my second in command for almost eleven years and experienced many unpleasant encounters while safeguarding the organisation. Brad’s witnessed numerous rivals induce conflicts and conspire my death for impersonal, unjustifiable reasons: money, drugs, weaponry and status.

“Of course, I was there, dickhead.” Josh’s voice was low but quarrelsome. “It doesn’t make any sense, though. Flamur is gone—never coming back. What valid reason do the Albanians have to continue feuds between organisations?” He looked at me, deep in ponderous thought. “I think we need to reconsider possibilities, Sir. What if tonight wasn’t personal?”

“It was a personal attack, Josh,” Nate intervenes, losing patience.

“Okay, well,” Josh tousled his hair, “what if the Albanians didn’t orchestrate the hit? Ever considered additional foes?”

I exchanged quizzical glances with the men. “Yes.” Back to the balustrade, I lift a crystal glass to my lips, sipping cognac. “Are you familiarised with the idiom ‘needle-in-a-haystack’, though, Josh? Unless the attackers left behind traces of evidence for us to corroborate speculation, differentiating between enemies is virtually impossible. We wait,” I continue, accepting a joint from Nate, “for them to strike once more, only, this time, we’ll be ready to counterattack.”

“You want to wait for a second hit?” Brad’s shoulders squared in automatic defence. “Are you mad? We can’t sit back and continuously watch your back—and ours, I must add—without some idea of who did this to you. What if they succeed next time, Bossman?” He came close, invading my personal space with his overbearing antagonism. “Are you idiotic enough to play Russian roulette with your life? I say, we set retaliation in motion—”

“What other choice do I have?” I inhaled smoke, respiring through my nose. “I don’t need any more distractions, Brad. I am this close,” I demonstrate, thumb and forefinger millimetres apart, “to justice. Concerning myself with rioting competitors is futile, especially under the circumstances.”

He regarded me, disapproval in his stern glare. “I am sure you can toss Bennett aside for a week, Boss,” he punctuated. “Consider your welfare before revenge.”

“No, I will not yield.” I put out the joint in the ashtray. “Not for fatality. Not for retaliation. I am days from getting what I want,” I reminded him, our noses almost touching. “I have spent weeks upon weeks feigning the perfect gentleman-the perfect companion. Do you know how strenuously cumbersome it is to deal with a snobby, spoilt British brat who deems herself better than others with her patronising attitude?”

Brad gave me a toothy grin. “Oh, I am sure it’s very tiring to continuously fuck a leggy blonde.”

“I feel nothing,” I enunciated in a low, serious voice. “You might find it hard to believe, Brad, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life, fucking my fist, than entertain that whining bitch any longer. I despise everything about Bennett and what her prestigious life entails. I will not, however, cave or surrender for the sake of reprisal. Foolish opportunists can wait until I am ready.”

Displeased with the outcome, Brad dragged his tongue across a Rizla seam and rolled another joint. “May I ask, Boss, why are we so invested with Bennett? You claim vengeance is on the horizon, but, with the exception of Nate, you have failed to enlighten me on the reasoning behind this bogus relationship.”

I looked at him, really looked, deep in his eyes. I love Brad. He’s my right-hand man and brother, a true allegiance. However, sometimes, he’s an imperious brute who fails to hold his wayward tongue. He bears dissatisfaction and argues his case, specifically concerning Alexa. I get it. He doesn’t believe she’s alive, so when I strive to convince otherwise, he thinks I am a mentally unstable, grieving man.

“I needed a distraction,” I said, admiring London’s late, picturesque views, “after Alexa died. Ignoring her death worked only after a night of cocaine, alcohol and…women. I decided, instead of ignoring the truth and living in grief, to put my efforts elsewhere, to seek a purpose or understanding.”

Brad, confused, glanced at Nate. “An understanding?” he deadpans, balancing a joint between his lips. “This conversation took a poetic turn.”

“Not poetic,” I argued, hands grasping the balustrade. “I asked Nate to look into Alexa’s death and do a thorough background check. I knew, because of previous police files, she was one of two siblings and that her abductor raped and murdered her mother; I knew she once lived in Cornwall in a cottage-like home—a mere walking distance from a sandy beach.”

His puzzlement intensified.

“I was too arrogant before,” I proceed, pouring myself another cognac. “I had all the answers, right? I, Liam Warren, demanded Alexa’s life story from officials and conceitedly boasted as much in her face. Apart from times where I necessitated knowledge concerning particular people, for example, Bajramovic and Kathy Pearl, when did I sit with Alexa and pay genuine interest, Brad? I never asked about her good memories. I never asked the important question, did I?”

Josh morphed Brad’s puzzled expression.

“Which was?” Brad probed, growing impatient.

“The exact reason behind my sudden interest in Hellen Bennett.” I downed a shot, the burn warm to my chest. “Or Larry Fagan, rather.”

Brad’s eyes rolled heavenward. “What the fuck do Bennett and Fagan have to do with Alexa Haines’ death?”

Inside the penthouse, Blaire, dressed in pink pyjama shorts and a vest, wanders to the kitchen. She opens the fridge freezer, grabs a milk carton and prepares a cup of tea.

“Alexa is not dead,” I said, short and stern. “And before you write me off, deliberate a cautious response. I will not tolerate your disrespect any longer. I am your Boss. We are not equals. Address me formally and show some goddamn respect.” I dipped my head, my lips close to his ear. “Name a time where my intuition failed us?”

Turning to face me, he aligned our eyes. “Never.”

Satisfied by his response, I smiled. “Then why do you so passionately believe her existence is impossible?”

His eyes seeking Nate for guidance, he straightened his spine. “And you?” he mused, breathing out a veil of smoke. “Are you on the bandwagon?”

“I believe Victoria is Alexa Haines, yes,” Nate confirmed, scratching his jaw. “And, thanks to Warren’s industrious men, I am hours away from uncovering her hideout.”

Pushing a hand through his hair, Brad snorted. “What, so you chased down the blonde from the centre in the hope that Alexa’s incognito? Are you listening to yourselves?” His eyes darted between us. “You keep forgetting an important detail, Bossman. Victoria—or whatever the fuck her name is—ran away from you. She probably fancied small-talk until she realised who you were and ran for the damn hills—”

“Alexa ran because she was scared,” Nate argued on my behalf, stepping up to Brad. “Why are you so determined to rule out the possibility?”

“Because it is senseless.” Brad slumped on a chair, his military chain glimmering under the moon’s light. He stared at me, long and hard. “Alexa loved you. It made me sick how much that girl idolised you, Boss. I find it unfathomable that she’d outsmart death and hide from you, that is all.” He’s beginning to wonder, though. I see the wheels turning inside his head. “Okay, say I believe there’s a chance this ridiculousness holds ground. What do you have?”

“I ordered and stationed security at the town centre; it’s all I had to go on.” Nate unscrews a gin bottle. “At the time, I thought from the eyes of Alexa. She knows the organisation, so she’d recognise the boss’ men. I sent them to work sans tailored attire, opting for casual wear and tattered trainers. These men operate separately. You’ll see one eating and smoking outside, sitting on the bench. Another might wander around the shopping centre, purchasing superfluous gadgets from stores. Restaurants, bars, cinemas and car parks. Not an establishment left unattended.”

Brad leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I assume Victoria returned?”

Nate nodded. “She likes designer clothes and shoes.”

I frowned at that. “Affordability?”

“No idea,” said Nate, sucking spilt gin from his thumb. “One of the men called me, found her drinking coffee after a laborious spending spree. I told them to follow her whereabouts to see if she leads us somewhere.”

“Where is she?” Josh asked, hope aflame in his brown eyes.

“They lost her.” Nate winced, unlocking his phone. “One of the men highlighted that she looked uneasy. I think she knew someone was following her and ducked out.”

“Ducked out?” Brad repeated in disbelief. “Those useless recruits require further training, Nate. Their awareness should have remained concealed. Besides, why did you wait until she reached her hideout? Why not bring her straight to the club so that Bossman can deal with her?”

“As much as I want to see Alexa again, I need to play it smart,” I interject, watching Blaire get comfortable on the sofa, snuggling under a throw blanket. “Victoria witnessed me with another woman,” I remind them, excluding the argument with Kellie and Victoria’s involvement. “She’ll want answers—answers I am not ready to provide.” I noticed Josh’s sudden reclusiveness. “Josh?”

He flinched out of a trance. “Yes, Sir?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Alexa,” he said, eyes widening, “I think she might be hiding with Jace.”

Nate barked, “What the fuck, Josh?” He slapped him around the back of his head. “Don’t be saying shit without thinking properly.”

“I am thinking clearly,” Josh snapped, rubbing his sore head. “When we checked surveillance that time, Victoria had company, remember?”

“Are you forgetting that Jace boarded a ferry and travelled to the Isle of Man?” Nate narrowed eyes, an order for Josh to watch his tongue. “Don’t be throwing accusations without unarguable evidence or facts.”

“Let him speak,” I said irritably, anger smouldering from the depths of my stomach. “You think that Gothic-looking motherfucker might be Jace Williams?”

“It’s a possibility, right?” He flickered a gaze between the men. “Did we ever check the surveillance surrounding Club 11 the night Flamur’s men attacked?”

Josh’s inoffensive question affronted Nate. “Do you honestly think I’d overlook a crucial part of the investigation? Of course, I looked at the footage. Unfortunately, the Albanians tampered with the electrical circuit, disconnecting surveillance in the throes of their attack.”

“See, I don’t understand that.” Josh shook his head. “They were unfazed about revealing their identities, so why go the extra mile? What were they hiding?”

Mulling over Josh’s query, Brad stood. “He’s right. We missed something.” He stormed into the penthouse, returning minutes later with a notepad. “Old school,” he joked, clicking a pen. “What time did Bajramovic’s men attack?”

“Between the hours of eleven and twelve p.m.,” Nate confirmed, and Brad scribbled notes. “Why?”

“What time did the fire commence at Alexa’s tenant-building?”

Nate rested his palms on the table, reading Brad’s notes. “Reginald mentioned the fire started from her apartment around eleven-thirty.”

“I didn’t reach your office until then,” Brad said, looking up at me beneath hooded brows. “Even if Alexa flagged a taxi? She couldn’t have reached her building beforehand…” Belated assurance twisted his features. “Fuck. There is no way she went up in smoke.”

My anger heightened. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?”

The scribbling of the pen continued. “It happened at the club,” he exclaimed, and I arched an eyebrow. “Those assholes swiped her right from under our noses. What of her bugged belongings?”

“Never thought to check,” said Nate. “Bluecoats confirmed her death. It never occurred to me to locate them as I assumed they burnt down in the fire.”

Josh stands alongside them. “I mean, Jace is—was Flamur’s partner in crime. Again, it is a conceivable concept.” His arms crossed. “That guy seemed to have popped up from nowhere.”

“He’s one of Bajramovic’s victims, though,” Nate highlights, not convinced. “Are we forgetting the death of his daughter, Summer Williams?”

I couldn’t rein in scattered thoughts. “Alexa is the only person that can answer this line of questioning.”

“Plus, Alexa willingly choosing to stay with a man who feasibly participated in her disappearance,” Brad itches the back of his neck, “is indecipherable, too.”

I jerked my chin. “I concur.”

“The necklace,” Nate drawled, pointing at me. “We know Alexa wore the necklace the night of your thirtieth, yet it’s in your possession. Additional validation,” he shifted his gaze to Brad, “that Alexa couldn’t possibly be dead.”

Brad rubbed his temples with a thumb and forefinger. “How did you obtain her chain, Bossman?”

Inside the living quarter, Blair rests on the sofa, pretending not to eavesdrop our conversation. Brad followed my line of vision, the corner of his lip curling in disdain. He shouldered past Josh, straight towards the girl. “You,” he barked, tearing her from the chair by an elbow. “Start talking.”

“Mr Warren!” she screamed, wriggling against his firm hold. “He’s hurting me.”

“Brad,” Nate scolded, trying to get between them, “quit acting like a prick and release the girl.”

“Have a fucking day off, Nate.” Tearing a scream from Blaire, Brad dragged her to the dining area, shoving her onto a chair. “How did you get Alexa’s chain?” he asked, hands pinned to the armrests, obscuring her escape route. “Talk.”

Aquiver and terror-stricken, Blaire seeks my input with wide, doe eyes. “Mr Warren…”

“Don’t look at him,” Brad chastised, snatching her jaw, fingers pinching the hollowness of her gaunt cheeks. “You might fool the Boss with those eyes, Blaire, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck about you. I want answers.”

Disregarding his snide remark, I dropped my eyes to the floor.

“I stole it,” she whimpered, her bottom lip trembling. “Mast—Mr Bajramovic left me unattended in his bedroom once, and I found the chain in his drawer. I knew it meant something to him, so part of me wanted to be rebellious.” A tear fell from her eye. “Please, I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I just wanted to hurt him the way he kept hurting me.”

“Jesus, Brad.” Nate put a hand to Brad’s chest, urging him to step back. “Cut the girl a damn break.”

Brad’s sceptical snarl never faltered. He glared down at the girl, uneasiness evident, stance rigid and guarded. “I don’t trust her,” he finally said, flinging me a sidelong frown. “Put her unhinged ass in the nutter asylum, Bossman. That girl reeks of deception.”

“No, please.” Lunging past him, Blaire scampered to my side, unabashedly falling to her knees. “Mr Warren, please don’t send me away.” Her arms coiled around my leg, and an inconvenient heat etched my stern features. “I’ll be good; I promise to be good—”

“Blaire,” I cursed, prying her arms from off my leg. “Get up.”

In a surreal flash, she lowered her face to the floor, bowing in a graceful yet absurd manner.

“See?” Brad choked twice, gesturing to the girl. “What the fuck is she doing? Do you think that’s normal?”

“Blaire,” I said, and she peered up at me from under thick, wet eyelashes. “Stand.”

She did, obediently, wringing her fingers.

The muscles in my jaw throbbed. “Go to your room.”

“Of course, Mr Warren.” With eager strides, she scampered across the room and down the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Josh whistles, low and dramatic. “I have no words.”

Brad levelled me with cold eyes. “You need to drop that bitch—yesterday—”

“Stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing,” I snapped, slicing through his furious rant. “I am so fucking tired of your shit, Brad. Learn your place—fast.”

“You know what?” Buttoning his shirt, he stomped into his socks and shoes. “Fuck this for a barrel of laughs. You are so absorbed with Alexa’s retribution that you cannot see beyond it.”

Ready to leave, Josh placed his empty glass in the sink.

“When that bitch,” Brad snarled, his face inches from mine, “shows herself for what she really is? Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” With those infuriated departing words, he strode to the front door, Josh on his heels, and exited the penthouse.

Nate sagged against the panoramic window, rubbing his weary eyes. “Any orders, Sir?”

“I need a break,” I hummed, placing my glass beside Josh’s in the sink. “I am tired and frustrated, Nate. I want…” Alexa, I thought, briefly closing my eyes. “Any updates?”

“The men patrol Victoria’s last sighting. It’s a quiet area, so we believe she’s possibly renting a hotel room somewhere within that vicinity.” His hand fell to my shoulder. “Don’t give up, Sir. I am confident this investigation will be over in the next few hours.”

“If they locate her,” I said, headed to my bedroom, “they must stand down but remain vigilant. I don’t want anybody approaching or frightening her. It’s on me to end this charade.”

***

I fell asleep, nude, phone placed on the bedside table. Rolling onto my back, I groaned and repositioned, half comfortable. Somewhere in the dark, I heard the door open and close. I became cautious yet controlled, listening for unexplainable noises and sounds. And then, I smelt a familiar fragrance—her perfume—and my chest tightened. “Alexa?”

She lifted the duvet, and a cold breeze overpowered the warmth, sprouting goose pimples across my bare skin. I daren’t move, in case it’s a dream—a beautiful dream I had no desire to leave. “Liam,” she whispered, curling her naked body around me. “I know you’re awake.”

I smiled, reaching up and cupping her cheek. “You came back,” I breathed, lips almost touching hers. “Baby?”

Her long hair fell over my face as she straddled my waist. “Please don’t hate me.”

I growled under my breath, heart thrashing thunderously in my chest. “I should hate you.” I flattened a palm to her lower stomach and ascended her middle section, pausing between the crevice of her breasts. “But you make me forget all the reasons why I should be angry.” Finding her neck, I coiled my fingers, fixed to her throat, and dragged her into my embrace. “Always weak for you.”

She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. I wrapped my arms around her waist, recognising how much weight she’s lost. I don’t express concerns, though. My nose buried in her hair, inhaling the smell of rose-scented shampoo, I piano my fingers along the length of her spine.

Releasing Alexa was impossible. I held on tight, refusing to let go. I had a beautiful, naked woman in my arms, but I cared not for sex or pleasure. This, us, her face to my chest, our closeness, was all I needed—all I craved.

I tilted her chin and lifted my head to kiss her lips. She craned her neck, assisting, lazily stroking inside my mouth with gentle flicks of her tongue.

She spread across me, hands to my face, thumbs massaging my stubble jaw. “Is this okay? Do you want me to kiss you?”

My eyebrows met in the middle. “Don’t ever ask for permission,” I rasped, holding the back of her neck in my hand. “I am yours, baby.” I found and squeezed the swell of her ass, groaning my approval. “Yours to touch, to kiss, to love.” I imagined her pleased smile as her head lowered. “Where are you going?”

“You said I could touch you,” she whispered, head disappearing under the duvet. “Let me assist.”

My hard, rigid cock fell into her waiting hand. On an upstroke, she caught the tip in her mouth, lips parting, sucking me deep.

I stifled a sleepy moan, my fingers tangling in her hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

She rewarded me, flattening her tongue on the underside of my shaft, licking and tasting pre-cum. Moaning my name, she bopped her head up and down, letting my cock hit the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” I groaned, the muscles in my stomach tightening, legs bunching up. “Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

Jacking me with one hand, she sucked greedily, feverish and hot. The tip of her tongue outlined each vein, mouth warm to the swollen crown.

Hands to my straining thighs, she opened her throat, breathed and relaxed, engulfing the length of my cock.

“Alexa,” I hummed, forehead creasing in confusion. “Be yourself, baby.”

Why is she so keen to swallow my length? I told her it’s unnecessary—I don’t wish for her to choke when satisfying me. The excitement in her eyes, the way she moans while tasting me, is what does it for me. I love the sound of her approval, her pleasure, her satisfaction.

“Fuck,” I hissed, fingers pulling her hair.

Hard and fast, she took me, tight fist pumping me with violent strokes, tongue lapping every drop of pre-cum. Her fingernails, sharp and uneven, stabbed my thighs as she hollowed her cheeks.

My eyes snapped wide, heart stumbling to a paced rhythm. It’s dark, but soft light floats into the room from the ajar door.

The blanket oscillates as her head works between my thighs—her low, husky moans, unrecognisable to my ears.

Uncontrollable rage zapped through my body. Ripping the duvet off my legs, I sat upright, dislodging my cock from— “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Before Blaire found a reasonable response, I smashed her cheek with a backhander, sending her frail body into a heap on the floor.

“Mr Warren!” she cried, touching her tender jaw, scuttling into the corner of the room. “Please don’t hurt me; please don’t hurt me…”

Throwing my legs over the bed, snatching a pair of boxer briefs from the drawer, I tugged them on, fury at its pinnacle, blood roaring in my ears. “You psycho cunt.” Fisting her hair with painful intent, tearing a hoarse sob from those smeared lips, I dragged her lashing body out the bedroom. “You think you can crawl into my bed?” I slapped her cheek once more, hard, causing a sting to my palm. “You think I want your filthy fucking ass?” I chucked her down the four steps leading into the living room. Her body rolled and crashed into the coffee table, the tumbling of empty whiskey bottles disturbing Nate, who sleeps on the sofa. “I am going to kill you—”

“Sir,” Nate barked, jumping out of his comfortable slumber. “Calm down. Let me handle her.” He’s half-naked, boxer briefs the only item of clothing he wears. “What did she do…?” His eyes land on her wobbling lips. He noticed smeared arousal, and his brows jolted to his hairline. “Did you…?”

“I didn’t consent to her sucking my cock.” I bite into my knuckles, causing a sting. “She—”

“You said, ‘I never have to ask for your permission. I am yours, baby’,” she recited, spittle clinging to her chin. “‘Yours to touch, to kiss, to love’.”

“You stole words from my mouth,” I said through clenched teeth. “Those sentiments weren’t for you.”

“You said them to me!” Her fingers tugged and tore chunks of hair from her head. “You wanted me to please you, and to love you—”

“You crazy bitch,” I spat, and she recoiled, cowering from me. “You,” I point, and she hissed behind her hands, “are not Alexa Haines. I helped you. For the first time in my life, I tried to do the right thing, but there’s nothing redeemable about you.” I dropped back, controlling my angered breathing. “I want that fucking freak out of my private home.”

“No,” she protested, ready to beeline in my direction. “Mr Warren—”

“No,” Nate intercedes, capturing Blaire around the waist. “It’s over, Blaire.” She ignores him, kicking and wriggling, pleading with me to forgive her, eyes watery, defeated. “Stop!”

She went limp in his arms, head sloping despondently. “Then kill me.”

Nate’s gaze crashed into mine. “Orders, Sir?”

I pinned her with a cruel, unforgiving sneer. “Fucking bury the bitch for all I care.” While she roared, I retreated to the bedroom, locking the door.

“Fuck.” Slamming a palm to the wall, I positioned my hands, lowered my head and closed my eyes. “Fuck’s sake.”

I reached breaking point—hit rock bottom. I showered, scrubbed my skin raw, and removed her from my body in lieu of frustrated disgust.

Inside the walk-in wardrobe, I selected a pristine suit, gunmetal grey and a black shirt. I can’t remember the last time I paid extreme attention to my appearance, but I wanted perfection.

Pleased with my image, I sprayed cologne to my neck and wrists, armed myself, caught my wallet and keys and left the room.

Nate, preparing coffee in the kitchen, managed to calm Blaire, who snores softly on the sofa. It’s three o’clock in the morning, so when I amble around the corner, presented for the day ahead, he cocked a pierced eyebrow. “Sir?”

I jangled my keys. “What area?”

He unlocked his phone and read the last few text messages.

I mentally ventured to the neighbourhood, recalling tree-lined streets, a public park, two small-businesses, convenient stores and three-star hotels. “They checked every hotel?”

He nods, sipping his coffee.

“What about private properties?” I probed, swinging the keys around my finger. “House shares? Bed-and-breakfast? Hostels?”

“Not a stone left unturned, Sir. Eight B&B’s, fifteen house shares, three hotels and one hostel, all double-checked by security and assisted by landlords or management—oh, bar this place.” He showed me his phone, zooming in on an unprepossessing townhouse building. “An older woman lives there, but she’s not open for business.”

“Did the men ask to see inside regardless?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, and I puffed out an exasperated breath. “Nothing suggested Victoria stayed here, Sir.”

I took the phone from his hand, eyed the flower beds, pebble-edged driveway and netted windows. Beneath the porch, I enlarged the image for a more precise look: hanging from the entranceway is a shell inspired wind chime, delicate strings adorned in sun-faded beads. “What’s the woman’s name?”

“Uh,” Nate opened a folder he’s been working on, searching notes, “Heather Giles.”

My heart never stopped thrashing. “What do we know about her?”

“Not much.” His nose wrinkled, and he adjusted the ring piercing. “Sixty-five-year-old widow. No children. No family, actually. To be honest, Sir, I haven’t done a thorough background check on the old bint.”

I returned his phone, rapt my knuckles on the kitchen counter. “I am taking the rest of the weekend off, so reschedule my appointment with Miss Bennett.”

Nate’s eyes alight with curiosity. “Do you require assistance?”

“No.” Fixing a cufflink to my shirt sleeve, I strode to the front door. “I will be unavailable, Nate, so don’t bother calling.”

“Hey,” he called, and I paused, hand to the wall. “Where are you going?”

Alexa’s beautiful face flashed behind my eyes. “To secure my future.”

CH 32

Alexa

I have a severe spending problem or perhaps an addiction. Yes, the latter seems more conceivable. I blame recent expenditure on utter boredom and uncharacteristic routine.

Before residing as Victoria, Alexa had traits. She loved lazy pyjama days on the sofa and eating her weight in ice cream. Cleaning her home was an enjoyable task when harmonious music accompanied. She’d eat high-calorie food and ingest cheap beer with her friend and roommate, Chloe. They’d spend hours conversing about work, life, co-workers and handsome actors following movie marathons or television series.

Now, though, Alexa is non-existent.

Sure, I still eat far too much ice cream; whipped, frozen deliciousness is the staff of life. But I had no reason to wake up in the morning, to shower early and prepare myself for the day ahead. Working for a pittance is a thing of the past. Slaving away behind a cash register is slowly becoming a distant memory and Jace, who’s absent due to visiting family, has no desire to watch old movies or discuss hot, carved, male goodness. He couldn’t think of anything worse than gushing for the likes of Brad Pitt or George Clooney.

Sigh…

Portraying Victoria is quite lonely. The dawn after Jace’s late-night departure, I concluded basic structure to be imperative. So, Saturday morning, I spruced our impermanent bedroom. Heather kindly offered domestic supplies and was fantastic with the kettle. She delivered warm coffees throughout the day, quenching moments of thirst. I vacuumed and dusted, scrubbed bathroom tiles and floors, changed the duvet cover and sheets—I stood in a window breezed, clean, lemon smelling room an hour later, with no further direction.

I cried a few tears, a little overly emotional or oversensitive. I have yet to decide, changed into unnecessarily glamorous attire and headed into town.

Presently, I stand inside an all-mirrored velour-curtained changing room, modelling dress after dress, designer shoes and ostentatious accessories.

Over the weeks, Jace handpicked suitable applicants for me to tempt into my web of sin and lies. It’s a straightforward, effectual strategy with plentiful benefits—money. I’m talking money in abundance, the type of cash you hide overseas or in phantom bank accounts. It’s also hidden in a knife-slashed mattress, beneath floorboards, nailed-vents and bursting the seams of my purse.

As I have nothing better to do, I use expensive retail therapy as a distraction.

Alexa spent many years window shopping, admiring high-priced glad rags and designer brands. While commuting, she’d stop on occasion, watching beautiful women venture in their six-inch Louboutin heels and fashionable Burberry trench coats explicitly bought for work. Such sophisticated ladies often visited the hair salon on Fridays for keratin smoothing treatments or dry styling ready for their evening dates or women’s night out.

Why hadn’t Alexa prioritised beautifying or specialised manicures?

Why hadn’t she treated herself to more than second-hand clothing or hand-me-down shoes that once belonged to her older sister, Kathy?

Alexa became too comfortable in her frugal existence. Wasting money on overpriced wardrobes and hair treatments seemed too perplexing and ludicrous when an overnight conditioning treatment and two-pound nail varnishes sufficed.

She was maybe a tad bit jealous of how the other half lived. Whether they’re a glitterati, a person of leisure, champagne socialist or millionaire tycoon, it is censoriously unreasonable for poverty-stricken or impoverished people to pass judgment based on bitterness envy.

See, I am learning and maturing.

I exited the changing room, determined purchases draped over one forearm, paid the friendly cashier and slipped sunglasses over my eyes to exit the centre.

It’s a scorcher of a day, cloudless skies and a glowing, radiating sun. I find an unoccupied table outside a packed tearoom, tuck my bags under the chair and become seated. A casually dressed gentleman noted my order; a two-sugared coffee and freshly prepared salad bowl.

I unbutton the sleeves of my silk blouse, roll them to the elbows and adjust my pencil skirt. It’s the opposite of quiet in the patio slabbed garden, but I try to ignore loud conversationalists and soak up the sun.

Sitting closely behind me, a middle-aged man talks in a hushed tone to his mistress. He’s a company director, and the young brunette happens to be his assistant. Fraternisation in the workplace is not uncommon. I feel sorry for them. Indisputably enamoured with her boss enamours her, but he’s married and, even though he’ll never leave his wife and children, it’s palpable his current love interest means more than sex. It’s the way he smiles when she talks and how he absently strokes her knuckles when taking calls.

The barista who delivered my coffee has a girlfriend. He’s mentioned her once or twice in the past, but his eyes brighten when his male co-worker arrives.

I blew the surface of my coffee, watching their flirtatious touches near the entranceway.

The blonde, Barbara Windsor lookalike smokes a cigarette to my left. She’s always here, drinking cups of tea and disassembled BLT sandwiches. On her finger, she wears a wedding band, but the sadness in her eyes suggests separation or possibly grief. Yes, I’ll go with bereavement. Twice, on separate occasions, I witnessed a suited male approach her table, asking ’is this seat taken?’, which was a blatant excuse to gain her awareness, considering the empty tables. She’d offer a fake smile and wouldn’t so much as batter an eyelid in his handsome direction.

Sigh…

Mrs Windsor wears Alexander McQueen and Prada to mask sadness.

Mr Infidelity models Valentino and Gucci to mask misery.

Mr Barista is the proud owner of the tearoom and sports a Rolex to mask sexuality.

You see, what I recently learnt, something that ignorant Alexa had not, is not to preconceive or presume financially stable people are immune to struggles, discomfort and heartbreak.

Much like my former self, they hide behind those big shades and prestigious fashion.

I sipped my coffee, the warm fluid soothing my aching chest. Picking up a fork, I scrape rocket leaves and cherry tomatoes aside, breathing out a tired sigh as I chew.

Alexa Haines was too modest, too trusting and dangerously careless.

Victoria Rose is too imperious, implicitly untrusting, unforgiving and freakishly cautious.

How do I find a balance?

How do I exclude the bad qualities of both women and merge their positive characteristics to become the best version of myself?

I am lost, miserable and grumpy today. I blame lack of sleep and this dismantled salad. I blame Jace’s departure and Heather’s bingo addiction for leaving me unattended. I blame fruitless expenses for failing to fill this tender hollowness in my stomach.

Tall, good looking and smartly dressed pulled out a chair opposite me. He sits, opens a leather-bound menu and hums an annoying tune while selecting from the lunch section.

Behind my shades, I scrutinise him from head to toe. His weather-worn leather shoes are fit for the bin. His creased jeans and shirt need ironing—is that a solid gold curb necklace sticking out beneath his collar? And his belt buckle, although scraped and time-worn, emblazoned Versace Barocco.

He sensed me watching him but didn’t pass a glance.

I place down the mug, collect my bags and stand—he peered at me out the corner of his eye. Bingo. Yes, overly cautious can be tiresome. It also means I’ll never fall into a victimisation trap once more. I don’t know him or the reason behind his calculated arrival, but everything inside me screams not to trust him.

I stride ahead and glimpse over my shoulder when reaching the street corner. He’s still sitting there, head down, reading a newspaper.

My eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Oh God, I am seriously losing my marbles, and rudely judging again. Did I not mentally converse with myself about such negative tendencies? Yet here I am, spurning his conflicting image, convincing myself he’s a villain.

I perambulate through side streets, passing small, family-run businesses and corner pubs. On my travels, I bought two vodka bottles and tucked them in my bag, for later. Before reaching the Underground, I notice a homeless man huddled and bedded beneath the shelter, a closed-down basement nightclub. Mounted on a sheet of cardboard, he watched people oscillate from one end of the alleyway to another, utilising the narrowed street to cut corners and reach shops at a quicker pace.

As if feeling my innocent curiosity, his round, piercing brown eyes crashed into mine. He stared at me, long and penetrating, pity, coldness and revulsion.

My lips parted in shock.

How did I offend him?

Dressed in numerous layers of musty smelling clothing, he snuggled deeper into his torn sleeping bag, breaking away from my intrigued glare.

He’s a young man, curly, dishevelled brown locks, striking yet filthy cheeks and an unruly beard. His knitted mittens stretch across large hands, highlighting begrimed fingernails and callous fingertips.

My chest caved.

I turned around and walked in the other direction.

How, in today’s world, is homelessness an issue? Nobody deserves to sleep on the streets, cold and alone, susceptible to assault or God knows whatever else occurs when monsters soar at night.

I pushed open the door to a bakery, ordered meat and vegan pasties and four beverages, hot chocolate, strong tea, black coffee and a cappuccino. I didn’t want to assume or select preferences on his behalf, so I settled for choices.

Moments later, I returned to the man, deliberately standing in his line of vision. “For you,” I promoted, prompting him to accept a warm meal.

His dark, hooded brows snapped together.

“You must be hungry,” I probed, but his sad eyes remained on his lap. “Do you often sleep here?” I asked, noting sewage smells and excessive urination, a drunken present left my passing drunks who pissed up the walls. “Isn’t there somewhere safer?”

He continues to ignore me.

I crouched, set the coffee tray on the floor, balanced the packaged pasties on top. “Well,” I said, blinking back tears, “I hope you eat or drink something; it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Dusting off my hands, I stood and took three steps when he said, “Sometimes.”

My spine lengthened. Stifling relief, I faced him; the bag handles pinching my skin.

“I sometimes find somewhere else to sleep.” He selects the black coffee, removing its spillage protective lid, blowing the steamy surface. “I am too tired to move today, but tomorrow, I will find a park bench.”

I pointed to the gap beside him. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You want to sit with me?”

I nodded.

“Why?” he asked, suddenly nervous, on guard. “It’s not exceptionally clean on this step. I don’t want you to ruin your skirt.”

I can buy a new skirt.

Tucking the bags behind me, I squeeze in beside him, outstretching my legs. His tiers of padded duvets and sleeping bags soften the inhumane accommodation. “It’s shaded from the sun.” I push the sunglasses to the top of my head, nervously playing with my fingers. “I prefer the sun.”

He handed me the cappuccino. “You should drink, too, considering you paid for them.”

“Oh, no,” I protest, shaking my head. “I got those for you.”

“I am lactose intolerant,” he said, and my shoulders sank. He saw my defeated countenance and cursed. “I was joking—it was a bad joke. I just wanted you to drink with me.”

I laughed at the absurdity of his failed joke. “It was a little funny.” Curling my fingers around the paper cup, I popped off the lid and swigged. “What’s your name?”

His forehead creased. “My name?”

“Yes,” I said, cheeks aching from smiling. “I mean, people normally have names.”

He unwrapped vegan pastry, broke off small pieces and tossed flakes to scavenging pigeons. He bites into a meat pasty, chewing in silence. “Ewan.” The warm, earnestness in his doe eyes hit me hard in the chest. “Ewan Marshall.”

Pigeons swarm the discarded flakes, ruffling their wings, fighting and pecking for scraps.

“Alexa,” I whispered, curling a blonde strand behind my ear. “Alexa Haines.”

I had an overwhelming urge to cry.

What is wrong with me today?

I need to polish off this vodka and grow a backbone.

You are lonely, I thought, coffee cup grasped between two hands. “Will you find someplace safe to sleep tonight, Ewan? It must be terrifying down here at night.”

“It’s no bother,” he futilely tries to convince me. “If it gets too rowdy, I’ll search for a quieter spot.”

Nathan and Victoria upped the ante over the last few weeks, going to different bars, hotel lobbies and casinos with the intention of stealing someone else’s money. It tugged my conscience a few times, especially when an oblivious client leads me into a hotel bedroom.

I dislodged the lump in my throat, slipping the handbag handle from my shoulder. “Do you like pigeons?”

Ewan tasted gravy from his thumb. “Not so much pigeons,” he said, watching the birds traipse along. “I guess I like birds in general.”

Opening my bag, I tore the stitched seam with a pen. “Why?”

“Birds fly away from everything and anything—in all winds and weathers; in various directions.” A seagull plummeted, dispersing the pigeons into a scattered frenzy skyward. “It’s a fascinating type of freedom.”

My eyes watered. “Is that how you feel, Ewan? Trapped?”

He chucked his half-eaten food to the hungry birds; a starving man, making a small sacrifice. “Temporarily lost I guess.”

I palmed the hidden notes in my bag. It’d hardly make a dent in what we stole from Edward Galway, the sleazy, married man with greedy hands that I left comatose. “Find somewhere decent to sleep.” I took his hand, forcing him to accept the money. “Maybe a nice flat, overlooking one of those scenic parks you like.”

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, he stared at his limp hand. “You are too kind, Alexa. But I cannot take your money.” He strived to hand it back, so I crossed my arms. “Alexa, please. It’s too much. Why?”

Because unlike me, you deserve it, I think to myself. “Find a permanent residence, Ewan. Furnish it and spend the week in a comfortable bed.” I stood, and he slowly matched my stance, the creased blanket pooling at his feet. “Luxuriate in a warm bubble bath and shave that handsome face. Eat your weight in fast food, or better yet, liquidised ice cream.”

Mouth agape, he blinked, hands crushing the notes.

“The next time I bump into you,” I gathered my purchases, “I want to see a spring in your step, a smart, tailored suit and a well-paid job.” I mustered a flat smile. “It’s never too late to change direction, right?”

I walked away, feeling his eyes on my back. the sun’s rays warm my face as I exit the sideway of towering buildings and— “Alexa?” Ewan called, but before I could face him, his arms went around my body, fusing my face to his chest. “I have no words,” he whispered in my ear, his tear landing on my forehead. “Thank you.” He reluctantly released me, rubbing his red brimmed eyes. “Here.” Plucking a pink rose from the shop’s hanging flower basket, he weaved the stem between my fingers. “I am sorry that judged you.” With those final words, he left me on the street corner, forging his tattered sleeping gear, backpack on his shoulder.

I lifted the rose to my nose, inhaling the victorious scent of fulfilment.

***

“Did you enjoy shopping, darling?” Heather asked the second I entered the bed-and-breakfast.

I kicked off my heels, picked them up. “I did.” I pattered barefoot down the hallway, craving one of Heather’s famous lemonades. I opened the fridge freezer, my eyes lighting up. “Get in my belly.” Setting the glass jug on the kitchen counter, I poured a glass of chilled scrumptiousness, adding two vodka shots. “Do you want a drink, Heather?”

When she doesn’t respond, I look up, eyes popping wide. “Oh, well, don’t you look ravishing tonight.”

Heather wears a strapless, ankle-length, topical style floral dress and lace sandals. She braided her lustrous grey hair, adding a diamante clip for extra effect. The carefully applied makeup suggests a date is on the table. “Are you…?” I mean, Heather isn’t ready for a romantic tryst. Her words. Not mine.

“What do you think, Victoria?” She fussed with her hair. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“What? No,” I reassured, handing her my vodka inspired lemony cocktail. “Heather,” I sighed, marvelling at her beauty. “You look incredibly stunning.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as stunning…”

“I would.” Unzipping my bag, I fossick for a matte pink lipstick, nothing too loud, but enough to compliment her full lips. “Here.”

Smiling deviously, she opened the new packaging and painted her lips. “He’s an old friend, Ivor. He used to play golf with Henry…”

She’s having second thoughts. “Heather, I don’t think Henry wants you to live the rest of your life in solitary. From what you told me, he worshipped every hair on your head and only wanted the best for you. Do you honestly believe your lonely misery appeases him?”

“Everyone dies eventually,” she snivels, glancing out the window. “I miss him greatly, Victoria. I’d give anything to see him walk through the front door again, stomping those muddied boots on the welcome mat. But,” she pursed her lips, “it’s time for me to…”

“Move on,” I filled in, squeezing her hand, “but never forget.”

“Yes.” She gave me a woeful smile. “Ivor promises a walk on the beach after supper.”

“Will you be home tonight?” I hedged, curbing a teasing grin, “or shall I lock up?”

“Victoria,” she playfully scolds, flicking my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Only owls stay out at night.”

I swallowed a shot of vodka. “Hoot, hoot.”

“Youngsters,” she muttered, packing her black handbag with essentials, money, keys, perfume—a condom. “Always thinking about sex.”

I stared at her incredulously. “As long as its safe sex, though, right?”

“Well, of course.” Hand to her hip, she glared at me. “Do you practice safe sex, darling?”

“Why, yes,” I intentionally mimicked her authoritative tone, mirroring her stance with a puckered eyebrow. “Not that I am getting any.”

“Oh,” she snorted, wrinkling her nose. “I am not quite ready for this conversation, Victoria. Please, spare me details.”

I giggled, using a spoon to mix my cocktail. “Seriously, though, am I locking up tonight?”

A modest blush tinted her cheeks. “Oh, I suppose you better.”

I am genuinely happy for Heather. “I love having a free house,” I said, sauntering into the foyer. “It means I can walk around naked—”

” Absolutely not,” she chastised, and my laughter escalated. “What about the cameras?”

I eyed the rotating camera above the main door. “Only you check those.” I am not really going to flaunt my lady bits. “Did you bake this afternoon?”

“Afraid not.” Pulling on a light cardigan, she double-checked her image in the wall-mounted mirror. “There is some leftover shepherd’s pie in the fridge, though.” The front door knocked, and she leapt in panic. “Shit, Ivor’s here.”

“Don’t keep him waiting—Heather,” I whisper-shouted, and she stopped fretting with chandelier style earrings. “You look amazing. Now, open the door and knock him out.”

“Knock him out?” My encouragement took her aback. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Not literally,” I whispered, gesturing to the door. “Stop procrastinating, or I’ll open the door and tell him you are stuck on the toilet.”

“Dear Lord.” Shaking her head, she inhaled an encouraging breath and opened the door to greet him. “Ivor.”

“Heather,” he said with a heavenly exhale. “My goodness. You look beautiful.”

I peered around the wall, giving myself sneaky snippets of their exchange. Ivor’s suave and handsome in his black trousers and cable knit jumper, silver hair slicked back, combed perfectly for his date tonight. He’s a tall and slightly plump, jovial-looking man, steel-grey eyes and gold-flamed spectacles.

“Thank you, Ivor.” Heather gushes, linking their elbows together. “Now…” The door closed, muting their conversation.

Immersed in tranquil silence, I sagged against the wall, licking lemon vodka from my lips.

Sigh…

CH 33

Alexa

I roused to the sound of sporadic banging

Changing positions on an exhausted whine, I whirled to my side, blindly rummaging for the vodka bottle. “Shit.” Rubbing my weary eyes, I clambered off the bed, zigzagged in the dark and fell into the en-suite bathroom.

Turning on the light, dazzling myself, I relieved my bladder, washed my hands in the sink and caught sight of my horrific reflection.

Tucking blonde hair behind my ears, I douse a hand towel with cold water and wipe smudged mascara off my cheeks. I complained, pinching the blue contacts from my eyes, discarding them in the trash bin.

I blinked rapidly for clearer vision, squirted paste onto a toothbrush and scrubbed my vodka-veneered teeth while simultaneously shimmying out of the crinkled pencil skirt.

Another echoing whack rippled beneath my bare feet. All the muscles inside me tautened, ears perked up to listen.

Did Heather come home?

I convinced myself she’d spend the night at Ivor’s place.

Spitting foam into the sink, I cupped water in my palm and swilled out my mouth, turned off the tap and towel-dried my hands.

Unbuttoning my blouse, unclasping and boomeranging my bra across the shadowed room, I tugged on an oversized T-shirt, unlocked the bedroom door and ventured down the hall.

“Heather?” I croaked, descending the stairs, checking to see if her discarded sandals are by the front door. “How was your date?”

Nothing except eerie silence and blackness greeted me.

I glimpse at the wall-mounted clock: four-thirty a.m.

In the midst of obscured emptiness, I hear another resounding thump from the function room. I almost called her name, Heather, but that shifty man from the tearoom came into consciousness.

I tiptoed into the kitchen and opened a drawer to select a sharp steak knife. I swear if that man from town followed me home? I’ll gauge his eyes out—bloody barbarically.

Fingers tight to the handle, I put my back to the wall and cautiously sidestepped in the shadows, all senses heightened and on high alert.

Wielding the sharpest point of the knife, I nudged the function room door open, peering inside. Everything looked the same, clean and uncluttered, fresh, ornamental flowers and piled fashion magazines.

A noisy clatter thundered from the window, ripping an alarmed shriek from my throat. Terrified, I glued my back to the wall, panting and breathing strained—the night breeze blows the netted lace, floating like a ghost-like veil above a table. “Jesus Christ, Heather.”

She left the window open.

Who does that?

Patting sweat from my brow, I lowered the knife on a calmed inhale, strolled across the room, towed the net aside and locked the window. I stood back and looked through the glass windowpane, scanning the gardens. Shadows and silhouettes outline the trees and patio furniture. One of the wind chimes I bought Heather, a tintinnabulation of faint tinkling bells, glistened from a hanging branch.

I am losing my mind.

Insane.

Paranoid.

Borderline alcoholic.

I returned the knife to the kitchen, paced back to the bedroom and bolted myself inside. I watch the closed door as if expecting a loud crash or an intruder, incapable of shaking this tension, rioting my nervousness into irrational action.

“Insane, paranoid,” I mutter, foot catching a vodka bottle on the floor. In the dark, I pick it up and unscrew the cap, guzzling a dangerous amount. “Alcoholic.”

“Miss Rose,” someone said in a smooth, baritone voice. “Do you often drink harsh alcohol at this time of the morning?”

Choking on a gargled scream, I sprayed vodka in the midst. Throwing down the bottle, I tumbled over my floordrobe, shoes and clothing, plunged into the wall with a face-smashing thud and slapped around for the light switch.

I found the light and illuminated the room, but assembling the courage to face him immobilised me. I concentrated to the floral patterned wallpaper instead, heart beating wildly with impossible dread, pulse thudding in my ears.

What is he doing here?

How did he find me?

The floorboard creaked behind me.

“You’re scared of me,” he said arrogantly, and that’s when I felt his warm breath on the nape of my neck. “Why?”

Piecing together a satisfactory answer, I shut my eyes and did my utmost to sound like a different woman. “I wasn’t expecting a random man in my bedroom.”

“Are we not acquainted?” He suffocated me with his nearness. “Did you not touch once to the sound of my voice, Victoria?” His fingers gently descended the length of my spine and an inconvenient shiver passed through me. “Your body seems to respond to me rather well.”

Oh, he’s such a conceited asshole.

Hands curling into fists, I spun to face him, ready to unleash months of pent-up bitterness, but then our eyes connected, and I submitted to overwhelming nostalgia.

I will never acclimate to his raw handsomeness: sculpted cheekbones, thickly lashed ice-blue eyes, lustrous black hair styled flawlessly. Rough stubble dusted his jaw. His sensual yet wicked lips remained in a tight line. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, irritable, pleased or happy. He disguised whatever he felt with indifference.

Liam Warren.

My Liam.

He moved forward, one step too close, invading my compromised breathing space. “Miss Rose?”

Of course, he searched through Heather’s computer database. He orchestrated this meeting to his advantage, granting himself access, opening the window to frighten and distract me whilst he broke into the bed and breakfast.

His lips skimmed the shell of my ear. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“What do you want?” I stuttered, wishing he’d give me a moment to digest his unexpected arrival, to let me catch my—

“Breathe.” He spoke, rough and commanding.

I breathed a stuttered breath, breaking away from the intensity of his penetrating gaze. I can’t be this close to him, not if I want to sustain some level of dignity. I am too weak, foolish and irresponsible for this man.

His all-encompassing proximity unsettles me. I know him, really know him, and this calm, poised demeanour means he’s seconds away from shoving me into the wall and snatching my jaw with inexorable force—

Liam cupped my cheek with a large, callous hand. I bristled, shying away from his mesmerising eyes. I turned my face into his palm, relishing the feel of his familiar embrace.

I envied every woman who touched him in my wake.

My eyes shot open. “Get your hands off me.” I pushed his solid chest, urging him back. “I am not one of your whores, Mr Warren. You got some nerve showing up here at unsociable hours, looking for—”

“For what?” he goaded, lowering his head so that we’re eye level. “Surely, you are not that presumptuous?” A secret I wasn’t privy to ignited in his steel gaze. “You intrigue me, though.” He stepped back, his disapproval slicing around my accommodation. “You wear Louboutin shoes and designer lace,” he pulled my white thong from his trouser pocket, dangling it from his index finger, “yet willingly residing in outmoded squalor. May I ask, why?”

Snatching my underwear from his hand, I shouldered past him, frantically collecting price-tagged garments I had emptied on the floor earlier. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He chuckled, short and deriding. “After we spoke on the phone,” he said as I stuffed everything in a drawer, “I ordered one of my closest men to do a background check.”

I stilled.

“Can you believe that we found absolutely nothing?” he hummed, and I felt his scrutiny burning into the back of my head. “No national insurance number, birth certificate or previous job roles. Tell me, Miss Rose. What’s a man to do when he comes unstuck?”

Painting on a fake smile, I faced him. “I am sure you will enlighten me.”

“Of course.” He lifts an insouciant shoulder. “I had you followed.”

“Of course,” I mimicked, wanting to go back in time and kick that fucking disguised Suit in the shin. “Unearth anything interesting?”

“Not much. You willingly stay in this shambolic building, drink too much alcohol for it to be deemed safe. Your exorbitant spending habits most definitely raise concern, considering you are unemployed.” He refrains from mocking laughter, pinching his lips. “Unless, of course, we consider amateurish escorting.” He’s back in my space, intimidatingly towering before me with his imperious haughtiness. “Educate me, Miss Rose.” Hand slipping in his suit jacket pocket, he retrieved a leather wallet and made a show of counting fifty-pound notes. “Although, I am more inclined to choose a brunette, I do wonder, how much does an adequate blow job get me?”

Pure rage zapped through me. I slapped him hard, the impact resounding around the room. “How dare you?” I yelled, controlling unshed tears. “You don’t even know me—

“That’s right.” He doesn’t touch his inflamed cheek. He bores into me with murderous eyes, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “Pardon my audaciousness, Victoria.” And as predicted, his hand abruptly snatched my throat, forcing my back to hit the wall. “What have I told you about fucking hitting me?”

“What?” I gasped, fingernails clawing his wrist. “I can’t breathe.”

“Do not make a mockery out of me!” he barked, lips snarling in repulsion. “Do not,” he rasped, his Adam’s apple jiving in his throat, “take me for a fool.” His fingers alleviated a touch, the pain scorching my flesh. He regarded my discomfort, spewed expletives and tossed me aside. “Fuck.”

He hadn’t meant to use force, but I lost my footing, palms and knees crashing against the floor. His dismissal, even though too rough for a woman my size, was an act of leniency. It’s not anger in his feverish outburst; it’s pure devastation and despair.

I peered up at him from under wet eyelashes.

Hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling, Liam stands in the middle of the room.

What on earth had Victoria done to incense him?

Realisation hammered down on me like a thunderous hailstorm. I stumbled into stance, using the wall for support. “Liam,” I murmured, and his stony gaze met mine. “I—”

“Stop,” he gravelled out. “I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

The pain in his eyes quite literally killed me. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He sucked in a harsh breath, rubbing a hand down his hardened features. “For giving me a false name?” Positioning his hands on either side of my head, he closed me in, capturing my full attention. “For faking your death?” Ever so gently, he unravelled the bobble from my hair, loosening the blonde piece. “For not coming back to me?”

“Liam,” I whispered a sob, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“For leaving me alone in the world?” He tossed the wig on the floor, and my long, dark curls cascaded over one shoulder. “Or for breaking my fucking heart?” Watching a tear roll down my cheek, he inched closer, his soft lips pressing to the corner of my mouth. “I hate all that you’ve become.”

“I didn’t change for you,” I snide, turning away from his condemnatory eyes. “I changed for myself.”

He captured my jaw, urging me to look at him head-on. “Because your life was so disastrous, right?”

I scoffed. “I was pathetic.”

Rage blazed in his sad eyes. “You were perfect.”

I gave him a mocking laugh. “You said it yourself. I wasn’t strong enough to stand alongside a man like you.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he argued, jerking away from me. “Is that what this bullshit is about? Did you go through all this trouble,” he furiously gesticulated around the room, “just to prove a fucking point? For fuck’s sake.”

My face heated. “No.” He unexpectedly smashed the lamp off the table, scattering mosaic pieces across the floor. “Liam, stop!” He’s not satisfied. His wrath ascended to a precarious speed and, in a moment of sheer frustration, he punched a hole in the wall beside my head, seized the square mirror and shattered large fragments of glass to the ground. “Liam, please.” He shirked from me as though the idea of me touching him repulsed him. “I said, stop!”

At the sound of my quailed voice, he staggered on a heaved breath. Blood rivulets from his crackled knuckles, snaking between his fingers.

My back plastered to the wall, I dragged myself back onto my feet, keeping a safe distance between us.

Liam shook his head imperceptibly, gravitated towards me and stopped.

I held his agonising stare, trying to fathom his indecipherable behaviour when he lowered to one knee, dropped his head to my lower stomach and grasped the backs of my thighs.

A stunned, choked sob fell from my lips. I gripped his head, holding him.

“You are the only woman I wanted at my side,” he said throatily, fingers pinching my skin. “You think I didn’t admire your strength—wrong. I loved you so much. Placing you in the firing line was like ripping out my heart and feeding it to the wolves.” He lifted my T-shirt and placed a closed mouth kiss on my red lace, inhaling my scent. “I only wanted to protect you.” I strived to lower my knees, but he caught my hips, pinning me to the wall. “I yield to you as an angry yet broken man. Whatever I did to make you leave…let me earn your forgiveness.”

I was speechless. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No.” He fisted my T-shirt, tugging me into his arms. “You deserve so much more.” Holding the back of my neck, he tilted my head. “I’ve missed you,” he rasped, eyes outline every detail of my face. “You have no idea, no fucking idea how much.” I saw raw vulnerability in his dilated eyes. “I cried for you, Alexa.” He placed his cheek to mine, tasting my tears on his lips. “Why did you do this to us?”

I had no reasonable answer, not without harming Jace. “Liam.” I held his face, hearing his hoarse inhale of breath. “I—”

He stole my pathetic excuse, devouring my lies with a firm, carnal kiss. Heart rate accelerating to an erratic pace, I tousled my fingers through his hair, pulling him to me. Lips fused to mine, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, tightly coiled around my body, trapping me in his firm, possessive arms. I parted my lips and welcomed his tongue, tasting a night of cognac. Our kiss was violent. Impatient and…tiny flutters uncaged in my chest, the uncontrollable butterflies I only experience when enthralled by him.

“Don’t stop.” His voice was thick with lust. Under my T-shirt, his hands smoothed up my back, hugging my shoulders. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

I turned my head, deepening the kiss, sucking on his tongue. My fingers worked to undo the buttons of the shirt. I parted the material from his sculpted physique, palms flat to his chest.

Liam was in no hurry to get me naked or beneath him. He savoured every firm touch, every breathless whimper.

Desperate for him to be inside me, I ripped the T-shirt from my head, pushing my chest onto his. Still, he took his time, showing me restraint and reverence.

“Liam,” I moaned into his mouth, tugging his belt and zipper. “Please.” He tore my lace, and my heart rate quickened. “Promise you won’t regret this.”

His face screwed up into a scowl. Without warning, he lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing, enveloped my legs around his waist and slammed me into the wall. I don’t know how he lost his clothes; I didn’t care to watch. But I felt the wide head of his swollen crown at my throbbing sex, stretching me open as he forced into me, hard and thick, filling me to his liking.

I cried out, fingernails clawing down his spine. He hissed, sinking his teeth into my shoulder, sucking and kissing his way to the shell of my ear. I clenched around him, earning myself a deep, hoarse groan of approval.

He gripped my hips, shoving fiercely inside me, fucking me as if our lives depended on it.

Tongue tracing my lips, he coaxed another kiss from me, driving us to the point of no return.

I rode his pumping cock, shuddering in ecstasy. His fingers stroked my sex, and I lost my breath, body anchoring in his arms.

His jaw tensed with each pounded thrust. He buried his face in my neck, breathing heavily in my ear, dripping sweat down my chest.

I held on but couldn’t stop the climaxing wave from crashing into me. I came, long and hard, body trembling in his arms.

He pushed us away from the wall, dropped me onto the bed, crawled across my body and stole another kiss. Fingers piercing my cheeks, he dominated each stroke of the tongue, other hand spreading my thighs apart, wide for him.

Braced on his forearms, he nestled above me, our mouths easing long enough to open our eyes and watch each other. He brushed wayward curls from my face as he examined the scar beneath my eye. He touched it with investigatory fingertips but refrained from asking questions.

I think, in an odd, unspoken sense, we both wanted a night without possible defeat and complications, so we ignored the sensible voices inside our heads and got lost in each other.

Liam palmed my cheek, laid a kiss to my scar. His head disappeared down my chest, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses.

He missed me. I feel it with every touch and admiring stroke. He’s curious, though. Hands larger on my non-existent breasts, tracing my jutted ribs and prominent hip bones.

It displeases him. I see the conflict in his eyes. He wants to ask why I am only half the woman I once was. He wants to know if I am safe, healthy and happy. “You’re beautiful,” he assured me, our eyes aligning as he closed his mouth around my taut nipple. “So fucking beautiful.”

Withstanding his intense blue eyes was impossible. My head sank in the pillow as a tear rolled from the corner of my eye. “You don’t have to reassure me, Liam. I know that I have flaws.” His hands tightened around my thighs. He was ready to scold me. “But I own my scars, both visible and indelible, so fuck anyone who disapproves.” I chanced to look at him. He smirked, low and wolfish. “What?”

“Fucking hell.” He bites down on his lower lip, hand locking around my throat. “You fighting back, baby?”

I was all smiles, raising my head to kiss him. He abruptly rolled me onto my stomach, and I chuckled into the pillow. “Liam, why must you be a caveman?” Uncomfortable silence extended between us. Hands stuffed under my chin, I glanced over my shoulder and felt the blood drain from my body. “Liam…”

“What did you do?” He fell back on his haunches, eyes fixated on my back. “Alexa?” I moved to sit up, but his hand forced me to keep still as he studied the tattooed angel wings. “Did you need wings to exist?”

I hated when he concealed his true feelings. His expression was unreadable, and it irked the life out of me. “What are you thinking?”

“I am trying to understand everything,” he said without hesitation, the pads of his fingers contouring each shades feather. “Did it hurt?”

“I might have passed out a couple of times.”

That gained me a sexy smile, but his eyebrows cinched into a permanent frown just as quickly. “There is so much I need to tell you.”

I repositioned onto my knees, snaked my arms around his shoulders and kissed the crease between his brows. “I hurt you.”

“Yes,” he said huskily, evading my eyes. “It’s dreamlike.” His hand curved around my backside, holding one cheek. “I…”

My frown synchronised his. I have never witnessed Liam wordless, pained or prone to farther anguish. I did this to him. I am responsible for immaturely jumping to conclusions, thinking he didn’t care and judging him for using other women to ease the emptiness in his chest.

Alexa Haines.

What have I done?

I slept with Jace, right here, on this bed.

Nausea caroused in my lower stomach, threatening to breach.

“Alexa.” His thumbs caught my tears. “Tomorrow, remember?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his palm, fingers adhering to his jewellery adorned wrist. “Not once in our separation did I forget about you, Liam.”

He gripped my waist, urging me to lie down. I relinquished, parting my thighs. He settled between them, hand grasping my breast, mouth to my navel.

“No.” I fisted his hair, stopping his advances. “It’s your turn.”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His thumbs separated my soaking folds, opening me to him. Mouth forming a suction over my clit, he flatted his tongue and sucked. He made a guttural sound, devouring and tasting.

I held the back of his neck, shamelessly widening my legs and rocking my hips. Shots of desire fired through me, and I moaned his name like a mantra.

Hands moving to the backs of my thighs, he pushed my knees to my chest. He widened me to his ardent mouth, tongue spearing inside me, smearing arousal to my aching clit.

Liam knows my body. He recognises when I am on a euphoric edge. His fingers eased between my velvety folds, searching for that hyperstimulated spot.

He fucked me with his fingers, thumb circling my clit, mouth suckling, lapping up my juices. “That’s it,” he groaned, feeling me clench around him.

I came undone, spine arching off the bed, pressing down on his working hand. He withdrew in time for me to gush and moan in both pleasure and embarrassment.

Wilted and boneless, I laid on the bed, gasping for breath. To tease once more, he ran his tongue through my soaked cleft, glazing his arrogant smirk with my arousal.

“Stop gloating and get inside me—” His mouth slanted over mine, his muscular body sprawled above me.

Rubbing his long, swollen cock, he chafed the head between the crevice of my hot sex. Skin-on-skin and misted in perspiration, we wrapped together as he entrenched himself, wedging deep. “If you ever, ever,” he husked, holding my head, “leave me again…”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else, Liam.” I softly kissed his lower lip, meeting his slow, meaningful thrusts. “You. Every day. Every night. Your equal.”

He liked that last part. He smiled against my lips, ignored his vibrating phone and worshipped my body. “When you…” Died, I mentally thought. “I imagined this moment more times than my pride will let me admit.”

I laughed amid a shuddered moan. “Me writhing beneath you?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He wound a hand under my knee, unfolding me so that he can drill deeper. “I pictured those mesmerising eyes and this,” he swept a thumb across my lips, “beautiful smile.”

How could I refuse this man?

How could I neglect him?

“Let me ride you, Liam.” With a little persuasion, he rolled us until he laid on his back, hands touring my thighs. I stationed my hands on his magnificent, chiselled chest and pounded myself on his length. “Oh, shit.” I was senile to think I could take him like this. He’s too big, a size I endeavoured but failed to get used to, especially in this position.

“Slow down.” He held my middle section, thumbs tweaking my nipples. “Remember what I said, baby. Hurting yourself to accommodate a man is a common misconception, and he’d be disrespectful to demand otherwise.” I slowed my pace, adjusting to him. He licked his lower lip, eyes never straying from my face. “Perfect.” He sat taller, sheathing me in his powerful arms. “Fucking beautiful.”

I caught my breath, held it. “Stop looking at me like that.”what?” He nipped my bottom lip, licked the pain away. “Like a man in love.”

On a throaty keen, I put my head to his shoulder, but the military chain dangling from his neck smacked me out of a paralysing haze.

Liam removed my engraved white gold tag.

He laid me beneath him, thrusting back home, chasing his release. I felt numb, heartbroken. Still, I coiled my trembling thighs around his pumping waist, walls clenching with each stroke he delivered, completely powerless and at his mercy.

“I can’t stop loving you.” He filled me, tearing an involuntary moan from my mouth. His fingers bruised my hips as he held me down, cock pummelling in and out, headboard clattering against the wall.

And when he released with three warm spurts, his arms folded around me, keeping me close, as if fearing I’d vanish the second he let go.

Confirming my thoughts, Liam lifted his hooded gaze, eyes searching mine. “Alexa,” he whispered, setting our sweat dusted foreheads together.

“I know, Liam.”

He sagged above me, resting his head on my chest.

I stroked the back of his neck with delicate fingertips, listening to the winds howling outside.

He found my wrist, kissed each finger and interlaced our hands together.

I was comforted by his nearness. “Do you promise to love me forever?”

It was a light-hearted test. I knew he didn’t make promises.

Quietness lingered before he said, “Always.”

My lips widened into a smile. “Always, always?”

Easing out of me, Liam moved and stretched out alongside me, propping onto one elbow. He splayed his hand over my stomach, pausing over my thunderous heartbeat. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then,” I teased, mirroring his position, “forever isn’t long enough.”

Seriousness replaced his humoured expression. He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing me hungrily. “I am waking up with you,” he tells me, and I nod. “I don’t plan to leave this bed, Alexa. I hope you can handle that.”

I wanted nothing more.

His phone chimed repeatedly.

Enraged, he threw his legs over the bed, picked up his trousers and palmed his phone. I don’t know who messaged, but whoever it was, displeased him.

Nerves prickled my damp skin. “Is everything okay?”

He turned off his phone, chucked it on the floor. “Yeah,” he lied, crawling back to my side. “Now, where were we?

His feigned insouciance concerned me. It’s a potent reminder that tonight, although it meant the absolute world to me, doesn’t change anything.

There are still lies between us, troubling secrets and segregating disturbances.

“Get rid of it,” he orders in that low, commanding voice that I love. “We earned this moment together, Alexa.”

Slapping on a fake smile, I cocked my leg across his middle, lowered a hand between us and stroked his semi-hard cock. He jerked in my hand, swelling at my touch. “I think I underestimated how much I missed him.”

“Well,” he rasped, “he most certainly missed you.” I tugged, and his head fell back on a throaty groan. “Alexa.”

I kissed his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bobbing. “How badly do you want my mouth on him?”

He slapped my ass cheek. “Quit acting like a fucking tease and own me.”

My core tightened. I peppered kissed down his chest, following that dark strip of hair south, to that magnificent, well-defined V-line.

Relaxing on his back, he outstretched his legs, watching me nestle for him through lust-filled eyes. I parted my mouth around his glistening crown, flattening my tongue along the underside of his thick, pulsating shaft.

“Fuck, baby.” He grappled the sheets with white-knuckled force. “Christ, I missed this.”

Don’t overthink it, Alexa.

Don’t ask questions that you won’t like the answers to.

His chest expanded on a harsh inhale, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging painfully,

Hollowing my cheeks, I sucked, hard and brutal, swirling and tasting pre-ejaculate on my tongue.

I don’t care what Liam says about going at a suited pace. He’s rough in bed, fucks me violently and unmercifully, but when it is my turn to return the favour or lead, he settles.

And I am not that coy, timidly unsure woman anymore.

I relaxed my throat and took his length with determined suctions. The second I gagged, he jerked to sit up. I sank my fingernails in his thighs, and he hissed. “Alexa…”

Cupping and massaging his sac, I engulfed his elongating cock, swallowing beads of pre-cum, moaning favourably.

He can forget about all that meaningless, mechanical intercourse with other women. I am back, and I’ll be damned if some snooty do-gooder thinks she can sweep in and take my place.

Liam lowers those impenetrable walls for me and me only. He offered himself to me before. Judging by what we shared tonight, his feelings haven’t changed.

His muscular thighs bunched up, and a prolonged moan vibrated in his heaving chest.

I double-fisted him, pumped hard, licked those angry veins and sucked him back down my throat.

“Baby,” he growled on a ragged breath. “Fuck. You’re making me cum.”

Warm semen coated my tongue as his cock emptied in my mouth. I didn’t stop until I drained him dry, swallowing every last drop.

It took so much willpower not to grin like a triumphant fool!

Liam seized my forearm, tugging me across his lifeless body. “You killed me.” He swept sweat-slicked hair from my face. “Why don’t we shower together?”

I hummed a tired response.

“It’s early.” He stretched an arm between us, fingers seeking and caressing my wet sex. “Let’s spend the entire day in bed, order food and drink and watch some shit television.”

His finger pushed inside me, and I shivered. “Liam…”

“Of course, there will be plenty of orgasms, Alexa.” He added another finger. “For you.”

I beamed like a lovesick idiot. “That’s hardly fair.”

Kissing me tenderly, he angled my head, tongue lazily entering my mouth. “Sit on my face so that I can devour this cunt.”

I am going to kill him. “Must you speak with such vulgarity?”

His shoulders shook as he stifled an amused chuckle. “You wouldn’t deny me.”

The smug bastard is right.

I rode his face before sunrise.

CH 34

Alexa

I can’t stop looking at him.

Completely nude and sleeping on his front, arms crossed underneath a skewed pillow, Liam breathes gently beside me, lips slightly parted, closed eyelashes gentle to his pale cheeks. I traced his hooded eyebrows with the tips of my fingers, outlined and sketched his handsome features.

I nuzzled closer, gripping the sheet to my chest, wondering how long he plans to dream without me.

In his defence, I only granted rest two hours ago; I couldn’t get enough of him. I missed him so much, so I savoured our long-awaited reunion with bursting reverence and idolisation. I spent months pretending to hate this man, training myself to misremember him, but it’s impossible to forget about him.

Liam Warren claimed me the morning I sought him to find my sister. His imposing yet enthralling propinquity was a promising key to my heart. He didn’t know it; I didn’t know it. But gravity forced us together back then, much like it’s doing now.

For some reason unbeknownst to the two of us, fate decided we’re to be together, immaterial to odious backgrounds, incompatible lifestyles and dreadful secrets.

I love him.

I will always love him.

Disrespecting what I shared with Jace is wrong. Alas, I don’t regret his kiss or our disconsolated lovemaking. We both helped each other in a moment of profound bereavement—two adults merging as one to soothe our aching hearts.

And it worked, for a short time, alleviating suffering to lose consciousness of the overwhelmingly traumatic death of his daughter, Summer.

Furthermore, sex with Jace eliminated future doubts or uncertainties.

Before Jace, I gave myself to one man and one man only.

Liam Warren.

Yes, some, who endured molestation, might consider erasing ineradicable lacerations an unrealistic dream, but Liam replaced terrible memories with good ones. With few words yet many affectionate touches, progressively, he taught me how to breathe again, how to see in the dark and fear nothing but my own capabilities.

Jace, a man I hadn’t foreseen or anticipated, entered my life with nefarious resolutions yet became my indispensable salvation. He showed me that a man could touch a woman without dishonourable expectancies. He offered true alliance and non-judgmental liberalism.

Most importantly, our indescribable bond accentuated the difference between unique compatibility and endearment.

Jace became my best friend. I couldn’t possibly live without him.

But Liam…

Liam is the journey.

The scintillating sun veiled through the opened window, blanketing our entwined bodies in warmth.

I leaned in and kissed the frown between his brows. “I love you,” I whispered, tucking a dark strand behind his ear.

Unravelling myself from his firm body, I climbed off the bed and stood at the window to feel the summer breeze on my face. I wanted to go downstairs and make coffee, but Heather’s likely home. I’m not ready to explain Liam’s arrival. It’s a complicated conversation, one I’d rather avoid.

I sensed him before he placed a lingering kiss to my bare shoulder. “I could get used to this view,” he said in a tired, croaky voice. He positioned his hands on the windowsill, caging me between the thrall of his strapping arms.

The picturesque gardens were magnificent. “It’s beautiful.”

He nibbled my earlobe. “I wasn’t talking about the flower beds, Alexa.”

I sucked my upper lip to suppress a smile. “Are you hungry? Shall I go down and get you something?”

“I have everything I need.” He left feather-like kisses to my neck, his arm coiling around my waist. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes” I lied, and he squeezed my hip. “It’s impossible with you in my bed.”

He coaxed me to turn, flattened his callous palms to cheeks and gazed into my eyes. I waited for him to speak. His jaw muscles tensed as he studied my face, but once more, he’s wordless.

“What, Liam?” I asked, nerved by his uncharacteristic uncommunicativeness.

Tight-lipped isn’t him. He’s overbearingly dictatorial, high-handed and uncaringly emphatic. I don’t like this newfound self-restraint.

“Liam.” I lift off my tiptoes, folding my arms around the back of his head. “What’s bothering you?”

“You.” He audibly swallowed, hands skimming my back. “Us.”

I nodded, understanding our imminent predicament. “I’m scared,” I admit coyly, dreading the cataclysmic timebomb threatening to penetrate our sequestered haven.

“Why?” He tilted my chin, seeking answers. “Alexa, baby, I don’t understand why you left or why you chose to hide here.” His disparaging gaze toured the room. “More than anything, I want answers and comprehension, but surely, whatever transpired during our time apart, it’s nothing we can’t handle, together.” He thumbed a tear from my cheek. “Your upset troubles me. Is it because of my behaviour?”

“Your behaviour?” I asked dubiously.

He cast his regretful eyes to his thumb that massages my hip.

“How do you mean?” Kellie’s gorgeous face and soulless eyes filtered through my mind. “Oh,” I grunted, lips flattening in distaste, “you mean her.”

He shot me a concerned look. “What?”

“Kellie,” I said, and relief washed over him. “What is it?”

“Fuck Kel…” He scratched his ticking jaw, uncomfortable under my scrutiny. “I am not discussing her when touching yo.” Enveloping an arm across my shoulders, he drew me in and kissed the tip of my nose. “Although I am curious. How did my sweet, innocent woman obtain a gun?”

“I purchased it from a local arms dealer,” I answered warily, fingers edging his torso.

Liam hummed, disbelieving my deceit. “Name?”

“Why?” I edge back, and when he evaded my eyes, I snatched his chin. “Liam, what are we doing?” He dropped back, arms falling to his sides dejectedly. “Is it time to talk? If so, I’ll get dressed and make our coffee, or we can drink vodka.” Alcohol is more potent and necessary for this type of dreaded conversation. “I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel as though we’re both avoiding reality. Subconsciously, though, our insecurities and uncertainties continue to fester—”

“Breathe,” he said, gripping my upper arms. “Alexa, calm down.” His hand moved to the back of my neck, fingers kneading, relaxing.

I shut my eyes, soothed by his tenderness.

Liam opened the bathroom door in a quiet state of ambivalence and led me to the shower cubicle. He tugged the plastic curtain aside, adjusted the water to a warm temperature and pulled me under the spray.

He put my back to his chest and closed his arms around me. “You’re right,” he said, claiming my breast with a tight squeeze. “I am avoiding particular discussions as I don’t want you to leave me.”

I put my head on his chest, gnawing my lower lip. “You and me alike.” He reached over me to pick up Jace’s black loofah, and I died. “Let me,” I stuttered, opting for the white sponge. Pouring gel onto the lace ruffles, I lathered his body, watching water intermingle with pink suds.

Once clean, he returns the favour, luxuriating my body, washing and massaging my head with skilful, therapeutic fingers.

I felt his inquisitive eyes on me the entire time. I never met his gaze—I couldn’t face him with these unsettling thoughts.

Liam turned off the shower, stepped out and grabbed two towels. He tossed one into my waiting hands before opening the mirrored cabinet, rummaging for a spare toothbrush. Selecting a blue one, he tore through the wrapper and scrubbed his teeth. Spitting in the sink, he cupped water in his palm, swirled out his mouth, and repeated the process. I stood beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, admiring his faultless reflection as I freshened up. Finished with manscaping, he tossed the toothbrush in the bin and returned to the bedroom.

I released the breath I was holding, snagged Jace’s toothbrush from the cupboard and buried it in my cosmetic bag.

How on earth do cheating spouses get away with unfaithfulness? I am not even sleeping with Jace, yet I am on the brink of a mental breakdown or a fatal heart attack.

If Liam finds out Jace shares this room…Oh, God. I can’t even consider the noxious outcome.

In the mirror, a pale, frightened woman stares back at me. She knows how this will end. Her pained eyes reveal as much.

I drop my toothbrush in the sink, knuckles whitening as I grasped the counter. It’s time to summon up the spirit, Alexa. Liam loves you.

Once you explain the severity of what happened—but I slept with another man. I let someone who wasn’t Liam put his hands on me.

I am not dealing with a rational person. It’s not colourful or cavernous with Liam. He is a monochromatic thinker who sees everything in black-and-white, all-or-nothing, tunnel-vision in all aspects of opinion and conclusion.

No, dealing with Liam Warren is like skulking on a detonating minefield. He’s a killer by nature with an unapologetic intolerance for underhandedness.

“Not for me,” I whispered, rubbing the ache in my chest.

Liam breaks all the rules for me, but will he want me once learning the truth? If so, will he spare Jace’s involvement with Flamur to keep me happy? Will he stomach and overlook what Victoria shared with Nathan for the sake of our love?

I pondered my next move. Liam bedded other women, Hellen and Kellie. It’s liable there were others, too. There must be a compromise. If he expects me to forgive and forget, then, well, I’d appreciate the same lenience and respect. To hell with his unfailing forbearance.

Opening the bathroom door, I joined him in the bedroom, searched for cotton shorts and a T-shirt. I flicked a glance at Liam and had to do a double-take. Preoccupied with his phone, he stands at the foot of the bed—in black jogging bottoms and a hoodie.

On the floor, he put an unzipped gym bag with overnight essentials. His intentions were always to spend the night with me.

“Are you hungry yet?” he mused, thumbs tapping the phone. “I could order us late breakfast or drive somewhere if you’d rather.”

Haphazardly pulling on clothes, I plucked the phone from his hand and chucked it over my shoulder. “I might need more sex.”

Liam arched a brow, folding his casual-clad arms. “Not that I am complaining, baby, but why so flustered?”

“I love you in tailored suits,” I hummed, my hands hugging his shoulders. “However, this is a seriously sexy look on you.”

Blinking in bewilderment, he cocked his head, unable to fathom my smutty reasoning. “It’s just a tracksuit.”

“An Emporio Armani tracksuit,” I tugged the trouser drawstrings, “that has my lady bits throwing a champagne party.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he cursed, grabbing my jaw in a vice-like grip. “No, we don’t say lady…” He bites his plump, lower lip. “Try again.”

I am not participating in his offensive lewdness. “I want sex…”

“Keep going.” He kissed my cheek, backing me up against the wall.

“Liam,” I breathed, cupping his hard length. “Why must I talk dirty? You are hard by simply looking at me.”

“That’s an exceptionally vainglorious statement, Alexa,” he half-joked, grasping my derrière. “Are you wet?” He pressed the heel of his hand to my sex. “Do you need me to relieve this ache for you?”

“Yes,” I whimpered, rolling my hips, seeking friction from him.

“Tell me,” he probes, teeth nibbling and scraping my jawline. “What do you need, baby?”

“I need…” Come on, Alexa. Channel your inner Victoria and show him your carnal competence. “I want to slide my cunt around you and fuck away the memories of any woman who dared to touch you in my absence.”

His eyes jerked up, cold and penetrating.

“You are mine to kiss, to taste, to pleasure, to love.” I tightened my hold on his length. “It’s my job to bring you to your knees.” My searching eyes provoked him to challenge me. “Was that filthy enough for you, Mr Warren?” My hand dipped under the waistband of his trousers, and his heavy cock fell into my palm. “Well?”

“Stop,” he ground out, thrusting himself in my hand. “You don’t need to remove them. They meant nothing to me.”

“Them,” I probed, needing to know if there were other women alongside Kellie and Hellen. His hand latched around mine, stopping me from stroking him. “Who’s them?”

Why am I behaving so possessively?

Liam is beautiful—the full package—effortlessly handsome, social significance, laudably industrious, well-dressed, and let’s not forget wealthy. His high-status attracts bona fide gold-diggers if nothing else. He could be dog ugly and still pluck out women as a consequence of affluence.

Yet he’s stood here with me. “Don’t answer that.”

Knowing others felt his touches, received his kisses and shared his release makes me sick with irrational jealousy. But I need to see beyond the leeches between us and raise the bar for myself. The past is the past for a reason. You’re not supposed to look back or judge a person based on prior experiences or mistakes. When starting a new relationship, you pardon their previous associations and trust they’ll do right by you—make an exception for you.

I left Liam behind. I sacrificed us for the safe return of a child. He warrants a second-chance to prove himself to me and assure fidelity from this moment forward. “I’m sorry.”

He slapped his hands to the wall on either side of my head, and I inwardly cringed, withdrawing my arm from his trousers. “Fuck,” he spat, biting his knuckles. “What are we doing, huh? We are dancing in circles. I want to know why you fucked off and left me on my goddamn birthday. I want to know what happened to you, where you went and if accompanied.”

I felt the blood evaporate from my face.

He rolled back his shoulders, squaring up to me. “Or if you planned to come home to me.”

“And I want to know why, in your eyes, when I was barely cold, did you seek immediate comfort in the arms of other women. Did it help, Liam? Was I that replaceable?” Alexa, stop talking. You don’t need to know. “Did they make you feel good? Were they attentive and accessible to your every need? Oh, shit. I can’t deal with these contradictory voices inside my head, Liam. What’s wrong with me?”

“Okay.” He reached behind his back and tore off his hoodie, tossing it on the bed. “You want to do this? Let’s go, Alexa. We lost our moment.” He held up his hand, preventing me from interrupting. “But it’s understandable. Love isn’t always enough, right?” His genuineness failed to ease my accelerating anxieties. “I am torn.”

I slipped down the wall, backside to the floor. Knees hiked to my chest, I tucked my arms over my thighs, looking up at him hopelessly.

Liam sat on the bed, elbows to his knees, fingers threaded. “I am selfish,” he said, lifting a shoulder apathetically. “When I want answers, I demand them. Now, if this were a normal circumstance. If you were someone else—anyone else—I’d be informed by now. But I fear that our lies might come between us.”

I am not sure what terrified me most: my involvement with Jace or the trepidation in Liam’s ice-cold gaze.

“So, I am intentionally procrastinating.” He gave me a rare, nervous smile. “Prolonging my limited time with you.”

My heart stuttered.

I crawled to him, pulled myself onto his lap and wrapped myself in his powerful embrace. He held my back, hand fused to my head, arm rigid around my lower spine. “Do you honestly think we could live worlds apart?” And survive it, I thought, tearing up. “I believe love conquers all.”

“I’ll do right by you regardless,” he said quietly, kissing my inner wrist. “Who’s going first? Ladies?” I shook my head, and his lip twitched. “With the assistance of my men, I wiped out the Albanian mafia, excluding the spineless serpents who fled back to Tirana.”

My heart fell silent. Minutes occurred like intermittent camera shots, capturing still frames. “Flamur,” I whispered, fingernails impaling his neck.

“Gone,” he confirmed, and I choked back a sob. “We tortured Bajramovic—a butcher’s job of desquamation and evisceration. Nate dismembered his body and decapitated his head before the men parcelled his limbs and organs, dispersing him in a thousand pieces around London. I felt disillusionment with his death, though.” He fisted and tugged my hair, dragging my eyes to his face. “It was your job to finish him. Your retribution.”

“Why am I not ecstatic that he’s gone, Liam?” Snivelling, I wiped tears from my cheeks. “I thought—”

“Give yourself time to process it,” he interjects, always assuring me. “There is no right or wrong way to deal with something like this.”

Benumbed, I pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, clinging to him. “Thank you,” I breathed into his mouth, tasting my tears on his lips. “You make it so hard for me to hate you.” Holding his cheeks, I forced his back to the mattress, overcome by sentimentalism.

“Alexa.” He broke away from our kiss, concern aflame in his eyes. “We should talk.”

“Later.” I lost my T-shirt to the floor, kissed him with raw passion. He groaned, tongue stroking into my mouth, slow and sensual. Fingers tangling in his hair, I ground down on his growing shaft, the friction sparking arousal.

Intoxicated by lust, I drank him in with admiring eyes, helped remove his fitted tee and stretched above him. Our separation made me hungry, love-starved and covetous. Gyrating my hips, I furtively lowered his pants, freeing his hard cock.

“Alexa,” he scolded, snatching my wandering hands, preventing me from going further. “Fuck, you have no idea how much I want you right now.” His fingers lessened on my wrists. “But we should prioritise talking.” I rubbed my soaked folds over his length, and he respired with a guttural groan. “Alexa.”

He perceived the determination in my eyes and surrendered to me. I wrapped my hand around his glorious cock and eased down to the base, lips stretching for him to fill me. Holding his eyes with mine, I interlaced our fingers and positioned our joint hands beside his head, pinning him beneath me.

Liam eliminated his slacks, pressing his knees into the back of my thighs, widening my position. I swallowed a fulfilled moan, adjusted to his thickness and then fucked him. His fingers tightened around mine. I know he wants to dominate and control the pace, to trap me under his magnificent body, but it’s my turn to exhaust him.

Yes, I am calculatedly distracting him. Our serious conversation isn’t going anywhere, but it can damn wait until I have him once more.

His cock strokes my inner channel, and his face clenched with need. I engulfed his length, hard and fast. He could do nothing but watch me work him, his eyes lust-filled, heavy with adoration.

I let go of his hands, and he immediately captured my waist, matching my tight, steady thrusts. “Fuck, baby.” Of course, I didn’t stand a chance. He trapped me beneath him, seared me with fervent kisses, hips knocking against mine.

My legs shamelessly widened farther, opening and inviting him to take whatever he wants from me. His arms locked under my neck, tilting my head so that he can torment my lips with masterful strokes of his tongue.

Fingernails scraping down his spine, I grasped his waist, urging him to fuck me harder, deeper, drowning in unquenchable desire.

Liam noticed my unspoken desires and abruptly flipped me onto my stomach. “On your knees.”

I obeyed, positioned for his liking. Kneeling behind me, he rubbed my aching clit with adept fingers, coating me in velvety arousal.

He ran the tip of his cock through my folds, lined himself up at my entrance and pressed forward. I grappled the sheets at the invasion, knees almost giving out. “Open for me,” he rasped, and I detached my trembling legs, giving him room to move. “Good girl.”

Hands touring my spine, he paid great attention to my inked skin, thumbs grazing each detailed feather. Palms attaching to my waistline, he pulled back a touch, drove forward, pumped into me at a steady rhythm.

Paced yet merciless, he hammered into me. I was helpless, and at his mercy, which is what I wanted. Curling my hands into fists, I clenched the sheet, feeling him everywhere. I begged him for more, cried out as he delivered.

“If you keep moaning like that?” he said throatily, his chest pushing onto my back, fusing me to the bed. “A hard fucking will be the least of your worries.”

Cheek pressing into the mattress, I turned my head to face him. “Always full of promises, Mr Warren.” His hand fixed to my throat, and my eyes fluttered closed. “Shit, Liam.” I wanted him to empty himself, to fill me with his cum. “Why does the thought of you claiming me like that turn me on?”

He applied pressure, fingers pinching my hollow flesh, the feel of his shaft drilling into me, coursing me with wanton excitement.

An erotic moan fell from his lips. He ensnared me, his breathing quick and shallow. I was close, walls tightening around his length.

And then reality befalls on us.

He chased his release, unmindful to his phone, flashing on the pillow. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, dragging my earlobe between his teeth. “You’re making me cum.”

Hellen relentlessly calls, taking intervals to send text messages. I can’t see them; only a notification brightens his screen.

My climax ebbed, died out, waned and evaporated into nothingness.

His body tensed, lips seeking mine for a long, passionate kiss. “You kill me, Alexa.”

I have never faked an orgasm, but the thought had occurred while his cock jerked, spilling as he came down from his high.

“You didn’t finish,” he said, slightly taken aback. “I need to rectify that.”

No, the moment vanished. “I think your phone went off.” I feigned obliviousness. “You should check it.”

Breathing out a harsh breath, Liam carefully slipped out of me, rested on his haunches and checked his phone.

I laid on my back, watching his expression. Not a cinch or dent ruffled his aloof features. “Who is it?”

“Brad,” he lied, responding to the message.

My jaw unclenched. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” he said, short and sharp.

Whatever I mentally tried to process before just went out the window. “Really?” I hummed, and that small, mocking sound resonated. He lifted his gaze from the phone, eyebrow elevating. “I mean, I thought it was serious. It went off about fifteen times.”

He watched me closely, a question in his eyes. He’s trying to decipher if I know it’s Hellen. “You know how needy Brad can get.”

I was going to murder him—smother his lying, deceitful face with a pillow. Suddenly emotional, I soared from the bed. “Order some food while I use the bathroom.” Before he had a chance to respond, I snatched the phone and sprinted to the bathroom.

Panicked, Liam dropped a train of profanity, darting in my footsteps. I slammed the door in his face, bolted the lock and quickly opened the message thread before he came barrelling inside all high and mighty.

Hellen: I miss you.

Hellen: I stopped by the office. Brad claimed not to know your whereabouts. Should I be concerned, Liam?

Hellen: Why aren’t you answering my calls?

“Alexa?” Liam rattled the handle, fists pounding against the door. “Baby, don’t do this. It’s not what you think.”

Hellen: If you don’t respond in the next hour? I am ending this relationship.

Liam: I am out of town, Hellen. Business. Don’t make curt decisions when I am not there to defend myself.

Liam: Wait for me.

Liam: I miss you, too.

Tears flooded my eyes.

The phone jerked in my hand.

I opened Hellen’s message, eyes protruding at the sight of her explicit selfie. Inside her private cream and white bedroom, she sits on the floor, throned on a shaggy white rug. Wearing only gold shoes, she posed before a mirror, legs wide open, exposing her—

Hands shaking, I exited the message, cupping my mouth, muffling inconsolable sobs.

“Alexa?” Liam stopped banging, but he didn’t leave. “Open the door.”

Blowing out my cheeks, I unlocked the door, swung it open and glared at him.

Liam’s worried eyes went from me to the phone. “It’s not what you think.”

I lobbed the phone at his chest. It bounced on the floor, cracking the screen. “You had the nerve to mollify that bitch, seconds after fucking me.”

“It’s façade,” he argued, attempting to grip me as I stormed past. “Alexa, wait—”

“Don’t touch me,” I spat, shirking away from him to collect my discarded clothes. “You were right, Liam. There are too many lies between us.”

“Will you let me explain?” His arms snaked around me, locking me in his unyielding arms. I thrashed against him, not desiring his touch. “Alexa!”

“Let go of me.” I struggled, elbowing him in the ribs. His arms slackened enough for me to duck and slam my back to the wall. “Don’t,” I hold my hand up, “come any closer.”

Defeated, Liam growled in anger, snagging his clothes to get dressed.

“Why are you here with me?” I asked, and his dark eyes collided with mine. “Hellen’s perfect, Liam. She’s everything you look for in a woman—tall, curvy, full, voluminous breasts. I mean, her vaginas packed like a ham baguette, but those flapping folds can easily be overlooked, right? I’m curious, though. Does she taste as salty as she looks?”

“Have a fucking day off, Alexa.” He tugged on his pants, the cords of muscle in his arms rippling.

Liam’s phone vibrated and impossible rage possessed me. I swiped it off the floor, noting his horrified expression as I accepted the call. “Fuck off—” He tore the phone from my hand and hurled it at the wall. “Liam!”

“You fucking idiot,” he barked, seizing my jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Fear crippled me. “Liam,” I whimpered, withering on the spot. “You’re hurting me!”

“Fuck.” Backing me up against the wall, he stole the air from my lungs, silenced my protest, demanded a kiss. I shook my head violently, but his rigid fingers penetrated my sunken cheeks, holding me still. “She repulses me.” He bites my bottom lip, panting in my mouth. “I faked everything with her. With you, I lose my fucking mind.” His distressed features twisted. “You are everything.”

“I was willing to overlook them.” My lips wobbled. “I don’t care how much I love you, though, I will not tolerate a third person in our relationship.”

“I only need a few weeks.” He kneaded my throat with gentle fingers, his eyes pleading with me to understand. “If I can keep her sweet, Alexa—”

“No.” Whacking his hand away, I shouldered past him, yanked on the T-shirt. “I cannot stand back and witness you two together, Liam. It’ll ruin me. And for what purpose? Why is this woman so important to you?”

Fully dressed, he slumped on the bed, putting on his socks and trainers. “You’re important.”

“That’s not answering the question.” I combed a hand through my unruly hair. “What aren’t you telling me?” He stood to his full height, toying with something in his pocket. “Liam?”

Conflict danced in his anxious eyes. “She’s the door to answers. I appreciate how unreasonable this might sound, but I need her to get what I want.”

I scoffed at his audacity. “At the cost of my heart?” He wants to tell me more. I see it. “What are you hoping to achieve from this?”

His lips meshed into a flat line. “We are not there yet.”

“We’re not there yet,” I repeated, stunned by his evasiveness.

“Alexa,” he sighed, gingerly capturing my hands. “Trust me to do right by you.”

“How am I supposed to trust you, Liam? I don’t hear any reassurances coming my way. You expect me to stand on the sidelines and watch you fondle with another woman…” A sickening thought knotted my stomach. “If I agreed to trust you, will you continue to touch her?” His delayed response ignited another spark of anger. “Are you fucking serious? What, you still plan to fuck that woman?”

“No,” he snapped, his voice low and commanding. “No, baby. I have a plan—a solid plan. It’s going to work. Of course, I must pay her attention, or it’ll fall through.”

I gave him a pointed look. “What if distractions aren’t enough? Will it result in you two in bed together?” He chose not to respond, and my heart stopped beating. “Get out.”

“You are looking at it from an emotionally intimate viewpoint,” he said, but I didn’t care to listen. “There’s a huge difference between sex and love. Meaningless fucking doesn’t belong in our bed.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, and he resigned. “It’s still a connection, though, right? You have to touch her, pleasure her and share each other’s climax. I can’t stomach that, Liam. It hurts.” He brought my body close. “Liam…”

“I haven’t touched her since realising you were alive,” he whispered, kissing the frown between my brows. “I don’t like talking about her with you…Hellen’s high maintenance and not easily pleased.” Tears continued to prick the back of my eyes. “Baby, don’t cry. I hate seeing you like this.” He kissed the tear from my cheek, his chest humming on a stifled groan. “Fuck it. I’ll put an end to this bullshit tonight. We have other options, but it means taking the legal route.”

“I’m confused.” He kissed me, breathing me, touching, grazing and stroking my arms with rough palms. He’s anxiously placating me. “Liam, what does Hellen have to do with me?” That’s the ultimate question. “That’s what this is about, right?” Oh, God. How did I not see it? “She better not be an estranged sister or something because I don’t want her.”

“Are you familiar with the name Larry Fagan?”

“Mr Fagan is the highest-ranking official in our municipal government.” I pulled a face. “Of course, I am familiar with his name. I don’t live under a rock, Liam.”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to intervene. You must allow me to finish this.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Fagan is—” The sound of jangling keys echoed on the other side of the front door. “Is that housekeeping?”

Everything happened in slow motion. I didn’t have time to tell Liam or explain. Jace opened the door and backed into the bedroom with a pizza box, yelling for me to give him a hand with shopping bags. I felt light-headed, tongue-tied and trapped inside someone else’s body.

“I had to leave.” Jace belatedly faced us and his eyes rounded in horror. “Vick…”

For too long, Liam stood there, frowning at Jace as if trying to decipher his arrival. He straightened to an imposing height, and I knew, the second his hands curled into fists, he was preparing a brutal attack.

I lurched into panic. “Liam, don’t—”

Powered by blind rage, Liam thumbed his keyring and charged. Dropping everything to the ground, Jace whipped off his jacket and wrestled Liam to the wall.

“No, stop!” I shout, stumbling over Jace’s bags, struggling to get between them. “Jace, don’t touch him! Please stop!”

Their aggression accelerated, tearing through the small room, fist after fist. They knocked into the dresser, shattering Heather’s ornaments.

Fisting my hair, I dropped back.

Liam threw a brutal punch, the keys between his clenched fingers, slicing Jace’s cheek. “Liam!” I lunged forward, begging him to stop, to listen, to show mercy. He paid no heed to my protesting. He shoved me off him with unnecessary force and nailed Jace to the floor. “Please, you will kill him!”

My head crashed into the wall, paralysing me with momentary deafness. Pain shot down my spine. Rolling onto my side and crawling on my hands and knees, I blinked through visual impairment, snatched Jace’s bag and searched for a gun.

Loud cracks and thumps reiterated, making me flinch.

Liam is going to kill him.

Hand curling around the handle, I swayed onto my feet, cocked the hammer and pointed it at Liam’s head. “Stop,” I croaked, tasting blood on my tongue, “or I’ll shoot you.”

I would never shoot him, not really, but I had to end this before Jace is either seriously hurt or snuffed.

Body visibly tightening, Liam cracked Jace’s battered and bruised face with the back of his hand, a final mockery. Panting and heaving for breath, he stood, wiping blood from his busted lip.

I dropped my gaze to Jace’s sprawled out body and feared his life.

Liam stormed towards me, snatched the gun from my hand and held my stare while uncharged bullets clanked on the floor. He rolled the final casting it between his fingers. “You pulled a gun on me,” he said in a quiet but threatening voice, forcing the bullet into my clenched hand. “For him.”

I shook violently. “You were going to kill—”

“You pulled a fucking gun on me for him,” he barked, seeing me through different eyes. “You chose him over me!” The vein in his neck pulsated, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I spent months—fucking months…” He bites his cracked knuckles, refraining from lambasting me. “Alexa…”

His anguish broke me. “I’m sorry.”

It was an unprecedented moment, witnessing Liam’s heartbreak. “You ruined me,” he said throatily, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “You fucking ruined me.”

I placed a hand to my trembling lips. “This was never supposed to be about you.”

“I let you in—I gave you my goddamn heart!” He yanked the chain from his neck and lunged it at me. “You were dead,” he whispered, lips twisting in disgust. “Fucking stay dead.”

He stormed past me, taking my oxygen with him. My knees crashed to the floor. I shook the gun from my hands, cupped Jace’s ruptured cheeks, examining his breathing. “Don’t you dare leave me.” I kissed his bloodied jaw. “I’ll be right back,” I said, breath hitching. “Wait for me.”

Teetering to my feet, I struck the wall with my hand for support, steadied myself and then sprinted in Liam’s footsteps. “Liam,” I called, ambling down the stairs, hearing the front to door slam. “Liam, wait!”

Gripping the gilded handle, I flung open the door, seeing Liam jog to his parked Bentley. Shielding my face from the afternoon sun, I gravitated to him, pleading for him to wait, to hear me out.

The Bentley bleeps as he unlocks the car. I picked up the pace, threw myself at the opening door, preventing him from leaving.

“Alexa,” he gripped my upper arm and threw me aside, “you need to stay away from me.”

“Liam,” I cried, snatching fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him close. “Please don’t hate me.” He slammed a closed fist on the vehicle roof, his anger rising. “Liam—”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he yelled, fisting the hair at the nape of my neck, welding my back to the window. “But I don’t trust myself not to, so go inside and forget I ever existed.”

“Don’t say that to me.” I tried to cup his jaw, and he snarled. “Liam, I love you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning his face so that I didn’t see the tear rolling down his cheek. “We saved each other,” I whispered, but he still wouldn’t look at me. “That’s all there is to it,.”

“Did he touch you?” he asked, putting his head to my shoulder. “You said what we had was different; It meant something; It was special,” he whispered the last part, his hand on my hip digging painfully. “It was me that you trusted with this body.” He feathered his lips across mine. “With this beautiful mouth.”

I can’t lie to him. “Liam…”

“Not once,” he rasped, imperceptibly shaking his head, “did I put my mouth on another woman. It’s too personal—intimate.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat. “My kisses belonged to you.”

His broken voice was the final nail to my heart. “I love you with every fibre of my being. There isn’t a man who walks this earth that compares to you.” It hurt to swallow. “But I got lost.” He won’t look at me. “I wasn’t going to tell you everything. We both held back, Liam. Don’t put all the blame on my shoulders.”

“I don’t want the image of you two together.”

“What, and you think I can stomach you and—”

“I explained Hellen.”

“What about Kellie?” I reminded him, and his eyes sliced. “What’s your reasoning for sleeping with her? If we’re judging each other, then let’s do it properly. Was she an exception? Were there others? If so, how many?”

His calm demeanour betrayed the anger in his stare. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, smiling disingenuously. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You’re disgusting,” I spat, shaking violently. “So, it’s okay to sleep with copious amounts of women, yet I made one decision, and you’re ready to shut the door on us. You are a sexist fucking pig.”

“I thought you were dead!” he roared, flinging his car keys at the window, shattering the pane. “Do honestly think I’d have touched them if I knew you were alive? I fucking grieved you!” He thrust his forehead on mine. “I put a gun to my head and contemplated suicide so that I could see you again. Do not disrespect my torture by comparing our situations. I fucked other women to feel something—anything but the fucking pain in my goddamn heart. You laid down with him, knowing that, at any given moment, you could have come back to me. But you made a choice.” He held my jaw, compelling me to meet him face-on. “It wasn’t me.”

I stared at him with bated breath. “You are wrong,” I whispered, hating what we’ve become. “You’re the centre of everything, Liam.” Why won’t he look at me? “What happened to me was bigger than us.”

It was our final goodbye.

I felt it.

He was distancing from me, rebuilding the impassable wall between us.

“Liam, how can there be growth without sacrifice?”

“I love you,” he said in a mustered voice. “But my time is valuable. I can’t afford to wait for you to find yourself, or worry if your self-sacrificing determination is going to be the death of you.” He moved me from the parked car, and I let him.

I felt hopeless. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

He lingered by the driver’s door. “Go back inside, Alexa.” His eyes landed on my legs. “Your feet. I don’t want you to step on glass.” Ducking inside the car, he fired the engine, the tyres shrieking as he revved away from the curbside.

I stand on the road, watching his car fade into the distance.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you ex-husband to look like that,” Heather said, stepping alongside me. “Come here, darling.”

Bursting into tears, I collapsed in her outstretched arms, burying my head on her chest. “It hurts, Heather.”

She hugged me, smoothing a hand up and down my back. “Love can hurt, Alexa.” My eyes snapped open. “I prefer your dark hair.”

I meekly curled a tendril behind my ear. “I’m sorry that I lied to you.”

“Hey, enough of that.” She coaxed me back to the bed-and-breakfast, swaddling her arm around my waist. “Nathan—Jace is in the kitchen, drinking sugary tea. Why don’t we all sit together and have a chat?”

I snivelled. “Is he okay?”

“Well,” she arched a grey eyebrow, “he’s certainly seen better days, but he’ll live.”

I glimpsed over my shoulder, foolishly hoping the car driving past was Liam. “I love him.”

She followed my line of vision. “You do know that’s Liam Warren, right?”

It took a lot for me not to be disrespectful and roll my eyes. “I am not in love with his status, Heather.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think he loves you, too, well, judging by his upset, of course.”

I didn’t need sweet tea; I needed that reggae bar and neat vodka.

CH 35

Liam

The angry pulse in my ears overpowered the deafening boisterousness inside Club 11. I slipped between mobs of loudmouthed, hard-drinking socialisers and carousers, veering to the bar.

Cherry, typing clientele orders into the cash register, elevated a curious eyebrow. It’s unlike me to coalesce with employees, specifically low-ranking bar staff and erotic dancers. I only have time for the men—security and hired guns—and spend the majority of my time hauled up in the office.

Sure, back in the day, I appreciated the female dancers for sexual gratification purposes, but nowadays, I pay them no heed. I care not for their filthy promises and deft hands. In fact, I haven’t so much as looked in their direction for months. After Alexa’s “death”, I took the professional approach to circumnavigate female advances.

“Sir,” Cherry chimes, arms folded, rested on the glass countertop, “did you need something?”

Desperate desire inundated Cherry’s longing gaze. Her provocative galvanisation had me wondering if Brad Jones was in the building. Pursuing my attention is uncharacteristic, not when she has eyes for my right-hand man. “No Brad tonight, Cher?”

She pursed her fuchsia painted lips. “Oh, he’s around somewhere.” Giving me a flippant wave, she masked melancholy, pointing to a Jameson bottle. “Did you wish for a drink?”

“Yes.” To my right, an amorous couple grope and openly dry hump against the bar. I pinned them with a short, infuriating glare, but they’re too busy eating each other’s mouths to notice my disapproval. “Take that shit somewhere else,” I barked, shoving the man’s shoulder, “or get the fuck out of my club.”

“Whoa,” the guy chimes, disjointing himself from the chick’s sweat-slicked body. “Not cool, dude.” He slapped a hand to my shoulder, breathing his cigarette stench on my cheek. “I’m trying to get laid,” he whisper-failed in my ear; the girl heard. “You know how it is.”

“I am not having sex with you.” She scoffed, staring at him in repugnance. “Is that what you thought…?”

Pinching the bridge between my eyes, I drowned out their lovers’ quarrel, their argument fade as she absquatulated with his whining, pathetic ass in tow. “That whiskey, Cher.”

Cherry poured me a drink and slid the glass across the bar. “Shall I open a tab?” I shot her a disparaging look, and she held up her hands in surrender. “I was kidding, Mr Warren. You looked upset, so I wanted to cheer you up.”

“Upset?” I asked incredulously, knocking back a shot. “Was that a serious question?”

I feigned indifference, but she’s right. I am upset. Last night and this morning, I was enraptured by her—only her—Alexa Haines. The woman I love more than life itself. Now, though, jealousy and unexplainable nausea tarnish our moment together.

Knowing Alexa laid down with another man is unbearably enigmatic. I want to kill him, Jace Williams, for touching her, for thinking he could even pursue her without consequence. Had she not pulled a gun on me this afternoon, he’d be dead already.

I stifled a sardonic chuckle.

Alexa Haines pointed a gun at my head to defend his honour. Me—Liam Warren. The audacity of that fucking woman. Does she not know me at all?

Of course, she knows me. I let her see the side of me that I conceal from others. She used my love and adoration against me–weaponised it to her advantage.

In spite of my ignoble status and precarious capabilities, Alexa comprehends, deep down, I’d never hurt her. She’s outlived many of our arguments. I bared my soul to her and unconsciously promised lifelong immunity.

Does Alexa’s relationship with Jace necessitate declaration alteration? Will I dishonour prior assurances on the basis of insufferable bitterness and resentment?

No, even with this excruciating pain in my chest and sickening jealousy clouding my judgement, I cannot harm that woman; I’d kill myself first.

“I apologise.” Cherry wore a bogus smile to serve customers. “What can I get you, handsome?”

“Two gin and tonics,” he asked, unzipping his wallet. “How much for a bottle of Disaronno?”

I unscrewed the bottle she left me, poured another shot and nursed its warm, palatable flavours on my tongue. To my left, a statuesque brown-haired woman pays a member of staff for a cocktail. She pops a straw in the glass and stirs, clanking ice cubes together.

Putting my side to the bar, I deliberately lowered my gaze to her mile-long, slender legs, pausing to admire her well-proportioned figure, busty cleavage and shapely backside, the figure-hugging dress accentuating her narrow waistline.

“Has anyone ever told you, it’s rude to stare?” she purred, turning fully to face me. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Then there’s no reason to pardon my discourteousness.” Demonstrating chivalrousness is alien to me. I am ill-mannered, presumptuous and disrespectful—sue me. “Where are your friends?”

“Oh,” she flung a dismissive hand toward gathered throngs on the dancefloor, “I haven’t seen them for a while—too busy trying to score a pound-the-punani-pavement for later.” Uncultivated and suddenly tasteless, she eyed me, a playful glimmer in her almond-shaped grey eyes. “Are you on the market, Mr Warren?” Her hand fell to my hip, curious fingers outlining the waistband of my jogging bottoms. “I hear you are,” she cupped my groin, biting her bottom lip, “graced.”

The DJ segued trance music, sporadic strobe and neon lights bordered our possible amorousness. Thunderous rowdiness and intermittent stark-white beams flashed as I dipped my head, mouth teasing the shell of her ear. I thought about taking her jaw in my hand and kissing those full plump lips, tasting the poison on her tongue.

Would it make me feel better?

I placed our glasses on the bar top, set my hand on her lower back and coaxed her to the private door, leading outback. I bypass security, hearing her giggle as she follows me upstairs. The men may be in my office, so I chose the private, prestige room, shoved her inside and locked the door.

“What’s your name?” Selecting dim lighting, I grabbed her wrist, preventing her from getting comfortable on those chesterfield sofas. “Name?”

“Carol,” she mewls, hands hugging my shoulders.

I thrust her back to the wall, buried my head on her shoulder, hands yanking up her dress. “I’m not in the mood for slow, Carol.” I sank my teeth into the hollow flesh beneath her ear, pulling out my cock. “I can guarantee a good fuck, though.”

Her mouth seeking my lips, she moaned. “Will there be lots of coming?”

Dodging her unwanted kisses, I inwardly cringed, stroking my semi-hard arousal. Tearing through the wrapper with my teeth, I rolled the condom down my length.

She wears no knickers, her cunt dripping, clean-shaven and swollen.

Chest expanding on a strained inhale, I set a hand on the wall above her head and rubbed my shaft.

She’s adequately attractive, but her husky moans and irritating nail-clawing were foreign. It’s no good; I always compare these women to Alexa. And it’s infuriating, how she weakens and controls me. I am angry, morose, stationed by dejection and heartbreak, yet I stubbornly crave and yearn her assurances, her need to have me and only me. I want her to expunge the revolting image of her and Jace from my head.

I see his hands on her, their passionate kiss and naked bodies. She moans his name, pulls him atop her and lets him take whatever he wants—and it’s killing me.

Alexa is mine to own, to touch, to kiss, to pleasure. She belongs to me—only me.

“Fuck,” I snapped, releasing the iron grip on my cock, regenerating blood flow.

“What?” she asked, hiking one leg around my waist, pulling me in. “Are you going to pound me, Mr Warren?” Her sultry voice was ineffectual. “Hard, deep—”

“Shut up.” Tugging off the condom, I tossed it in the bin and righted my trousers. “Pull your dress down and get out.”

“What?” Her jaw skewed. “But you want it, so why deprive us?”

I frowned sharply. “If I fuck you…” It will be pleasurable yet forgettable, a momentary escape for me to let go and release tension. And then, once we finish, harsh reality and repulsive regret. I’ll still want Alexa, but punishing guilt will dilute the devoted reverence I harbour for that woman. Aside from self-reproach and this tempestuously overwrought wish to hate her, a lapse in judgment isn’t the answer.

Carol studied me, confused and pucker-lipped. “Mr Warren?”

I unlock and swing the door open, storming out without a sideways glance.

“Mr Warren?” she called, her frustration peaking, emitting off her raging body. “You can’t leave me unsatisfied.”

I regarded security with a sharp glare. “Get rid of her.”

He pushed himself away from the wall alongside a co-worker, unheeding Carol’s confrontational exasperation, and sweet-talks her into going downstairs.

Resigning to light persuasion, she smiled fondly at them, nodding and walking ahead.

Before reaching my office door, where I detect raised voices, I paused to watch Carol eagerly stumble into another private suite and shake my head. Guard two mutes his earpiece and closes the door, concealing them in the soundproof room for an hour of pleasure-seeking decadence.

Clearing my throat, I jolted open my office door, clapped eyes on Hellen and reconsidered. Escaping her wrath was an unmanageable task, though. Her eyes connected with mine over Brad’s shoulder, face turning beet-red in instantaneous indignation. “Where have you been?” Heels alternatively clicking against the floor, she stormed towards me, mascara-streaked cheeks, inflamed and blotchy. “I want answers right now, Liam!”

Brad gave me an apologetic smile, slumping onto the leather sofa beside Josh. Both men avoid my condemning eyes, busying themselves with pre-lit joints and whiskey refills.

“Liam,” Hellen snatched my elbow, openly spurning my tracksuit, “what on earth are you wearing?”

Slapping off her touch, I head the minibar, uncap a bottle and pour myself a drink. “What does it look like, Hellen?”

“Well, it is hardly beau or dandy, Liam. Informally hideous rather.” Her lips gnarled into a tight grimace. “You have some explaining to do.”

Hellen was a curse of travail that I cannot withstand any longer. I splashed another shot in the glass, carried it to the desk and collapsed on my leather chair. “I answer to no one.”

Brad’s bored stupefaction morphed into mirth. Back to the leather, ankle bracketed to his knee, he respired marijuana pervaded smoke, goading Hellen with mischievous eyes. “What did I tell you, Bennett? Warren doesn’t want to see your desperate backside right now.” He gives her a cheeky wink. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Nate chooses this maddening moment to join us. Suited to the nines in a royal blue suit, he glanced at Hellen, stifling apparent disgust, and hands me two folders.

I accept them but wait until Hellen fuck’s off for me to discuss updates.

“Nobody asked you, Brad,” she spat, ruffling her blonde, messy hair. “Why must you be an annoying parasite? Go and find something productive to do, you childish dimwit.”

“Ouch.” He slapped a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. “A childish dimwit, Bennett. Your traumatising insult wounds me.”

Snickering, Josh opened another file onto the coffee table, outlining possible alcohol suppliers for the casino.

Perching onto the edge of the desk, Nate weaves tattooed fingers together, watching Brad’s and Hellen’s exchange over his shoulder.

Hellen loathes Brad. It’s easily perceptible for all to witness. She huffed out an intolerable breath, disregards his jarring chafing and slaps two palms onto my desk. Gallant and determined, she glared at me beneath knitted brows, awaiting a reasonable response to a question I had no desire to answer.

“Liam,” she said, reining in her belligerence, “where have you been?”

Putting a cigarette between my lips, I matched a flame and inhaled a long drag. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

Nate shot me a questioning look. “Sir?”

Hellen fumed, red-faced and affronted. “I deserve answers. I called and sent many unanswered text messages, Liam. Aside from your conscious ignorance, another woman answered your phone.” Her wet, doe eyes seared into me. “Who is she?”

Brad and Josh exchanged questioning glances. Nate, however, remained composed and unreadable under Hellen’s watchful eye, not giving anything away.

I exhaled smoke.

When I didn’t give her a reasonable explanation, she whacked the file organiser from off my desk, scattering unopened letters, important paperwork and relevant documentation across the floor. “You disgusting Casanova!” she shrieked, fresh tears brimming her rounded eyes. “How dare you insult our relationship? And with whom? A venereal, disease-ridden club whore?”

Nate clasped a hand to my shoulder, silently suggesting I let him address Hellen. He has no idea why I am on the verge of erupting, but he recognises the signs. “Miss Bennett,” he drawled, fingers digging into my upper arm. “Mr Warren was away for a business meeting. Your ludicrous assumptions are unjustifiable and offensive. Perhaps you need a moment alone to calm down and compose yourself before you say something you might regret.”

“A business trip with another woman,” she fired back, glaring at me. “Who is she?”

I felt Brad’s inquisitiveness radiating from his rigid body.

Relaxing in my chair, I kicked my feet onto the desk, jerking my chin to the door. “Get out.”

“Sir,” Nate hissed, standing to his full height. “The boss is a little upset, Hellen. I strongly suggest you give us a second—”

“I am not upset,” I interceded, rubbing a hand down my irritable features. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Hellen. It’s over.”

She flinched, taken aback. “You don’t mean that!”

“Yes,” I said angrily, bolting to my feet, “I do. You are so fucking—”

“Bossman,” Brad chirped, rushing to my side, his wide eyes urging me to de-stress. “As much as I despise,” he grunts, “Bennett, we all know how much she means to you. Let’s not make a rash decision.” With a click of the fingers, he orders Nate to escort Hellen out of the room. “Only ten minutes.”

“No,” she protested, “I want to discuss—”

“Miss Bennett,” Nate offered amicable tolerance and a friendly smile, “I am going to show you around while the boss has a drink and cools off.”

No amount of alcohol was capable of abating me.

Hellen sought my eyes, but I turned my back, watching the club unfold through the panoramic windows. I heard the door close behind them and breathed out a tired sigh.

“Josh,” said Brad, pointing to the minibar, “go downstairs and stockpile some Macallan—come back in ten.” He poured us another drink, delaying our conversation until left alone. “What happened?”

“I will not abide or afield that woman’s relentless hounding any longer,” I said acrimoniously. “I feel queasy by simply looking at her odious mug,” I grated out, popping a jaw muscle. “She makes my skin crawl.”

“Nate enlightened me,” he admits, and I stared at him through dark, malevolent eyes. “You know how much I hate that bitch, but you have to finish the job, Boss.” He eyed me, curious. “You were with Alexa, right?”

My heart palpitated. “Yes.”

“Does she know?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Fuck. Why throw the towel in? You don’t leave a job unfinished. That’s not your style…” He tried to unearth answers, searching and reading my unfaltering aloofness. “Boss?”

“Alexa’s with Jace.” Nursing my whiskey, I strummed my fingers against the glass. “Alexa fucked another man, and I can’t see beyond that.”

“Shit,” he whispered a curse, passing me a half-smoked joint. “Well, that kinda pisses me off. I like Alexa, but I don’t appreciate someone playing you like that.”

I noted the conflict in his eyes, and my blood ran hot. “Nobody harms a hair on that woman’s head,” I warned fiercely, and his fists tightened, knuckles cracking. “I mean it.” I squared up to him, a deadly promise in my eyes. “I don’t care how much she’s deceived me, she’s left unscathed, and that’s a goddamn order. Second-in-command or not, I will fucking end you.”

“I wasn’t considering it,” he clipped, shooting me scathing scowl. “Although, I must ask, why the exception? Are you vouching for her?”

“Damn right, I am.” I sat on the desk lip, watching a skin-oiled dancer provocatively contortion around a pole. “I liked this girl once, Bronagh. I was only young, but I knew she was different from other girls I had my eye on.”

He sat beside me.

“I didn’t know she had a boyfriend when we started fucking, or trying to fuck rather.” I laughed at the ridiculousness. We were just a bunch of kids, doing adult shit. “My younger self stupidly thought we’d go the long haul. I wanted to wait until my eighteenth birthday, and then ask her to join me in central London—buy an apartment or something.” I ingest shot three, letting the burn soothe my chest. “Much like yourself with Tiffany, I couldn’t overlook her lies.”

“Warranted,” he said, understanding.

“I spent years living in shame and resenting everybody that wronged me.” Gave up on me, I thought, respiring smoke. “So, I found self-worth and raised expectations. I am not an afterthought, second-best or a pastime. I am not settling or pathetically falling back into the trap of victimisation and self-pity. Bronagh proved to be another disappointment. Only, it was different because I hadn’t experienced female dissatisfaction before.”

I grabbed the ashtray on the desk and snubbed the joint. “After Bronagh, women were there at my disposal. I used them for sex, to keep me company, if and when needed and, as you are fundamentally aware, this lifestyle worked for me until Alexa. When the metropolitan pronounced her dead, I returned to the arms of women. It helped, but it didn’t ease how much I missed her.”

My calm demeanour betrayed how infuriated I felt inside. “And then, I find out she’s not dead. In fact, she’s very much alive. Her existence thrills me. I want to see her, to hold her, and to…” Assure her that everything is going to be okay. “To protect her in the only way I know how.” Gelid numbness paralysed me. “Fuck, last night, when I finally had that woman in my arms? All was right in the world, Brad. But then that son of a bitch showed up.” I exclude the fight and Alexa pulling a gun on me. “I want to hurt them for wronging me, but I cannot picture a life without her. That’s the bottom line. Without her at my side, I don’t want to lead.”

Brad hadn’t uttered a word. He listened and digested my tiring, monotonous bullshit, patient and thoughtful. “Why did Alexa leave, Boss?”

I opened my mouth to respond, realising we hadn’t reached a verdict. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” He stood, paced, stopped before me. “I am not going to pretend that I like Alexa right now. My loyalties lie with you. Anybody that hurts you?” he stressed, gesturing calmly. “Hurts me. It’s as simple as that.”

His allegiance doesn’t surprise me. It’s the reason he earned second-in-command.

“Is she in your corner or his?”

My throat felt tighter. “Alexa fought for us.”

“She loves you,” he said. “You know it; I know it. I can’t answer your questions because that’s on her. What I can do, however, is assure you that she’s going nowhere. Finish the job with Hellen. Give Alexa answers. And then step back and let her evolve.”

“I don’t want her with him.” My stomach knotted at the thought. “I can’t believe I am saying this, but she can’t keep the two of us, Brad. I am to be her first choice, or I walk away for good.” Heart thudding, I briefly shut my eyes. “Fuck’s sake. Even then, I wouldn’t be able to turn my back on her. Do you know how much this fucks with my head?”

“Boss,” he hummed, his watchful eyes steeped with merriment. “It’s called love.”

“Yeah?” I whispered, dropping my eyes to the floor. “Fuck love.”

He snatched the bottle from the desk. “I mean, Alexa’s young. She suffered an ordeal and all that malarkey. It’s not like you to sit back and wait, but if she’s the end game, give her space, let her flourish, grow and adapt.” He levelled me with his eyes. “Wait for her.”

I hated that he was right. “And if she continues to sleep with him?”

“That’s for you to decide.” His lips flattened. “Come on, Boss. This isn’t you. You spent months looking into empty bottles and fucking your way through women. Alexa’s back. You’re still Liam Warren. Since when did London’s most feared man sit in his office, crying over spilt milk?” He screwed up his face. “We got people to see, blood to spill. Get your head together. You got men downstairs awaiting orders and that magnificently blissful woman chewing Nate’s ear off while you ponder what to do with her.” He snorts. “Don’t you feel a little bit bad for the guy?”

Yeah, actually. Hellen’s unremitting yapping becomes cumbersome after five minutes. “Send them in.”

Brad, pleased his calming technique worked, used his phone to send orders.

By the time I showered and changed into a new suit, everyone had returned to my office. While the men converse around the table, Hellen sits elegantly in my chair, drumming her manicured fingernails on the armrests.

Summoning little persistence, I muffled the men’s conversation, parked my backside on the desk and confronted the distressed blonde. Glaring at me with maddening antipathy, she crossed her legs, giving me a clear view of her white laced thong. “Hellen,” I said, short but poised. “You look ravishing as always.”

She dabbed her red nose with a bunched-up tissue. “Before we go any further, I must know who answered your phone, Liam.”

“I don’t know,” I lied, evoked by images of an infuriated Alexa. “I lost my phone this afternoon.” Partly true. It’s currently at the bed-and-breakfast, broken and damaged. “Nate will deliver another shortly.”

Straightening her slouched posture, she put her clasped hands on one knee. “Why should I believe you?”

“I have no reason to be with another woman,” I assured, pulling her close and trapping her in my arms. “You fulfil my every need, Hellen. Don’t insult yourself. It is unbecoming.”

If she was unsure or suspecting, she didn’t show it. Her sadness quickly dissolved, a fond smile taking its place. “Well, certainly, I wondered why you’d do something so irresponsible.” Snaking her arms around my neck, she peppered kisses to my jaw, melting against me. “That woman had caught me off guard, though. I don’t think I’ve ever been so inarticulate.” She nibbled my earlobe, suffocating and repulsive. “I owe you an apology, then. Why don’t you send away the minions and let me ease the strain in your trousers?”

No, I cannot tolerate another session with this woman. For years, I overindulged with women. Even if Alexa and I are over, truly over, I repudiate sexual fulfilment. I mightn’t express innermost thoughts, but I require restorative celibacy for my own sanity.

Brad’s right. I got enough dilemmas to contend myself.

“Not tonight.” Rubbing the chill from her arms, I lingered a kiss to her collarbone. “I am to attend a meeting soon.” She tilted her head, unappeased by my lack of desire. “One of my men will escort you home, Hellen. Perhaps you can join me on Wednesday. There’s a new wine bar that I’d like to show you.”

She reluctantly surrendered, finishing her neat whiskey. “I spoke to Larry regarding the banquet. He’s expecting your arrival as my date.” She smiled gleefully, and my insides clenched. “However, he insists that your men aren’t necessary for attendance.”

To hell with this fucking bitch. “Security is non-negotiable, Hellen.”

“We have bountiful security at City Hall—”

“To protect him!” I barked, anger burning up from my core. “Hellen, you know who I am so cut the shit. If I leave without the men, I am exposing myself to possible threats.”

“Okay, well, they can chaperon you to the venue, Liam; however, Larry insisted on leaving unrequired guards outdoors.”

“I thought we agreed not to disclose our relationship?” My eyes honed in on her face. “I imagine he’s less than impressed.”

“He’s hardly ecstatic,” she mumbled, pinching her pearl necklace, rolling the beads between her fingers. “Be reasonable, Liam. What father wants his daughter dating a renowned criminal?”

I gave her a guileful smile. “Of course.”

“Not that I care,” she stuttered, alarmed by my sudden coldness. “Who I choose to love is not for him to decide, but I’d prefer if you two got along, to make for an easy life.”

Brad gasped and choked, the earwigging bastard.

My muscles tensed. “Love?”

Her cheeks pinken. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Rendered speechless, I coughed to taper down shock. I knew Hellen felt somewhat affectionate towards me, but her declaration of love was moronic. “I am not there yet,” I said, selecting my words wisely. “But I care about you, Hellen.”

My response struck a nerve. Lifting her chin, she hollowed her cheeks, breathing to reduce threatening tears. “Yes, well, absolutely.”

I want her out of my club.

“Josh,” I called, and he scampered to his feet. “Ensure Hellen’s dropped home safely.” I squeezed her hip, dropping a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I’ll call you on Wednesday, once my phone arrives.”

“Sure.” Shrugging, she pinched my chin, tugged me in and welded a warm kiss to my lips.

I didn’t reciprocate her keenness, hand fisting the back of her dress, subtly disconnecting her from my mouth.

She patted my behind. “Goodnight, Liam.”

I held her gaze as she swayed out of the office. The second Josh closed the door, I inhaled, releasing intervals of breath. “I need a release.”

Nate slipped a hand inside his inner suit jacket. “For you.” He tossed me a small bag of cocaine and began collecting strewn paperwork from off the floor. “I received two emails this morning.”

I opened the bag and keyed sniff to my nostril. “Go on.”

“Are you familiar with the name Vincent Wentworth?”

I looked at Brad. “Past encounters?”

“No,” he said, itching his chin. “His name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“It’s not the first time Vincent’s called or emailed,” Nate continues, handing me printed copies. “When I checked the server, his name flashed, and a myriad of past emails appeared. I might have shown you before, or It’s possible I overlooked them.”

Nate only relays continuous requests or demands. Judging by the print outs, Vincent only appeals for a private meeting every five months. “What does he want?”

“No idea.” Nate turned the page, showing me highlighted passages. “This last email caught my attention, though. Mr Wentworth made two claims. One, Alexa Haines’ whereabouts, which we now know. Two, he argued back and forth that he knows who aimed fire at Mario’s the other night.”

Both statements intrigued me. I noted Vincent mentioned females in the email. “How does he know Alexa’s location?” Who the fuck is this prick? “And this man, Vincent, how can he be cognizant of the attack if not an active participant?”

Nate considered his answer. “Do you want me to track him down?”

Another fucking headache. “Yes, I want details on my desk by the morning.” Nate closed the file and headed for the door. Before Brad left, I clutched his elbow. “Vincent highlighted women in the email. Cora filed a complaint regarding a female client inappropriately groping her inside the diamond suite. Is she on shift?”

Brad glimpsed at his watch. “Cora’s due in around twelve.”

I opened the desk drawer, found the complaint form and passed it to him. “I want you to sit with Cora and do a thorough investigation. She mentioned the woman’s lewd behaviour seemed staged. Find out if there’s a possible link between that woman,” I pointed to the description, “and the one Vincent mentioned in the email.”

He dipped his head. “Boss.”

I pull the chair back behind my desk, pick up the company phone and dial the number to Heather’s bed-and-breakfast. After four rings, the innkeeper answered, “Good evening. I am not open for business—”

“I need to speak with Alexa,” I cut her off. “Don’t hang up. It’s urgent.”

Heather paused. “One moment.”

The famous opus number one hold music began to serenade in my ear. I tapped a pen on the desk, heart rate speeding up. When the music stops, I hold my breath, anticipating Heather’s threatening speech. “Liam?” Alexa’s voice replaced the tune, and an automatic smile danced on my lips. “Is everything okay?”

No, baby. I hate how much we hurt each other, but I won’t rest tonight if I don’t speak to you. “Do you know anyone named Vincent Wentworth?”

“No,” she confirmed my suspicions. “Why?”

“I’m sending a line of security to Heather’s.”

“I am not living with the Suits, Liam. Besides, it’ll frighten Heather.”

“Outdoors, on-guard and Bentleys. It’s not up for debate, Alexa.”

She sighed into the receiver. “Am I in danger?”

“No,” I half-lied. I wasn’t sure, but risking her wasn’t an option. “Just trust me.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you in danger?”

Fuck, I love her. “Have you met me?”

Her soft laughter warmed me. “That’s not reassuring, Liam.”

“I’ll be fine.” I sank back in my seat, the heel of my hand kneading my chest. “It’s you, I worry about.”

Long-drawn-out silence strained between us. “For what it’s worth,” she whispered, “I really do love you, Liam.”

“Same, baby.” I dislodged the knot in my throat. “Same.”

She ended the call. I almost redialled, remembered Brad’s advice and set the phone aside.

I am weak for that woman.

CH 36

Alexa

Jace’s injuries are susceptible to infections. Swollen, black-eyed yet comfortable, he sleeps on the double-bed inside our guest room, topless and barefoot, his black, denim jeans, unbuttoned at his waist.

I sit beside him, examining his raw, punctured cheek and jawline. His breathing, soft and peaceful, but the sore, jagged ruptures, oozing a mixture of red blood and whitish-yellow fluid. His wounds necessitate stitches, not paper-thin bandages and numbing alcohol.

Yesterday, after enduring merciless beatings from Liam, Jace staggered downstairs into the kitchen, searching for remedial supplies.

Heather, while drinking green tea and reading a book, overheard the rambunctiousness from the main function room but hadn’t followed when I chased Liam outside. Instead, she assisted Jace, applying cold compresses to his inflamed face, urging him to seek medical attention.

Too proud and obstinate, Jace refused hospitalisation, swallowed impotent pain relief and downed a dangerous amount of vodka to numb inflicted pain. He imbibed to the point of unconscious inebriation, fell onto the bed half-naked, and hasn’t reared his head since.

Last night, once Jace settled, I returned to the kitchen and ate ice cream with Heather. I needed a friend, a pair of ears and wise words. Teary-eyed and lachrymose, I told her everything—right from the very beginning. My real name and background: Flamur Bajramovic. Kathy’s disappearance. Meeting Liam Warren. Befriending Jace Williams. Summer’s death. A rise of devastating crescendo and reaching crisis. And she listened, quiet and attentive, nodding on occasion but untalkative until I finished behaving like a blubbering mess.

She’s a reasonable, open-minded person, Heather, even though I deserved castigation for the preventable fight between Liam and Jace. Rather than lecture and scold me for carelessness, she offered friendly advice.

Initially, I had gotten defensive. Unconscionable, Heather’s pro-Jace and anti-Liam, resulting in an extemporaneous speech from me, a woman, who, against the judgment of others, absolutely idolises and worships Liam Warren. Yes, I give credence to the innkeeper’s argument. Jace is the full package—a handsome, charming and delightfully safe choice—but Liam’s the love of my life. I will not be forced or encouraged to love another based on the besmirching and unsolicited opinions of others.

The stubborn mule shone emphasis on Jace and our compatibility. Out of respect, I paid attention, voiceless and polite, drinking my weight in neat vodka.

And then he called. Liam.

Heather muted his demands and advised me to end whatever nonsense Liam and I shared. Surely, she said, there’s more to life than gangsterism and notorious, dishonourable men of crime.

Liam’s more than a dangerous man in an expensive suit. Beneath the austere armour, unfriendly and unlovable approach, he’s true to his word, fiercely protective and generous to a fault. When he defends by association, it’s all-embracing, especially if he loves and cares about you. His closest Suits want for nothing. His lower-ranked employees live the best life. And me, the woman he chose to love, flourishes when he’s near, glows under his watchful eye and affectionate touches. I breathe and live freely when immersed by him—only him.

As if I could deny that man anything.

I love the Neanderthal.

Forlorn, I held the phone, crushed it, paid no attention to Liam’s orders, his rough voice like mellifluous chords in my ear. I’d hurt him, broke his heart more than once, and still, unassertive, and without comprehension, he persisted, ordered an army of staunch men to supervise the bed-and-breakfast, ensuring my safety.

I don’t care what anybody has to say. I am unworthy of his pledge allegiance, long-standing friendship and enduring love.

Ending the call was strenuous. I wanted to fight for us, give him a compelling argument and beg for understanding forgiveness, or, at least, explain the reason behind my vanishment. But I knew, better than most, time was a healer.

Liam had to bite the bullet and come to terms with my actions during our separation. And, for an unforgiving, uncompromising, unchallengeable man like Liam Warren, turning a blind eye and capitulating to oblivescence—virtually impossible.

Heather perceived my upset and eased off the hate-Liam-bandwagon. She didn’t pretend to understand, though. In an ideal world, she’d see me with Jace, which is absurd, considering the two of us don’t share any romantic feelings. In actuality, we agreed on a platonic relationship.

Jace, still in love with his childhood sweetheart, Lucy, discussed their distinctive, unparalleled rarity on more than one occasion, especially when intoxicated and our late-night pillow talks evoked nostalgic sentiments.

Lucy, in the eyes of the gypsy community, was an outsider. They wanted Jace to settle with a traveller girl, or, at the minimum, someone with the blood of an Irish. He had demanded their acceptance or threatened to walk and never look back.

Tommy, against his father’s ruling, stood by Jace. Quintin O’Shea, at the time, governed the community. According to Jace, Quintin’s an evil bastard, an alcoholic who beat his wife and strayed copiously for summer flings and clandestine affairs.

Quintin loved his sons, though. Tommy, the firstborn, was next in line to rule. Threats of his heir leaving the camp with Jace for the sake of a girl alarmed Quintin. He buckled and reluctantly accepted Lucy for his son.

I hadn’t asked questions when Jace spoke. I am a firm believer that people talk when they’re good and ready. Patiently, I waited for Jace to breach the topic once more, listened to his youthful stories and juvenile delinquencies. He and Tommy skulked out of the camp to raid homes, stole beaten up trucks and spent hours joy riding. His girlfriend, Lucy, forever on his arm…

Jace never told me why he left the gypsies after Summer’s birth or why Lucy was a pariah that moved in with him at such a young age. He hasn’t mentioned his true relations to Tommy, either. Nothing. He’s a closed book, a mystery, leaving me to make conclusions, reading between vague, obstructive lines.

I laid beside his sleeping form, head resting on his outstretched arm.

Moral of the story? Even if there were no Liam, even if I were in love with Jace, he’d never love me in return, because his heart beats for the girl in his past. “Nath,” I whispered, feeling his paced heartbeat under my palm. “Please wake up.”

My affections for Jace stem from anguish. We understand each other, share pain like no other. Our relationship might be controversially unconventional, but it’s set in stone. I am not leaving him and contrariwise. People can either learn to accept us as a package or remove their discriminatory pessimism from my life.

Yawning, I rolled onto my back, eyes blinking, adjusting to the evening sun drifting through the windows. I leave his side, find a first aid kit in the bathroom cabinet and prepare essentials. “Nath?” I nudged his shoulder, and he groaned, shifting. “Let’s clean you up.”

Squinting, he cracked one eye open, glared at me beneath hooded brows. “I need a drink.” Before I could offer cold water, he reached for the bedside table, snagging the vodka bottle.

I sank my cheeks. “I don’t think alcohol is the answer, Nath. You need medical—”

“No,” he barked, guzzling vodka thirstily. “No, Vick. I am not going to the hospital.”

I fumbled with futile bandages. “You need stitches, Nath. Your cuts haven’t healed, and they’re already infected.”

He soared from the bed, limped to the dresser and studied his reflection. “Fuck,” he hissed, touching his ruptured skin. “Warren’s a fucking prick.”

My nostrils flared, but I refrained from berating him. “He was angry, Nath—”

“That doesn’t give him the right to key my fucking face,” he spat, pouring vodka on the cuts. “Go inside my bag, grab the black box.”

Nodding, I dropped to my knees, hauled the bag from under the bed, rummaged through his clothes. “Please tell me you are not going to tattoo your face, Nath. I mean, I love the body art, but facial tattoos, although socially acceptable nowadays—”

“Vick?” he interjects, pointing to the box in my hands. “Stop talking.”

“Fine.” God, he’s grouchy this evening. “Ruin your profile and give yourself ink poisoning for all I care.” I thrust the box on his chest. “This is a big mistake, Nathan. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He opened the box, snapped on a pair of black latex gloves and used sterile wipes to clean his sore skin. “What antibiotics do I have?”

I rolled my eyes, unzipped compartments and flicked through boxes. “Who’s Mary?” I mused, reading multiple labels. “John?”

“I don’t know.” Tossing wipes in the bin, he pinched the skin beneath his eye. “Bajramovic gave them to me. I kept them for rainy days.”

My lips quivered in disdain. “Amoxicillin?”

“That’ll do,” he said, and I chucked them on the bed. “Get me something I can bite into.”

What in the world is this man doing?

Opening the bedside drawer, I fossick through cosmetics, find a comb. “Any good?” He shook his head. My eyes land on his slackened trousers. “What about your belt?” He nods. “Okay.”

Dusting off my hands, I gripped the silver buckle, tugged the belt through the loops.

“Bend it, Vick.”

As instructed, I bent the belt, balanced the leather fold in his mouth, his jaw clenching. “Am I privy to this odd occurrence or will you keep me guessing…?” I saw the needle in his hand, and my eyes rounded. “Are you stitching your face?”

Ignoring me, Jace held his tender flesh, inhaled a deep breath, and then pierced his infected gash with a needle.

“Oh, God.” I covered my eyes, face planted the bed and shivered from head to toe. “That’s horrific!”

He shushed me, groaned, repeated, growled, stabbed, cursed.

“Please tell me it’s almost over.”

“Stop talking, Vick.” He winced, stomping a foot on the floor. “Sorry, but it’s distracting, and this hurts like a bitch.”

“Normal people go to the hospital.”

“Do you want me to die?”

I frowned, repositioning onto my back, propping onto two elbows. “That’s a dramatic statement.”

He scowled at me in the mirror. “You don’t need a medical licence to determine a barbaric assault. I hate that fucking asshole, but I don’t stand a chance, and we both know it. Warren’s probably waiting for me to file charges, so It’s safer for me to stay indoors.”

“If Liam wanted to finish the job,” I said, halting my swinging legs, “he’d have done it already.”

Jace, unconvinced, proceeded to stanch bleeding. “No, Warren plays a mean game. His silence doesn’t mean leniency. I bet he’s waiting for me to get comfortable, to lower my guard before he comes for me.” Finalising the last stitch, he sank his teeth into the belt, gnawing in pain. “That’s how the sadistic fucker works.”

“Liam’s not going to kill you, Nath.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Yes,” I snapped, spearing a hand through my hair. “Yes, I do. Liam, for a reason unfathomable, loves me. He really, really loves me, Nath.” I breathed out a calming breath. “If I demand clemency, for me, he’ll grant it. He won’t like it. He’ll still hate you and envision all the fucked-up ways he’d love to torture you—”

“No, Vick. You didn’t see the way he looked at me.” Jace closed the box, snapped off his gloves. “Pure hatred—a deadly promise.” His smile was sad. “I’m a dead man walking.”

For you, I’d do just about anything.

Liam’s words repeat inside my head.

I put my back to the wall, nervously chewing my thumbnail. “Liam was furious. Your arrival caught him off-guard. He prefers to be one step ahead and aware of his surroundings. That’s not to say he wouldn’t have attacked you, though. He’s renowned for being hot-headed and bad-tempered, and that’s not changing any time soon; however, I do think, had I told him about us sooner—”

“Why do you always defend him, Vick?” He towered before me, upholding his disapproving glare. “We had sex. It happened once. Our night together didn’t warrant a facial slashing—and don’t pretend he hasn’t done it. We both know that man’s fucked his way through women for months. It’s okay, though, right? Double-fucking-standards for Liam Warren. It’s alright for the philanderer to get his, but not you. No, you keep inside that box, Vick. Let him dictate and control every aspect of your life.”

“That’s not fair, Nath.” I appreciate his scorn, but I won’t stand here and let him paint Liam in a bad light. “Liam thought I was dead.”

“Again, she defends him,” he mocked, turning away from me. “I never took you as a walkover, Vick. One of those girls.”

I pulled a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you are a delusional fool,” he stressed, tugging on a fitted black T-shirt. “Yeah, Warren wants you—there’s no denying that—but you’ll be nothing but a trophy wife, an attractive woman on his arm, a good image for his opulent lifestyle.” He stopped pacing, capturing my eyes. “Behind closed doors, though, controlling, demanding, emotionally, mentally and physically abusive. You’ll wear the best clothes, drink the finest champagnes, bear ice and diamonds and have money in abundance, all while waiting for him to come home, all while sat at a dinner table, alone, because he’s out getting his dick sucked or fucking another broad.

“It’s cool, though,” he said sardonically, slumping onto the foot of the bed. “You can overlook his bad qualities because he loves and takes care of you.”

“I am not a materialistic person,” I retort, both ashamed and affronted. “And I would never tolerate other women, and he knows as much. Yes, he has moments where people might consider him dogmatic and controlling, but he’s not abusive—not to me.”

He laughed, short and curt. “As I said, delusional and foolish.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“The fact you condone Warren’s violence sickens me.”

Rage bubbled inside. “I never said, I condone his violence.”

“No, it’s cool, Vick. As long as Warren doesn’t harm you, to hell with everybody else, right?”

I had no words—none.

Jace shook his head, hollowing his cheeks. “You can do so much better.”

“There is no one else,” I whispered, and our eyes aligned. “Don’t you get it, Nath? I love him—all of him: the good, the bad and the ugly. I knew what type of man he was before I willingly climbed into his bed. Now, I am sorry that you find my love for him incomprehensible, but, with all due respect, I don’t have to justify myself to you. I will, though, because I care about you and, no matter what, I value your opinion.”

I sat beside him, interlacing our fingers together. “I am not a doormat. If Liam ever, ever cheated on me, then it’s over. I won’t accept less than a faithful relationship. And you are right. Liam is violent and tends to fly off the handle. He doesn’t hurt me—not the way you think.” Yes, he’s rough in bed and seems to love my throat in his hand, but, at any point, if I told him I didn’t like the way he handled me, I know he’d stop. Truthfully, I love his possessive dominance in and outside of the bedroom. “In regards to mercy for others, then, I am sorry, Nath, but his business isn’t my problem. For you, I’d stand in the firing line. For you, I will demand a second chance.”

He looked at me, brushing a thumb across my knuckles.

I sighed. “The heart decides, right?”

“I suppose.” Jace smiled, unhappy and reserved. “I just worry about you with him, Vick. You’ve been through enough.”

“Hey.” I gripped his T-shirt, brandishing the vodka between us. “Ride-or-die.”

His eyes rolled heavenward. “Cloak and dagger.”

I nestled into his side. “Once and for all.”

He curled his fingers around the bottleneck. “Odds and ends.” Craning my neck, I pucker my lips, and he laid a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “One and the same.”

“I got your back, Nath.” I held out my little finger. He closed his entire hand around mine. “Let’s agree to disagree, but always respect and love each other. What do you say?”

Snaking an arm around my waist, he pulled our backs to the mattress, and we faced the ceiling. “I can dig that.”

I rubbed his stomach, cocking my leg over his thigh. “I can’t promise I won’t harm any woman that hurts you, though—just getting that out there.”

He burst out laughing. “I’ll hold you to it.”

I stifled a mischievous smirk, inhaling his citrus scented cologne. “You never finish your stories,” I said, listening to his heartbeat under my ear. “Why?”

His fingers inadvertently stroked my spine. “What do you want to know?”

My brain scattered with questions. “How are you related to Tommy if you don’t share blood?”

“Tommy’s family. Blood ties mean nothing. I love him like a brother.”

“If the gypsy community frowns upon outsiders, how did you stumble into their favourable reception?”

“You know how it goes with youngsters. Girls argue, bitch and scrap for months, but boys have a fistfight and then play football together the following week. Well, I met Tommy at a pier one night, argued about something stupid, like, amusements or maybe it was a girl. I can’t remember.”

I bet it was a girl.

“Anyway, my mother told me to be home straight after school, but I was never one to listen to rules. I grabbed food with friends, goofed around.”

A simile danced on my lips. “As you do.”

“Exactly,” he huffed, rubbing his tired eyes. “Tommy waltzed around like he owned the place. All the kids were scared of him and the people he rolled with. You didn’t look for confrontation or backchat when he spoke. You turned around, walked in the opposite direction, avoided him like the plague. For some reason, I got on his shit list, and he challenged me to a bare-knuckle fight. Vick, I’m not going to lie. I was bricking myself. Yeah, I was big for my age, but Tommy’s a machine.

“My dad taught me to face bullies and never back down. I was more scared of his consequences had I not returned home that night and told him I defended myself.

“So, I fought Tommy. Punch for punch. We laid into each other until knuckles cracked and blood splattered. I shocked myself, gave him a mean fight.” He grinned at the memory. “The motherfucker tapped my back and invited me to the beach for a fucking beer. Can you believe that? I’d never tasted alcohol, too young, but my ass followed him to that campfire and, well, we’ve been inseparable ever since.

“His Ma loved me. Always had me around, making food and buying me new kicks and whatnot. I think she felt sorry for me. I had somewhat loving parents, but they weren’t rich folk, Vick. They struggled to make ends meet.

“When my parents died,” he whispered, frowning marginally, “Tommy offered me a bedroom—said his Ma wouldn’t have it any other way. Of course, I was grateful. I didn’t want to live in the system or amble my way through foster families.

“Quintin was different. He tolerated me for Tommy, but he never quite warmed up to me. I loved him, nonetheless. Actually, I loved them all. Missed my parents but learnt to live without them.”

I struck while on the topic. “And Lucy?”

He rolled his lower lips between his teeth. “Lucy was a girl from the other side of town. I’m talking, the big house and wrought iron gates. Rich parents and stabled horses on-site.” Melancholy creased his features. “Her father didn’t want his princess roughening about with some lowlife from a trailer park, which was understandable, I guess. He expected more for his daughter, someone born into affluence and wealth with a bright, promising future.

“Lucy was fascinated by me, though. Rebellious maybe. She’d see me out and about and do everything possible to gain my attention.

“One night, her advances worked. I spent months admiring her from afar…” He zoned out, grounding down on his teeth. “I fell for her, Vick. I fell hard.” He disentangled himself from me, sitting up. “You know, I could do with some extra sleep.”

And that’s it—no further discussion on Lucy.

“Okay.” I stood, stretching my arms above my head. “I might get dressed and go out for a few hours. I am starting to feel claustrophobic inside these four walls.”

“Yeah.” He glanced out the window, belatedly noticing the Bentleys across the street. “What’s with Warren’s men?”

I peered over my shoulder, watching two Suits smoke beside a parked vehicle. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Jace took out the gun he hides under the mattress, added extra bullets. “Just in case those clowns get any ideas.”

Opening a drawer, I selected an outfit, draped it over the armchair. “They’ll leave the second I do.”

CH 37

Alexa

Liam’s Suits followed me to the reggae bar. Beyond the euphoniously toned walls and aesthetically beautiful wall-mounted memorabilia, the loyal mob of men guard the perimeters. What’s laughable? They think I am none the wiser to their surreptitious arrival. I assume Liam hadn’t relayed our phone conversation to his men, so they pose obliviousness when I glance from my glass and see them amble through crowds for a bathroom break.

I am not the only person cognisant of their proximity. Local tipplers and alcoholics, although wearing bored expressions, watch the nameless, unspecifiable suited men, utilising the restroom and ordering cheap ales at the bar.

Sitting at a friendless table, drinking incognito, I sway to the rough sounding vocalist strumming his guitar, encircled by a drunken line of impressively dressed good-time girls and one-track minded males, not in control of their increasing testosterone levels.

I sensed eyes on me the entire time. Without a shadow of a doubt, the Suits, tracking my every move, relayed updates to their boss.

A small fraction of me felt downright defiant and rebellious. I missed Liam. I didn’t want his suffocating men acting on his behalf. Frankly, it took a lot of effort for me to not climb onto the table and flash my nipples sans breasts to punters. I am confident that’d be a remarkable update to Mr Warren.

I wonder how long it’d be before his furious-self bulldozed through the door and lambasted me for all to bear witness?

Laughter rippled out of me. God, if I were brave enough, I’d lose the clothes and dance nonsensically to prove myself right.

Liam, furious and sick with jealousy, makes me hot.

Oh, I needed sex, or another vodka to quench insatiable thirst. My wayward, petulant thought process was ridiculous, even for an idiosyncratically vocalising solivagant like myself.

I stumbled off the chair, giggling under my breath. Okay, the vodka is strong tonight.

How much did I have to drink?

Through blurred vision, I tried tallying the uncountable empty glasses ruining my table. “Two,” I lied aloud, overlooking the ones with shrivelling citrus fruits and melting ice blocks. “Those aren’t mine,” I told a passing male, who merely puckered an eyebrow in response. “I am not a lying drunk!”

In the distance, a glass fell from someone’s table, shattering on the floor. The room ruptured, applauding and serenading.

Well, that’s certainly new.

I was half-tempted to flick mine to see the outcome.

Zigzagging towards the bar, I slapped my clutch purse on the countertop, leaning forward and waving to the curmudgeon old bastard who seemingly hates my guts.

Sheathed in faded denim and restricting leather, the barman wiped his hands with a chequered tea towel, whipped it over one shoulder and, from memory, reached for a vodka bottle.

“No,” I ended his assumptions, signalling to the whiskey cabinet. “I’d like to try one of those.”

Wrinkles pulled taut around his narrowed eyes. The misanthropic brute selected the cheapest, almost empty bottle, unscrewed the cap and tossed it on the floor. He snatched the empty glass from my hand, sloshed amber liquid inside and slammed it down.

I glared, hard and impatient. “You can put that where the sun doesn’t shine, asshole.” I tipped my chin. “I want the Blue Label.”

He bestowed me a toothy grin. “That’s fifty pounds a pop, lady. You got the funds?”

Do not reach over and gauge him, Alexa. “How much for the bottle?”

His judgemental eyes wavered past my head. I felt a presence, tracked his vision streak, but everything looked the same, typical drunks and partygoers.

“You know what? Forget it.” Opening my purse, I counted change, dropped fifty pence pieces and copper onto the counter. “Just get me another vodka.”

The fool chortled, pouring my drink.

He’s lucky I don’t slush him the face.

What’s his problem?

This animosity between us felt personal, but I didn’t even know his name.

He totalled each penny, muttering profanity. Good. That’ll educate him; do not be unfriendly and rude to paying customers. I had money—enough to buy every bottle on that stand, but deliberate coin-counting proved to be effective, tedious and taxing for Mr Grump.

“Ha,” I laughed, and the guy flung me a double-take. “What?”

“You are so bloody strange,” he said, lips slanting into a grimace. “Do you need another one, or can I return to customers?”

I stared into my empty glass, lifted it, peered inside, dabbed droplets on my tongue. “I suppose another will suffice.”

Shaking his head, he uncapped a new, unopened bottle, slid it across. “Knock yourself out.”

His generosity wasn’t an act of kindness. No, Mr Grump wants me to fall on my ass, make a fool of myself and land like a cheap harlot in a dumpster.

I’ll show him tawdry. Omitting the glass, I bring the bottle to my lips and ingest until my throat burns.

A shadow fell over me. My gaze elevated, crashing into Adonis himself. Mr Smith. Well, I am hardly surprised to see him. He seems to pop up everywhere, lately. Only, Mr Smith believes I am uninformed. Not only at this particular bar, but when I numbly meandered thoroughfares of Central London, he’s exiting retail stores, soaring from expensive cars and dining inside those lavishly presented restaurants. “No female companion tonight?” I thought, recalling a vivacious, leggy red-head on his arm.

Under dark, knitted eyebrows, Mr Smith glared at the barman, who ducks and fumbles with restocking chillers, then he returns his impatient, cold blues to me.

I turned at the waist to face him, tapping a heeled foot against the floor.

He remained tight-lipped, dark and enigmatic.

“I love vodka,” I slurred, wielding my empty glass. “It helps numb everything. Its lethal substance solidifies me, makes me a better woman—gives me courage, strength and empowerment.” Sustaining his scowl, he watched me knock back one final shot. “What’s your poison?”

“Jameson,” he confirmed in a honeyed voice. “Amongst other varieties.”

“Ah,” I lengthened dramatically, tilting my head to win his imposing height. “Another whiskey aficionado. Tell me,” I sat for a moment, crossing my legs, “how does oneself decide whiskey is to be a man’s necessary prerequisite for world domination?”

His stern expression broke, laughter falling from his full lips. “Was your question a piss-poor attempt of disguising misandry?”

My eyes brightened in satisfaction. “I don’t understand the question.”

“If roles reversed, and I asked why vodka was a woman’s drink,” he cinched a snarky eyebrow, “or that whiskey was exclusively a man’s spirit, wouldn’t you be inclined to call me sexist?”

I considered his question, face morphing into the representation of a miffed duck. “Yes.”

Receiving a glass from Mr Grump, Mr Smith brought the rim to his lips, sipping gracefully. “It’s my preference.” His eyes lasered in on mine. “Who else were you referring to?”

Liam’s handsome face forced its way to the forefront of my mind. “Someone I used to know.”

Mr Smith seemed to read me as if I were an open book, spilling secrets. “Going by your grief-stricken features am I right to assume this man died.”

Oh, I pegged him wrong. He has no idea what’s transpiring and mulling over inside my head.

Stabilising a cigarette between his lips, he struck a zippo lighter, igniting a flame and inhaled a deep drag.

Entranced, I surveyed clouds of smoke drift above his head. “Can I try some?”

Respiring another drag, he extended his arm, offering me the cigarette. “Have at it.” I gripped the stub with pinched fingers, clumsily put it to my lips and puffed. “Not too much.”

I choked, smoke congesting at the back of my throat, making my eyes water. “Oh, God,” I wheezed, snatching the vodka bottle. “That burnt my chest.”

Why do people torture themselves?

What’s fun about clogging up your lungs?

I gulped remedying liquid, smeared my lips with a napkin. “Why would someone willingly do that?”

Mr Smith suppressed a humoured smile. “You just did.”

“Yeah, but…” Fuck, he’s right. I voluntarily asked a somewhat unfamiliar person if I could bum his nicotine addiction. “God, it’s awful.” My tongue licked the inner walls of my mouth, dry and parched. “I should go.”

Features hardening, he tucked his hands inside his trouser pockets, rocking back on the heels of his leather shoes. “Probably.”

I slipped off the stool, opened my purse and double-checked my reflection in the compact mirror. “It was lovely meeting you…?”

He held my devious stare. “Greg.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.

To be a good liar, you must possess a good memory. Mr Jackass over here once told me his name was John—the cliché, common British name—John Smith.

“Greg,” I repeated, hiding my concern. “I look like shit, Greg.” Really, Alexa? Is that the best you could marshal? Gawking in the mirror and pretending to self-critique. “Proper shit.”

“You look fine, Angel,” he whispers so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it. “How are you getting home?”

“I’ll moony a taxi,” I said nonchalantly, providing a flippant wave of the hand. “I am hard like that.”

He gulped another laugh, mildly nodding his head. “You shouldn’t flash your ass to strangers.”

“What ass?” I chimed, gesticulating to my rear end. “I don’t have one. Apparently,” I leaned closer, close enough for him to straighten, an unusual defence mechanism, “I am the unfortunate owner of a bony backside. Tell me, Gregory the third. Would you still bed a woman who sports bones for asses?”

I sensed that my drunken blathering rattled him. I was proud, but my pride shortly diminished when Mr Liar dipped his head and murmured, “If she has a face like yours, I’d tie her to my bed and fuck that bony ass unmercifully.”

My lips parted in utter shock.

Please, pray tell, what does unmerciful ass fucking entail?

Mechanically, my virginal cheeks clenched.

“Get that taxi, Angel,” he ordered, sweeping a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “Monsters come out at night.”

“I give zero fucks about monsters.” I touched his chest, silently demanding he leaves my breathing area. “Not even ones with beguiling blue eyes.” His sinister smirk knotted my stomach. “Comprende?”

I hadn’t realised the door opened or that I hovered towards it until a cold breeze smacked me in the face. “Entiendo muy bien,” he said gravely, puckering my flesh with goosebumps. “Hermosa. Por favor, esté a salvo.”

“What you just said.” I pointed a red-polished nail in his face, awkwardly tapped his shoulder, and then squeezed between him and the doorway, eager to get far away from that spine-chilling conversation.

I walked ahead.

“Vincent,” someone mumbled in my wake, and my senses skyrocketed, exploded. “Yes, Boss.”

Across the street, two Suits stand with their backs to me, chatting up three females from the bar. I glanced to see if they noticed me leaving. Nope, they’re too busy trying to score, on the job. Oh, damn. Liam would lose a kidney if he knew they slacked. I mean, I could be a bitch and tell him, considering he pays them an extortionate amount of money, but I am no snitch.

I hesitated on the street corner, stared at the reggae bar. Vincent, someone said meekly. It was an automatic response to something I hadn’t caught. Mr Gregory, John, Smith, the lying, deceiving asshole had a real name—a name his employees, or minions used unbeknownst to my sharp hearing.

It’s also the name Liam mentioned yesterday.

What does this mean?

It means I am in trouble after all, yet I have no concept or understanding of why.

Palming my purse, checking the firearm’s nestled safely inside, I detoured into the next street, wishing I’d borrowed a phone from Jace.

I need to call Liam.

What are you doing, Alexa? Go back to the Suits and get them to escort you to Club 11. Why must you always wander alone and draw unwanted attention to yourself?

“Fucking lunatic,” I muttered, retracing my steps, searching for the famous Bentleys…“You have got to be shitting me.”

Gone. Disappeared. Vanished. Nothing but low hanging fogs and exhaust fumes in their absconding departure.

The three women stroll past me, sloshed and raucous, telling the entire wilderness an insightful story of their ghastly sexcapade last night, but the Suits left, panicked and jarred, I imagine. Well, that’ll teach them for demonstrating tardiness. They think I am lost. No, idiots. I ran away.

Down the alleyway, a cat shrieked, chasing its opponent beneath communal bins, the racket echoing and drumming off the walls.

I slipped into the shadows, seeing two men, unrecognisable men in denim jeans and black shirts, jogging towards the guesthouse. Those aren’t Liam’s men. They belong to Mr Jackass.

Why are they looking for me?

Why did I drink tonight?

I can’t make heads or tails of my situation.

All I can think about is that pleasant smelling kebab house around the corner.

Guarded and suspicious, I sauntered backwards, fusing the purse to my chest. I’ll order food and flag down a taxi, call Liam from a payphone and have him pick me up from somewhere.

I halted.

What if he doesn’t want to see me?

It’s essential, though, right? He asked if I knew anyone by the name of Vincent, and less than twenty-four hours later, the said person appears like an apparition. That’s not entirely true. I spent many a night conversing with John Smith, and he seemed nice, friendly. If he wanted to harm me, wouldn’t he have pounced already?

In the belly of the alleyway, I paused, stared at the polychromatic bricked wall, espying a rising shadow. I neither turned nor lost control. It’s what villains anticipate, screams, running, trepidation. They thrive on your fear, relish in the hunt. No, I stayed sangfroid, composed, breathing paced and soundless.

The shadow crept closer. I felt its disembodied silhouette blanket my body. The second I distinguished shallow breathing, I rammed an elbow into his ribcage, whooshing the air from his lungs.

Vincent growled, doubled over at the waist and reached for my hand. He’s a big man, strong and intimidating, so I had seconds to flee before something unforgettable happened.

I shouldered past him, sprinted at a gruelling pace, praying my heels didn’t buckle and disjoint my legs.

Staggering into the adjoining passageway, panting and sweating, I gravitated towards the street lights, hearing his loud footsteps close but elevated. My head whipped from side to side, searching in confusion. “Vincent,” I called out, fierce and strong, feigning composure. “What do you want?”

Each entranceway welcomed me, but I trusted no path, no light or promising escape.

I knew better than that.

His laughter echoed into the night, ripping a muffled scream from my throat. I thrust my spine to the wall, giving myself all-encompassing vision, his droning voice filtering, fading above.

With my heart wedged in my throat, I looked up between gliding buildings while simultaneously unclipping my bag, obtaining the gun. “I’ll shoot,” I warned, flinching when metal stairs dragged and rattled somewhere in the darkness. “No second-guessing, you lying, deceiving, backstabbing asshole.”

“For what purpose?” he asked, and I sidestepped. “Was I not pleasant to you, Victoria?” He lengthened my name in a deriding tone. “Or is it Alexa? Do enlighten me.”

I chuckled to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Why must everyone around me lie? Was I that much of an evil bitch in a previous life?”

He didn’t answer, but I felt his eyes on me the entire time.

“What do you want?” I met a corner, slipped into another urine-smelling lane. On shaky legs, I broke into a fast sprint, detecting a crescendo of laughter. My heel caught in the crevice of cracked concrete, disconnecting from my foot and sending my body across the floor. Gun toppling out of my hand, skidding beneath a dumpster, I ignored the burning graze on my knees and ruptured blood trickling down my legs, forced myself to stand, returned my shoe and ran straight into a blocked end. “No,” I whispered, the life draining from my body—a towering impenetrable bricked wall, fenced with barbed wire, broken glass and razor tape.

I spun around and faced him. “Well,” I yelled, flinging my arms in defeat, “what are you waiting for? Here I am, vulnerable and for the taking.” The fierceness in my voice masked accelerating fear. “Be warned, though, I bite, hard.”

The man fell from the sky like a deity of darkness, something akin to amusement aflame in his cold, searing gaze. Permeating my ensconced ambience, he soared from hunkering aloofness, his frozen, angered expression engendering rioting anxieties.

When he stepped closer, unshakable dread heightened. “Vincent,” I said, breathless and flushed. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Before me, he came to an abrupt stop, his closeness sending a shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, basked in his unnerving presence. “Angel,” he whispered, stroking my jawline with the pad of his finger. “Look at me.”

Obsequious, I lifted my eyelids with bated breath. “I should bury you with lies.”

“I like subverting suppositions,” he said in a rough, baritone voice that made my blood hot. “It makes for an intriguing chase.”

I shirked away from his unwanted touch.

He gave me a wolfish smirk, dipping his head to brush his lips across my cheek. “You have something I want.”

“Really?” I asked, fearing the worst. “And what might that be?”

Hand to the wall above my head, he kissed the tender spot beneath my ear. “Warren.”

Dauntless ferocity enwreathed my pounding heart. “You so arrogantly presume I’d cheat Liam out of life.” I climbed the peak of raw indignation. “I’d kill you first.”

He glared at me, a feral glint in his ice-blue eyes. “Your impertinence offends me.”

I studied him, unblinking and disoriented. “I thought you were different.” I thought he was one of the good guys.

“Angel, so unassuming,” he rasped, putting us nose-to-nose. “I am a man without equal.”

I slapped him, hard, the sting vibrating my palm. “You lied to me!”

Vincent’s head hadn’t budged. He held my disgusted glare, slowly licking the blood from his lips, tasting the minor pain I caused. “Nobody puts their hand on me and lives to hear the end of it.”

“Tell someone who gives a flying fuck,” I spat, raising my hand to impale him once more. He snatched my wrist, bent my arm and wrenched my thrashing body to his chest. “Get off me!”

Arm locking around my upper body, he pinned me with robust strength, his unrelenting hold impossible to weaken. Capturing my throat, pressing a thumb to the column of my neck, he entertained my struggle, smiled, watched me wither and squirm. “Are you finished?” He mused, and I slackened, defeated and hopeless. “What’s that desolate look in your eyes, Angel?”

“Are you mentally unhinged?” I rammed my knee upwards, but he dodged cock slaughtering invasion. “If you want Liam so much, why are you pestering me? I don’t see him anywhere. Do you?”

“See, that’s the thing,” he said, steadying my movements. “I continuously reach out to the man, but he’s inaccessible and unapproachable. His men, though persistently loyal, fail to meet demands. Now, I am going to release you if you promise cooperation.” Luxuriant dark hell fell forward. “Do I have your word?”

I nodded.

“Good girl.” Releasing me, he stepped back, smoothed a hand down his shirt, the white gold cross draping from his earlobe, glimmering under the moon’s light. “I need you to convince him to sit with me—one meeting. If he’s not interested in my proposal, I will back off, and neither of you will see or hear from me again.”

I sliced my eyes in suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

He lifted an insouciant shoulder. “There aren’t any.”

Disbelief slithered across my tongue. “I don’t believe you. Plus, what makes you think I have that much power over Liam. He marches to no one’s drum, Vincent. If he doesn’t wish to sit with you, then anything I have to say will fall on deaf ears.”

“Negative,” he jests, wagging a finger in my face. “You mightn’t know me, Alexa Haines, but I know you rather well. Warren, to his dismay, for his beautiful Alexa, will move mountains, commence wars and shed the blood of every unfortunate bastard that dares look at her the wrong way. You know it. Warren knows it.” He stepped up to me. “I know it.”

I gave him a pointed look. “And if I don’t oblige?”

His grave expression upheld. “Warren’s death will be on your hands.”

My stomach sank at the sheer concept. “What’s the vendetta, Vincent?”

“I don’t have one.” He ebbed, retreating from me. “But I know somebody that does.”

I watched him disappear into the night, a frightful lump lodge in my chest. Respiring a shuddered breath, I dabbed sweat dews from my forehead, paced out of the alleyway, scanning for the nearest restaurant. I located a late-night burger joint, shoved open the door and demanded to use a telephone.

Jerked into consciousness, the weary shop assistant slid a mobile in my hands. I dialled a taxi service, provided them with the address to Club 11 and stood behind the window, impatiently waiting for the famous black cab to pull up.

CH 38

Alexa

Merging into the lively swamp, I slipped amid sweaty bodies, ducking and diving from animated partygoers, dancing and fondling away their troubles.

I still had possession of my employee card, but I didn’t want to confuse the bouncer guarding the private door, leading to Liam’s office. Instead, I brandish the gold, very-important-person card Brad dropped into my purse once, an all-inclusive, expenses covered card that gives you unrestricted access to the private suites.

Aloofly stern, the bouncer, wide-shouldered and impassable, flashed a torch to read Brad’s penmanship on the signature bar. His untrusting eyes flicked to me before he clicked his earpiece, mumbling unclear words so that I didn’t hear into the mouthpiece.

I huffed out a baffled puff of air, seeing two women grope against the wall, handsy and infatuated.

“Brad’s not in the building,” the bouncer yelled over the music, returning the card. “Come back in an hour.”

“Why? You don’t need additional information. That is Brad’s signature,” I stressed, standing my ground. “He gave me that to ensure nothing like this happened.”

Still, the bouncer’s intuition instructed him not to trust me. “No-can-do, lady. Go to the bar, order a drink. I’ll speak to him on arrival, and if he gives the go-ahead, I’ll come and find you.”

My tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. Closing my purse, I retraced my steps, slithered through crowds, stopped to glance over my shoulder. Head lowered, reading a message on his phone, the bouncer busies himself with texting. I peered up to the glass balconies. Bodacious, erotic dancers work the elongated poles, putting on an alluring show for clientele. I didn’t recognise the tailored men, but the Suits must be around somewhere. My eyes sought out Liam’s office, the panoramic windows, too black and opaque to see into, but wondered if he stood there, overseeing his hectic establishment.

Vodka tempted me. I downed one shot at the bar, gravitated to the restrooms and checked my reflection in the mirror. Gripping the basin, whitening my knuckles, I eyed the judgmental woman staring back at me, cupped cold water, doused my face and neck.

Come on, Victoria. Don’t let these burly men intimidate you. Go outside and finish what you started.

I inhaled, held my breath, respired in intervals.

Passing assembled women, laughing and bonding over bottle stashes they snuck into the club, I opened the bathroom door, gaited down the dimly lit hallway, pondering routes.

Inconspicuous, I pushed my way between dancing mobs, considered sneaking behind the bar, using the multi-line phone system to dial Liam’s office.

Growling, I ripped the blonde waves from my head, marched back to the guarded door and prepared myself for a fight. The bouncer glanced, eyes bulging as recognition saturated, blinking rapidly as if to clear the phantasmagorical woman ready to detach his ballsack. “Alexa?” He droned, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck? I thought you popped your clogs.”

“No, I am very much alive, thank you,” I yelled over the droning trance music. “Step aside and let me through. I need to see Liam; it’s urgent.” Once more, the bouncer prodded and poked his eyes, assured he’s hallucinating. “Now!”

Sickly pale, he staggered to the right, unlocking the door.

As I didn’t want to draw farther unwanted attention to myself, I reinstated the blonde weave, righted the curls and ascended the stairs to Liam’s floor.

I veered past the long-line of tailored security, raised a closed fist to knock on his door, hesitating to listen.

What if Hellen’s inside the office?

What if another woman occupies the boss?

I didn’t wish to see or witness him with another.

Mentally preparing myself for the worst, I knocked on the door, wriggled the handle and stumbled inside. “Mr Warren…” My sentence and dreaded heartbeat waded, eyes darting around the empty room. Feeling the intensity of securities scrutiny, I shut the door behind me, folded my arms and stood opposite his clean, uncluttered desk. I glanced at the security camera, intermittent red light flickering as it rotates.

I rounded the desk, fingers glazing over the elegant, wooden surface. Rechecking nobody lingered at the entranceway, I became seated, picked up a solid gold paperweight, fingers outlining the Warren engraving.

Curiosity got the better of me. I opened the drawer, rummaged files, digging for Hellen. I established nothing. “Shit.” I tried the next drawer, handle rattling, locked.

Unclasping my purse, I fished out my keys, selected the one Liam gave me while working here, and inserted it into the lock. Hinge disengaging with a quiet click, I tugged the drawer, found two files—first one belonging to me, the second, Hellen Bennett.

Checking the office door, twice, I snapped off the elastic band holding my bursting file in one piece, combed through highlighted notes and passages, surveillance images and print-outs. I recognised Nate’s handwriting, but couldn’t decipher his coded edits and seemingly noteworthy transcripts.

Blowing hair tendrils from my face, I shut the folder, returned it, started to read Hellen’s when overhearing raised voices in the corridor.

Fear snatched my palpitating heart.

I slammed the document, shoved it back in the drawer just in time for Liam to storm into the office. “And tell Brad…” His stentorian commands fell silent when his intense blue eyes collided with mine.

For an extended period, we watched each other, both silent, wordless, a million and one questions enduring between us.

Working on a tight swallow, Liam cleared his throat, closed and locked the door, put his back to it. “Alexa,” he said, the concern in his heated gaze deceiving his calm voice. “What are you doing here?”

Hands clasped to the armrests, I twisted the chair, moving from side to side. “I had to see you.”

Liam, distrustful and suspicious, fixed a cufflink, magnetising to my side. He towered above me, dressed in a quotidian gun-metal grey two-piece suit and black silk shirt, gold curb chains on display. His familiar leather and spice scented cologne immersing me. “I prefer arrangements,” he said, short and curt. “I don’t appreciate unexpected visits or arrivals, Miss Haines.” His gaze roamed over my blonde waves. “Or is it Victoria tonight?”

“To you,” I said, crossing my legs, facing him, “it’s always Alexa.”

The corner of his lip twitched. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he perched onto the desk edge, weaved his gold and diamond-adorned fingers together. “What can I do for you, Alexa?”

His hard-hearted detachment hurt. I hadn’t expected a warm, loving welcoming and embosomed hugs, but deliberate remoteness was a kick in the teeth.

As if the empath read my thoughts, Liam chuckled, mirthless. “What do you want from me, Alexa?” He couldn’t look at me when asking questions, choosing to watch female employees perform beyond the window. “Do you require affirmation? Honesty? An argument, perhaps.”

“Yes,” I whispered, sitting taller. “Obviously, I want assurance, Liam, but that’s not why I am here.”

His eyebrows furrowed into an unsympathetic frown. He unexpectedly snatched my ankle, tugging the wheeled chair closer, inspecting the grazes on my knees. “What the fuck is this?”

“I fell—”

“You fell?” he barked, jerking my leg aside, almost as if my closeness repulsed him. “Looks pretty fucking shady to me.”

“Oh, will you stop,” I retort, standing to neaten my raised dress. “You dare insult me, Liam. I kneel for no one but you, remember?”

He crossed his arms, outstretching his legs. “Do you share his bed?”

“Liam, I didn’t come here to discuss Jace.” I fostered strength, dispensing his haughty look of disparagement. “Vincent approached me tonight—”

“What?” He abruptly stood from the desk. Instant anger replaced his bitterness. “Where? What did he want? How the fuck did he approach you with security detail on site?”

No, I am not throwing those men to the wolves. “It was a friendly visit,” I lied, omitting the Suits lackadaisical shielding, wagging tails and dribbling tongues. “I went to a bar near the bed-and-breakfast. It’s a nice, quiet-ish place with friendly locals. When you called and mentioned the name Vincent, I hadn’t considered Mr Smith because, even though we conversed on occasion, he never gave me a real name. Tonight, however, he made himself known, asking if I could basically put in a good word for him. He wants one meeting to discuss what he deems an important matter, regarding rising enemies, I suppose.” I frowned. “He didn’t elaborate farther, though.”

Liam, untroubled yet contemplative, absentmindedly rotated his thumb ring. “At what point, in your amiable conversation, did you fall?”

It’s a trick question. He sensed concealed truths. “Nobody hurt me, Liam, If that’s what you so calculatedly wish to uncover. Listen, I am not here to fight or argue with you.” Grabbing my handbag, I tucked it into the nook of my arm. “I delivered a message. It’s entirely up to you how you handle the rest.”

Capturing my wrist, he prevented me from leaving, thumb bruising my pulse. “Don’t go home to him, Alexa.”

He sounded vulnerable and disheartened. I hated it. “Liam, I am not returning to Jace. I live in Heather’s bed-and-breakfast. He so happens to share the room.”

“And your bed.” He steeled his jaw. “Am I correct?”

A wave of nausea travelled through me. “It doesn’t mean anything—”

“It means something to me,” he snarled, his hold on me tightening, burning. “It matters, Alexa.”

I rubbed my arms, reducing the sudden chill from my flushed skin. “Are you hungry?” I asked meekly, expecting him to deride me. “I’m paying.”

Liam’s thumb circled my inner wrist. Eyes holding mine, he stood, interlaced our fingers and led me to the door. “Don’t ever insult me again, Alexa. If you need something, anything, it is on me to cover expenses.”

***

William, The Grape and Vine manager, flustered and overanxious, selected a private table for his boss, Mr Warren, to enjoy a night-time meal with his unexpected date. He pulled out the chairs, beside the window, overlooking London’s busy nightlife, people passing, touring, enjoying bars, restaurants and late tourist attractions.

Liam waited until I sat down, eliminated his suit jacket, draping it on the rear of a chair. Comfortable, he sat directly from me. “Give us a moment.”

“Of course, Sir.” Will dipped his head, left two leather-bound menus on the white-clothed table and returned to customers, who drink fine champagne and indulge moreish appetisers.

Our seated accommodation offers a considerable distance from the other guests. It’s nice, private and romantic: silver candelabras homing six lit, burning taper candles, polished silverware, such as salad forks, fish knives, dessert forks and coffee spoons, embellished napkin rings and warm plates.

I fingered the detailed tablecloth, outlining the subtle patterns, and thanked the smartly dressed sommelier pouring effervesces into our champagne flutes.

Twirling the delicate stem between pinched fingers, I tasted citrus fruits, savoured the flavours on my tongue. “Do you eat here often?”

Liam shook his head, closing the menu.

Occupying the grand, majestic designed stage, instrumentalists performed alongside a pleasant-sounding vocalist, a small, agile man, entertaining guests with melodious jazz songs.

It’s apparent neither of us wishes to confer current hindrances. Liam, leaning back in his chair, watches the performing ensemble, but I see he’s not paying attention or listening.

Will returns, notes Liam’s order and promises to deliver shortly.

I help myself to the champagne bottle, refilling my glass. I offered to pour another for Liam, but he barely touched the first flute, neglected it.

After the longest fifteen minutes of awkward silence and one-way conversations, Will, accompanied by a waitress, arranges various main dishes onto our table.

She wears a skin-tight black skirt and a white blouse, the waitress, giggling when her boss lightly teased and complimented her, palmed her crimson shaded cheeks.

Liam’s intentional flirting and gravelled undertones struck a nerve. I kicked him in the shin, hard. His knee jerked up on reflex, knocking beneath the table, plummeting a crystal glass to the floor.

He glared, furious yet restrained.

Disregarding an uncomfortable Will, who drops to clear shattered fragments from the glistening tiles, I tilted my head and pinned the woman with threatening eyes. “If she puts a hand on you, one more time?” I warned, daring Liam to undermine me. “She can expect more than broken fingers.”

A mischievous smirk teased his lips.

The troglodytic bastard is proud of me.

Why must I show such evident jealousy?

“Sorry, ma’am.” Panic-stricken, she lifted her hand from the boss. “I should…” Tucking hair behind her ears, she apologised, coy and bashed, resuming to the long-stretched bar.

Liam, composed and amused, waits until Will disappears. “Was that necessary, Alexa?” He unfolded a napkin, plucked up a fork and stabbed a prawn. “Where are your manners?”

“Down the bloody toilet with yours, apparently.” He didn’t respond. “Why must we play games?”

“Who’s playing games?” he hummed, chewing silently. “You wanted food. I’m feeding you. Am I not?”

I threw a sun-dried tomato in my mouth. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

Liam sucked sauce from his thumb. “Define pretty.”

I curbed a fuming sneer. “I don’t know, Liam. Whatever you men consider attractive these days.” I mean, she had a stunning figure, but the bent nose and jutted witch-like chin required some serious chiselling. “Well?”

“All women are attractive, Alexa,” he said, increasing my raging heartbeat. “Different and unique.” Putting the flute to his lips, he sipped, slaking thirstiness. “That doesn’t mean I want them in my bed.”

Forking marinated chicken across my plate, I lowered my sad eyes, no longer ravenous. In fact, I didn’t want him to pay for this discomforted, forced date, tolerating his sourness and underlying contempt.

Dabbing my lips with a silk napkin, I unzipped my purse, chucked two fifty pound notes onto the table, rose from the chair and meandered through the starry-eyed dinner setting.

I pushed open the main door, a mixture of cold winds and aromatic meats, drifting past my head. Heels alternatively clicking, I strolled down the street, ready to flag a taxi, when Liam’s hand seized my elbow. “Go away,” I snapped, ripping myself from his hold. “I am not spending time with a man who cannot see beyond his fucking bruised ego.”

Impiety, he makes me cross the street, to the parked Bentley Mulsanne. “You fucking another man didn’t bruise my ego, Alexa.” Before the suited driver could open the door, Liam fisted the nape of my hair, ripping a pained whimper from my mouth. “You tested my resilience, though. I’ll give you that.”

Flinging open the door to the backseat, he forced me into the vehicle, and I scampered across the cold, cream leather bench, far away from his lunatic self.

He climbed in behind me, choosing to sit opposite, reclining and getting comfortable. He pressed a button, opening the chilled compartment, offering wine bottles and high brand champagne. “Care for another drink?”

“Why don’t you go and fuck yourself?” Draping a leg over the other knee, tapping my foot mid-air furiously, I put two fingers onto my temple, massaging an implanted headache.

“No, I’ll fuck you.” Opening Jameson, he tossed the cap on the floor, gulped from the bottle. “Or perhaps you can get on your knees again and validate newfound dexterities.” He stared at my parted lips. “With your mouth, of course.”

I saw red.

Tearing the bottle from his hand, I haphazardly flung it across the leather and attacked him, reviving tapered vexation. Knees crashing to the floor, rupturing scabbed wounds, I impaled him, swinging slaps around his evading head.

The asshole laughed, mocking my vicious outburst, giving me a moment to release unsatisfied furiousness. While ducking, he banged a fist on the privatising partition, ordering the driver to journey ahead. “That’s enough,” he barked, shoving me onto the bench, detaching us. “You are a goddamn mental case.”

“Yeah?” I goaded with challenging eyes, blonde hair framing my flushed face. “And this,” I gestured two fingers between us, “is a toxic relationship that has reached the bearable pinnacle—toppled the damn scale. I am done with it, Liam. Over it. How dare you disrespect me, you, you insensitive prick. You know,” I snivelled, flattening a palm over my lips. “You know more than anyone how much that act sickens me, yet you have the audacity to so arrogantly presume I’d take another man into my mouth. Fuck. You.” I wiped my eyes, refusing to shed any more tears for this man. “Sometimes, I can’t help but hate you.”

The Bentley vibrated beneath us, driving somewhere, passing tall buildings. Through glassy eyes, I watched the world pass me by, people a blur, kaleidoscopic hues merging into one.

Liam’s penthouse came into view, and I blew out a tired breath. The man himself soared from the car first, hands inside his trouser pockets, waiting for me to follow.

Rubbing my cheeks, I shadowed behind him, the vibrant, vivacious receptionist talking his ear off as we coasted to the elevator.

He called upon the lift, dismissing members of security, used unnecessary force to drag me inside the all-mirrored four walls.

I felt him staring at me. I did not, however, return his conflicted demeanour.

When the doors chimed and slid open, Liam walked ahead with confident, powerful strides, used a key card to open the penthouse door and discarded his phone, keys, wallet and gun, individually setting them onto the undulating black and gold marble sideboard.

He lost his suit jacket to the white leathered U-shaped sofa, licked his thumb and wiped blood spatters from his cheek. “What I said…” He hesitated, too ashamed to look at me. “It was wrong, Alexa. It’s not an excuse, but I forget how much Bajramovic affected you because…”

“I trusted you, Liam,” I filled in the gaps, and he gave me a curt nod. “My foolish self only let you fuck my mouth—”

“Don’t speak like that,” he growled, pushing a hand through his dishevelled hair. “That wasn’t us, and you fucking know it.”

I rolled my eyes, modesty a pathetic instance of my past.

“I don’t believe that you fell.”

“Well, I don’t have to answer to you. I explained what happened. Believe it, or don’t.” Kicking off my shoes, leaving them by the front door, I stepped down the few steps into the living quarter, crossed the room and found an unopened bottle of Cîroc in the kitchen cupboard.

Liam regarded my every move, somewhat content. He sat on the sofa, opened the coffee table drawer, laid out supplies and prepared a deck. Grinding syndicate stock, he rolled a blunt, put the roach between his lips and lit the end, toked three drags, an attempt to placate himself.

Frustrated with the pair of us, I poured him a shot of Macallan, propitiating him. His finger brushed mine when accepting the glass. “Sit with me.”

Submissive, I eyed him warily, stationed onto the coffee table and hugged the bottled vodka. “How many women have you been with, Liam?”

His hold on my eyes wavered. “Does it matter?”

No, it doesn’t. “We established once that it’s more than fifty.”

He made a noncommittal noise.

“Honestly, I don’t want to know. Much like yourself with me, I hate the thought of you with someone else. But I am mature enough to digest there were others before me.”

Placing my hand on his knee, I squeezed, fingers splaying over his thigh. “What I did with Jace is no different to how you behaved with those women, Liam. I had no plans of returning to my old life and, in a moment of weakness, I lost myself in the arms of another man.”

“It’s incomprehensible though, Alexa. You hated the closeness of males. I was the only man you let in.” He cups my cheek, his gaze penetrating, unearthing possible ambivalence. “I fear that he means more than you care to admit.”

“It meant nothing,” I quietly argued. “It was one night of meaningless…” Sex, I thought, knowing it had felt deeper, emotionally and sentimentally bonding. “If anything, what I felt for you heightened. I realised how much of an effect you have on me, how the thought of loving another tore my heart.”

He tilted his head, respiring smoke to the ceiling. “Help me understand.” Schooling his angry, tight features, he adopted calmness, willing to give me a chance and backseat adamantine stubbornness. “Why did you leave me that night?”

What transpired the night of Liam’s thirtieth birthday distresses me. I hadn’t quite formulated a reasonable explanation or concluded how to salvage Jace in the process. “I was taken,” I said, unprepared for the outcome. “One of Flamur’s men picked me up outside of Club 11 and knocked me into unconsciousness. I woke up in a foreign place, alone but practised. I knew what to expect and prepared myself for the worst.”

I lied for the sake of everyone. “Jace and Summer were kidnapped, too, but separated.” Masking my deceit, I lowered my head, pressing a cheek to his thigh. “Nobody hurt me, Liam. I promise you.”

“How did you escape Bajramovic and his men? Unscathed and intact, nonetheless.”

“Jace, first and foremost, is a father, Liam. He raised Cain to find his daughter, helping me as an unpremeditated part of the action. As I am sure you are aware, Summer didn’t survive…” Tears flooded my eyes. Flashbacks of Jace’s baby girl invaded my mind. Her small, frail, decomposing body, a rancid smell that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. “He killed everyone, called the police and left the compound with his daughter’s dead body in arms.”

Liam’s fingers tickled the back of my neck. “And you?”

How do I explain that my behaviour stemmed from seeing him with Hellen? He’ll cotton on to the contradicting time frames.

“Liam,” I whispered, nuzzling my cheek into his thigh, hands moving to his waist. “I’m sorry.” Crawling onto his lap, I straddled his legs, knees sinking into the leather seating. “For jumping to conclusions and disbelieving your grief. You told me, the night of your birthday, how much you loved me, and I ridiculed your pronouncement the second I chose to ignore you and run away.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, the marijuana-infused smoke drifting. “It’s unforgivable.”

“Don’t do that,” he scolds, his arm locked around me as he leans forward to discard the joint. His fingers tousled in my hair, eliminating the blonde locks, loosening long, unruly curls. He cupped my cheeks, studying every detail of my face, admiring the dark hair cascading over my shoulders. “There she is.”

I smiled, morose but hopeful. “I know that we’re miles apart,” I breathed against his lips, “but I love you, Liam. I’ll only ever want…” The words died on my tongue when a young brunette, dressed scarce in pale-pink laced shorts and vest, nipples virtually puckered through the delicate fabric, stood by the front door. My first thoughts, beautiful, long, poker straight, chestnut coloured hair, slim but ample, eyes the mixing hues of dark chocolate and golden honey. “Who the hell is that?”

Eyebrows pulling taut, Liam peered over his shoulder, his hands on my thighs fastening, preparing to keep me in place. “No, Alexa—” I tried to scramble off his lap. “She’s no one.”

“Really?” I mocked, flinging a dismissive hand in her direction, catching my footing as I stood. “She appeared from one of the bedrooms, Liam. I might not be the brightest spark on the block, but I’m not dumb enough to believe that woman didn’t just roll out of bed.” He mirrored my stance, sending the girl a condemning glare. “Don’t envision murdering her on my account. By all means, Liam, invite her over and let’s have a threesome—”

“Stop,” he grounded out, hand snatching my jaw, “talking like that. It’s not you.” His murderous expression had an undesired effect. I still wanted to dismantle his balls and make her choke on them. “Blaire shouldn’t be here.” Not releasing me, he addressed the woman, who, it would seem, relishes my upset. “Why aren’t you with Nate?”

I side-eyed her, curling my fingers around Asshole’s wrist.

“Nate promised if I behaved then you’d continue to let me live here,” she said in a kind, soft, gentle voice that had my stomach pivoting. “I am sorry for interrupting you, Mr Warren. I had a nightmare, so I came to get a glass of water.” Nervously wringing her fingers, she chewed her lower lip, on the verge of tears. “May I proceed?”

“May she proceed?” I ridiculed, and his hold on me softened, enough for me to break free. “Why is she addressing you like that, Liam? He’s not your master,” I diverted my attention to her, not missing the devious glimmer in her doe eyes. “Every guestroom offers en-suite bathrooms, Blaire. You had no reason to interrupt us.”

“Blaire,” he rubbed a palm over his features, “get a drink and go back to your room.”

Nodding submissively, she drifted to the kitchen, opened the fridge-freezer, selected peach flavoured sparkling water and then had the audacity to drink it now, taking her smart-ass time.

I shot Liam an impatient look. “Well, isn’t she comfortable.”

Blaire, recapping the bottled water, rehomed it on the counter, floated into my dark red ambience and patted down the hall.

“Why does this keep happening to us?” he asked, but the question wasn’t for me to answer. He’s asking himself, or the universe. “Every time I get you to myself, something or someone disturbs us. I want a few hours with you, Alexa. No bullshit. No drama. No unwanted visitors.” He reached for me, and I stepped back. “Just us, baby.”

I wanted to ask if he’s touched her but wasn’t sure my stomach could handle that knowledge. “I know.” Succumbing to defeat, I combed messy hair back from off my face, stabbed the shaggy rug with rigid toes, deterring persistent exasperation. “I…” Our eyes aligned. I reached behind my back, felt for the zipper and loosened my dress, letting the material fall to my feet.

Liam squared his shoulders. His gaze, heavy and dilated, raked over my naked body. “Do you still want me, baby?” A predatory glint blazed in his eyes. He mightn’t say the words, but, even if I refused this man, he’d never permit it.

I walked to the marble stairs, stopped to face him, silently enticing him to follow. Unbuttoning his shirt, he magnetised himself to me, leaning down to bite and drag my lower lip with his teeth.

“Mine,” he whispered, losing the shirt, lips dusting my jawline. “Yours.” Wrapping my hair around his wrist, he tugged my head back, kissed my bobbing throat. “Always.” Dragging his tongue from the column of my neck to my lips, he fused our mouths, raw and ravenous. “Understand?”

My back hit the wall, body burning up from the inside out. “It’s going to take more than a few idle words to assuage me, Liam.”

“I promise to love you—only you,” he vowed, and flutters ruptured, uncaging and dispersing in my chest. “No woman compares, Alexa.” His hands clung to the apex of my thighs, smoothing and hoisting me into strong arms, enveloping my legs around his waist. Bracing a forearm to the wall above my head, he tilted my chin with his nose, landed another fierce, breathless kiss to my mouth. “All I ask in return is reciprocation.”

He ground against me, his hard, trouser-clad cock the perfect intensity of friction to my hot sex. I wanted him, right here against the wall, violent yet passionate.

If Blaire, lurking in the shadows, weren’t spying on us from her cracked doorway, I’d offer myself for his liking. I haven’t determined that illegible twinkle in her beguiling eyes, but if she thinks I am easily replaceable, she’s in for a rude awakening.

Liam Warren’s mine.

Let somebody try and come between us.

“Take me to bed, Liam,” I whispered in his ear, and he pushed us away from the wall, carrying me to the master bedroom. “Lock the door behind us.”

I plan on forgetting the world tonight.

CH 39

Liam

Alexa’s visit surprised me tonight. From six o’clock this evening, stationed, omnipresent security sent updates via text message with her precise whereabouts and intoxication levels. According to the men, she’s rather fond of a rustic looking old dive bar in the vicinity of Heather’s bed-and-breakfast, often killing time inside those reggae-inspired four walls, alone and unidentifiable. However, the men hadn’t notified me of her departure, or the fact she skulked into Club 11 without forewarning.

When entering my office earlier, furious and unappeasable, courtesy of Brad’s tardiness, I found a beautiful woman throned behind my desk. Learning to channel festering acrimony is an impossible task for an unforgiving man like myself and, although Alexa’s the catalytic root to recent tempestuousness, one innocent glance from that woman and every angered, bitter feeling dissolves into nothingness. I forget all the reasons why I should hate her; I overlook our indefatigable arguments and stupid, impetuous mistakes.

Even though there’s no denying how much I love Alexa, tonight, when escorting her to The Grape and Vine, I prevaricated to avoid uncomfortable subjects. Her connection to Jace Williams left me in a double-standard position. I had, in a sempiternal state of bereavement, welcomed the hands of coquettish women, on more than one occasion. If I wanted to speak candidly, against Alexa’s knowledge—ignorance is bliss because some things are better off not knowing—I cannot enumerate the times I bedded another, as womanising, granted unsatisfactory, became a favourite pastime.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing I am no longer the preponderant male in her life, but I love her too much to kill Jace and lose her. I had to show leniency and make an exception—one free pass. If the cunt so much as looks at her the wrong way, castration will be the least of his problems.

I pass Alexa a furtive glance. Blinking back tears, she stares out the Bentley window, imperceptibly shaking her head, tapping the floor with on-the-warpath taps.

On the backseat, amber liquid saturates the hand-stitched leather, trickling and staining the Mulsanne’s cream carpet.

I touched my inflamed cheek, tracing fingernail indented grooves and sore, bloody cuts. She fights a mean game, I’ll give her that, but she’s putting my forbearance to the test.

The driver parked outside my apartment building and climbed out to open the door for us to exit. I stepped onto the pavement, hands in my trouser pockets, wondering if she’ll continue to push my buttons or walk without a fuss.

Alexa rose from the backseat, avoiding my eyes and traipsed behind me. Gripping the gilded handle, I opened the main door, passed through the regal burgundy and gold Victorian-style lobby with the subtle elegance of all-encompassing Italian marble, and held a brief conversation with Jen, the middle-aged receptionist, who prefers working the night shift to avoid restless clients and tenant demands.

Again, Alexa remained tight-mouthed, but her emitting jealousy escalated. I see the cogs rotating inside her head. She wants to ask a question, though, self-respect denies it. I could tell her Jen’s an irritating nut-job who’s more than likely admiring my woman’s legs, rather than my backside; however, Alexa’s possessiveness, in secret, pleased and galvanised me. Since finding out about her involvement with Jace, I can’t help but wonder if she’s torn between two men; call me senile, but I crave assurance.

Inside the elevator, I pressed the penthouse button and stared at the floor to evade her disparaging eyes in the mirror.

Doors separating with a resounding chime, I stormed ahead, paying no heed to security, keyed my front door, placed my phone, gun and wallet down and headed straight for the coffee table to roll a well-needed joint. “What I said…” I paused, hunting for an acceptable approach. “I was wrong, Alexa. It’s not an excuse, but I forget how much Bajramovic affected you…” Because, with me, you lowered those walls and dropped your guard.

From the first moment I pursued Alexa, even when timid and inexperienced, she participated, carnal and bold. With me, it came naturally, to let me pleasure her to the point of no return and vice versa. Sometimes, I overlook how far she’s come and the shadows she left behind.

“I trusted you, Liam,” she clipped, and I nodded. “My foolish- self let you fuck my mouth—”

“Don’t speak like that,” I fumed, swiping loose strands from my brow. “That wasn’t us, and you fucking know it.”

In the past, when a woman bowed to my command and talked filth in my ear, it turned me on, got my cock hard, ready. Alexa was different. Her innocence, a breath of fresh air that lured me in like a moth to a flame. Of course, I love it when she’s naughty. What man doesn’t appreciate their woman forward and demanding? I won’t tolerate self-disrespect. She’s worth more than vulgarism and a cheap fuck.

“I don’t believe you fell.” Collapsing on the sofa, I opened the coffee table drawer, tossed Rizla papers on the side.

Her grazed knees bothered me. It’s the aftermath of her afternoon with Jace, or something happened tonight under the supervision of my men that she’s not telling me.

I licked and sealed the joint, popped it between my lips and matched a flame. “Sit with me.”

Alexa passed me a crystal glass filled with Macallan, fixed her raised dress and sat with elegance on the coffee table. “How many women have you been with, Liam?”

As aforementioned, some things are better off unknown. “Does it matter?” Withholding truths isn’t for my benefit. Alexa will over analyse futile details and overemphasise the magnitude by convincing herself that she’s no different to the women of my past.

Her eyebrow arched. “We established once it’s more than fifty.”

I coughed into a tight fist, an uncommitted response.

“To be honest, I don’t want to know. Much like yourself with me, I hate the thought of you with someone else. But I am mature enough to digest there were others before me.”

She placed a comforting hand on my knee. “What I did with Jace is no different to how you behaved with those women, Liam. I had no plans of returning to my old life and, in a moment of weakness, I lost myself in the arms of another man.”

“It’s incomprehensible though. You hated the closeness of males. I was the only man you let in.” I cupped her cheek, and she nestled her head to my palm, warmed by my fondness. “I fear that he means more to you than you care to admit.”

“It meant nothing,” she argued in a calm, restrained voice. “It was one night of meaningless sex…” Her uncertain eyes wavered, confirming any reservations I wrestled. “If anything, what I felt for you heightened. I realised how much of an effect you have on me, how the thought of loving another tore my heart.”

I breathed out a stream of smoke. “Help me understand.” Masking my irritable features, I urged myself to rein in abhorrence and gave her a chance to explain. “Why did you leave me that night?”

Alexa seemed to be at odds. “I was taken,” she explained, chewing her thumbnail. “One of Flamur’s men picked me up outside of Club 11 and knocked me into unconsciousness. I woke up in a foreign place, alone but practised. I knew what to expect and prepared myself for the worst.”

Practised, she said as if intrinsic to captivity and enslavement.

My blood simmered.

Flamur’s death was too easy, painful, but sudden. He warranted more than kidney failure and uncomfortable infections. It’s okay, though. Someday, it’ll be time for me to join him in those eternal fires of Hell. I’ll ensure he gets his comeuppance.

“Jace and Summer were kidnapped, too, but separated.” Her head nestled on my thigh. Imbued, I captured her neck, stroking fine hair strands aside. “Nobody hurt me, Liam. I promise you.”

Yet she’s lost a concerning amount of weight and models a permanent scar beneath her eye. “How did you escape Bajramovic and his men? Unscathed and intact, nonetheless.” It’s a trick question. Something about her story doesn’t sit with me.

“Jace, first and foremost, is a father, Liam. He raised Cain to find his daughter, helping me as an unpremeditated part of the action. As I am sure you are aware, Summer didn’t survive…” Yes, the daughter’s tragic story unsettled the streets of London. Nobody, not even merciless bastards like myself, condones the suffering of an innocent child. “Jace killed everyone, called the police and left the compound with his daughter’s dead body in arms.”

Instinct told me to probe. “And you?”

“Liam,” she whispered, hands touring my body, finishing at my chest. “I’m sorry.” Crawling onto my lap, she sat astride my legs, enveloping her arms around my neck. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and disbelieving your grief. You told me, the night of your birthday, how much you loved me, and I ridiculed your pronouncement the second I chose to ignore you and run away. It’s unforgivable.”

I hate the sullen look in her eyes. “Don’t do that.” Leaning forward, I stub the joint in the ashtray, unclasped the blonde mass from her head and unravelled those wild, untamed curls that I love to run my fingers through. “There she is.” Holding her face, I thumbed faint mascara streaks from her cheeks, cataloguing her beautiful smile and those mesmerising hazel coloured eyes, the green speckles, enhanced from aloft lightning.

“I know that we’re miles apart,” she said, inching in to kiss me, “but I love you, Liam. I’ll only ever want…” Her gaze drifted past my head. Long, red-painted fingernails sank into the back of my neck, and I bit back a hiss. “Who the hell is that?”

Nonplussed, my eyebrows snapped together. I glimpsed over my shoulder, and sickening dread passed through me. On instinct, my hands gripped Alexa’s thighs, tight and unyielding, preventing her from leaping out of my arms and running away with more conclusions. “No, Alexa—” Bristling in disgust, she fought to climb onto her feet. “She’s no one.”

“Really?” she scoffed, pointing a condemning finger at Blaire. “She appeared from one of the bedrooms, Liam. I might not be the brightest spark on the block, but I am not dumb enough to believe that woman didn’t just roll out of bed.” I stood to my full height, picturing my hands around Blaire’s throat. “Don’t murder her on my account. By all means, Liam, invite her over for a threesome—”

“Stop,” I snapped, gripping her jaw, fingers digging into her hollow cheeks, “talking like that. It’s not you.” Her rounded, glassy eyes were the final knife to my heart. I’m going to lose this woman. “Blaire shouldn’t be here.” Infuriated, I glared at the girl who dared to interupt. “Why aren’t you with Nate?”

“Nate promised if I behaved then you’d continue to let me live here.” I am going to skin the motherfucker alive. “I am sorry for interrupting you, Mr Warren. I had a nightmare, so I came to get a glass of water.” His insubordinate behaviour earned him full time babysitting duties. That prick can get his ass over her to deal with her. “May I proceed?”

“May she proceed?” Alexa barked out a laugh, dumbfounded by Blaire’s acquiescent tendencies. “Why is she addressing you like that, Liam? He’s not your master.” Her fierce eyes held many injurious promises. “Every guestroom offers en-suite bathrooms, Blaire. You had no reason to interrupt us.”

“Blaire,” I said in a tight voice, rubbing my tired, irritated features. “Get a drink and go back to your room.”

While the girl busied herself in the kitchen, I stood in an awkward state of silence. I prayed to whatever God that he felt pity for me, hoping Alexa didn’t ask questions.

How do I explain the night I roused to another woman in my bed? A woman who laid naked in my arms, kissing and touching, head descending to my aroused cock—the same woman, in my sleepy haze, I believed was Alexa. It’s not a lie, but I wouldn’t blame Alexa for disbelieving the absurdity of that occurrence.

Alexa’s vexation sharpened. “Well, isn’t she comfortable?”

I persisted in silence until Blaire locked her bedroom door. “Why does this keep happening to us? Every time I get you to myself, something or someone disturbs us. I want a few yours with you, Alexa. No bullshit. No drama. No unwanted visitors.” I reached for her hand, but she side-stepped. “Just us, baby.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “I know…” I thought she’d try and leave, but once more, she surprised me this evening, unzipping the red dress and exposing herself to me.

I marvelled at her beauty, her slenderness and mile-long legs that I love to wrap around my waist when driving into her. Yes, she has scars and indisputably a few health problems to tackle, but to me, she’s perfectly flawless. “Do you still want me, baby?”

Swaying with alluring statuesqueness, Alexa ascended the few steps to the intersecting hallway, and like the lovesick fool that I am, I began undoing the buttons of my shirt, entrapped by those captivating eyes. “Mine,” I rasped, dipping my head to sink my teeth in that plump lower lip. “Yours.” Discarding the shirt to the floor, I fisted her hair and elongated her neck, tongue stroking from the base of her throat, stopping to taste Cîroc from her lips. “Always.” I fused our mouths, devouring her with a raw, desperate kiss. “Understand?”

I backed her up against the wall, knocking a pointless rose-scented potpourri dish off the sideboard, dispersing perfumed dried petals and spices across the floor.

“It’s going to take more than idle words to assuage me, Liam.”

I know what she needs. “I promise to love you—only you.” I meant every word. “No woman compares, Alexa.” Grabbing a handful of her ass, I lifted her into my arms, wrenching those long, slender legs around my waist. “All I ask in return is reciprocation.” Your love and loyalty, I thought, leaving open mouth kisses to her shoulder.

Pressing myself against her, I ground my hard length, painstakingly, desperate to be inside her, to remove all memories of Him and remind her that she belongs to me.

“Take me to bed, Liam,” she whispered, and I moved us from the wall, conveying her to the master bedroom. “Lock the door behind us.”

The second I closed the door, she claimed me, lips consuming mine, tongue lazily stroking inside my mouth. How I managed to lose the remainder of my clothes without dropping her is beyond me, but I achieved, stumbling to the king-sized bed, falling atop her awaiting body.

Beautifully naked, she stretched beneath me, thighs slackening, welcoming and accommodating. I wanted to worship her body, take my time, leave no part untouched, taste and ravish, but she had different plans, hands pulling my shoulders, urging me to expedite.

“Liam,” she moaned, and I muffled a chuckle, extending an arm to grab a spare phone from the bedside drawer. “Can’t that wait?”

Shrouded in darkness, I turned on the lamp, tapping a text message to Nate, ordering him to collect Blaire. As the girl, for a fathomless reason, spellbinds him, he can take accountability. I saved her from premature death or a life of sexual slavery, but it’s time to let go, concentrate on important matters like this exquisite woman in my arms. “I love you.” Chucking the phone on the floor, I crossed my arms and slid them underneath her head. “So fucking much.” It hurts, I thought, nibbling the shell of her ear. Never in my life have I felt such a strong, intense ache for a woman. If we survive the odds, I guarantee a satisfying denouement.

“You better, asshole,” she teased, neck adjusting to get comfortable on my forearms. “I’d hate to dismantle a vital muscle.” I snorted in the groove of her neck, and she slapped my backside. “What? Are you making fun of me again?”

“Alexa…” I lifted my hooded eyes, staring at her for longer than necessary. “A vital muscle?” I hummed, tracing her eyebrow with the pad of my finger. “Is that the best you could muster under pressure?”

Her arm extended between us, taking hold of my strained shaft. On a meticulous upstroke, she swept her thumb across my swollen crown, smearing pre-ejaculate along the underside. “I thought my recent vulgar irritated you?”

“Out there, before others, you behave accordingly to ensure inferiors have to crane their necks to regard such importance.” I slipped a wayward curl behind her ear. “Epitomise an amalgamation of elegance, beauty and polite courteousness, but the eyes,” I whispered, brushing my thumb over her lips, “contain all that’s precariously nefarious. With one sharp glance, you can bring the fainthearted to their knees.”

As always, when broaching a conversation with serious advice, Alexa listens, intent, absorbed and engrossed.

“If you fail to conduct yourself in a certain way, how will subservient subjects take you seriously?” I seized her throat with an iron grip, lowered my head and kissed the valley between her breasts.

“You cannot demand respect from those who stare you down, Alexa. Now,” I sucked the flatness of her navel, kissing the sting I put there, “when in the bedroom with me? No-holds-barred, baby.” Burying my head between her thighs, inhaling her sweet scent, I formed a suction on her delicate clit and suckled, watching her body arch from the mattress. “Understand?”

“Yes,” she said, breathless, propping onto her elbows to watch me pleasure her. “You better not stop.”

“Spread yourself,” I ordered, and she parted her legs, bearing herself for me. “Good girl.” I sucked her folds, separated them with my thumb and forefinger, flattening my tongue to her throbbing heat. Tasting glistening arousal from her sensitive flesh, I stroked and licked her cleft, increased the speed, worked her into a panting sweat, and then decreased the torture, bringing her to the euphoric edge.

Alexa’s head fell back on a moan, thighs trembling beside my head. “Liam,” she groaned, hips rocking, seeking more. “Please.” Dragging a finger between the crease of her sex, smearing lubricant onto her puckered hole, I witnessed her cheeks clench, preparing to evade. “What the Hell are you doing down there? Stay away from my backside, Liam. I don’t care how much I love you; I am not participating in any anal play.”

Fuck, I was only teasing, but now that she mentions it, I wouldn’t mind burying myself in that tight hole. “One day,” I said roughly, twisting my tongue around her swollen clit, “you are going to let me fuck you here,” I pressed the tip of my thumb at her forbidden entrance, “and you’ll enjoy it.”

“Highly doubtful,” she said, sounding both unsure and curious. “Are you an amateur, or experienced?”

I am no novice. In fact, Kathy Pearl was one of many who favoured anal sex.

When I returned my gaze to Alexa, the vulnerability in her searching eyes shamed me. I laid a kiss to her inner thigh, crawled over her body, cupped the back of her neck and stole a kiss, assuring her that I had no regrets or doubts regarding her—none whatsoever.

Kneeling between her opened thighs, I smoothed my palms along her arms, draping them around my neck. “If you aren’t interested in anal sex, then it’s not up for discussion. I am satisfied, Alexa. You,” I emphasised, “being here, with me, is more than enough.”

For a split second, she doubted me, but her frown receded, a contented smile taking its place. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

I growled, low and throaty. “How do you want me, baby?”

She bit her lower lip with a devious spark in her lust-filled eyes, splayed her hands on my chest and licked her way south. Curving her spine, hand applying faint pressure to my sac, she massaged and caressed my heavy cock. Eyes wide and glassy, capturing mine, she parted her lips and engulfed my length. I sucked in a harsh breath, body tightening, the cords of muscle in my arms flexing.

Leaning over her, I grasped a handful of her ass, squeezed, thrusting my hips, encouraging her to quicken the pace.

My jaw hardened, fingers bruising the rounded swell of her ass. “Killing me.” I was hard and hot in her hands, pre-cum leaking onto her tongue. Bounding her hair around my wrist, I tugged at the roots. “Stop.” I didn’t want to cum just yet. “Come to me.”

Alexa released my cock from her mouth, licked and savoured the taste of me from her lips. I yanked her legs, and her back fell to the mattress, a short-lived giggle rocking her chest until she discerned my serious expression. “Liam—”

My mouth stole hers, intoxicating and fiercely passionate. I positioned my arms on either side of her head, bracing my weight, caging her in my possession. Hips between her thighs, I stroked my cock, rubbed the engorged head along her wet lips. “Pass the condom.”

Alexa rummaged through the bedside drawer, went to pass me the foil packet.

“Roll it on,” I rasped, and she fumbled to sheath me. “Good girl.” Braced above her, I sank my teeth into her shoulder, lined myself up. In one, firm shove, I entered, stretching her to my wanting. A cold shiver danced along the length of my spine, body breaking out in goosebumps.

Curling her fingers around my military chain, she pulled me in, treasuring a long kiss as I began to move, meeting her unhurried thrusts.

Alexa mightn’t know it yet, but this is it for us. Her. Me. Our longevity. I, Liam Warren, fell in love. I hadn’t foreseen or anticipated this rare beauty, but now that I have her, I don’t know a life without her. She brings out the best in me, makes me a better man. Her unfaltering devotion, however mystifying, fills the hollowness in my chest, the acclimating emptiness as a consequence of continuous disappointment and subliminal neglect.

“Liam,” she breathed into my mouth, fingers tousling my hair, her spine anchoring. “Oh, God.”

Gripping her hips, pinning her down, I pushed deeper, cock hitting that oversensitive, aching G-spot, earning myself a stuttered moan.

A trickle of sweat dripped down my back, body building-up for release. I’d never let go until her pleasure, though. I prioritise her needs, her aches and desires.

I nipped her lower lip, jackhammering my hips, pounding into her tight cunt. “Fuck,” I rasped, giving her long, hard thrusts, filling her. “Baby.”

We interlaced our fingers, and I steadied our attached hands above her head. Closing my mouth around her taut nipple, twirling my tongue, I bite the peak, light but effective. I secured my hand to her wrists, keeping her arms raised, my other palm exploring her body, curving beneath her knee, opening her to me. Pressing down on her inner thigh, I amplified the speed and rode her fast.

Dragging in a shuddered breath, she clung to my shoulders, the heels of her feet pinching my backside, compelling me to fuck harsher.

I withered my grip, shoved my knees into the backs of her thighs, widening her for the taking, cock thrusting in-and-out of her tight cunt at a violent pace. “Fucking hell,” I growled, fingers matted in her sweat-slicked hair, mouth leaving sucked blemishes on her throat. “You’re making me cum.”

Alexa climaxed on a breathless whimper, body convulsing in my arms. I couldn’t handle the sight of her coming undone—it threw me over the edge. Shaft jerking as uncontrollable shudders tensed the muscles in my back, I groaned, fought to keep my eyes open, but it was impossible. My eyes shut on their own accord, semen emptying in three, penetrating spurts. “Alexa,” I panted in her ear, body weakening. “You have no idea.” No fucking idea how much I love you. “Christ, I think I died.”

She laughed into my mouth, sweeping loose hair strands off my forehead. “I concur.”

I brought her wrist to my mouth, pressed a soft kiss to her pulse. “You should sleep.” I didn’t want her to leave. She belongs here, in my bed, in my arms. I eased out, semi-hard cock slackening between us. Snapping off the condom, I soared to toss it down the toilet, returned to her side and dragged her boneless body into my hold. “Come here.”

Alexa waited until I settled, rolled onto her side and nuzzled her cheek to my chest.

Wrapping her in my embracement, I rested my chin on her head, listening for her breathing to even out.

“Liam, what you said earlier.” She tilted her head to look at me. “You’re the only person worthy of reverence. For you, I will demonstrate paramount respect and lead by example.” Draping a leg across my waistline, she straddled me, fixing the military tags on my chest. “I mightn’t crane myself for others, but I’ll break my neck to regard you.”

My heart faltered. I held her hips, smoothed a hand down her spine. “Have I mentioned that you are perfect?” She sucked her upper lip, refraining a satisfied smile. “Soon,” I continued, finger drawing an imaginary line down her chest, pausing at her navel, “once we fix this mess you are in, we are to show the streets of London what you’re made of. Understand?”

She held my wrist, kissed my palm and fingertips. Eyes crashing with mine, she sucked my pointed finger, slow, an erotic demonstration. “You better put your money where your mouth is, baby.” Taking the base of my cock, I jacked, slow and spine-tingling. “You woke me up.”

Alexa descended my body, her hand sheathing mine, helping me work my cock. “We should sleep, though.”

I cracked a wolfish smirk. “Don’t be a tease—” She sucked me into her mouth— “fuck,” I growled, grappling the sheets with white-knuckled urgency. “I changed my mind. Get up here and ride me.”

We aren’t sleeping tonight.

CH 40

Liam

Food might be seductive and decadent, but I have scant cooking skills. In all honesty, I don’t need culinary qualifications for a key to gastronomical success. To dine and eat gourmet, I send the men to exclusive, high rated restaurants to collect pre-arranged orders and delve into convenient, prepared meals with gusto.

Situated in the large open concept of the living room, the cavernous, contemporary modernised L-shaped kitchen with quartz countertops, top-the-line stainless steel appliances, extensive marble and panoramic views of London, is the quintessential place to cook up a storm. Yet, the only worn utilisation so happens to be the coffee machine.

I sipped black coffee, half-heartedly scrambling eggs in the frying pan. The goal was feta and semi-dried tomato omelette, but the catastrophic concoction had a mind of its own.

Ladling a colourful shambles onto a plate, I picked up a fork, stabbed yellow fluff and chewed its unappetising, malleable consistency.

“Good morning,” Alexa chimes, enfolding her arms around my waist. “Oh, that looks and smells delicious.”

It is unpalatable and, on the face of it, misleading. “Try the bacon instead.” I dropped a kiss to her temple from over my shoulder and passed her a plate of prepared food.

Keeping her arm around me, she sets the dish on the counter, added a heap of chaotic eggs and forked a combination of skewered rations to her mouth.

I stared, awaited her wrinkled nose and dissatisfied grimace.

“Liam, this is so good,” she said, and my brows shot to my hairline in disbelief. “I wish I could cook like you.”

Fuck. If I am a better candidate for cooking, we have some severe nourishment problems. “You don’t need to lie, Alexa. I know the eggs lack edibleness.”

“What?” she asked, stuffing the corner of her mouth like a hamster. “That’s your entitlement talking, Liam. There’s nothing wrong with these eggs. Trust me,” she stressed, giving me a knowing look, “if you had my burnt egg whites to compare, you’d learn the real definition of unacceptable and possibly poisonous fodder.”

Resting my back to the counter, I used a grey tea towel to wipe my hands. “Are you still existing on ice cream?”

“That, vodka and takeaway.” Frowning, she counted on her fingers. “I lie. Heather bakes a lot of cakes. I pack them away, too.”

I found myself examining her slim frame, trying to fathom where she packed those pounds.

As if sensing my scrutiny, Alexa peered up at me from beneath her lashes, dismantling buttery toast with shaking fingers. “What?”

She wears an oversized T-shirt, courtesy of my wardrobe, hair knotted atop her head, demeanour relaxed and comfortable. “You look beautiful.” Towing one arm around her, I brushed my knuckles along her jawline. “I love seeing you in my clothes.”

Tilting her head, she puckered her lips. “This T-shirt smells like you,” she whispered, waiting for my mouth. “Don’t make me beg, Mr Warren.”

Pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I angled her head to my liking, lingered a soft, deliberate kiss to her pouting lips. “How can it smell like me, Alexa. It still had the tag on before you stole it from the drawer.”

“I know.” She was all smiles as she kissed me. “I sprayed it with Clive.”

“You wasted Clive Christian to attend adequate breakfast,” I half-joked, snatching a handful of her ass. “Surely your rebelliousness requires punishment, Miss Haines.” I hoisted the chuckling woman onto the counter, settled between her legs and smoothed two palms over her thighs. “Where should I start?” I tugged her bottom lip with my teeth, enough to cause a sting. “Here?”

Tossing the half-eaten toast aside, she coiled her arms around my shoulders, putting us eye-level. “Are we free from prying eyes?”

It took me a moment to grasp her question. “Yes.”

Nate escorted a troubled, lamenting Blaire out of the penthouse while Alexa rested. I hadn’t left my woman’s side to watch the show unfold, though.

For an inexplicable reason, Blaire’s developed an infatuated bond with me, so living with Nate, under his supervision, might be the life-altering change necessitated.

Displeasure painted Alexa’s features. “Why was she here, Liam?”

Is it insensitive to say Blaire reminded me of Alexa? It’s the truth. I saw a young, broken girl, who, not only resembled the woman I lost but endured the precision of Alexa’s traumatic past.

“Blaire’s one of Bajramovic’s victims,” I explained, brushing-over the night I found the girl inside the squalid cavity, and the time she entered the bedroom, allowing me to believe she was Alexa. “I offered her safety and respite.”

A question brews in Alexa’s eyes. “That’s quite sad,” she whispered, her mind solivagant for a few minutes. “I feel bad for being rude now.”

“No,” I pacified, and her shamefaced expression desiccated. “Blaire’s not our problem, right? Let Nate whip her into shape.” Placing a mug onto the coffee stand, I selected a latte and the scent of hazelnut coffee brewed. “Here.”

Accepting a warm beverage, she blew over the surface and sipped. “Oh, I love this.”

“An inexhaustible supply.” Beside the toaster, my phone jitters, a silent call from Brad. “So, I was thinking—”

“Did it hurt?” she asked, and I shot her a quizzical frown. “Sorry, it was a joke.” Grimace lines rutted her forehead. “Shit. Your solemnity unnerves me, Liam.”

I remove the mug from her clasped hands, put it on the side. “Alexa, I have given you no reason to feel demoralised or discouraged.” Her anxious countenance sharpened. “What’s bothering you?”

“I love spending time with you.” Sliding off the counter, pacing the kitchen, she plucked up an apple from the fruit bowl, juggling from hand to hand. “But the city believes I died the night of the fire. Isn’t staged-death illegal? How am I supposed to come home, as Alexa Haines, and dodge criminal charges?”

“Yes, pseudocide, unfortunately, has no limitations when defrauding the courts of justice, but you didn’t fake your death, Alexa.” Folding my arms, I considered arranging a private meeting to discuss this matter with Reginald. “Tell them the truth. I’ll explain the situation to Reginald—”

“It’s not that simple, Liam.” Nervous, she chewed the corner of her lower lip. “They’ll wonder why I didn’t leave the compound with Jace.” Her face paled with each passing second. “Plus, I kinda stole some money from these, like, high-net-worth individuals.”

Nate mentioned the promiscuous Victoria flaunted cash on a panoply of designer shoes and garments. I had questioned her on this before. “Go on.”

“So, Jace is, like, a self-taught hacktivist or something…”

“Alexa,” I narrowed my eyes, “get to the point.”

“He uses his tech-savvy skillset to login to peoples credentials and financial information to penetrate malware or something…”

“Or something,” I repeated, intrigued and frustrated. “Care to elaborate further, Alexa, or must I unceasingly ask you to proceed?”

“Okay, in a nutshell, he steals funds from chauvinistic pigs, who cheat on their wives, wires the money to offshore accounts, or phantom bank accounts for us to, at a later date, withdraw under falsified codes.” Her cheeks dusted to a hot flush. “So, yeah, I—we, the two of us—have a lot of money hiding in all these nooks and crannies.”

“And these chauvinistic pigs,” I reiterated, feeling impossible rage clawing its way to my chest. “Should your evasiveness concern me? You assured me once that your petty pilfering was under control.” And that she never touched those men. “What changed?”

“I mean,” she flicked a flippant hand, “I don’t believe these men will come forward, or, at least, I hope not. If they did, then, well, they’d have to endure an extremely uncomfortable conversation with their wives. And, let’s be honest, no man wants to admit he pays for sex—not that I did anything of the sort—but that’s the type of sleazes I dealt with. Married, family men, who lead double lives.”

I believed her. “Again, It’s nothing Reginald can’t straighten out.”

Her lips meshed. “What if I told you some of those men were plutocracies?”

“You fucked with the parliamentary system?” I barked, and she nodded. “Alexa, what the fuck? Are you an idiot?” I am going to kill him. “Jace, the son of a bitch is dead—”

“No, Liam,” she argued, cupping my neck, forcing me to look at her. “You cannot blame another person for my behaviour. I must be held accountable for my actions.”

“That’s not you,” I retort, prying off her hands. “Alexa Haines, she’s smart, modest and humble. She doesn’t go around with a goddamn gun, threatening innocent men for their wealth. I will not fain to believe that jumped up cunt didn’t force this foolishness on you.”

“Do not feed me that honourability crap, Liam.” She stepped back, reining in her defensiveness. “You kill men for sport, so don’t stand there and preach dishonourable depths to me. You, of all people, are in no position to reproach or admonish me.”

“Touché,” I mocked, jerking my chin to the double-doors. “I’m about to jump the balcony. Are you going to comply and accompany me?”

Alexa bristled, hardening her irked expression.

“Do not simplify your senseless behaviour by comparing our state of affairs. If you make a mistake? Own it. I can work with that. As for the juxtaposition of our criminal activities? Call it hypocrisy, Alexa. I don’t want the love of my fucking life facing the aftermath of racketeering—fucking sue me. The difference between you and me?” I let that hang in the air. “I can handle incarceration, can you?”

There was a pregnant pause.

Capitulating to my extemporaneous lecture, Alexa, sickly pale and pallid, withered back into her protective shell.

“I got more money than sense. If you need something, anything, it’s on me to provide that in abundance.” I was angry, but her woeful smile and curt, acquiescent nod hit me hard in the chest. “I appreciate my deliveries often precipitate, but Alexa, my heart’s in the right place. I only want to do right by you.”

“I know, Liam.” She moved to leave the kitchen, but I caught her hand, wrenching her into my arms. “Liam—”

“No more running,” I said huskily, forcing myself into a calm state. “Enough of the impromptu decision making, Alexa. if you have a problem with me, then bring it to my attention.”

“It’s not you,” she said, hands to her mouth. “How do I fix this?”

“You let me take care of the paperwork,” I affirmed, kissing the crease between her drawn brows. I need to change the subject—put a smile on her distressed face. “Fancy a day in bed? Movies,” I opened the fridge-freezer, pointing to the various ice cream flavours, “and sharing one of those?”

Eyes brightening at the sight of her favourite sugar-rush, she selected interspersing gelato with caramelised pecans and white chocolate truffles. “What is this?” Shaking the tub with investigating vigour, she popped off the lid and swallowed salivating cravings. “Are those chocolate-coated pearls?”

How the fuck should I know?

“Liam, we can’t eat this,” she said with a stern frown, returning the lid. “It’s artisan ice cream.”

“Shut up,” I scold, getting a spoon out of the drawer. “Go on. Knock yourself you.”

“Well, if you insist.” Pulling herself onto the kitchen counter, she lost the lid and delved in with heavenly delight. Sucking frosted heap into her mouth, she licked her upper lip, paused. “Fuck.”

“What?” Scowling, I peered into the tub. “Overrated?”

“Underrated,” she corrected, spooning a taster for me. “Go on, Liam. Break the rules. Go wild.” Her eyebrows danced mischievously. “What? Oh, come on. A bit of sugar isn’t harmful or going to blubber your physique. You snort coca—”

“Enough.” Holding her wrist, I angled the spoon, tasting rich chocolate on my tongue. “I don’t understand the hype.”

Affronted, she scoffed. “Where did you get it?”

“Selfridges.” Heading to the balcony, I unlocked the door and stepped out for a cigarette. “I had one of the men pick them up for you.”

Alexa followed me outside, settling on a chair to admire the views. “I love it our here,” she mused, spooning through icy layers to pick out truffles. “It’s peaceful.” Extracting melted ice cream from her thumb, she repositioned the lid and put everything onto the bistro table. “So, movies?”

“You decide,” I mumbled, lighting a cigarette. “None of that soppy shit, though.”

She pondered for a brief second. “What about a romantic comedy?”

Fuck, she’s sending me to my premature death. “No.”

“Okay, how about fantasy? I love paranormal—”

“No.” Yes, she’s determined to torture me. “Anything but that.”

“What about a classic or musical?”

“Alexa, for fuck’s sake. Why not a thriller or a horror movie?”

Puckering her brow, she rested her chin on a tight fist. “Liam?”

I blew out a veil of smoke. “Yes, baby.”

“Why make me jog through genres if you were dead set on blood, guts and cringeworthy demonic possession movies?”

Fucking hell. I can’t even debate because she’s right.

“A horror, then.” She laughed, eyes widening at the absurdity. “Is it pathetic that a lazy day in bed with you excites me?”

My merriment wavered. “No, Alexa. A movie day with you in my arms is the exactness of perfect.”

***

Hiding her face behind rigid fingers, Alexa, togged-up in my jogging bottoms and hoodie, watches the suspenseful moment where Doug’s about to kill the mutant, Pluto. “What is he waiting for?” she asked, her breathless voice strained. “Why is he crying, Liam?”

Balancing a plastic bowl on my lap, I tossed popcorn kernels in my mouth. “I don’t know, Alexa.”

“Oh, God.” Slapping a hand over her eyes, she evaded the taunting knife scene, breathing coming in laborious and thick. “Liam, why are they doing this?”

“I don’t know, Alexa.” Kicking my feet onto the coffee table, I grabbed the Macallan bottle and poured myself a refill. “Why don’t you watch it properly and find out.”

Alexa, mustering bravery, lowered her hands and exchanged her shield for the black duvet she pinched from the master bedroom. “Dear. Fucking. Lord.” During an overdramatised myoclonic fit, she fused her back to the leather sofa, knocking the ice blocks in my glass. “Liam, I hate horror movies. The victims are so stupid. They always, with no avail, walk straight into the firing line and invite barbaric humans to gnaw their flesh. Who does that?” Her round, panicked eyes lasered into me. “Doug—shit,” she shrieked, ducking her head under the blanket. “Liam, did you see that? Oh, God. I can’t stomach this any longer. Why do they collect human body parts? Why must those mutant looking lunatics rape the women?” she blathered question after question, the clamorous, side-shattering screams rolling in the background. “Liam, why does Pluto have a mangled up face?”

“I don’t know, Alexa,” I joshed, expressionless yet inwardly enlivened by her thespian performance. “Shall I pause the movie and ask him?”

She turned at the waist, giving me a deploring glare. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

I found it funny. “They are an inbred cannibal cult who trap, terrorise and murder victims.”

Stone-faced, she snuggled closer, flicking a nervous glance to the wall-mounted television. “Why?”

“What’s the question?”

“Why do Pluto and his inbreeding, cannibalistic accomplices gallivant through those hills and prey on innocent people?” Another gruesome scene flashed on the screen, and she nuzzled her face in the groove of my neck, cocking a leg over my waist. “Can you move the bowl please?”

I set the bowl on the floor, sipped and savoured the taste of whiskey. “It’s just a film, Alexa.”

Her eyelashes fluttered open. “Weren’t you a little bit on the edge of your seat?”

I mightn’t eat my victims, but I have done far worse than slam hatchet down on somebodies head. Bloodied organs and pained screams don’t faze me. I can eat a three-course meal to slaughtering screams in the foreground without so much as batting an eyelid.

On the coffee table, my phone screen illuminated. It’s Brad. He’s called me tirelessly throughout the day and sent an array of text messages. He’s likely sat inside my office at Club 11, ripping his ever-growing hair out in frustration—the man loses his shit when his boss isn’t around. I haven’t responded to him. I wanted one undisturbed day with my woman.

Is that too much to ask?

I missed her, and it is evident how much we needed this time together. Nothing thrilling or spontaneous. Old movies, refreshments, a makeshift bed on the sofa, her at my side is what I call heaven. “I love you.” Snaking my arm around her waist, I pulled her in, close, breathed in the rose-scented smell of her shampoo.

Alexa’s fingers carved the line of my jaw. “I don’t want to watch this movie anymore.”

“No?” Downing the rest of my drink, I set the glass on the floor and pointed the remote control at the television. “Okay, for you, I can sustain something fluffier.” Scanning the romance section, I clicked through certain actors. “What about Pearl Harbor?” Yes, it has all the romanticising feels for her, but the action is top notch. “That’s a bit of a compromise.”

Sitting taller, Alexa took the remote from my hand, chucked it over her shoulder and peeled off her hoodie.

My evasive mask stayed in place but those puckered nipples, mouthwateringly inviting.

Keeping the blanket around her back, satin tight in her fists, she straddled my thighs, looking at me in a way that exposes innermost vulnerabilities.

My knuckles skirted up her stomach, delaying between her breasts. Pushing the blanket from her shoulders, exposing her transfixing body, I palmed her back, thumb scaling the length of her spine. At my touch, goosebumps coursed her heated skin, sending a dusted flush to her cheeks. “Alexa,” I said hoarsely, snatching hold of her trouser waistband. “Take it off.” Hand using the sofa rear for support, she shimmied the slacks from her legs, kicking them to the floor. “Bend for me.”

With bated breath, she positioned her knees and lowered her back to my outstretched legs, elegantly curving her spine. Holding her waist, I dipped my head, whispered a teasing kiss to her navel, descending to her centre. Flattening my tongue, I stroked the tip through her cleft, sucked them, paid scarce attention to her favoured place.

I watched her chest rise and falls as she sustained resilience, eager to hear those low, muffled moans as I drove her pleasure.

Blowing a kiss to her sex, I suckled her pulsating core, nibbled and taunted.

“Liam,” she moaned my name, and my cock stood to attention. “Oh, God.”

Fingers marring her waistline, I plunged deeper with fierce tongue strokes, lapping and tasting, devouring ravenously. I rubbed over the material of my straining cock, easing the ache. “You cum with me,” I rasped, weaving our fingers, tugging her to me.

Cheeks red and hot, Alexa nods in a daze, eyes never steering from mine. She gripped my trouser waistband, and I lifted my hips, helping her pull them down.

My cock fell heavy against my thigh. I grasped the base and rubbed from root to tip. “You need to get back on contraception.” I wanted my woman bare, nothing between us. “Do you need me to arrange it?”

She repositioned over me, knees digging into the leather. “No, I can handle it.”

I obtained my wallet on the floor, uprooted a foil packet, tore through the wrapper and sheathed myself.

Coiling her fingers around my elongating shaft, she lined me up and watched the place of our merger as she eased down. “Liam,” she hummed, pausing to adjust. “I love this position, but you’re too…” She noted my gloating smirk and rolled her eyes. “Will you get over it already.”

“It’s hard to forget.” I massaged her clit with my thumb, helping her relax. “You remind me,” I smacked her backside, and she winced, “every time you saddle up.” Massaging the sting I put to her cheek, I shifted to get comfortable, twisting to settle my feet to the ground. “Fuck me.” I gave her a low, savage growl. “Alexa.”

With my hands on her hips, I brought her down, making her accommodate me, paused a beat, and then held her ass, coaxing her to take me, hard, fast, enough to bring me to my knees.

Mouth parting on an erotic moan, hands hugging my shoulders, she rolled her hips, her muscles clenching around my shaft.

“That’s it,” I groaned, keeping her hair in an agonising grip. “Harder.”

My cock drove deeper, buried, entrenched. Her ass cheeks slapped against my thighs with each determined bounce, quite literally fucking me into submission.

I laid onto the sofa and watched her beautiful body working mine below cinched brows. I couldn’t breathe, think, or see beyond momentary impaired vision. I did, however, overhear raised, feverish voices from the hallway.

“Liam,” Alexa cried out, and fuck, she’s close. “I—”

Pulling her across my chest, I wrapped my arms around her body and thrust with anxious, piston speed. I didn’t want to rush or deny her, but I recognised Brad’s yelling echoing from the lobby—something was wrong.

“Let go for me,” I breathed into her mouth, giving her long, meaningful strokes. “Alexa—”

Her mouth slanted over my lips, tongue dancing with mine. I wasn’t close, nowhere near, but when she moaned my name and milked my cock, I saw fucking stars. Her muscles clenched around me, draining every jerked drop I had to offer. “Holy shit,” she mumbled onto my chest. “I don’t know what happened.”

Brad’s confrontation advanced. “Alexa,” I sat up, gripped the discarded joggers from my floor and wiped the sweat from her back. “You need to—”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Brad barked, and Alexa’s gaze clung to the front door. “I mean it, Bennett.”

I pushed to my feet, scampering for clothes. “Alexa,” I whisper-shouted, discarding the condom, tugging on a pair of bottoms. “You need to hide.”

Her cheeks burnt red. “I am not hiding because that toffee-nosed bitch—”

“Baby,” I cupped her face, kissing her cheek, “please trust me. I love you. I’ll explain everything later, but for now, I need you to get that sweet ass inside my bedroom and lock the door.” Brad hammered a fist against my front door—his way of alerting me. “Alexa—”

“Fine.” Snatching the duvet, she cocooned herself, seized the popcorn bowl and sauntered down the hall. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, slamming the bedroom door.

Spearing a hand through my hair, I collected any evidence of Alexa from the living room, stuffed everything inside a kitchen cupboard and opened the balcony doors so that a refreshing breeze can waver the scent of sex.

Double-checking the room one final time, I fixed my hair, brushed off my jaw and swung open the front door.

Tailored and dishevelled, Brad’s impassive expression exposed nothing, but the subtle thumb and forefinger taps told me the severity of this unwanted visit.

“Liam,” Hellen yelled, shouldering past my right-hand man and storming into my private space. “Who is she?”

“I told her you were under the weather,” Brad said, quick to intervene. “Apparently, someone informed her of another woman.” Pinching the bridge between his eyes, he breathed out a tired sigh. “Bennett refuses to give away her source, though.” He points to the raging bitch. “Her words.”

“Hellen,” I said calmly, scratching my bare chest. “Your serendipitous visit thrills me, but I don’t appreciate you interrogating one of my men or your groundless accusations.”

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” Hands settling on her hips, she squared up to me, eyes brimmed red from hours of crying. “I want to know who she is, right now.” When I didn’t respond, she snorted, dabbing her flushed nose with curled-up tissue. “Larry was right. You are a filthy Casanova.”

Larry can get fucked.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I am ending this charade once and for all,” she threatened, her feral eyes bouncing around the penthouse, looking for verification. Murderous stare landing on the balcony doors, she straightened her posture and marched towards it with determined strides.

I shared an amused look with Brad and, in tandem, we trailed behind the woman, onto the balcony. I felt confident but worried Alexa was blowing a gasket in the bedroom.

Hellen, stropping with her hands on her hips, studied the melted ice cream tub. “You don’t like ice cream.” Wicked assurance honed her eyes. “You told me as much, too.”

I don’t remember upholding that conversation.

“Are you finished flouncing around like a baghead, Bennett?” Brad crossed his arms and ankles, resting a shoulder to the door frame. “If you’d of listened to me? Could have saved ourselves a tedious car journey.”

“You can wipe that smirk off your face, Brad,” she spat, flinging her doused tissue at him, which merely bounced off his shoulder, rolling on the floor. “As if I’d take your word. You’d cover for him regardless.”

Hellen snivelled, wiping mascara stains from her cheeks. Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and I waited for a vociferous lambasting. “I need a drink,” she said instead, ducking back into the penthouse. “And a bathroom break.”

Panic jerked me into action. “Hellen,” I yelled, shoving past Brad, chasing her across the living quarter. “Wait—”

“Screw you, Liam,” she blathered, sprinting to the master bedroom. “I know she’s here!”

At this point in life, I no longer cared. I slowed my pace, watched her fling open the bedroom door and prepared myself for whatever transpired. But if that woman lays one finger on Alexa? I’ll blow her fucking brains out.

I reached the bedroom, furtively glancing to find Alexa. I wondered whether she rolled under the bed, but when Hellen fell to her knees to look and returned unstuck, worry lines formed on my forehead.

Hellen turns on the bathroom light, hunts for a potential female, and then repeats the process inside the walk-in wardrobe. “I thought…” Opening cupboards, combing through clothes rails, she roams around like a ruffled up peacock. “Liam, I was almost sure…”

I didn’t care about Hellen or her feelings. I wanted to know how Alexa managed to disappear into thin air.

“Oh, this is humiliating.” She sagged onto the foot of the bed, ready to take off her shoes.

“No,” I snapped, and she wilted. “You do not get to come here and climb into my bed. Not after that display of distrust, Hellen.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”

I scratched the back of my neck, pondering how to get rid of her. “I need some time to think.”

“Liam, please don’t break up with me.” Her nervousness increased as she gravitated toward me. “Please, forgive me. It was a misunderstanding.” Cupping my cheeks, she pressed a kiss to my chin. “I’ll go home and let you calm down. Don’t make rash decisions based on one blooper, Liam.” Hugging me, she nestled on my chest, desperate for assurance and comfort. “I love you.”

Fucking hell. Alexa didn’t need to hear that. I closed my eyes, biting back a wince. “You should go.”

Nodding, she used the back of her hand to clear tears. “Okay,” she whispered, lingering a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I…” Holding onto her dignity, she suppressed further conversations and exited the bedroom, her high-heeled shoes scraping on the floor.

I hear Brad order one of the men to escort her home.

When the front door slammed, I breathed out the breath I was holding. “Alexa?” Rechecking beneath the bed, I moved boxed memorabilia aside, dread weighing on my restricted chest.

“Alexa?” Poking out from the black suede curtains, I see red-polished toenails. Swallowing a painful lump, I rounded the king-sized bed, pulled the curtain back and found a crouched Alexa by the window.

Lifting her head, she gave me a stone-cold glare, frame hidden by my black training hoodie. “I feel sick to my stomach.” Standing in a swift movement, she shot past me, into the walk-in wardrobe, pinching a pair of socks. “I hate that bitch, and I don’t even know why. Technically, she hasn’t done anything wrong. If anything, you warrant my anger and frustration .” She towed socks up her legs, folded them at the ankles, and then pulled her long hair into a tight ponytail. “She kissed you.”

On instinct, I rubbed a thumb over my lips, removing Hellen’s undesired affections. “I never—”

“I don’t care,” she lied, looking everywhere but me. “Do you think Brad will drive me home?”

“I can drive you to Heather’s place.” Her ignorance made me rife with frustration. “What’s with the coldness, Alexa? I said I’d explain everything. Did I not? Hellen—”

“You told me that you’d end it with her.”

My incredulous expression held. “That was before I found out about you and Jace. Since then, I hadn’t given it much thought.” That’s a lie. I had contemplated terminating the plan, but Brad had a compelling argument. “By Saturday, it’ll be over, Alexa.”

Her contemptuous smile failed to soothe my wild heartbeat. “What’s happening on Saturday?”

“The syndicate is launching an attack on City Hall to ambuscade the Mayor of London.” In three powerful strides, I towered above her immobilised form, gripped her jaw and put our foreheads together. “And you’re going to help us.”