Chapter 11

Alexa

Nellie and Darwin Rutherford relocated to Newquay with only the clothes on their backs and a teenage daughter in hand.

Adaline Rutherford.

Born and raised by two loving parents, Adaline, beautiful yet humble, acclimatised to her new, unfamiliar surroundings. Although residing in a bustling neighbourhood, bursting with friendly neighbours and vivacious children, she often kept to herself. If being an only child affected Adaline, nobody sensed as much as she always smiled and talked fondly and devotedly about her parents.

On one winter’s morning, Nellie and Darwin left Adaline with a close and trusted friend.

Clarence Corbyn.

Darwin frequently travelled for work purposes, and on the rarest occasion, his wife, Nellie, accompanied him.

Adaline loved spending time at the Corbyn residence. It’s the one time she’d eat sugary foods and drink homemade lemonade, courtesy of Beatrice Corbyn, Clarence’s wife.

What Adaline loved most, though, was seeing Noah.

Noah might have been Clarence’s and Beatrice’s son, but he was more or less a stranger to Adaline. Still, watching him play football in the garden while she sketched on the back steps became her favourite pastime. His dismissiveness didn’t upset her. If anything, she enjoyed the silence and admired him from afar.

Beatrice settled Adaline into the guest bedroom for the weekend. Alas, her impermanent stay at the Corbyn’s unexpectedly became her forever home when Clarence received a midnight call from authorities.

Nellie and Darwin died in a fatal car accident.

Adaline cried. Her pain left harrowing murkiness inside the Corbyn’s four walls, so much that Noah unprecedentedly consoled her. They camped out in the living room, watched trash television and skipped school for almost three weeks.

If anything promising resulted from the deaths of Nellie and Darwin, it would be Adaline’s newfound friendship with Noah Corbyn.

But, most importantly, Noah’s best friend, Tony Roberts.

Tony had known Noah all his life. They lived on the same street and attended the same schools, played football together and mischievously wreaked naughty yet harmless havoc throughout their neighbourhood.

After gruelling football practice, Noah and Tony had surfing plans. It was a Sunday ritual. They met with teammates and rode the waves until sunset.

“I was furious, Alexa,” Tony said with a disbelieving smile. “Childish and immature. Girls weren’t allowed to crash our plans, especially where surfing was involved.”

Chin resting on my closed fist, I listened intently, soaking up the details of my mother’s past. “What happened?”

“Well,” he groaned, sipping water to quench thirst, “I told Noah that Adaline wasn’t welcome to join us, but thankfully, he was never one to listen.”

While Tony petulantly lost himself to the cold waves, Noah and his teammates geared up at the shoreline. Tony reluctantly accepted the fact Adaline had ruined their plans and soared to the surface in time to see the other lads paddling out.

Peeved yet curious, Tony stared at the girl, who lingered near rockpools. She wore a one-piece and barely put one toe in the water. Placing the board into the nook of his arm, he waded back to the sand, wanting to get a better look at Noah’s new friend.

Adaline heard someone advancing and lifted her gaze.

“I was a goner,” Tony tells me, imperceptibly shaking his head. “Adaline quite literally stole my heart, right there on that beach. Your mother was younger than me, but there was something about those eyes.” His grieved stare held mine. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

I smiled sadly. “Did you scold her for tagging along?”

“No, I was too speechless,” he said, and we both laughed. “Your mother feared the water, so I made it my life’s mission to change her mind. I hurled her over one shoulder and ran into the ocean while she screamed bloody murder.

“We started as friends,” he continued, his lost gaze settling on the coffee table. “Adaline, Noah and I were inseparable for years. As we aged, I regularly ended up on the Corbyn’s couch, disrespectfully inebriated with a snoring Noah top-and-tailing with me.

“Beatrice deliberately vacuumed the floor at seven o’clock in the morning, just to irritate our hangovers. Noah would complain, and then Clarence would intervene, defending his wife’s honour.” He slowly ran a thumb across his lips. “I never listened to their family squabbles; I was too busy admiring the girl who lingered in the living room doorway.”

“You said my mother was younger, so did she go out drinking with you and Noah?”

“No, Adaline stayed home, and bloody threatened to disown us instead.” He chuckled under his breath. “Idle threats. She couldn’t go for three days without speaking to us.”

I absently toyed with the chain around my neck.

“On Noah’s twenty-first birthday, alas, Beatrice died. For the first time in weeks, I couldn’t stay at the Corbyn’s household. Clarence, he’s a stone-faced man, but he broke his damn heart that night, and I couldn’t withstand it.

“Noah, losing Beatrice, it crippled him. Yes, she was the typical example of an overbearing mother, but she idolised her family—and Adaline, she’s the daughter Beatrice never had.

“I attended the funeral with my mother, who, unfortunately, is no longer with us, and stayed at my best friend’s side while he grieved his loss with silent tears.

“Subsequent to Beatrice’s death, Noah derailed,” he said, losing himself in a moment of distressing nostalgia. “He started mixing with the wrong crowd at college, taking hard drugs and partying all week. His father, Clarence, worried himself until his once blonde hair greyed overnight. And Adaline, she somewhat replaced Beatrice by striving to keep their family together.

“It didn’t work, though,” he mumbled, unscrewing a whiskey bottle. “Adaline wasn’t mentally or physically strong enough to conciliate an angry father and son. When those men argued or sometimes fought, she’d try and get between them, but honestly, her pleading went unheeded.

“The last time Noah stepped inside that house, it resulted in a father and son fistfight. Adaline called me and screamed down the phone—I drove on two wheels to get there, broke them up and lost my best friend.”

“Why?” I asked, lifting a cup of Irish coffee to my lips. “What happened to Noah?”

“He told me to ‘stay the hell out of his life’ and then he walked away and never looked back.”

Clarence’s sad eyes flashed in my mind. “Do you still speak to Clarence?”

“I used to,” he confirmed, topping up his whiskey glass. “But when Adaline…” He stopped himself. “Clarence closed the door on everyone after he lost your mother, too.”

“So, my mother lost her parents as a teenager and was fostered by the Corbyn family. She loved them enough to hang around. And then she had to bury Beatrice and spend most of her young life, preventing Clarence and Noah from killing each other.”

“Pretty much.”

I inhaled a shaky breath. “When did you both start dating?”

“I stole her first kiss when she was just fourteen years old,” he admits regretfully. “It was wrong. Noah would have decked me. Clarence, too. Those concerns never stopped me, though. In secret, we kissed all the time, and when I went to college, I remained loyal to your mother. Even when it was forbidden and partying transpired and females advanced, I kept my virtue and waited until Adaline was the rightful age to pursue her properly.”

Clarence drank too much rum on the weekends. He missed his wife. He missed his son. He had Adaline, and she was outstanding around the house, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping and getting herself a part-time job to help with utility bills.

Adaline knew Clarence grieved Noah. She, too, missed him dearly. She knew why one bottle of rum a night soon became two. It hurt Clarence to remember, so it was easier to numb the pain and sorrow and suffering.

What about Adaline, though?

When did people stop to see if she was okay?

At least Adaline had Tony—or did she? Tony worked long hours, and when he wasn’t fixing cars, he was studying. Lately, Tony chooses house parties and beer drinking with friends, rather than visiting Adaline, who lives just down the street.

No, Tony didn’t care.

Not enough, anyway.

Adaline loved watching the ocean at night. It was quiet there, soothing, an escape, a place to listen to the waves and her troubling thoughts.

What if Clarence drinks too much?

What if Noah never comes home?

What if Tony meets another tonight?

Distressed and melancholy, Adaline trudged her bare feet through the sand. She could hear the party from beyond the cliffside, the one where Tony surrounded himself with loud music, football friends and those pretty girls attending his college.

Ridiculous rage and jealous paralysed Adaline.

It’s her eighteen birthday, and no one remembered.

Where were her cards?

What of the priceless gift or a token of affection?

Adaline found herself uninvitingly entering the party and pushing through hordes of people. Yes, she wanted confirmation and to see with her own eyes if Tony had strayed.

The room was bursting from the seams.

Alcohol flowed from hand to hand.

Boys and girls kissed, groped and danced.

But where was Tony?

Had he left already?

Was he with someone else?

Could Adaline blame him? He was practically a grown man and settled for holding hands and the occasional kiss. Indeed, he deserved to live, just like everyone else who fondled and had sex and partied without complications or obligations.

Adaline retreated.

Accepting the truth hurt.

Recognising that she must let go nauseated her.

“I was so confused,” Tony said. “I knocked on their front door, but nobody answered. My father was out that night, and I had everything planned. While I sat on my porch, basically stalking Adaline’s house, I saw a silhouette in the distance. It was Adaline. She’d been crying and running and had sand stuck to her feet.”

Before Adaline could open the rickety gate to the front garden, she saw Tony jogging towards her. Embarrassed, she’d wiped the tears from her cheeks and fixed her appearance. Her long, wild hair blew disobediently in the wind, and her dress was spoilt from the water and sand.

Tony had been drinking.

His eyes were somewhat bloodshot.

Adaline smothered another cry and turned her back to him. On her shoulder, his hand fell, his other arm wound around her waist, and he inhaled the scent from her hair. She couldn’t dismiss him.

Adaline had loved him from the moment he taught her how to swim, to ride the waves and to dance under the stars.

Coaxing her to face him, Tony held up a small box between them. He’d wrapped it himself: metallic silver and a red bow, Adaline’s favourite colour.

Tony remembered Adaline’s birthday.

“I had to get it for her,” said Tony, setting a small leather box onto the coffee table. “Adaline never took it off.”

Placing down the cup, I reached for the box and popped it open. “What is it?” I asked, examining the fragile chain and vintage-looking feathers. “Bracelet?”

Nodding, Tony shifted closer and carefully extracted the delicate jewellery from the box. “Here.” He unclasped the link. “Try it on—”

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” Clasping a hand to my left wrist, I withdrew. “It was hers.”

“Adaline would want you to have it,” he said throatily, attaching the bracelet to my wrist.

Tears threatened my eyes. “Why didn’t she wait for you, Tony?” He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. “Why did she go to Him?” Patrick Haines, my father, was a cruel, wicked man. He didn’t deserve somebody as beautiful as my mother. “Patrick was a monster.”

Adaline and Tony’s relationship was the worst kept secret. Neighbours whispered tales behind their backs, and such fabrications affected Adaline. Rumours regarding their history spiralled out of control. Before she could get a handle on the situation, Clarence accused Tony of prying on a young girl. Of course, Adaline defended her love. Appreciation, respect, morals and love built their relationship.

Not paying attention to Clarence’s stern, drunken lecture, or the untrue stories, Adaline proceeded to help Clarence around the house, to earn a wage package and to see the boy she chose to fall in love with—until Tony did not.

“Everything happens for a reason, Alexa. Do I regret leaving your mother and enrolling in the Royal Navy? Yes, it’ll haunt me until the day I die. But I did leave her behind, and I cannot change that.

“My father was the polar opposite to Clarence,” he said, swallowing what looked like a painful knot. “I am not ashamed to admit, I feared him. When he said jump, you asked, how high? He ordered me to enlist in the Navy—I packed my bag the following day.

“I spent many summers with your mother. What started as two young kids, kissing and holding, became a tragic love story.

“I fell in love with Adaline Rutherford the very moment we clapped eyes. And those marvellous feelings, not once, decreased or lessened. If anything, they grew stronger and more urgent. On her eighteenth birthday, she gave herself to me in ways that I don’t expect you to understand or imagine.”

When will my heart stop hurting for them? “You let your father come between you both?”

Tony’s father wasn’t as lenient as Clarence, who sat back and let Adaline make her own choices. No, Tony’s father threatened to lay down the law, to tell authorities his son had been messing around with the girl when she was only a minor.

Such threats terrified Tony. He had kissed Adaline, but he never touched her inappropriately, not until the night of her eighteenth birthday.

Adaline’s heart broke into a thousand pieces.

Tony visited her and said goodbye, not even a kiss in his departure.

Nellie and Darwin died.

Beatrice died.

Clarence lost his soul to the bottle.

Noah never came back.

Neither did Tony.

“I let my fear for my father come between us.”

“I suppose she was heartbroken when you left.”

“I promised never to be that person.” Tony’s eyes welled up. “Adaline lost everyone and then she had to see the back of my head, too.” Taking a sip of whiskey, he ran a hand over his head. “I was young and selfish. I told her to move on, yet wrote her letters, knowing it might keep her around.”

Tony stood to open the sideboard drawer. Inside, he finds another envelope and hesitates. It’s evident he wants me to see it but is he prepared to part with it? That’s the precision of the question I see ablaze in his eyes. “I received this from Adaline. It was the only response she bestowed me.” Holding out his hand, he offered me the letter. “Please, don’t read it here. I’d like you to take it with you.”

I place the letter inside my handbag.

“Nobody hated your father more than me,” he said, and my worried eyes jerked up. “We were friends once. I know I told Adaline to move on, but I never expected her to marry him. It was quite a shock when I returned.” His arms crossed. “However, if there were no Patrick, there would be no Alexa and Kathy. If nothing else, two beautiful daughters came from their marriage.” Eyes searching mine, he asked, “How is Kathy?”

I wasn’t ready to touch that subject. “I wouldn’t know,” I lied, forcing a fake smile. “I haven’t seen Kathy for a long time.”

Tony sat on the coffee table opposite me. “It pains me to admit that your mother did love him. It wasn’t always…” He hesitated. “They were happy once.”

“Patrick beat, raped and cheated on my mother,” I said, and his jaw muscles popped. “I was only young, and for a long time, my memory refused to cooperate with me, but vividly, I still experience those disturbing nightmares. Not you or anyone else can convince me that what they had served any purpose.”

There was so much we wanted to tell each other.

I see it; he sees it.

“If you think, I resent or judge you for continuing a relationship with my mother? Then you couldn’t be more wrong.” Gingerly, I placed my hand atop his and held it. “She was lucky to have even the smallest measures of happiness with you.” Thank you, I thought, blinking back tears. “God, I don’t even know why I came here, to Newquay. I am loved. I am so loved, Tony…” Yet, I cannot ease the ache inside my chest. “But I miss…” Them, I sobbed, pulling back my hand to cover my mouth. “Please, ignore me.” Unstoppable tears fell from my eyes. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately—”

His arms suddenly wrapped around me. Stunned to the core, I stiffened in his embrace, but his arms only tightened almost as though he needed comforting, too. Choking out a cry, I warily crossed my arms over his back and held his T-shirt in fastened hands.

“I know so much about you,” he whispered, clasping a hand to the back of my head. “The road you have walked, Alexa. All I can say is that I’m sorry. You don’t need to tell me all the reasons why you came back, but I am glad that you did.” He released me and quickly rubbed his eyes. “I miss her, too.”

Morose and numb, I nod. “Where is she buried?”

***

Tony,

Life sometimes feels unfair and unkind. It can be distressing, hurtful and completely unforgiving. It has a brutal way of putting our minds, bodies and souls through excruciating tasks yet never lends a hand when you fall.

Or perhaps life isn’t cruel at all.

Maybe it is testing our forbearance level so that when we hit rock bottom there is only one more place to go and that is up.

Your weakness becomes strength.

Your mind protects your heart.

You learn from your mistakes.

You make friends with the darkness.

You exist in the light.

Keep me in your thoughts.

My heart’s eternally yours.

Forever,

Adaline.

P.S I beg that you come home to me as my heart cannot heal without you.

Crouching by my mother’s headstone, I smooth a hand across the chiselled, carved verse. “Adaline Rutherford,” I read, smiling foolishly to myself. “I guess I have you to thank for all this.”

Tony squats beside me. He takes away dead flowers to replace them with fresh, vibrant red roses. “Adaline loaned Patrick her heart, but it belonged to me.” He holds out a single thornless rose for me, and I curl my fingers around its frail stem. “I could never put his name down on the very place she laid to rest.”

Putting the rosebud to my nose, I inhaled its soft clove and then set it on the ground. “Gone but never forgotten,” I whispered the short verse. “Loved by all. Grieved by many.” Teary-eyed yet composed, I smiled at him. “You will forever be in my thoughts.”

Lacing his fingers together, he stared at my mother’s memorial photo. It’s a younger image, a smile on her face, unfamiliar to me.

I struggled to take my eyes off him. “Have you moved on?”

Tony was unprepared for my innocuous question. “I…” Guilt heated his face. “Alexa, I will never stop loving her.”

“I know,” I whispered, tucking hair behind my ears. “It’s okay, Tony. You aren’t supposed to die alone.”

I’m glad he’s found someone else.

God knows this man deserves happiness.

With the sun on my face, I shut my eyes and searched for closure…

I felt nothing.

If not a semblance of finality for my mother’s death, or Kathy’s betrayal, or the damn past—the one I am determined to leave in the past—what am I missing in life?

“Now,” I stood, uncertainties sliding to the back of my mind. “Why don’t we eat? I saw a nice place on our drive over here…” Is it okay to demand more of his time? “No, you know what? I should go—”

His hand captured my upper arm, preventing my heels from sinking further into the mud. “I’d love nothing more.”

Do not cry again, Alexa. “Good because we need to work out how to bring Noah home,” I babbled, and his eyes narrowed. “And you need to put those gardening skills to work. Clarence,” I huffed, hands sloping to my hips, “needs one of those fancy herb gardens you sow.” Jesus, Alexa. Be quiet. “Please, and thank you.”

Stunned, Tony ushered me back to his parked truck. “Are you always this bossy?”

I laughed. “Only when I’m nervous.”

Chapter 12

Alexa

“I hate you.” Jace, supporting a toolbox on one shoulder, bored into me with minacious eyes. “We don’t even know this dude!”

“Get topless, Jace.” Sunglasses and knee-high boots in place, I kicked open the ramshackle of a garden gate and rolled my sleeves up. “It’s the perfect opportunity to bake the skin.”

Knotting my hair into a messy bun atop my head, I prepared for the catastrophic dump and unravelled a bin liner. “I’ll start with the rubbish,” I said, fingers pinching a sodden T-shirt off the ground. “God, do you think neighbours take advantage of Mr Corbyn? Surely, he doesn’t litter his own lawn.”

Reversing his ball cap and discarding his hoodie and shirt, Jace uncaps a sports bottle and sprays water over himself.

Face. Shoulders. Arms. Chest.

I blinked twice.

Glittering droplets trickled down his chest, weaving his tattoos and chiselled washboard of abs. Raising the ball cap, hand spearing through his wet hair, he shakes misted dews from unruly strands and tilts his head back to immerse in the sun’s rays.

I bent a sarcastic eyebrow. “That was dramatic.” Theatrically deliberate. “Are you done modelling and advertising a water bottle?”

Cracking a lopsided smirk, he moved on. “Quit ogling me like a doe-eyed pervert,” he bark-jokes, stomping up the wooden steps.

Palm smoothing over his chest, he absentmindedly fixed his nipple piercing and then touched the verandas wooden ceiling, testing its lifespan. “It’s hanging on by a thread. I’ll need more than a hammer and nails to secure this, Alexa.”

Tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, I glanced down the street, contemplating buying the man a new house, entirely. No, it’s his home—his memories. “Okay, let’s call in for an emergency back up.”

Day one. Rubbish removal.

“Wait!” Jumping out behind the in-coming van, I hold my hands out. “You reversed too far! I don’t want you to knock the man’s damn wall down!”

Our hired help jerks open the driver’s side door, swings his denim-clad legs out and jumps down.

Ears the darkest shade of red, he slammed the door and marched towards me with childish stops. “You don’t have to pissing yell at me, lady!” he spat, spittle flying out of his mouth. “You—”

“Look!” Pointing to the truck’s rear end, which sits millimetres from Clarence’s bricked wall, I snatched the guy’s sweat-sodden T-shirt and put us nose-to-nose. “If you break? You replace. Got it?”

He whacked my hand off and pointed a filthy finger in my face. “No…” His bloodthirsty eyes globes as they drifted past my head. “Yeah, sure. No problem, lady.” Tilting his cap, he scuttled back to the van and accelerated forward.

I felt like an almighty, powerful… “You’re standing behind me, right?”

Jace stepped to my side and glared at the truck backing up, the muscles in his shoulders, rigid and strained. “He’s lucky I didn’t beat him for coming at you like that.” Whipping a tea towel across my backside, he strode to the amassed rubbish bags we’d collected and hoisted them onto the cargo bed. “Get to work, Alexa.”

Day two. Refurbishments.

“Alexa, you need to lift it higher,” Jace yelled, his impatience soaring to a concerning summit. “Alexa!”

“I’m trying, asshole!” I rebuked, fingers grappling the wooden beam. “Heaven forbid a woman struggles with heavy objects, Jace!”

Red-cheeked and sweating, his head elevated from the other end. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Stifling an amused grin, I walked him backwards, the long beam working upper body strength.

“This entire charade was your idea,” he reminds me, backing himself onto the veranda. “And you haven’t even offered me a coffee for hard labour.”

He needs to get over this pity party; it’s getting old.

Later that night, caked in grass stains, dry soil and wet paint, I face-planted the bed. “I am dying.”

My legs hurt. And my arms. In fact, everything aches and throbs and the sunburn on my face promises to blister

I blew a strand of hair off my cheek. “I hate my life.”

“I’m going out,” Jace shouted from the living room, and I mutely waved a dismissive arm in the air. “Don’t wait up for me.”

The front door jammed, and I lowered my eyelids and went out like a lightbulb.

Day three. Almost mauled to death by King Kong.

Opening Clarence’s backdoor with a cagey knock, I eased into his small cottage-style kitchen. “Clarence?” I called, eyeing the kettle and mugs. “You know how I helped myself to your garden and stuff…” Hand to the granite counter, I peered down the dark hall where only dusted furniture and gloominess welcomed me. “Do you think I could help myself to a cuppa, too?”

Silence and solitude. “Bugger it.” Popping the kettle on, I arranged two mugs for coffee and strummed my fingernails on the counter.

I heard a spine-chilling growl.

Hairs on my neck splintering, I was besieged by proliferating goosebumps.

“Shit.” Striving to evict the strangled slither going up and down my narrowing windpipe, I glimpsed downward and came face-to-face with— “Oh, for crying out loud!”

Bug-eyed and maddingly yapping, the chihuahua snaked between my ankles, waggling its curving tail. It eyeballed me, parking into an obedient sitting position.

“Hey, little guy.” Crouching, I fussed and smoothed its tanned fur. “Territorial my ass…”

I stupidly looked up.

Why did I look up?

From the dog basket, foaming and snarling his uneven, razor-sharp teeth, the Cane Corso cocked his head to the side, one ear shooting upright.

Terror caged my sporadically beating heart. Fearing the worst possible outcome, I rose taller, snorting a nervous laugh. “Nice doggy.”

He barked, loud and bone-shattering.

My insides cringed. “Oh, shit.”

I was his raw food diet.

Tumbling over the ankle-nipping furball, I ran out of the back door, the-most-terrifying-and-territorial-dog-I-have-ever-seen, thunderously lumbering behind me.

“Jace!” I shrieked, hearing the man panic and stumble off the ladder, but I never had the guts to look back or check if he was okay. “Holy shit. Help me!”

Repeatedly toppling over and staggering to my feet, I ran for the garden gate. Trainer clipping DIY supplies, plummeting me to unquestionable death, I crushed and winded myself yet gathered the sense to roll onto my back—I shot my arms out as the big-lump of howling ferocity collapsed on top of me.

He barked in my face.

Jerking my head to the side, I winced, squinting my eyes.

Paws parked on either side of my head, the dog slobbers my face, licking and drooling.

Scared witless, I patted his back. “Good boy—” His tongue lapped my mouth. “That’s disgusting.” I could smell his dinner. “A little help over here!”

Day four. Belated coffee.

“It’s amazing, right?” Uncaging my bursting excitement, I grabbed Jace by the wrist and heaved him to exhibit B. “What do you think?” Slumping onto the porch swing and outstretching my victorious arms, I extend a heeled foot heavenward. “I painted it myself—and I fixed the chain.”

Jace clutched the chain and tested its weight resilience. He nods his approval. “It’s good.”

I stuffed a striped pillow under my head. “How’s it going with the veranda?” I might just leave on the swing. “I could sleep here forever.”

Jace tore threw a chewing gum packet. “Almost done…” At the sound of a door unlocking, we both steered out gaze and watched a limping Clarence emerge from indoors.

My opened mouth closed.

Tired and frail, Clarence posted for frequent stops, not having the support from his cane. Chin lifting stubbornly, he stomped a final step and bends to set two mugs onto the window ledge.

Pinning me with a quizzical look, Jace licked his dry lips, craving those coffee beans more than life itself.

Coughing into a closed fist, Clarence, not making any eye contact, goes back inside, the front door crashing behind him.

Stupefied by Clarence’s short-lived appearance, Jace scratched the back of his neck. “What the fuck just happened?”

I gave him a wide, toothy smile. “I think he’s warming up to us.”

Day five. I hacked up a lung.

Headphones blaring music in my ears, I slapped a paintbrush onto the house’s wooden exterior, licking and splattering brilliant white. “Son of man, look to the sky,” I belted out inharmoniously. “Lift your spirit, set it free. Someday you’ll walk tall with pride. Son of a man in time you’ll be—Hey!” Jace ripped the plug from my ear and stuffed it in his. “I was listening to that.”

“What the fuck is this?” Tugging the plug from his ear, he shot his eyebrows together. “Seriously, Alexa? Tarzan?”

“Don’t judge me.” My cheeks scorched crimson. “I like Phil Collins.”

Utterly nonplussed, he spins his ball cap backwards and leaves me to consider my music taste.

Discarding the phone and music, I ambled down the steps and surrendered to a well-needed break.

Plopping onto a the patio step, I crossed one leg over the opposite knee and rummaged through Jace’s holdall. I find his sandwich, tear it in half and hold one up for him as he passes. Teeth sinking into appetising chicken and mayonnaise, I licked sauce from my lips and extracted lettuce.

Washing my lunch down with water, I stood to return to my station, eager to get these jobs finished.

I suddenly felt light-headed.

My stomach tightened.

Hands falling to my middle section, I kneaded the hoarding knots messing with my insides and hallowed my cheeks to prevent the sickeningly invasive surge violating my throat.

I flickered my anxious eyes to the back door.

Slapping a palm over my mouth, belting ahead, I shoved a worried-looking Jace out of the way, darted into the house and helped myself to Clarence’s downstairs bathroom.

Hands and knees to the tiled floor, I buried my head in the toilet and strained whatever muscles I had. Eyes watering, I spat out the most revoltingly disgusting taste and wiped a tissue over my lips. “Holy, shit.”

Flushing the toilet, I soared onto shaky legs, washed my hands at the stink and stole the mouthwash. Mouth invaded with minty freshness, I gargle and swoosh.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Jumping at Clarence’s angered tone, I sprayed mouthwash all over the wall-mounted mirror. Grimacing at the taunting droplets, I touched puckered lips with my fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

Two seconds later, Clarence slapped a packet of paracetamol onto my palm.

Day six. Landscaping.

“I am not letting you strim the grass, Alexa.” Jace reclaims the strimmer and shoves me behind him. “You can start the flowerbeds.”

No, anything but that. “Why can’t I help you strim?”

“No,” he said more firmly. “You could get debris or shards in your eyes.”

My shoulders sagged. “I’m wearing sunglasses, though.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It kinda does.”

“Flowers, Alexa.”

Groaning to myself, I twisted on the heel of my boot and obeyed orders. Box of bulbs in my possession, I ventured past the newly fitted garden gate…I stepped back. “Tony?”

Jace dropped his beer bottle.

It crashed alongside my heart.

“You guys looked like you might need a hand.” Tossing his T-shirt onto the wall, Tony paused to admire our hard work, a holdall slipping from his arm. “It looks like a new house.”

I felt Jace’s unspoken intrigue stabbing me in the side of my head.

“Right,” said Tony, lending me his full attention. “Where do you want me?”

Jace wordlessly wheeled our borrowed lawnmower over and gave the handle to Tony.

“Okay, I’ll leave you guys to it.” Not wanting to make a big deal out of Tony’s unforeseen arrival, I floundered to the rockery and pretended I knew how to weed.

Later that evening, I awoke with a start. The vibrating bang was impacting enough to make my heart miss a beat.

If Jace has brought another one of his hook-ups back, I might just chuck him off the cliff.

Rolling onto my back and kicking the duvet off my body, I climbed out of bed. Rubbing my tired eyes, I wandered into the living room, checking to see if any fashionable heeled shoes took residence on the sofa—nothing.

Frowning sharply, I slowly cracked Jace’s bedroom door open. Greeted by an empty bed with messy sheets but no roommate, I perked up my ears to listen for any running water in the bathroom—nothing.

Returning to my bedroom and pulling the blanket back, I sank one knee onto the mattress when something caught my eye outside.

Frown holding in place, I went to the double doors and peeked around the curtain. Jace stands outside without shoes or socks on his feet, his jogging bottoms hanging low on his hips. Hands latching on behind his head, he looked up to the dark sky, and that’s how he stayed, lost and lonely.

I sighed a sad sigh.

Plucking up a discarded hoodie, I pulled it over my head and yanked socks to the knees. I unlocked the back door and roamed his shadow. Jace would have heard the latch drop, but he doesn’t watch me advance.

Shoulder-to-shoulder, I set a palm on his sweat-slicked back and did the only thing I could do when a friend had a moment of evoked grief and heartache.

I listened to the waves while he silently cried for Summer.

Day seven. Tony thinks I have a screw loose.

Tony tried to kidnap the tub of ice cream from my unyielding hands. “Alexa, you can’t eat it before buying it.”

I can and I bloody will. “It’s Cornish vanilla,” I deadpan, borrowing a stainless steel spoon from the utensils aisle. “It will melt if I don’t eat at least half.”

Tony checks nobody’s watching our petty theft; his horrified eyes ping-pong over his shoulders. “You told me a pit stop was vital for a bladder break. You haven’t even mentioned the bathroom since entering the store.”

He’s right. I saw a discounted ice cream sign in the shop window and almost combusted. “Do you want some?” The man’s appalled glare intensified. “Come on,” I coaxed, waving the spoon back and forth his face. “Go wild. Live a little. You might just enjoy it.”

“I shouldn’t…”

“You should.”

Contemplative, Tony inspected the aisle ends, unruliness rupturing his worrying sight. “Fine.” Holding my wrist, he jerked the spoon to his mouth and tasted what all the fuss was about. “Satisfied?”

I think so. “Delighted.”

I am a bossy mare.

When did that happen?

“Now,” exhaled Tony, “I think we need to find the weed killer or Jace will accuse us of slacking.”

Day eight. The dawn of revelation.

Blinding light ruptured my eyelids.

“Alexa,” Jace called, and I groaned into the pillow. “It’s two in the afternoon.” He tore the fleece blanket from off my body, and my knees spasmodically hiked to my chest. “Get up.”

“I was out bright and early, touring the beach,” I defended myself, hand aimlessly searching for an additional sheet to cover my face.

Jace drew the curtains back and unlocked the bay doors, generating a mixture of warmth from the sun and a light, sea breeze chill.

I lacked patience. “I will murder you.”

“Are you hungover?” He reappears like an impenetrable wall of muscle, the domineering brute. “Don’t you want to go surfing?”

“For the umpteenth time, Jace, I cannot swim.” I sat up quickly, and he jerked back in reaction. “What if I nosedive off the board, huh? Or, what happens if I am lucky enough to obtain my board, but a great white shark gnaws off my leg?”

Jace covered his mouth with a hand to suppress disturbance. “There are no great white sharks in our waters, Alexa.”

I knew he’d say that.

Grabbing my phone from under the pillow, I load the saved article and hold it up for him to read. “The internet doesn’t lie.”

Squinting, he dipped his head and scanned the journaled sighting. “Are you joking?”

I arched a defined eyebrow. “Do I look humoured to you?”

“Alexa, that article is from ten years ago,” he stated in a chagrined voice. “And it’s based on rumour, not actual facts. I don’t think Britain has ever reported one deadly shark attack.”

Peeved by his mockery, I exhibited the second article. “What mutilated the body of a washed-up dolphin on our Cornish beach?” Pinching the screen, enlarging the image, I heightened the dolphins missing head and bite marks from enormous razor-sharp teeth. “I don’t wish to be ominously hunted as shark bait.” When he grinned mischievously, I pointed a condemning finger. “Do not ooh-ha-ha me, Jace. The Nemo reference stopped being funny three days ago.”

I fell back on the bed.

Smile locking in place, arms extending above his head, he stretches his neck and spine. “Why are you so tired all the time? You sleep for more than eight hours a night.”

“I think it’s the sea air,” I huffed out, tucking an arm behind my head. “It’s knocked me for six.” His eyes briefly flickered to my outstretched body. “What?”

“Nothing.” Schooling his features, he diverted his focus. “Okay, if surfing’s not an option, what do you want to do?”

I admired my freshly polished red toenails. “Let’s find a pub.”

When Jace wasn’t eating junk food or doing shots of vodka with me, he’d dress to impress and head off into the village to meet with Kimberly, or Janice, or Rebecka, or even Gemma. I mean, I wanted juicy information regarding his love interest—interests, plural—but only stomached one disturbing story before rebuffing any further knowledge from the ever-growing manwhore.

“Why?” I asked him one night, the manmade campfire and burning embers as our only witness. “It’s painful.”

Jace, crouching forward, poked the fire with a shore deposited fishing rod. “You don’t like anal sex.”

My bottom tensed at the imaginary invasion. “I have never tried it.”

“Then,” he tugged his ball cap, “how can you say it’s painful?”

Haunting flashbacks of Chloe and I browsing a porn site occupied my mind. “When I was seventeen, I got curious and watched adult movies. Chloe delivered the goods: popcorn and bottled beer. Anyway, as it was for research purposes rather than late-night pleasurable purposes, we snuggled up on the sofa and scrutinised movies together.”

Jace smiled wickedly at me. “You watched porn with your best friend.”

“Yes,” I said warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Two women masturbating together is a huge turn on, Alexa.”

“There was no masturbation, thank you very much,” I half-heartedly chastised. “Plus, we were seventeen. It’s forbidden and frowned upon for a grown man to picture two teen girls self-stimulating.”

“Jesus Christ, Alexa.” His humoured expression fell. “Talk about being a mood-killer. I imagined a ‘grown’ Alexa and Chloe getting each other’s rocks off, actually.”

“Well, there was none of that,” I stressed, sitting cross-legged on the grass. “We selected a video.” Skin-on-skin, sweat and tears, loud grunts and spine-chilling screams. “It was hardcore anal play.”

He cracked up, laughing to himself. “Hardcore can be a mood killer.”

“You don’t like rough sex?”

“I love rough sex, but I get no pleasure from putting a woman through pain, Alexa.”

My cheeks puffed out. “Nauseating, I tell you. It mentally scarred for life, Jace. I will never, ever, let a man shove a rod up my ass.” When he didn’t respond, I sought him out with concerned eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he lied, charbroiling a marshmallow.

I balanced the vodka bottle on a rock. “Jace?”

“I just can’t see Warren not wanting it at some point,” he said unabashedly. “It’s bound to come up in conversation—or in bed, at some point.”

Accepting the skewer from him, I lightly touched the toasted marshmallow. “Liam mentioned it once.”

Jace pulled a smug face. “Men love anal sex, Alexa. Don’t delude yourself into thinking otherwise.”

I sucked caramelised foam from my thumb. “Oh, but it looks agonising.” To be honest, I don’t think I could survive it without passing out. Liam’s big—too big to be easing into my “bony” backside. “We tell each other everything, right?” I asked nervously, and he jerked his chin. “Liam’s manhood exceeds the average size. He’s really big—”

“No,” Jace reprimands, holding up a hand to silence me. “Talk to me about anything, except another man’s cock, Alexa.”

My eyes protruded. “I had to listen to three hours of your pummelling Gemma last night.” True story. I fell asleep with my fingers buried in my ears to drown out the headboard crashing against the wall and their breathless moaning. “Talk about contrasting principles, Jace.”

He stared at me in shock. “You virtually threatened me into overshares, Alexa.”

I don’t counteract because he’s right.

“If a man’s well-endowed,” he said grudgingly, “then he would have learnt how and when to apply ease and resilience and whatnot. It’s on the man to prepare the woman at a gradual pace.”

This topic discomforts him. “So, Liam should know to take it easy on me?”

“Yes.” He stole the vodka bottle from me. “Yes, now can we get back to marshmallows?”

My mouth salivating, I toyed and squished the half-eaten marshmallow between investigatory fingers.

“Alexa?” Jace hummed, examining my face. “Are you okay?”

No, a shivering wave of nausea travelled through me. “I don’t feel too good.” I carefully swept hair over one shoulder. “Do you think I drink too much alcohol? I might have the start of liver failure.” Discarding the skewer, I reached for the bottle, but Jace beat me to it. “Scavenger.”

Uncapping the bottle, he downs a thirsty gulp.

Uncomfortable, I shifted position, seeking relaxation when an upsurge of bile invaded my mouth. “Jace—” Too late. I whipped my head to the side just as the lining of my stomach splattered across the grass. “Oh, God.” Shoulders jutting forward, I stationed my shaky hands to the ground and vomited again. “Why me?”

“Shit,” complains Jace, combing my hair back and holding it. “Get it all out.”

“I don’t want it all out—” Choking and heaving, I splayed and twisted my fingers, clinging to delicate strands of grass as my body launched forward. “Make it stop.”

Rubbing my back, he aids me through violent intervals. “Finished?”

Dribble dangled from my lips. “That was the most disgusting experience of my life.”

“Not the anal porn?” he joked, and I elbowed him in the ribs. “I was kidding.”

I smear the hoodie sleeve over my mouth. “I need a drink.”

Jace helps me stand on quivering legs. “Grab a shower first.”

It was nearing midnight when I finished showering. Knotting a towel around my body, I went to the basin and wiped visual condensation off the wall-mounted mirror.

“Oh, lord.” Pretending the pallid, gaunt-looking woman in the mirror wasn’t me, I squirted toothpaste onto a toothbrush and thoroughly brushed my teeth. While criticising my reflection, Jace, wearing a leather jacket, appears behind me. “Are you going out?”

“No, I ran to the store already.” Hesitant, he came into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. “I got you something.”

“Yeah?” Spitting foam into the sink, I cupped water and swilled out my mouth. “Tell me it’s ice cream. I am quite obsessed with the bubble gum flavour recently.” Towel dabbing my face, I turned to see a white rectangular box in his hand. “What’s that?”

“I, uh…” He slid his tongue piercing between his teeth. “I think you might be pregnant.”

I burst out laughing, but it hadn’t lasted too long. Jace’s serious expression rattled me to the bone. “Jace, I am not pregnant.” Has he lost his mind? “Throwing up tonight does not equal pregnancy.”

“It’s not the first time, Alexa,” he barked, tearing the transparent film from the box. “It’s not just the sickness. You sleep all the time, and lately, you have been cranky and uncharacteristically argumentative.”

I took umbrage at his comment. “I have not—”

“You’re doing it right now,” he argued, and I snapped my mouth shut. “Take the damn test and shut me up, then.”

“Fine.” Snatching the box from his hand, I use my teeth to tear the wrapper, fish out the test and pop the lid off. “Well, turn around.” Jace offers me his back while I sit on the toilet with the stick lost between my thighs. “This is absolute madness. I would know if I were pregnant.”

Blowing out a long sigh, he asked, “When was your last period?”

I paused to consider his question.

Why can’t I remember?

My eyebrows met. “How long do I pee?”

He tilted his head. “That should do the trick.”

“Are you listening to me, urinating?” Putting the lid back on, I set the test on the cabinet and relieve the rest of my bladder.

Rewashing my hands, I dabbed them off in a towel and glimpsed at the results.

Horrified, I did a double-take.

My heart froze.

Two pink lines.

“Oh, shit,” I gathered a weak voice, a frighteningly cold slither raking down my spine. “Jace?”

Moving to stand beside me, he stared at the test, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “Christ.”

“No, it’s wrong,” I futilely convinced myself. “I can do another test tomorrow. There is no way I am pregnant.”

“Alexa, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s very rare to get a false-positive.”

No, It’s not possible.

My lips wobbled. “Liam…” Tangling my hands in my hair, I caught my breath and held it.

“No, Alexa.” Jace holds my upper arms, soothing me with gentle squeezes. “You’re stronger than that, remember?”

Shaking my pounding head, my hands adhere to soaked roots. “I…” Devastated tears coat my eyes. “Liam doesn’t…” My night with Jace, us kissing, touching, driving each other to orgasm. “Oh, God.”

With an intense tightening in my chest, I fused my shoulder to the wall, hiding my shamed face. Breathlessness and suffocation clogged my throat. Closing my eyes, I flattened a hand to my chest and choked in a stuttered breath. Inhale, Alexa, slowly breathe out. I head to the comforting voice inside my head, composing through cycles.

Jace whispered a kiss to my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

What if Jace’s the father? “What if it’s not Liam’s baby?”

Realisation pooled in his widening eyes. “We used protection, Alexa—”

“So did Liam.” Horror-stricken, I seized the sink and fought back another violent vomit. “Oh, God. Don’t do this to me,” I cried, capturing a wretched sob in the palm of my hand. “Jace, I can’t be pregnant. Liam, he doesn’t want children.” He most certainly wouldn’t raise another man’s child. “He’s adamant, too. Not having children is non-negotiable.”

Flattening his lips, Jace shook the test between us. “I guess fate has a different plan for you guys.”

My stare revisited the woman inside the mirror. I was too numb to consider the likelihood of me being a mother. “I can’t lose him.”

My heart palpitated at the dire concept of not having Liam in my life.

“If Warren leaves you because of this, then he’s a bigger prick than I pegged.” He ebbed around a question. “When will you deliver the news?”

My heart rate escalated to perilous heights. “When I muster the courage to return to London to face him.”

Chapter 13

Alexa

I misplaced my gun.

How could I lose an indispensable belonging?

Declining to my knees, I spread my arm under the bed and blindly search, fingertips collecting a sheen of ubiquitous dust in lieu.

“Gross,” I muttered, rubbing my hands on the back of my jeans. “Jace?” Flinging open the wardrobe, I hunt through neatly folded linen and line-dried towels. “Do you have a minute?”

Satisfying hunger with a home-cooked cheeseburger, Jace enters my bedroom and flops down on the bed, the decorative square pillows falling overboard.

My right eye twitched.

“Calm down, Miss OCD.” Burger wedged in gritted teeth, he drops an arm to recover them, arranging them behind him without an ounce of ornamental grace. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lied, fixing the upside-down pillows with a combination of inoffensive unobtrusiveness. “So, I lost one of the revolvers.”

He gave me a pointed look. “What?”

“Yeah, I am just as confused as you.” Rubbing my unceasing headache, I toured my eyes around the room. “I could have sworn I hid it under the bed.” Not that armed enforcement is obligatory in Newquay. I mean, excluding angry dogs and the indeterminable existence of wild boars, nothing insidious or nefarious occurs around here—omitting the Haines case, of course. The crime rates are virtually zero. “I am unsure. Maybe I left it somewhere.”

“Not a good theory, Alexa. If the revolver falls into someone else’s possession and they use it? You could end up with unfair murder charges on your back.”

I was momentarily tongue-tied. “Jesus, why don’t you kick me while I’m down?”

Jace snorted, scarfing the last bite of his burger. “And the hormones are back.”

“My hormonal angst has nothing to do with pregnancy. You’re worrying me.” I point to my face. “Do I look like I need additional problems in my life?”

Positioned to his side, he leaned on one elbow and tapped a summoning hand to the mattress. “Get your moody ass over here.”

Resigning to defeat, I crawled across the bed and snuggled on his awaiting arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you again.”

His gentle fingers combed the hair from my face. “Good job I am not sensitive, right?”

Liar. Deep down, this brute of a man feels everything, all the emotions. Fortunately for me, I get to see and experience the real Jace Williams, not the standoffish, unapproachable, frighteningly intimidating person feigned for the defence of others.

“You likely left the gun at Warren’s place or something.”

No, I had it. I know I did. “Probably.”

Jace toyed with the bracelet around my wrist. “New?”

After the long afternoon talking “memories” with Tony, I came home and bombarded Jace—who had plans to meet Kimberly—giving him a rundown of my mother’s past. He soaked up my ponderous blithering with keen interest, cancelled prior arrangements and chowed salted popcorn until sunrise. I had, however, forgotten to mention the jewellery. “Yes,” I whispered, submerged in his innocent wrist touches of comfort. “It belonged to my mother.”

“You got it from Tony?”

I nod.

“Tony’s stellar,” he said, and I hummed agreeably. “Can I ask you something?”

I tilt my head to look at him. “Anything.”

Considering his question pensively, he feathered his fingertip along my eyebrow. “What are you hoping to achieve with him?”

Honestly, I had no reasonable answer. “I think…” Rolling to my back, gazing at the ceiling, I thought long and hard. If I wanted to speak candidly, I had always wondered about my mother’s past.

Prior to meeting Liam, I underwent distressing night terrors where she’d emerge, either happy or sad. Incapable of differentiating between subliminal memories and figments of imagination, I often tormented myself with the unknown.

“Tony knew her better than anyone, right? Who better than him to explain my mother’s history? It’s nice, the stories of when she was young and the tales of her romance. I like knowing that she wasn’t always sad, Jace.” I expel a long sigh. “It unburdens me.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He stayed quiet, and I could hear his ruminative cogs clanking. “How do you feel about the pregnancy? Better, I hope.”

Given the complicated, problematic nature of the situation, I am overly pessimistic about what the future may hold, so much so, I repudiate the pregnancy and any distressing concepts of losing Liam.

Jace buried a child, a little girl who’s unfair death condemned him to lifelong bereavement. It’s inconsiderate to explain the true nature of my silent conflict.

“Are you still fretting over Warren’s reaction?”

Okay, clearly, avoiding this topic isn’t an option. “Yes, I am worried that he’s going to lose his mind. I am also concerned…” If I go ahead with the pregnancy, the baby might be Jace’s. I sound like an awful person for even thinking this, but I don’t want Jace to father my unborn baby. He’d be a fantastic parent, but he’s not Liam. “Liam’s going to question us, Jace. You know that, right?”

“Alexa,” he sighed, scratching the ridge in between his brows. “The baby isn’t mine.”

I wish I had his faith. “How can we be sure?”

“We used a condom—and before you compare us to you and Warren, do the maths. If it were my kid, you’d be what? Five or six months pregnant? And showing.” His deadpan eyes lingered on my flat stomach. “That baby’s Warren’s.”

With this consolation, I granted myself a second to regroup. “Okay.”

He puckered a brow. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I repeated, grinning reassuringly.

“We should get over to Clarence’s house to finish the job.” Putting a chaste kiss to my temple, he draws out his arm from underneath my head to start cleaning dirty dishes in the kitchen. “Don’t forget to eat that burger I made you, Alexa!”

“Sure,” I answered flatly, correcting the messy coverlets and tugging on a pair of boots. I grab my phone on the bedside table to check if Liam replied to my message.

I glowered at the blank screen.

Dialling his number and setting the phone to my ear, I hear one ring, and then the call diverts straight to his voicemail box. “Hey,” I said, gnawing my bottom lip. “Okay, so I haven’t heard from you in a while. Should I be concerned?” Not hearing his response, whether harsh or pleasant, pitted me with desperate longing. “So, I, uh, I miss you. A lot, actually.” Moving to the doors, I put my head to the windowpane. “Maybe we can schedule a call, or we can facetime? When you aren’t busy, of course.”

Lost in a memory of us, I absently reach for the necklace around my neck. “Liam, I…” Nothing encountered my investigating fingers. “Shit.” Ending the call, I drop the phone and frantically comb the bedroom. “Oh, God. No, don’t do this to me. Jace,” I yelled, detonating the once-pristine bed arrangement, hurling cushions over my shoulder. “Jace, have you seen my necklace?”

I never take it off.

Grasping the roots of my hair, I trudged into the living quarters, my eyes bouncing around the room. I overturn everything, furniture, cupboards, drawers, laundry basket and even the inner pockets of coats. “Jace?”

Where did he go? He was lamenting rock songs at the sink two seconds ago.

Outside the bathroom, I put my ear to the door and rapt my knuckles. “Are you in the shower?” He had a shower two hours ago. “Is it necessary to luxuriate five times a day?”

This man is impossible.

Not caring if he’s indecent, I jerked the door open and wafted scolding humidity and steam from my face. “Jace, I can’t find my necklace from Liam.”

Hands falling to my hips, I stare at the drawn patterned curtain. “Earth to Jace,” I chimed impatiently, eyes pooling with devastated tears. “Jace, for crying out loud. I only want to know If you—” I tear the curtain aside, the empty cubicle and hammering water heightening rebelling anxieties.

At an utter loss for words, I lean in, kill the water and grapple the sink edge. Losing jewellery is no big deal, Alexa. You can buy a new chain. It’s materialistic, replaceable. “It’s irreplaceable,” I corrected myself, turning on the cold tap.

Liam bought me the necklace. Immaterial to the rare red diamond and white gold elegance, it holds our memories and exemplifies the unique love story of two completely different people fighting against the odds and choosing to become one.

A replacement will not suffice.

“Shit.” Mad at myself for crying, yet again, I wipe tears from my cheeks and look in the mirror. You would assume, after all the petrifying anguish I had endured, not even the devil himself could detonate me. “Jace,” I whispered, reading the “congratulations” message written through condensation on the mirror. “Jace!” Immaterial to being accustomed to fear-provoking situations, I was utterly inanimate by the manifestation of ill-fated good wishes.

“Christ, Alexa. I only took the bins out.” Jace thunders into the bathroom, sweating and panting as though he’d been on a ten-mile jog. “What are you barking about now…?” His unreadable eyes assessed. “Did you write that?”

“You think I’d write congratulatory notes to myself?”

Am I that questionably certifiable?

To salvage my sanity, he considered lying to me. “No, Alexa.” Snatching a towel from the radiator, he storms to the sink and cleans the mirror. “It’s probably from previous guests or something.”

“Yeah,” I entertained his need to lie and pacify me. “I mean, what’s the chances of the previous guests being pregnant, too, right? It’s a happenstance that a month later, theirghost-like greeting wound up in our bathroom to frighten the living crap out of me.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” He hurled the towel into the laundry basket. “It’s weird as hell, Alexa…” His ghosted expression morphed into puzzlement. “I don’t know how to explain this to you.”

I don’t know how to explain this to me.

Disturbing thoughts urged protective hands to lower to my stomach. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

“What?” he asked, the hitched fear in his low, strained voice failing to convince me. “Why would you be in danger, Alexa? Bajramovic is dead.”

Liam had raised concerns before I left for Newquay. He tried to assign several members of the syndicate to my trip and became tersely infuriated when I obdurately persisted. “I think the syndicate’s under a lot of strain right now…”

“Obviously,” he scoffed sarcastically, “it’s the backlash of Warren’s bullshit. Let’s all target Alexa because he’s a hot-headed prick.”

“Jace, don’t start,” I warned, not in the mood for his negative lecture today. “I knew who Liam was before I climbed into bed with him, so whatever happens after the fact? It’s on me. I’m accountable, not him. Plus, we don’t even know if this,” I gestured to the mirror, “is the repercussions of my involvement with him or the organisation.”

He stared me down in sheer disbelief. “Why do you always defend him?”

“I love him,” I bit out, relaying the ardent, possessive need to vindicate him. “Liam’s mine to defend.”

***

Clarence Corbyn hadn’t stayed home for his overbearing labourers this afternoon. I knocked on the door six times, but the man never spied through his living room window, or sneakily left a cup of coffee on the window ledge.

A small part of me felt relieved that Mr Corbyn was unavailable to witness the strain among his volunteers. Jace and I segregated and barely spoke two words to each other while labouring. He was mad at me for condoning Liam’s lifestyle choice, and I am pissed at him for always being quick to jab Liam with an imaginative knife.

Without Tony’s input, the gardening further necessitated work by the time our sun hunkered warm hues on our horizon.

Jace prepared to cancel plans with Kimberly again as leaving me defenceless—In what could be an endangered crisis or impending bloodbath—unnerved him. However, I assured Jace I had a dinner date with Tony, so my pig-headed friend organised to collect me once he finished whoring his ass out.

I lied.

Tony had scheduled to meet with a friend. His lady friend, I imagine, so raining on his parade by meddling with his date-night deemed a thoughtless option.

Strawberry flavoured ice cream, a new fluffy dressing gown and an early night tucked up in bed commenced. I locked every door and window to ensure no phantasmagorical encounters and hid a kitchen knife under my pillow alongside the not-so-missing spare revolver.

Tablespoon balancing from my mouth, I thumbed through needless websites on my phone, revisited an old Instagram account and declined friend requests when the feed suggested my best friend and embraced sister, Chloe.

I clicked on her profile but couldn’t scour because it’s private. “Not tonight, Alexa.” Tossing my phone, I snuggled against the pillow and spooned another heap of ice cream in my mouth. “Shit.” Overemotional, I put the tub on the nightstand and turned off the lamp.

Why do I do stupid stuff?

Now I am incapable of overlooking how much my friend must despise and hate my existence.

I splay my fingers over the cotton sheets, the space beside me. Its times like now, alone, cold, sad, that I miss him, Liam.

I reclaim my phone and text a message out in the dark.

Me: I miss you, Liam. Please call or text X

Me: At least let me know if you are okay X

I type to Jace.

Me: I hate it when you are mad at me.

Me: Can we be friends?

He responds instantly.

Jace: I love you, Alexa.

Knowing I can sleep peacefully, I smiled.

Me: Likewise.

Tapping the screen with my fingernails, I wait for a message to land from Liam.

Me: If you do not message me within the next five minutes, I am going to hunt you down and—

Inside the living room, the floorboard creaked. Senses on high alert, I briefly raised my eyes from the phone.

Me: Are you still offering your ass with Kimberly?

Jace: ‘Offering my ass’? For real?

Me: Just answer the question, Jace.

Jace: Yes, why?

I mentally reviewed my decision. Using the gun was an easier option, but gunfire echoes thunderously, reverberating and alerting others. With London homicide detectives breathing down my neck and likely scrutinising my every move, I was in no position to be reckless. I mean, I probably deserve some jail time for all those politicians and tycoons I financially screwed over, but imprisonment petrified the bones of me.

Jace: It’s only ten p.m., Alexa. I didn’t know I was on curfew.

Collecting dispersed trepidations and locking them inside an unbreakable iron cast vault, I inhaled, hand sliding beneath the pillow, curling around the knife handle.

Noiseless and intent, I placed one foot to the floor and rose from the slumber of my bed.

Waiting for an advantage, I peered beyond the ajar door. It was too dark, but the unmissable draft confirmed someone had unlocked a window…

I heard the front door close.

Heart vanishing to the hollow abyss of my stomach, I slapped a palm over my mouth to smother frenetic heavy breathing.

Do not panic, Alexa. Breathe. You can handle whatever or whoever roams beyond this room.

Fingers holding the knife handle with valiant strength, I flung open the bedroom door and readied myself for a blood-spilling slaughter. Screw the metropolitan police department. I am not enduring victimisation ever again.

I’d kill first.

Brandishing the knife in the air, I stalked towards the front door and halted my jerky, frenetic movements. It was closed, locked.

Someone stood behind me.

I didn’t feel threatened or frightened by the person’s closeness. No, I felt enlivened, droned into trance-like intoxication.

Arm slacking at my side, a breath of solace quivering from my lips, I came into the presence of soul-consuming reverence, experiencing it with every tingled goosebump rising from my skin.

With his soft lips at the base of my neck, his fingers covered mine, coaxing me to release the knife. It slipped from my vice-like grasp, crashing to the floor.

“Liam,” I whispered, dropping my head back against his chest.

“Finish your threat,” he rasped in my ear, holding my neck in his rough hands. “You will hunt me down, and what?” Fingers tousling in my hair, he tilted my head and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of my neck.

Impassioned by his nearness, I turned in his arms, looked deeply into penetrating blue eyes and lost myself completely. “How are you here?” I breathed into his mouth, reaching up and clinging to the back of his head.

“I missed you,” he said hoarsely, his hands untying my robe, parting the material to claim my waistline. “Now about that text?”

“I will hunt you down and show you how much I love you.” Taking his soft, parted lips as an invitation, I kissed him like he was the oxygen I needed to breathe, raw, hungry and unstoppable.

While he backed me up against the kitchen counter, I felt his satisfied smile between breathless kisses. Tongue sweeping into his mouth, I tasted a night of whiskey on his lips. “Alexa,” he growled, his fingers bruising my backside as he hoists me onto the counter.

I lost the dressing gown and wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him closer. “You should never drink and drive,” I half-scold him, unable to keep my heavy-lidded eyes open. “It’s dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.” His tongue flattened along the length of my neck until his ravenous mouth trapped mine, devouring me with all his dominance.

My hands grappled the collar of his shirt, tugging him to me—needing him. I removed his suit jacket and snatched his shirt buttons, popping them open to get my hands on his bare skin. “Liam,” I moaned, curving my palms across his defined chest and hugging his shoulders.

“I know, baby.” He unclasped my bra and freed my breasts. “I feel it, too.”

Throughout the entire duration of our passionate kissing, my heart thumped, and those sleeping butterflies fluttered to the surface.

Hand latching to my lace thong, he ripped and shredded the only material keeping him from exposing every part of me.

Bringing my hand to his mouth, Liam kissed my inner wrist and tugged me forward—our bodies, chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin, slick together.

I used my feet to slide beneath the waistband of his trousers, and he heeded my silent order, eliminating the rest of his clothes.

His hard, elongated length fell in my hand. I pulled an upstroke, and a low, erotic groan passed from his mouth to mine.

Kissing me fiercely, he positioned his palms to the counter. His body tensed and the cords of muscle in his arms flexed as I stroked and worked his shaft. “Slow down,” he ordered, but there was an edge of jest in his tone. “I cum with you.”

Combustive and burnt up from the inside out, I decelerated my taunting need to please this man. “I can’t believe you came here.” Never in a million years did I consider he’d relieve his duties to support me. “You really do love me.”

Liam smoothed his thumb across the faded scar under my eye. “You sound surprised, Alexa.”

“You never break syndicate rules.”

“I seem to break many for you.”

Exhaling a shuddered breath, I fixed the twisted chain around his neck and put a meaningful kiss to the corner of his lips. Palms affixed to the apex of my thighs, he traced them to my waist and kneaded the tender space under my breasts.

Gathering me into his powerful arms, he carries me into the bedroom and kicks the door shut. I am settled on the edge of the bed, and this terrifyingly handsome man towers over me.

Unparalleled adoration exchanged amid our silent, heated stares. I slid off the bed and fell to my knees before him. He tips my chin, and I crane my neck to look respectfully into his eyes. “Beautiful,” he growled, opening my lips with his thumb. “Fucking beautiful.”

I set my hands on his thighs and witnessed the effect I had on him when goosebumps ruptured and ran over his entire body. Keeping our eyes connected, I tilted my head and licked the underside of his cock. He took the nape of my neck in one hand and brushed my hair aside with the other. My lips flowed over his thick, glistening crown, and he growled his appreciation of ecstasy. He leaked pre-cum over my tongue, and I savoured his warm, masculine taste. Jerking the base of his thickening length, I bobbed up and down, unhurried yet resolute.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his fingers tangling my hair to fist me in his hold. “I want you.” Tenderness left inside the kitchen, he applied pressure to my scalp, compelling me to stand, to get on the bed and lay myself bare to him.

I didn’t wait for orders; I crawled onto all fours and lowered my head to the mattress. Bracketed behind me, he sank his fingers into my dripping sex to find my G-spot, but even the lightest touch kindled carnal quiescence. He began slow, the desire to see me crash and fall soon overpowered, though. Finger-fucking me into a lifeless mess of breathlessly idle complaints, he reawakened me as I bucked against the onslaught.

Gripping the sheets, knuckles whitening, I buried my head and smothered an involuntary moan. “Liam.” Tongue replacing his fingers, his mouth feasted on me like a starved man. “Oh, shit.” Unable to withstand his punishing mouth and wicked tongue, I bowed my spine as an all-consuming wave of pleasure wreaked through me. “Liam, I can’t.”

He suckled and tasted my arousal, blew a kiss to my needy core and then flipped me on my back with the world’s cockiest smirk on his face.

“You are such an arrogant asshole—” He shut me up with a bruising kiss, stretching himself across my body. Interlacing our fingers together, he pinned our joint hands above my head and deepened our kiss.

I relaxed my thighs for him to settle his hips. Under him, in his power, was the only cage I will ever willingly enter.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, letting go of my hand to drag his knuckles down the centre of my taut breasts. “Obsessively.”

“Get inside me, Liam.” His few days stubble grated under my hand. “Must you make me beg?”

“Fuck, I left my wallet in the room,” he said but didn’t attempt to move. “Did you sort contraception after? Or do we need a condom?”

I am not ready to tell him about the baby. In my defence, I’ve had barely any time to comprehend it. The omission of pregnancy was temporary, though. “We don’t need a condom,” I said guardedly, hoping he doesn’t probe or ask more questions. God knows this man reads people like an open book. “Unless we don’t have sex…?” Lips meshing into a thin, grim line, I prepared to lock myself in the bathroom and hide. “That could work—”

He snatched my wrist, preventing me from fleeing like a coward. “Alexa?”

“What?” Oh, I recognise the unmistakable threat in his calm yet savage voice. “I could do with some water, though, so give me a second—Liam!” He stretched above and trapped me under him. “Get off.”

“What, you’re giving me orders now?” Attaching one hand around my raised hands, he grasped the back of my knee and yanked my legs apart. “What’s going on?”

To ameliorate tension, I veered from his cynical stare. “Nothing.”

“Now, she’s lying to me,” he said conclusively, his dilated eyes descending my body. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Okay, listen,” I stuttered, a bead of sweat forming on my brow. “I want to discuss something with you…”

“If you tell me that anything happened between you and Jace, I will skin the motherfucker alive and turn my back on you for good.”

I fear a pregnancy instigates worse threats. “No, Liam. It’s nothing to do with Jace or any other male for that matter. But it’s kinda personal-ish…” Well, it’s impersonal, actually. It very much involves another participant, and he so happens to be glaring at me. “It’s quite serious, I think.”

“Are you sick?” His softening impassiveness posed a lucid apprehension. “Alexa quit fucking with my head and tell me what’s going on.”

“Can we please talk tomorrow,” I said quietly, twirling my fingers around his chain. “Please, Liam. I’ve missed you. I don’t want anything to come between us—not tonight.”

He was angry. “Don’t do that,” he retorted, the heels of my feet digging into his backside. “Alexa.” He seized my jaw, his fingers rough to my cheek. “What have I told you about using sex to distract me?”

I curled my hand around the root of him, my lips stretching to ease him in. “You swore never to deny me—” He impaled me, long and deep, cutting the air supply from my lungs. “Liam.” I touched my aching sex, and he caught my wrist. “Must you be such a caveman?”

Eyes fixated on mine, he brought my hand to his mouth and sucked the arousal from my finger, knuckle to tip. “Would you change me?”

Impossible. “I love you.”

Pulling back to the tip, he slammed forward and wedged himself there to brace his forearms on either side of my head. “Tomorrow, you talk to me.” Grazing his teeth down my jawline, he nipped and whispered kisses. “Tonight, I fuck my name right out of your mouth.”

Overwhelmed by his closeness, his fullness, I hid my head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his pungent cologne. Opening my legs wider to accommodate him, I seared my fingernails down his back and tore a prolonged groan from him. In an ethereal state of all-encompassing love, I anchored my body to him, gave myself to him, for if tomorrow falls apart, I know I had one final moment in his arms.

The way Liam looks at me, the lightest of touches and passionate kisses, it’s not the nature of sex. It is the embodiment of uncontrollable love.

Hips thrusting to mine, he drove into me with focussed vigour and precision. “Come here,” he said gravely, sliding an arm under my neck. “Beautiful.”

I drew in an unsteady breath, and his delectable lips sought mine. Holding me tightly against him, he pushed his knees to the underside of my thighs, opening me wider.

Of course, even with undeniable passion between us, Liam wouldn’t be Liam if he didn’t lose control. His head on my shoulder, he pinned my hips and drove deep, building my need.

Jaw tight with strain, he seized me by the throat, harsh enough for me to cry out. “I need you to cum for me,” he grunted, pounding himself into me unmercifully.

Grappling his hair, I tugged at the roots, my body shivering. I felt every inch of him, each tight, breath-catching shove of his cock sliding in and out of me.

“Liam,” I moaned, my sex clenching. “Oh, shit.” I crashed into an orgasm and came undone, scarcely hearing his guttural release through ear-thudding orgasm.

Keeping me to him, he tensed above me, his cock throbbing as he filled me with three spurts of cum.

Haunted by shame and guilt, I closed my eyes.

“I fucking love you,” he breathed heavily in my ear. “You have no idea.”

Wincing as he eases out of me, I place my palms to his sweat dusted chest. “How long will you stay?”

Liam secured his hands to either side of my waist. His head trails feather-light kisses between the crevice of my breasts. “Until you come home with me.” Thumb curling my areola, he stimulated my erect nipple. “So, you tell me.” Perceiving my lopsided smirk, he asked, “Why are you smiling?”

Propping onto my elbows, I laid an affectionate kiss to his lips. “I just am, Liam.” His head started to disappear down my body. “Where are you going?”

“Open for me,” he groaned between my thighs, and my legs shamelessly fell to the sides. “I am nowhere near,” his teasing tongue delved through my folds, “finished with you.”

I expect nothing less from Liam Warren.

Chapter 14

Alexa

Sinuous streams of crystalline water spilt over my bare feet as I skirted the shoreline, the evolving sunrise coruscating warmth that burns down on the empty beach.

Ponderous, I gather washed-up shells from the sand, stuffing them inside my coat pocket. Since holidaying in Newquay, Cornwall, It’s customary, collecting essentials for Summer’s dreamcatcher, but, in all honesty, I had slipped out of bed earlier than usual to avoid Liam’s predictable objurgation.

Circumventing our inevitable argument doesn’t make the situation any less problematic, though. Disclosing my pregnancy will be the catalyst to his inexorable upsurge. If not the unwanted baby news, I am confident, when Jace emerges from last night’s antics, the concurrence of destructive stress might derail Liam’s uncharacteristic display of patience or restraint.

Rueful cowardice and pusillanimity almost got the better of me. I hesitated by the log cabin’s back door, contemplating a way out of this mess.

Relaxing my clenched jaw, I crept inside, relieved to see Liam dead to the world. Bordering the double-bed, I gently place amassed shells into the drawer, being sure each movement doesn’t alarm the sleeping giant, whose long legs virtually hang from the foot of the bed.

I unbutton my coat and drape it over the armchair’s rear. Wanting to prepare Jace of Liam’s unexpected arrival, I left the bedroom and tiptoed next door. It was too dark, and the stench of whiskey watered my eyes. Holding back a strangled cough, I skulked around the bed to open a window and draw the curtains when shoulder-length, unruly blond hair made fresh air an afterthought.

My eyes narrowed, and I rubbed them determinedly to clear what must be a hallucinating form that very much resembled Brad Jones.

A hand suddenly snatched my leg, and I stifled a panicked scream. “You know,” Brad said in a gruff, sleepy voice, “I take a woman standing over my bed as an invitation.”

“Get off me,” I hissed, whacking myself from his clutches. “One, assuming, is arrogant and presumptuous. Two, it’s not your bed. It’s Jace’s bed.” I eyed the messy sheets to be sure a woman’s head doesn’t appear from beneath the blanket. “Now, where is he?”

“Do I look like a bastard mind reader?” Brad rolled onto his stomach, his arms stuffing under a plumped-up pillow. He nestled himself back to slumber, groaning a heavenly sigh. “Go and knock-up some breakfast, Alexa. I am Hank Marvin.”

I seized a pillow and lamped him over the head.

“Alexa!” he scolds, rolling to his back, unabashed by the morning wood between his bunched-up thighs. “What the fuck was the for?”

Expunging the phallus image sketching inside my head repeatedly, I covered my eyes. “Why are you naked, Brad?”

“I slept naked, got a problem with that?”

“Yes, actually.” Blindly, I fumbled with the pillow, stationing it over his manhood. “I’m the one who does the washing—and I don’t fancy scrubbing whatever residue you might leave on the sheets.”

“Residue?” he barked out a laugh, holding up his hands in surrender. “You can call it ejaculation, Alexa. I promise not to make fun of you.”

“Men are impossible.”

“Women are delusional.”

“Brad,” I retort, massaging the sudden headache from my temples. “Listen, have you seen Jace or not? I don’t understand why he’d let you sleep in his bed.”

“He didn’t ‘let’ me do anything. I rocked up late last night and claimed it. Now,” he swings his legs over the bed, finds a clean pair of boxer briefs from an unzipped holdall and tugs them on, “you promised me a cooked breakfast.”

Rolling my eyes, I stormed out of the room and quickly gathered Liam’s clothes off the kitchen floor. Folding his suit beside two guns and his phone, I unlocked the window for a cool breeze to float through the cabin.

Brad reappears after a pit stop to the bathroom. “Jace didn’t come back,” he confirmed, helping himself to the fridge. “Trust me. I’d have heard the moron stomping around if he did.” Guzzling down orange juice, he watched me closely. “What?”

“Nothing.” Putting a frying pan onto the gas ring, I ignited a flame and then stripped bacon rashers from the packet Brad hurled at my chest. “Did you really mess up those sheets with your…you know?” I inwardly cringed. “I don’t care if you did, but it’s on you to do laundry service now.”

“I’m not a ten-year-old lad who just found his junk, Alexa.” Clearing the table, he pulls a chair out and sits. “I don’t pull a wank—ever.”

I cringed once more. “Then, why insinuate as much?”

“I’m childish like that.” Turning over yesterday’s newspaper, he reads articles with a bored expression. “Put some HP on my sandwich.”

I buttered bread and then combed the cupboards for condiments. Finding a bottle of brown sauce, I set it on the table alongside a mug of black coffee.

With interrogative eyes, Brad lowered the paper. “What the fuck is that?”

Pausing with the cafetiere, I puckered a sardonic eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“No.” He poked the Hp sauce bottle. “That.”

“Brown sauce?” I said, confused by his curt shortness. “Isn’t that what his lordship demanded?”

“You eat this shit?” he asked, scrutinising the bottle’s table of contents. “Christ, don’t ruin my sandwich with that, Alexa. Get me the Stokes.”

I was quite speechless by his prima donna display. “You can’t buy Stokes in Newquay.”

“Well, that’s just diabolical,” he muttered, revisiting his paper. “Chuck some ketchup on there, then.”

If he continues to boss me around, I am going to beat him over the head with that newspaper. “No problem.” Muttering all the ways to kill him under my breath, I flipped the sizzling bacon rashers, cracked an egg into the frying pan and took out the ketchup. “Here.” The bottle joined the table. “I expect good tips for my obedient and rather patient table service.”

“Are you flirting with me, Alexa?” His smugness definitely earned a slap. “I…” Belatedly regarding the ketchup, he curled his upper lip in repulsion. “What, you don’t even have Heinz up in this bitch?”

Is he serious? “I grabbed whatever the supermarket had to offer.”

“Market value splodge?” he sputtered, using a pointer finger to cast the sauce aside. “Butter will suffice.”

“Are you inherently an entitled asshole, Brad?” Plating up his food, I ladled the fried egg onto crispy bacon and balanced a serrated knife on the bread. “You can cut your own food.” I prepared breakfast for Liam. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of having amateur carving skills on top of everything else.”

His shadow fell over me. Instead of delivering a witty comeback, my favourite Suit kissed the side of my head, sliced his sandwich and then returned to the table without fuss.

Smiling happily, I tonged extra bacon and buttered another round of bread.

“Howdy, Bossman,” Brad chimed, and my insides twisted. “Judging by the pounding headboard last night, I trust you slept well.”

I died.

Would it be too much to ask for these all-knowing Suits to pretend, even if only for my benefit, to turn a blind eye every once and awhile?

Resting his chin on my shoulder, Liam snaked an arm around my waist. “Where did you go?” he whispered in my ear, completely ignoring Brad’s lewd remark. “For a morning jog?”

Oh, that newfound hobby lasted less than a week. “I am making Summer a dreamcatcher,” I said, his closeness burning me up from the inside out. “The best time to catch shells is straight after the tide goes out.”

He released me, but not before kissing the nape of my neck. “Jace’s daughter?”

I nod, cracking another egg.

“Where is the prick anyway?” he asked Brad, who shook his head in response. “What are you making?”

“Cremated bacon,” Brad chimes, and I shot him a deploring glare. “No offence.”

“None taken, asshole.” Handing Liam a plated sandwich, I inched in and kissed the corner of his lips. “Jace’s gallivanting with a lady friend somewhere.” I love Liam’s just-rolled-out-of-bed look; bare-chested, dark, messy hair, tired blue eyes and relaxing in nothing but his black boxers.

Dishevelled yet handsome, Liam bites into his food, failing to hide distaste.

I turned off the stove. “What?”

“Nothing,” he lied, the seemingly unpalatable breakfast hadn’t offended his taste-buds. “Is there any coffee going?”

Brad pours Liam a coffee. “What’s on the agenda today? If you don’t require a wingman, I might drive into town and do some well-overdue shopping.” He glimpsed at his wristwatch. “I need new shoes—possibly a suit, too.”

I find it hard to believe that any of Liam’s men required a wardrobe upgrade, not with their panoply line of designer suits and shoes. “Sorry to disappoint you, Brad, but you will not find any suits emblazoned with Valentino or Stefano Ricci in the village. You may, however, stumble upon a pair of Clark shoes.”

He jerked back in horror. “Clark shoes?”

I nod, blowing over the surface of my tea. “And if you visit Debbie’s Boutique, you might get your hands on a brown tweed three-piece.”

Ashen-white and disgusted, Brad set his mangled up sandwich aside. “Christ, me in a bastard tweed.” He pinned Liam with an intolerable look. “Can you imagine? And Clark loafers? Yeah, I’d walk around starkers first.”

Somewhat encouraging Brad’s outlandish outlook on life, Liam smirked into his coffee mug. “What’s the alternative?”

“I may go to the beach and sunbathe.” Brad, rising to his feet, shot me a wink. “Check out some birds.” Binning leftovers, putting the plate in the sink, he nudged my shoulder. “Do they at least sell bikinis here?”

“Why?” I knew why he asked, but feigned dumb. “Are you hoping to find one in your size?”

“Have a fucking day off.” He ran a hand over his head. “I’d like to work my charm, but if these female villagers only sport one-pieces to match their husbands’ tweeds, I might as well submit to a bottle of Jack Daniels and spend the day in bed—alone.”

This man won’t survive a week in Newquay. “Yes, you will locate beautiful women at the beach—all wearing spandex diving suits, of course.”

“Spandex?” He made a disgruntled face. “Why?”

“Surfing’s a big deal around here.”

“No scoping for me, then.” Spraying the counter with disinfectant, Brad plucks-up a dish towel to wipe crumbs into his palm and chucks them in the bin. “I’ll be right back.”

While the man occupied himself in Jace’s bedroom, I busied my hands and cleaned, delaying the approaching conversation of truths with Liam.

“Shall we go out?” Liam washes his plate, leaving it on the drainer to dry. “A lunch date, perhaps?”

Lunch equals a distressing time of honesties. “Sure.”

Before I scurried to the bedroom to hide, he captured my wrist and embraced me in his tight arms.

Nervous, I rest my head to his chest, listening to his calm, regular heartbeat. “Do you fancy anything In particular? There’s a buffet-style restaurant on the beachfront. I hear their scallops are to die for.”

Nibbling my neck, Liam growled in my ear. “I could eat you.” His sexual innuendo caused a blush to my cheeks. “Why don’t you join me for a shower?”

Knowing I had to face reality eventually, I enveloped my arms around his neck and pouted for a kiss. “I love you.”

He was all smiles as he leaned down. “Always, baby,” he whispered, kissing my bottom lip, prolonging my torture. As if reading my thoughts, he parted my lips and stroked my tongue, slow and thoughtful.

“Do you want some, Alexa?” Brad appears from the bedroom, his jogging bottoms hanging low on his hips. Brandishing a blunt, he popped the roach to his lips and used a pink Clipper lighter to spark a flame. “Come on. You know you want to get high with me.”

“Enough,” Liam berates, smoothing a hand over my backside. “Go and start the shower for us.” Dropping a chaste kiss to my forehead, he coaxed me to move along, accepting a pre-lit joint from Brad.

Entering the bathroom and wrenching the light cord, I put my back to the closed door and mustered necessitated stout-heartedness for Liam’s interrogational gruelling.

***

Either absentminded or premeditated, Liam aborted his mission. Rather than demanding answers the second that we left Brad at the log cabin, he drove us to the village, distributed a platinum card and ordered me to have fun.

Well, I am hardly poverty-stricken, so I don’t need his money, but even if I did, Newquay’s souvenirs already lay dormant in my suitcase.

We caught up over coffee. When I say, “caught up”, I mean, I talked the man’s ear off, explaining how I broke into my childhood home, stalked down Clarence Corbyn and threatened his not-so-biological-son, Tony Roberts to cultivate a herb garden.

Attentive yet untalkative, Liam listened to my boundless, time-consuming loquaciousness. He checked his phone often, though, and the minor distraction had peeved me. Notwithstanding the rarity of their boss’ absenteeism, the syndicate required his full, undivided attention.

“Who’s Noah?” Liam had asked, replying to a message on his phone.

In great length, I told Liam about my mother’s story. He learnt of Adaline Rutherford, her troublesome journey, the Corbyn family and her first love, Tony.

“Apparently, Noah wasn’t overly fond of my mother, not at first, anyway.” No, it took death to bring Noah and Adaline together. “I guess he warmed up to her eventually.” I reached for the chain around my neck, and when nothing graced my fingers, sorrowful regret settled on my despondent shoulders. “Mr Corbyn, Noah’s father, he’s such a broody old man. He has no people skills, comes across standoffish and unapproachable, and he tends to bark instead of talk.” Sipping my tea, I smiled at Liam over the mug. “Much like yourself.”

Liam’s nonchalant mask never betrayed him. “Corbyn’s a saint, huh?”

“Clarence is depressed.” And grieving, I thought, nervously tapping my fingernails on the glass bistro table. “His resentment towards life is manifest, Liam. I think if I could track down his son, it might be just what he needs to live again.”

“Why would you help him?” Liam put a cigarette to his lips. “You barely know the guy.”

Kindness and thoughtfulness come hand-in-hand with me, so I’d wish for Clarence’s happily ever after, regardless. However, the fact Clarence Corbyn fathered my mother, even when Beatrice died, and Noah left, it only intensifies my desire to reunite a father and son. It’s a small but significant ask. “Can you locate him, Liam?”

Liam slowly raised his eyes from the phone. “Who?”

“Noah Corbyn.” God, am I speaking an inarticulate foreign language or something? “Mr Corbyn’s son? The one who ran away from home?” Imperceptibly shaking my head, I huffed out an exasperated breath. “The same Noah you just asked me about.”

“I heard you,” he clipped, lighting his cigarette. “Why would I help this Corbyn? I don’t know the man.”

“For me, Liam.” Hopeful, I held his eyes with mine. “Will you help Mr Corbyn to locate Noah for me?”

An infinitesimal pause occurred before Liam relinquished. “I’ll see what I can do.”

For the rest of the day, we wandered throughout the village, buying items for the sake of killing time. We reached the beachfront restaurant in time to snag a quiet table outdoors. With no tea light candles, soft table coverage and harmonious music, it lacked an idyllic setting, but the picturesque sunset counterbalanced.

Suited adequately, the waiter delivered warm plates and motioned for us to join the queue indoors. Without hassle, I thanked the young gent and headed inside, muting Liam’s excessive querulousness.

At one of the stations, I scooped an assortment of pasta dishes to my plate, adding extra parmesan.

“This is stupid,” Liam complained, omitting the Italian cuisine and begrudgingly opting for a Margherita pizza slice. “Who lines their stomachs with random shit?”

With an onion ring grasped in my mouth, I arched an eyebrow, pointing to the random shit on my plate. “It’s the only time eating a diverse amount of food is acceptable. Quit complaining and let your gut enjoy it.”

Irked by the dire concept, Liam ladled fries onto his pizza. “If I ate shit like this every day, a gut, Alexa, will be your problem to deal with.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Are you calling my future-self fat?”

“No,” he gritted out, forking funky looking sausages onto the concoction. “I meant you would have to deal with my gut. Now, are you moving ahead, or are we standing by the onions all night?”

God, he’s awfully moody. “Do you want to try the scallops? Or shall we grab them on our second round?”

“Second round?” he asked, sending disapproving glares to any poor sod within our proximity. “People do this twice?”

“It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet, Liam.” Selecting a sushi roll, I plop it in my mouth and then pinch skewers. “Shall we share the roast dinner?”

“No, what the fuck?” Liam detached me from the station, a batch of expletives in his wake. “No more food. You won’t eat what’s on your plate.”

I bloody will. “Do you want to test that arrogant assumption, Mr Warren?”

Holding open the terrace door, Liam waited for me to exit first. “You’ll submit once consumed half.”

“What if I prove you wrong?”

“I’ll apologise.”

Yeah, right.

“But if I win?” he rasped, fisting the back of my dress. “I want you in nothing but a red thong, accompanying me in the hot tub tonight.”

What a selfless request? I had schemed to do precisely that, anyway.

We returned to our table, albeit Liam still can’t get over the high-demand for the unpalatable fare. Relaxing in his two-piece suit, he clicked down a waiter and insisted on a continual supply of Jameson. “Add Grey Goose to my tab,” he said, and I choked on a random meatball. “Alexa?”

“Sorry,” I wheezed, my trembling hand snatching a water glass. “It went down the wrong way.”

“Perhaps an iced cocktail, ma’am?” the guy suggested, tightening my noose. “Sex on the beach is my speciality.” His suggestiveness hadn’t gone amiss—neither did the unsubtle wink. “If you know what I mean.”

The leatherbound drinks menu buckled in Liam’s hands. “Was that a sexual reference?” His demeanour was too calm for this conversation to end well. “A risible implication nonetheless.”

I fumbled with a fork. “Liam, it’s ok—”

“Alexa,” he cautioned in a low, impatient voice.

As previously promised, I shut my mouth and let Liam handle his business.

“I wasn’t implying anything…” Knowing Liam caught his inappropriate innuendo, the waiter wipes an anxious sweat from his brow and rechecks our surroundings, ensuring nobody overheard his unforeseen quandary. “Complimentary ale?” he asked, a touch sarcastic.

Flattening a palm to my lips to conceal a wince, I watched their awkward exchange, somewhat pitying the troubled waiter. He’d have better luck winning over Liam’s reluctance with a bottle of champagne. Although, I doubt even expensive effervesces could work.

You cannot buy Liam.

Hand gripping the fork, Liam, in an inexorable manner, fisted the man’s silk tie and yanked his wailing body across the table.

In the midst of their violent uproar, dinnerware crashed against the floor, clattering and dispersing in many directions, which beckoned the apprehensive awareness of other dinner guests.

Primed yet suffering from temporary deafness, I rose to my feet, tossing a scrunched-up napkin on the floor. From the corner of my eye, I see panicked co-workers advancing, their loud footsteps the only sound to honour my ears.

Sprawled across the table, thrashing his legs and bellowing angry spittle, the waiter lands tight fists to Liam’s side. With ring adorned fingers, Liam clenched a fist and impaled the guy’s face, too many times to enumerate.

“I called the police!” A suave gent, who I assume is the manager, wrangles himself between the altercation. “Sir, release my employee immediately!”

With too much male testosterone flying about, I fused my chest to Liam’s back, bent my arm around his waist and applied pressure to his groin.

Wincing, Liam straightened his spine, but not before he delivered an open-palmed slap to the waiter’s bloodied face.

Still, I cannot hear the hellacious disturbance. I do, however, curl an unobtrusive hand around the fork handle that sticks out of the waiter’s thigh and hide it under my dress sleeve. “Liam,” I yelled, grasping the back of his shirt jacket. “Leave it.”

“He stabbed me!” the waiter shrieked, bolting upright on the table. “He stabbed me in the leg!”

Unsure, the manager assessed the guy’s lacerated leg, his horrified eyes ping pinging between both men.

“I want to press charges—”

“Fuck off,” Liam spat, booting a chair into the assembled men, catching one man’s legs in the overpowering process. “Next time you disrespect my woman? I’ll kill you,” was his final warning. He shouldered into a cocktail server, who, oblivious, merely arrived three seconds ago.

Too many judgmental eyes seared my flesh.

Of course, I was seething and humiliated. “If he does call the police,” I said, borrowing a pen from the passing waiters, “be sure to give them my number.” Scribbling messy digits onto a soiled napkin, I slapped it onto the waiter’s chest. “For I too wish to file a sexual assault charges.”

Beet-red and dumbfounded, the waiter choked an appalled scoff. “You cannot do that!”

I look at the manager. “This man made inappropriate comments and had the cheek to grope my backside.” I was furious with Liam, but I will not let this man have him arrested. “All in front of my partner, who naturally became irritated by your employee’s behaviour and defended my honour.”

“She’s lying!” Crying out in pain, the waiter slid off the table and hobbled abreast his co-workers. “I never touched you!”

“Yes,” I lied, looking him square in the eye. “You did. Right after you promised me a sex session on the beach, now, if you’ll excuse me.” Pulling down the hem of my dress, I swept hair over my shoulders and glared between them. “I have an upset man to contend with.”

Chapter 15

Liam

Persevering rage fired my blood as I absconded the monstrous hole-in-the-wall and its offensive line of cuisines. Shirking blood rivulets from my cracked knuckles, I came to an abrupt stop, spurning the divide between parked, beaten-up old trucks and the dark pathway, leading to the beach.

I heard Alexa’s heels alternately click on the floor and awaited her hand to find mine. I did not, however, predict a furious yet beautiful woman on the warpath. “Don’t start,” I warned, keeping my eyes on her face, not on the red, skin-tight dress she models this evening.

“There is something seriously wrong with you.” Yanking something from her dress sleeve, she hurls an arm back and lunges a blood-stained fork at my chest. “Your behaviour was completely unacceptable, Liam. You cannot come here, to this nice, quiet village with your conceited superiority and lord it over these people!” She flipped unmanageable hair from her face. “This isn’t London. Newquay people aren’t used to violence or serious crime or big-shot fucking criminals laying down the goddamn law!”

Nostrils flaring, I thrust my chest to hers, knocking a hitched breath from her delectable lips. “Have you forgotten your place?” Gripping her throat, I backed her up against a parked car bonnet. “Do you not know who I am?”

Her delicate fingers individually curled around my wrist, parting my heavy gold curb bracelets. “You don’t scare me, Mr Warren,” she spat furiously, hiking one of those slender, mile-long legs across my waist. “Go ahead. Hurt me.”

The goading dare simmering in her mesmerising eyes caused my fingers to clench. Loosening my vice-like grip, I rolled my shoulders back, a low, tortured groan tearing from my constricted chest.

Smirking triumphantly, Alexa unfastened my fingers and put a gentle kiss to my palm. “Liam…”

“I won’t apologise,” I said, curt and sharp. “Than man had no right speaking to you like that, especially while I am sat there.” Her sad expression towed my eyebrows together. “Since when did you care how I handle situations? Did you honestly expect me to do and say nothing?”

“I understand your argument, Liam.” Slipping down the bonnet and standing, she fixed her rising dress hem. “I just wish you could learn to walk away sometimes—let things go.”

“I shouldn’t have to ‘let things go’, Alexa. If some senile prick makes a pass on you? I will deal with it how I see fit.”

Aghast, her eyes rounded. “By stabbing him in the thigh with a fork?”

“He’s lucky I didn’t put a knife to his fucking throat.” I laced our fingers together, and she didn’t stop me. “I will book us a table at a different restaurant, to account for tonight’s misdemeanour.”

“I don’t care about losing our table, Liam.” She averts her gaze to watch an older couple exiting the restaurant. “Why don’t we return to the cabin and I’ll cook something?”

Fuck, I love her.

Her cooking skills require work, though. I had to force myself to eat the sandwich this morning. Brad was right. Alexa cremated the bacon and what’s more concerning is she hadn’t noticed her mistake.

“Sure.” Draping an arm across her shoulders, I encouraged her to walk alongside me. “I’ll eat whatever you feed me.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be force-fed, Mr Warren?”

My arm lowers to her ass, getting a good feel. “Depends,” I bite out, licking the shell of her ear. “On what you feed me, of course.”

With red tinting her cheeks, Alexa respires a barely audible breath in an ineffective effort of composing herself. “You’ll be lucky to get a salad from me after tonight’s performance.” Her condescension went through one ear and out of the other. “What about barbeque food? I think Jace stocked up the freezer? I could knock together burgers or steaks.”

My phone chimed.

Fishing it out of my trouser pocket, I glance at the brightly lit screen, the only light leading our short-walk back to the cabin, and opened Nate’s text message.

Nate: Sir, I forwarded an attachment to your email.

“Who is it?” Alexa asked, divulging bitterness and continuous worries. “That better not be Hellen Bennett, Liam.”

No, it’s not Hellen, though, I’d be lying if I said the irrational woman hadn’t contacted me. “It’s not Bennett.” Opening the email, I clicked the attachment and waited for it to load. “She has left messages and voicemails, Alexa, but I am not keeping anything from you. If you want to read everything?” I offer my phone, and she eyed it warily. “Go on. If giving you my phone earns your trust, then so be it.”

Alexa’s too stubborn, so she’d rather ponder suspicions in silent. “No, I’ll trust that you aren’t lying to me.”

The email loads.

DNA TEST REPORT:

Mr Nathaniel Alzaim.

Alleged Sibling: Mr Liam Warren.

Alleged Sibling: Mr Vincent Wentworth.

Interpretation: combined siblingship 356

DNA testing was carried out to identify the siblingship of the alleged siblings. Based on testing results obtained from analyses of the DNA loci listed below, the probability of full-siblingship is 99.6%. The likelihood that they share the same biological father is 356 to 1. We determined the possibility of siblingship by comparing the DNA of a confidential, unrelated, random individual of the general population.

These results are centred on the assumption that the alleged siblings—

“Liam?” Alexa’s soft, concerned voice rings through my ears. Her hand took my elbow, and the phone slipped between my numb fingers. “Liam, what’s wrong?” Bending down to pick up my phone, she dusted off the screen and closed the app without checking. “Talk to me.”

“It’s not possible,” I rasped, shaking my head vehemently. “It’s not fucking possible, Alexa.” Biting down on my cracked knuckles, tasting dry blood on my tongue, I powered ahead to put a space between us before I do or say something stupid. “Go home, Alexa.”

“Liam, wait!” she calls, chasing after me on vertiginous heels. “Don’t walk away from me. Talk to me!” Flinging herself in front of me, she grabbed my elbows, hindering the walkway. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine. “Do you want me to see for myself?”

“No,” I all but barked, snatching the phone and stuffing it inside my trouser pocket. “It means nothing.” Vincent means nothing to me. I was on the brink of lashing out, losing control, feeding the angry person I try so fucking hard to keep at bay when she’s around. “Go home.”

When I moved ahead, she flung up her hands and growled in frustration. “The Warren I know would never leave me stood alone in the dark,” she shouted, and my strides faltered. “He wouldn’t leave me unprotected, defenceless and susceptible to danger. No. Not my Liam.”

Alexa’s attempting to get inside my head, and it’s working. Without her, I can be whoever I want to be, cruel, heartless, sinister, unforgiving, but it’s different with her. She’s the only woman I have ever truly cared about; the only woman I allowed myself to love, so much so that it controls every fibre of my being and she damn well knows it.

Relinquishing, I turned to face Alexa.

Her surprised expression tugged on my heartstrings. “Liam,” she said, taking guarded steps towards me. “What’s going on?”

Embittered and benumbed, I pinched the bridge of my nose and got a hold of myself. “I hate my father—hate that his blood runs through my veins. It repulses me. I want to shed my skin,” I spit, gritting my teeth, “and extract every part of himself that he instilled in me. When I look in the mirror, Alexa, all I see is him, staring back at me—his eyes fucking tormenting me.”

“I love these eyes.” Cupping my cheeks, she touched our foreheads and brushed her thumbs to my lips. “You wouldn’t be you without them.”

“Do not mollify me.” I tried to pry her hands off me, but she refused, wrapping her arms around my neck, holding me close. “Alexa.”

“Do you not think I argue with the mirror, Liam?” she mused, tickling the nape of my neck with tender fingertips. “It’s not always my mother’s face looking back at me when I apply her favourite shade to my lips.”

My forehead creased as I studied her vibrant red lips.

“Sometimes, I scrutinise my flaws, too, wondering if I inherited them from him, my so-called father.” Smoothing a dark strand of hair from my brow, she curled it behind my ear. “I loathe my father just as much as you do yours. Guess what, Liam? Those vile men do not define us. Yes, it’s unfortunate, the way we came into this world, but it’s never too late to rewrite history.” She worked on a tight swallow. “It’s never too late to protect our future.”

There was much to inform Alexa; the twins, Molly and Greer; the unwanted half-sister, Serena. But, most importantly, there was Vincent, the half-brother I didn’t quite know if I hated or not. “He looks like me,” I said tightly, and Alexa’s countenance contortions in confusion. “Vincent,” I confirmed, knowing she’s all too familiar with the man. “Vincent looks like me.”

Understanding melted her puzzled expression. “He does.”

“Why was he there, Alexa?” I asked, and her eyes jerked up. “Vincent helped you the night I went after Fagan. Did he tell you why?”

Alexa ripped her arms from my neck, gearing up to either spill lies or some harsh home truths. “I don’t know why Vincent was there that night, but I wasn’t sorry, seeing a somewhat friendly or acquainted face, Liam. Guy’s in all black stalked me into the garden maze, and they had guns and…” Noticing her panic-stricken blundering, she inhaled, blowing out a breath in intervals. “Vincent appears like a frightening apparition. At first glance, all I saw was a man in all-black attire, looming above me. I wasn’t sure if he was there to help or do more damage.”

I emphasise one detail. “Who chased you down?”

Alexa toyed with the bangle on her wrist. “I thought they were part of the Mayor’s security or something, but looking back, I think those guys were there for completely different reasons. Anyway,” she waved it off flippantly, “Vincent got me out of there and led me back to you. He stayed behind to ensure nobody followed me…”

I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I can only assume she’s reliving the night.

“I said, ‘I don’t want to leave you, Vincent’.” Taking my hand, she enticed me to continue walking. “‘A wingman for me, or the safety of my brother?’ he’d asked me. And then I saw it. If not your uncanny semblance, Liam, then the eyes hold truth. You and Vincent have the same blue eyes, same shape, same dark eyelashes. For a moment, I saw so much of you in him.”

My fingers clenched around hers. “This doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me.”

“That type of knowledge deserved to come from him,” she said affirmatively, tilting her chin in defiance. “Is that why you got mad? Did you get confirmation, Liam?”

“Something like that,” I said curtly, scratching the ache in my tense jaw. “We are indisputably brothers. I don’t quite know how I feel about it, Alexa. I don’t want it. Not him or anything that comes with him.”

Nearing the log cabin, Alexa slowed her hurried strides, forcing me to another standstill. “I don’t believe you.”

I built an impenetrable shield around myself. “Believe what you want.” Releasing her hand, I headed to the cabin, hearing the maddened woman traipsing in my footsteps.

Not knocking, I opened the front door and strode inside. Fortunately for Jace, he’s nowhere in sight. I duck my head inside the fridge freezer and grab a vodka bottle and then the Jameson from Brad’s bag.

Snatching two plastic tumblers from the kitchen cupboard, I set them onto the table, pour a neat whiskey for myself, a neat vodka for the woman kicking off her heels in a petulant manner. “Problem?” I asked, holding out a drink. “For you.”

Alexa gingerly accepts the cup, settling her back to the kitchen sink. “Thank you.”

Nodding once, I bring the whiskey to my lips and down a much-needed shot. I had nearly forgotten the email, but Alexa, unable to leave the conversation outside, put her cup in the sink and strut towards me.

“If you use sex to fuck with my head—”

“Who’s pretending here, Mr Warren.” Absent of all the anger she held over me a moment ago, she pulled herself onto the table and slowly parted her thighs, the material of her red hiking up dangerously. “Alas, I left the lace inside my bedroom.”

Uncapping the Jameson bottle, I swallowed a sip and placed myself before her. “This, you looking at me like that, ends one way and one way only. Me sinking inside you.” Slamming the bottle onto the table, I braced my hands astride her waist, locking her in my arms. “So, whatever fucking lecture you plan to throw at me, do it now and be done with it.”

Grappling the collar of my shirt, she craned her neck, peering up at me from beneath thick, fluttering eyelashes. “I think you should hear what Vincent has to say.”

“No.” Tracing my finger along her slender clavicle, I teased her mouth with mine. “Anything else?”

Her lips, feather-soft and craving, journey to my neck, ravishing the bobbing Adam’s apple oscillating inside my throat. “What do you plan to do about Hellen?”

“Dump her body in acid.” Her hand cupped my hardening cock, and I groaned into the nook of her neck. “Are we done?”

“How much do you love me?”

My eyelashes flickered open, and her almond-shaped hazel-coloured eyes stared back at me. “Without you, life is no life at all, Alexa.” I tipped her chin. “You know it; I know it.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, my commitment and love appeasing her. “So, I need to tell you something, Liam. It’s been weighing on my mind all day—”

The front door heaved open, and Alexa abruptly closed her legs, yanking down her dress. Brad, accompanied by Jace, the fucking snake, barrels indoors. “What’s happening, Bossman,” Brad chimes, hurling his car keys on the sofa. “Look what I found,” he tossed a thumb over his shoulder, “playing daddy day-care at the library.”

“The library?” Alexa pinned Jace with a questioning look. “Daddy day-care?”

Jace, ignoring my murderous, watchful glare, helps himself to the vodka bottle. “No, Brad’s blown that way out of proportion. I met a chick outside the library, and she asked me to mind her kid for five minutes while she signed for a book.”

I witnessed goosebumps sprout over Alexa’s legs and scowled.

“Tell her the rest,” Brad encourages, cracking up at whatever predicament Jace found himself in earlier. “Come on, Jacey Boy.”

“Alright, chill the fuck out.” Jace pulled a swig from the vodka bottle. “Yeah, the woman didn’t come back. She left me with a stockpile of books and a buggy.”

I don’t know what discombobulated me more—Brad’s odd friendliness to Jace or the fact Alexa cannot quell her trepidations.

“Get this, though,” Brad picks up where Jace left off while building a deck on the counter. “It wasn’t a real baby.”

“It wasn’t?” Alexa asked, pallid and on the verge of vomiting. “It was a doll, right?”

Jace’s puzzlement mirrored mine. “Yeah, some freaky looking china doll.”

“Oh, shit, Jace. Where did she go? What happened to the mother? I think there’s something seriously wrong with her, guys. I met her once—”

“Enough.” Palming her shaking hands, I place my back to the others and urge her to focus on me only. “Alexa, why are you shaking?” Jace endeavours to move in and assist. “Take one more step, and I’ll bust your fucking kneecaps.”

Snorting in disdain, Jace rubbed a hand down his face. “I only want to help her, Warren. Look at her.” He flung a hand out, highlighting the obvious. “Alexa’s ready to pass out.”

“My problem,” I retort, squaring up to him. “Alexa’s my problem, Jace. Not yours.”

“Bossman,” Brad intervenes, slipping an arm between geared-up men. “Why don’t we give ourselves a second, huh? Jace isn’t—”

“What, you’re defending him now?” Whacking his arm aside, I diverted my antipathy to Brad. “Last I checked, you worked for me. Your loyalties are to me.”

Brad fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I am not defending that tool—”

“That’s exactly what you’re fucking doing.”

“Who’s a tool?” Jace barked, shoving Brad in the chest. “The only tool I see around here,” he points at me, “Is that dickhead.”

My hands curled into fists. “I will fuck you up—”

“Will you listen to me?” Alexa’s head appeared between us men, her arms outstretched, warning us to stand back. “It’s impossible to talk to any of you. I was shouting, and nobody bothered or cared to listen to me. Liam,” she regards me, her hands sloping to her hips, “Can we forget that you hate Jace for one night and take this seriously?”

“Take what seriously?” Brad interrupts, licking the Rizla edge. “Oh, you mean the crazy bint at the village?”

“Alexa.” Rubbing the scruff of his jaw with inked fingers, Jace returns to his spot at the kitchen counter. “I think that chick lost a kid or something, so she’s pretending the doll’s real. Is it weird? Damn straight it’s weird. It’s nothing to stress over, though.” His eyes briefly dipped to her stomach, and she nodded.

Eagle-eyed, I followed their unusual exchange.

“Besides,” Jace continued, uprooting his phone to send someone a message, “Serena’s harmless. Brad just couldn’t help himself, so he blew everything up for no reason.”

Serena’s harmless, Jace had said. His senile assumption replaying inside my head. I locked eyes with Brad and, even though he’s mostly in the dark concerning my father’s long-line of negligences, he was inside the office the night Nate dropped an image search onto the internet.

“Oh, she has a name,” Alexa said, grabbing bottled water from the fridge. “Do you think we should tell the authorities about her? I mean, I’d hate for anything bad to happen to someone who clearly requires medical attention.”

“You said that Serena approached you.” My voice was calm, but Alexa’s too aware of my conflicting personalities and recognises the slight change in my tone. “What did she say to you?”

Discarding her water bottle, Alexa stared at me for a tiring few seconds. “Not much,” she whispered, slicing her sceptical eyes at me. “She wanted me to look after her baby—her doll, even, while she paid for a coffee.”

“A doll,” I whispered, understanding the woman’s twisted game. “She came at you with a doll?”

“Well, she didn’t come at me…” Alexa’s eyes never strayed. “Liam?”

Serena knew before I did.

“Alexa,” I said, blurring out the others in the room. “Why did you empty the vodka down the drain.” I pride myself on being perspicuous, and I most certainly wasn’t born yesterday. “What did you need to tell me?”

I drop my eyes to Alexa’s stomach.

Being left with thoughts was objectionable.

My head pounded at the temples, the thunderous heart beneath my ribcage threatened to burst from my chest. “Tell me!”

“Liam,” she whisper-shouts, casting her owlish eyes at Brad and Jace. “Can’t we do this later? In private.”

“Is it his?” I snapped, and her sunken cheeks greyed. “I swear if you don’t fucking answer me—”

“Boss,” Brad clutched my elbow. “You—”

“Get off me!” I spat, slapping his leaching hand off my shirt, seeing only red when coming face-to-face with Jace. “I’ll kill you, you motherfucker!”

Jace struck out his hands in time to collide with my chest, but there was no stopping me. I have wanted to bury this cunt from the second his conniving ass befriended Alexa.

We stumbled into the dish drainer, hitting glasses and dinnerware across the floor. “Warren!” Jace yelled, evading a punch and retaliating with a brutal fist to my jaw. “It’s not what you think—”

Cutting him off with an uppercut, I fisted his T-shirt and hurled him across the dining table, feeling Alexa’s futile blows to my back. “Liam, stop! Brad!” she screamed at my right-hand man, who knows better than to involve himself once I set out to end something. “Stop him! Please, Brad. Why aren’t you helping?”

I was in no mood for games.

Whipping the Eagle from the waistband of my trousers, I cocked and aimed. “Too long,” I said coldly, watching Jace, bloodied and slack-jawed, scurry backwards, his spine meeting to the wall, “I have waited for you to step out of line so that I could do this.” My finger slides over the trigger.

“Liam!” Teary-eyed and sobbing, Alexa dropped in front of Jace, caging him from me. “Please don’t do this,” she cried, but all I could hear was the voice inside my head, compelling me to act on instinct, to trust my never-failing gut and to bury this cocksucker once and for all. “It’s your baby.” Her whimpering raked goose-pimples over my hot body. “It’s your baby, Liam.”

Brad doesn’t make eye contact with me. He snatches Jace’s arm, mumbling orders as he drags him outside, onto the veranda. I don’t watch them flee or listen to their hushed argument.

My eyes transfix on Alexa, and I try to respond, but my tongue, heavy and cumbersome, cleaved to the roof of my mouth.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” she stuttered, using the curtain as support to stand. “I wanted to discuss the baby confidentially, or to offer you the decency of a private conversation rather.” She chanced a suspicious step to me. “I know how much you don’t want children—”

“Stop,” I ground out, dropping my arm. “Stop talking, Alexa. Quit fucking talking.” Setting the Eagle onto the counter, I spear a hand through my hair, unable to contain my frantic breathing. “We never fucked without…”

“Get rid of it,” I ordered in a low, commanding voice. “We earned this moment together, Alexa.”

A hot sweat clung to my shirt.

I offered myself to her. Judging by what we shared tonight, Alexa’s feelings for me haven’t changed. My chest expanded on a harsh exhale. I drove into her, loving the feel of her hands on my body, her lips on my chest.

My name falls from her lips.

I missed her

I missed us.

Her beneath me.

Me needing her more than my ego allows me to admit.

“Liam,” she moaned in my ear, her body convulsing as another orgasm shattered her. “Oh, God.”

It’s too much, watching her fall, coming undone, all while in the safety of my arms.

“Alexa…” Dread pitted my stomach. “Fuck.”

Knees positioned on the mattress, she twisted her hips and bounced above me. I couldn’t look away—didn’t want to. I held her waist in my hands and matched her thrusts, holding her to the base of my cock as she lost herself.

I rolled her under me, thrusting back home to chase my release. Coiling her arms around my neck, Alexa locked her legs around my pumping hips, deliberately clenching her tight cunt, making me powerless and her mercy.

“I can’t stop loving you.” I wanted to stop loving her—hated her for leaving me. Head burying on her shoulder, I gripped her hips with bruising fingers and pummelled in and out. My mouth claimed her neck, and I sucked, leaving my mark. A tightness jerked my cock, and I emptied myself inside her, the intense orgasm giving me a second of light-headedness. “Fuck.”

“Liam?” Alexa touched my cheek. “Please look at me. I don’t know how this happened. If there were times we didn’t use protection, I’d buy the morning-after pill, but for some reason, it did happen and—”

“I was careless,” I voiced my thoughts, locking the memory at the back of mind. “The night I found you at Heather’s B&B, we fucked, Alexa. I was too lost in you to care about sheathing myself.”

My validation floored her. “I don’t remember feeling…”

“Probably all the vodka you lace yourself with,” I said bitterly, shouldering past her towards the door. “I don’t want it, Alexa.”

“Liam,” she scolds, slapping a palm to the front door. “Don’t leave like this.”

“I said, I don’t want it,” I snapped, shoving her out of my way. “No good will come from that thing growing inside you, Alexa. If you want us to work—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” she reprimanded, fierceness replacing sadness. “Don’t say something that you might regret, Liam.”

I put us nose-to-nose. “Regret is for the weak,” I cruelly reminded her, and Alexa snarled, jerking my shoulder her hand. “Don’t confuse my emotions with yours.” Ripping the door open, I stormed into the night, hearing her spine-chilling cries in the distance.

Staggering down the rocky pathway, I rounded the cottage and found myself stood opposite the ocean five minutes later.

Feeling lost, dead inside, I set the phone to my ear and watch violent waves crash against the cliffside.

“You got the results?”

Sucking my top teeth, I crushed the phone in my hand. “Yes.”

Vincent hesitated a response. “You don’t care that I am your brother, Liam, so why are you calling me?”

“Serena,” I said, and he stayed quiet. “She’s circling Alexa.”

“Where are you?”

“Cornwall.” Glancing back to the cottage, I look for any shadows behind the dimly lit curtains. “Newquay.”

“And the reason for your call?”

“Alexa’s pregnant,” I said the unthinkable, and I detected his sharp inhale of breath. “I don’t think I was the target, Vincent.”

“Do not leave her unattended, Liam,” he cautioned, but my feet didn’t move. “What’s the address?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Because I’m your brother,” he scolds, and my jaw steeled. “Hate me later. If Serena’s working for Molly and Greer, you and I must be on the same side, Liam. Test my confidence and scope your surroundings.”

Grimacing, I glanced around the empty beach, marking every cobbled alcove. In the distance, perched on the cliffside, stood a tall silhouette, but with nightfall working against me, I could only outline a frame, not a profile, mainly because of the incoming mist and fog.

“Tell me,” Vincent said, and the veins in my body heated. “She’s there, right?”

I watched her retreat. “How senile are we talking?” The woman, who I know is Serena, disappears into the shadows. “Vincent?”

“You will never come across more twisted, mentally certifiable individuals like them—and Liam?”

Gravitating to the cottage, feet sinking in the sand, I flipped open a sharp switchblade, determining which organ to extract from Serena first. “Yes?”

“You are not our father,” he whispered, and for an odd reason, a part of me wanted to believe him. “Don’t turn your back on Alexa and leave your child to rot.”

Evoked by distressing memories and flashbacks of my past, I stopped walking, seeing my younger-self fighting for survival, hearing him crying for someone to accept him—for anyone to love him.

“Let’s do the Warren name justice and rectify Raymond’s mistakes once and for all.”

My eyes felt wet, but tears remained on my lower lashes. “I’ll send the address.”

Chapter 16

Alexa

One immobilising sensory I haven’t been able to shake over the years is the spine-shivering proclivity that someone is watching me. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, away from feasible danger or veiled threats, when pacing my bedroom and sobbing pathetic yet inconsolable tears, I sense all-encompassing darkness.

Hugging my waist, I repose in the middle of the room and inspected every window and murky alcove.

It’s all in your head, Alexa.

You are safe.

But Liam left.

Jace and Brad stayed behind, though. They’re outside, just beyond these four, wooden walls, thrashing out—or quarrelling—about tonight’s drastic, jaw-dropping turn of events.

My senses widen.

Skin tingling to the bone, I peer over my shoulder, to the bedroom door, to the ajar wardrobe and its mahogany, hardwood exterior.

Uneasy alertness magnified. Seconds away from chastising myself for not thinking clearly, I turn to recheck the double-doors leading to the wrap-around veranda when the motionless shadow outside the window hitched my breath and the culmination of my anxieties materialise.

Dabbing mascara-streaked tears from my reddened, sweltering cheeks, I sniffled, my mind racing a hundred miles an hour with gruesome theories. It’s a tree, blowing in the wind, branches rigid and leafless. Maybe a dog walker who’s taking a late-night stroll, or a fitness aficionado enjoying a midnight jog who got curious and thought to scour the cabin facilities…

No, don’t be foolish, Alexa.

The log cabin was hunkered onto a rock-strewn cliffside, too far from the village and it’d be too much effort for anyone to travel just to blow off some steam or strenuously exercise.

Lifting my pillow from the bed, I curled my hand around the revolver and let the magnetising silhouette draw me close. Fingers to the door handle, I hesitate, inhale, count inside my head, exhale and then snatch the curtain back.

Overhead, the full moon cast scant light through the hovering fog and billowing mist. And there were no trees. I knew as much but hoped I was wrong.

Seeing only eerie drizzles through the obscured mistiness, I locked the back door, tested the lock twice and heaved the curtain. I stood back and stared at the door as if expecting the handle to rattle or for the mystifying outline to reappear.

“Idiot,” I mutter, yanking open the bedside drawer and disarming myself—I faltered with the Revolver, blinking rapidly to regain consciousness. “No.” Tossing the gun onto the bed and snatching the drawer, I empty miscellaneous items on the floor. “Oh, God.”

Descending to my knees, I combed over random purchases and burst into a state of broken-hearted tears.

I can’t find Summer’s shells.

The excruciating pain in my chest intensified; the guilt I suffered was already unbearable after my inescapable contestation with Liam. Inside the scariest gorge of my head, the dark recesses cracked for a short period to let those cruel voices echo—I screamed, palms slamming over my ears. Stumbling onto my feet and seizing the lamp, I yanked the cord, disconnecting it from the electric socket and hurled it across the room, fragmenting the ceramic base.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

No amount of stress relief could ever be enough.

Tearing the wall-mounted landscape painting from its fixture, I ruptured the frame against the bedpost, splintering the carved wood and damaging the pastel-coloured hues.

I broke everything.

My bare feet hurt.

Blood trickled between my toes.

I created monochromatic art.

From my peripheral vision, I see a black-and-white, poignant bedroom with rivulets of crimson gilding my footsteps.

Dodging shattered glass, I collect the heaps of towels from off the floor. I am folding linen into neat piles when something glimmers inside the wardrobe, on the top shelf.

The missing revolver.

A strangled laugh vibrated my chest. “Alexa, you have lost your mind.” Tucking the linen and towels away, I extract the gun and weigh it in my hands.

It’s impossible. I searched the wardrobe more than five times for the revolver.

“I missed all the fun,” said Brad, but I didn’t lift my eyes or acknowledge him. “Did you mean to ransack your bedroom and lacerate your feet…?” Discerning my deadpan expression, he winced, slipping a toothpick between his lips. “This is, well, quite concerning.”

“What do you want, Brad?” Evading the destroyed furniture, I gathered strewn cosmetics and perfume bottles, arranging them onto the sideboard.

Brad looked tired and frustrated. I suppose dealing with Liam and Jace was exhausting enough, without adding an irrational Alexa to his list of quandaries. “Give me a second.” He leaves the room only to return minutes later with his black holdall. “On the bed, woman.”

Obeying orders, I limped onto the bed, my feet streaking blood across the coverlets. Fixing my raised dress, I propped my back to the headboard and straightened out my legs.

Settling at the foot of the bed, Brad fossicked through his bag, found whatever essentials he was looking for and hauled one of my legs over his thighs.

“Has Liam gone back to London?” I asked, knowing if anyone had answers on Liam’s whereabouts, it’s this man. “Does he hate me?”

Quiet and pensive, Brad cleaned my foot with a sterile wipe, examining my toes for glass shards. “Alexa, I kinda dig you,” he said, and I mentally equipped myself for a biased speech. “Did you piss me off? Yeah, when you fled with Jace and broke my boss’ heart, I wanted to kill you myself. But on a serious note.” He flung scrunched-up wipes to the side. “I have never seen Warren so enamoured by a woman before. It’s quite refreshing, witnessing a different side to him.”

Tasting salty tears on my lips, I nodded.

“Honestly, though, your relationship with Warren? It’s toxic.”

“I love him, Brad,” I whispered, unable to see a future where Liam’s not at my side. “I don’t care how much people repudiate what he and I share. I will never willingly walk away from that man.”

Brad swathed plasters to my toes and then lugged my opposite leg on his thighs. “And that’s one of the reasons I vouch for you both,” he said, and I met his expecting eyes. “Irrelevant to your past mistakes, Alexa, I know you care.” He pinched a glass shard from my toe, and I held my breath. “Warren will never get another woman like you. Not in this life or the next.”

“He hates me,” I whimpered, my fingers fused my closed eyelids, foiling the tears from escaping. “Liam hates me, Brad.”

“Warren doesn’t hate you,” he assures, but I’m not convinced. “He’s in shock. Bossman doesn’t want kids. He never has.” Finishing the final plaster, he taps my knee, and I withdraw myself from him, sitting crossed-legged on the bed. “I don’t blame him, either. Offspring doesn’t belong in our world. Unless we are willing to sacrifice them, of course.” He points to my stomach. “What better way to bring Warren to his knees than to drain the soul of his firstborn child?”

Brad’s candidness was a devastating yet unarguable truth.

“Jace’s gone,” he continued, packing away his gear. “He didn’t want to leave. For tonight, though, he should stay out of the way.”

I hate to agree, but Brad’s right. My concerns for Jace outweigh my worries for Liam. Perhaps it’s because Liam’s strong, composed and often emotionless whereas Jace, he feigns to be unwounded and level-headed, but it’s a facade, armour to protect himself from more hurt and pain. “Where did he go?”

“To meet some Gemma bird or something.”

No surprise there, then.

“Brad?” I said quietly, and he paused with the holdall zipper. “I didn’t plan a pregnancy. It just happened.”

He gave me a flat smile. “You need to have this conversation with Warren.”

I would if he bloody talked to me instead of biting off my head. “Are you still hungry? I could rustle up those burgers for you?”

“Tomorrow.” Hiking the bag strap over his shoulder, he beelined the door. “Right now? I need some Jameson and a bastard bed.” He delayed at the threshold. “You good?”

The rare concern in Brad’s inquisitive eyes hit me straight in the chest. “I’ll be fine.” Clambering off the bed, I proceeded with cleaning the mess I caused. “I’ll wake you up bright and early with a coffee. How does that sound?”

“Fucking blissful,” he chimes, gaiting next door and flicking the lock behind him.

In twenty minutes, the bedroom was adequately presentable. I swept the floor, scooped debris into a black bin liner and changed the bed sheets and covers. I mean, I will likely receive damage charges for the furniture I just hid behind the dustbin out-front, but for now, it’s clean, tidy and smells oddly like lemon fresh when the spray bottled labelled lavender.

I took a shower which helped pick up my spirits. In the kitchen, towel knotted around my body, I spooned ice cream into a bowl and retreated to my bedroom.

Not bothering with pyjamas yet, I sat on the bed, balanced the bowl on my thighs and sent Jace a text message.

Me: I’m sorry about tonight.

Three minutes later.

Jace: Don’t stress over me and Warren, Alexa. It’ll all blow over, eventually.

Me: I hope you’re right, Jace. I wish Liam could see that you’re not a threat.

Jace: Give him time. I may hate the prick but this shiner…

He sent me a multimedia message. With his face tilted to the side, he shows me his busted-up lip and the bruise beginning to form on his left eye.

Jace: It’s been a long time coming.

Jace: We both know I deserved it for conspiring with Bajramovic.

I make light of the situation.

Me: I hear women love bad boys and scarred men…

Jace: Gemma’s been fawning over me since I got here.

Jace: I guess I owe Warren gratitude for helping me get laid tonight.

I rolled my eyes, stuffing vanilla ice cream into my mouth.

Me: Muppet.

Jace: LOL

Jace: Alexa?

Me: Yes?

Jace: Are you keeping the baby regardless of Warren’s disapproval?

I considered his question in less than ten seconds.

It was a no brainer.

Me: I am not aborting my unborn child, Jace.

Jace: Well, then, if Warren doesn’t step up and take responsibility? Know that I’ll do it for you in a heartbeat.

My eyes glazed over.

Me: You’d raise another man’s child?

Jace: No, Alexa. I’d raise my best friend’s child.

I cleared the tightness strangling my throat and replied.

Me: You really are my soul-mate. I love you, Jace.

Jace: Ride-or-die, right?

Me: Odds and ends.

Jace: Down and out.

Me: One and the same.

Jace: I love you, too.

Smiling to myself, I muted the phone and set it on the bedside table. The spoon nearly entered my mouth when the bedroom door creaked open—and the ice cream unbecomingly plopped on my towel.

With his hand fixed to the handle, Liam, inscrutable as he stares at me, shut the door and put his back to it. One hand sinking in his trouser pocket, he propped a foot behind him, his gaze dragging over my body.

“Where did you go?” I asked, my tongue, heavy and arid. “I thought you might have gone back home.”

He looked at me for a moment. “To clear my head.”

I sneaked a glimpse at the time on my phone. “For two hours?”

“Is that an accusation I sense, Alexa?”

“I should bloody hope not,” I retort, my disparaging glare solidifying. “Surely, you don’t expect me to believe you found a late-night bar to wallow in? Not in this quiet village?”

“Does it look like I just rocked up from a night of inebriation?” His eyes, like slits of mesmerising blue crystals, mocked me. “Is going for a walk that hard to believe?”

I try to imagine Liam bypassing the Bentley to stroll under the stars. “Yes, actually.”

“Well, I did. I took my ass down to the beach and did a lot of soul-searching,” he insisted, but there was an element of deceit in his voice. “What, you got a problem with that? Should I be at a bar, Alexa?”

I don’t think my eyes can narrow any further. “What are you hiding from me?”

Liam was impassively inscrutable. “You will return to London.”

Okay, let’s ignore the big elephant in the room Liam and start a debate over where I sleep tonight. “I am not ready to go back to London.”

“It’s non-negotiable,” he said, his stoic expression ceased when a low, wolfish smirk twitched his lips. “Pack your bags, Alexa.”

“No, Liam.” Casting the bowl aside, I gripped the towel to be sure it didn’t slip and rose off the bed. “Me staying here isn’t up for debate. I made a decision, and I’m sticking to it.”

Immitigable ennui dulled his demeanour. “Are you quite finished?”

Oh, he’s goading me into another argument. “Are you?”

His jaw tensed. “Now is not the time to fuck with me, Alexa.” Unmotivated, I let go of the towel and strode across the room in all my naked glory. “Put your clothes on.”

Flinging open the wardrobe doors, I tapped a finger to my lips, pretending to find something appropriate to wear. “Why?”

“Alexa,” he warned in that rough, authoritative voice renowned for giving me goosebumps. “Quit fucking with my head and get some goddamn clothes on!”

I grab a red thong and black knee-high socks. “Alright, Liam. Don’t have a stroke on me.” I slipped the lace over my legs, the socks to my knees. “Are you joining me for a sleepover? Or would you rather a headache-free night by camping on the sofa? Although I should warn you: It’s a two-seater, and it’s extremely uncomfortable.”

“Enough.” Out of nowhere, his hand claimed my wrist. “This isn’t funny, Alexa. I need you back in London—tonight.”

I search his eyes. “I can’t leave yet.”

He growled, low and savage. “Why?”

“Because I have to reunite Clarence with Noah,” I said, and his eyes protruded. “But, even if it weren’t for the Corbyn men, I’d want more time with Tony.”

Liam’s piercing, intolerable scowl made me feel dreadfully small in his imposing presence. He bit into the side of his cheek, his eyes flicking heavenward. “You…” His anger settled on my chest. “Where’s your chain?”

My hand automatically shot to my neck. “I…” Shit. He’s going to lose his mind. “I lost it—well, I think I lost it. Since my gun magically resurfaced tonight, I am inclined to question my mental health. Is forgetfulness a thing in your early twenties?” His silence raised clamouring alarm bells. “What is it, Liam?”

“You thought you lost your gun?” he asked, and I dipped my head. “And it showed up? Where? Talk me through it.”

Okay, maybe it’s him that’s lost his marbles. “I always keep the weapons near my bed…” I knew that intense look. Something was wrong. “Liam, what’s going on?”

His eyes went from my neck to the bed. “She’s been here.” Jerking me to the side, he goes to the back door and inspects the lock. “You don’t have a double-chain on this? Only a key?”

I nodded.

“Fuck.” Taking out his phone, he dialled someone’s number and waited for the person to answer. “Nate.” I catch a mumbled response. “Alexa’s room. Where do I find bugs?”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Bugs?” I whisper-shout, scrutinising the carpet for disgusting mites. “Do we need a fumigator?”

Overlooking my flinching and senseless shoulder slapping, Liam stood on the bed, balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear and then fiddled with the light shade. “Got it,” he answered, and I craned my neck to see what all the fuss was about. “No.” Rudely ending the call, he jumped off the bed and strode out of the room, leaving me open-mouthed and paralysingly clueless.

“Brad,” Liam called, beating an anxious fist on my neighbour’s door. “Get up and do a sweep. I found a listening device inside Alexa’s room.”

A wave of nausea rushed through me. “You found what?” Towing a dressing gown over my body, I headed into the living room and involved myself with incomprehensible commotion. “Liam, for the last time, what’s going on?”

“Let me guess.” Brad, bollocked naked, swings open his bedroom door, his blond, messy hair sticking out in all directions. “Pervert landlord?”

I cannot tolerate that man’s shameless behaviour. “Brad, can you please put a pair of joggers on or some boxers if nothing else.”

Itching his chin, Brad tsked me.

“No, Serena,” Liam enlightened his right-hand man whilst my mind put two and two together and came up with one hundred. “Overturn every room and scour the perimeters, too. I saw her earlier. She’s got her claws set on Alexa.”

“Serena?” Brad asked.

“Liam,” I snapped, and the man looked at me, cold and aggravated. “Can we not talk about me like I am not a walking, breathing human. Why would Serena bug my bedroom? In fact, whilst we’re on the subject, who is this woman and what the hell is her problem?”

Brad tied his hair into a top knot and stuffed his legs into grey slacks. He wasn’t in any hurry to follow Liam’s orders. The man, much like myself, awaited answers.

Noteworthy; at least I am not the only person existing in the dark.

Grinding down on his teeth, Liam crushed the device under his shoe. “You recall the emails Vincent sent me.”

Apprehensive, my eyes darted from Liam to Brad. “What emails?”

“Ah, yeah. The blonde bird?” Brad mused, ostensibly privy too such recollections. “What about her?”

“She’s here in Newquay.”

“Excuse me,” I piped up, waving a hand. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on, now?”

Liam seemed oddly lugubrious. “Serena’s my half-sister.”

“What?” Brad and I barked in tandem.

“Sister?” My pupils flared. “You have a sister? Who’s here in Newquay?”

What in the world?

“Since when?” asked Brad, folding his arms. “And why am I only just hearing about this? You holding out on me, Bossman?”

“Liam?” Gyrating over the log cabin, I could hear the thwapping of a helicopter. “What the hell is that?” Bright lights illuminated the room, the floor beneath my feet trembled in conjunction with rattling furniture. “I swear to God. If you don’t tell me what’s going on—”

“I am struggling to compartmentalise it myself!” Liam barked, clutching the Jameson bottle from the kitchen counter. “I don’t have answers yet, Alexa. So quit fucking yelling at me. All I can say is you,” he points at me, “are going home. End of.”

Abstaining from commenting, Brad side-eyed me.

I, however, regrouped. “Liam?” His rare display of restlessness worried me. “Is Serena a problem?” When he doesn’t reply, I give a dramatic sigh. “Am I in danger?”

In true Liam fashion, he doesn’t acknowledge my question, or our fall out this evening. He doesn’t touch upon the pregnancy or if he’s prepared to father our child. His evasiveness is truly getting under my skin.

“I am pregnant,” I enunciated, and his round, furious eyes lingered on my stomach. “If I am in any danger, then, who better to take care of me than you?”

“Serena knows,” he said grimly, rubbing a hand down his tight features. “You think the doll was a coincidence, Alexa? Something she and I have in common? It takes one master manipulator to know another one. She’s fucking with you,” he punched out each syllable. “The doll was a sick, twisted way of taunting you until…” He loomed in front of me, outstretching his arms, the bottle tight in one hand. “She’s gunning for your baby.”

Your baby, he said. Not our baby.

My hands shot to my stomach. “We can’t know that Serena wants to harm anyone, Liam.”

“Warren’s right,” Brad agreed, albeit sharp and irked. “The creepy doll was a sign.”

Okay, now I am confused. “What sign?”

“Vengeance,” Vincent’s familiar voice shook my bones. In unison, three pairs of eyes located Vincent stood at the front door. Wearing all-black and carrying an overly large holdall, he puts his belongings onto the sofa and regards Liam first. “Apologies for my tardiness.” He aimlessly gestures to the door. “Had to wait for the helicopter.”

I was too speechless to comment.

“What’s that wanker doing here?” Brad’s eyes volleyed back and forth both brothers. “Bossman?” Also infuriated by Liam’s indirectness, he pinned Vincent with a deadly promise in his flaring ambers. “You scarred my neck, bitch.”

“All in the past.” Vincent lights a cigarette. “Estranged brothers that found their way back.” He smiled at a deadpan Liam. “Quite poetic, really.”

Liam unscrewed the whiskey bottle and quenched thirst.

“Estranged brothers?” Brad took umbrage to this news. “You can’t be serious.”

“Later,” Liam ordered, and Brad fumed an inhale. “I mean it, Brad. Now isn’t the time.”

What looked like hurt dampened Brad’s forced smirk. “No problem.” He tugged on socks and heavy-duty boots, fished his phone and Glock and then made his way outside. “I’ll get those borders checked—leave you brothers hash shit out,” he adds sarcastically, slamming the front door on exit.

Vincent unzipped his bag, overstocked with arsenals, guns and weapons that I’ve never seen before. “I assume you have a plan.” He organised everything on the counter.

“Yes,” Liam said without hesitation. “Why so much ammunition?”

“Safety precaution. However, I have thought of an idea. If you are willing to hear me out.” Vincent’s shoes echoed as he walked towards me. “Angel,” he murmured, knowing Liam couldn’t hear, but that didn’t stop Liam’s eyes from scrutinising his brother’s each and every move.

With his blue eyes boring into mine, Vincent raised his arm above my head, detected the woodland picture and revealed another listening device. “Serena’s malleable. We could kill her and be done with it, or would you rather entice the twins first?” He fiddled with the device, snapping the delicate wires.

Disregarding Vincent, I sought out Liam, who insists on unveiling truths. “What twins, Liam?”

Settling onto a wooden chair at the table, Vincent glances from me to his brother, wondering why my question went unheeded. “Molly and Greer.”

“Molly and who?” I asked, and yet again, I am ignored. “Liam?”

“Alexa, go to your room,” Liam barked, addressing me as though I were a child. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Fine.” Losing the will to argue, I open my bedroom door and deliberately slam it behind me.

Shrouded by darkness, I lose the dressing gown and fall across the bed. “Asshole.”

I couldn’t even turn on the lamp because my emotional, irrational-self broke it.

“Do you always keep her in the dark?” I heard Vincent ask, and my ears perked up.

“Don’t,” Liam warned, and I found myself tiptoeing back to the door to eavesdrop. “How I handle Alexa is no one’s business.”

“Affirmative, but she’d be less rebellious if uncaged.”

My breath caught. I listened closely to Liam’s response.

“Alexa’s hardly shackled,” Liam said, his tone tight and clipped. “If protecting her makes me controlling, then so be it.”

When detecting advancing footsteps, I stammer onto the bed and look at the ceiling, feigning to be deep in reflective thought.

A sudden, soft light floated over me. Liam, slipping out of his suit jacket, leaves his shoes under the precariously balanced wooden chair.

“Baby,” Liam whispered, crawling over my body, and like the fool that I am, I welcomed him with slackened thighs, wanting him near me. “I can’t explain to you what I don’t know. It’s new to me. Vincent, Serena, Molly and Greer? They’re new to me.”

As much as Vincent stresses a valid point, I do trust Liam’s reasoning. He only has my best interest. “But what do these women want, Liam? And the twins? What’s their connection to Serena?”

“Molly and Greer are my step-sisters,” he confirmed, and the perplexing overload toppled the endurance scales.

“Hold on,” I stuttered, putting a hand to his chest. “So, Vincent and Serena are you half-siblings? And then there’s the strange twins…How is all of this possible?”

“I guess Raymond got around.”

“Molly and Greer aren’t blood-related…?”

“No, they were Raymond’s step-daughters.”

I wish Raymond weren’t dead so that I could kill him myself for leaving such a distressing mess for Liam to deal with.

“Do you remember the woman who bumped into before leaving London?” Liam asked, his unfaltering stare alluring mine. “She insinuated that I spent time with her.”

How could I forget that Junoesque blonde? I imagined skinning her for that heartless conversation for weeks. “Yes.”

“I believe she’s Molly. I haven’t touched her or even met her before that night. Again, the girls are playing games with me—or us,” he adds, curling a wayward curl behind my ear. “Vincent thinks they want revenge for their mother’s death. You remember what I did to Ray Warren?” I nod. “Molly witnessed the murder from her bedroom door. I got it handled, so I don’t want you stressing over this, Alexa. Vincent, as much as it pains me to admit, I need him. He knows these women better than anyone.”

I wanted to ask how Vincent knew them when Liam didn’t but held my tongue—for tonight.

“If you won’t return to London, assure me that you’ll only venture around Newquay with one of us present.”

“I won’t go anywhere without one of you overbearing brutes on my arm.” My half-hearted joke hadn’t amused him. “I promise, Liam.”

With his forearms positioned to the pillow on either side of my head, Liam laid a soft, delicate kiss to my lips. “I don’t know how to be a father.”

My heart fractured. “I don’t know how to be a mother.”

Reaching between us, he flattened a palm to my stomach. “I suppose we better learn, huh?”

Overemotional, I laughed a nervous laugh and wrapped my arms across his shoulders. “Does this mean…?” God, I am afraid to say it aloud. “You don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” He kissed the tip of my nose, my chin and cheek. “The love of my life carries my child…I don’t want to disappoint you, Alexa,” he said, his hoarse voice and vulnerability made me want to tighten my hold and never let go.

My chest expanded on a deep inhale. “My equal could never disappoint me.”

He braced his weight and rested his head on my chest, immersing himself in my hold, placated by my fingers stroking his neck. “I can’t promise to be the best partner or an outstanding father. However, I can promise that no one will love you,” his thumb brushed my navel, sealing his pledged words, “as much as I do.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. “I know, Liam.”

Tilting his head, he murmured a kiss to my throat. “When someone threatens you? They threaten me.” With one final kiss, he soared from the bed and fixed his shirt sleeve. “I am going to make those bitches wish they’d never been born,” he asserted. “Starting with Serena.”

Leaving me alone in the dark, he shut the door, a silent message for me to sleep.

Sitting up in bed, I tilted my head to listen to Liam and Vincent converse over a bottle of newly opened Macallan. They expect me to do nothing, to sit back and let the man I love put his life on the line.

“How do we find her?” Liam asked.

“We lure her out of the dark,” said Vincent.

Plucking up my phone, I shot Jace a text message.

Me: Is Nathan in the mood to come out and play?

Three dots immediately bobbed on the screen.

Jace: Depends. What does Victoria have in mind?

Quietly, I tugged on jeans, knee-high boots and a black hoodie. Unzipping a backpack, I stuffed essentials inside, hurled the strap over my shoulder and unlocked the back door.

Me: Meet me at the bike shed. I will explain everything when you pick me up.

Jace: Armed?

I frisked my hoodie.

Me: Yes.

Jace: Don’t do anything reckless.

Jace: I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Chapter 17

Liam

I returned to the cabin’s living quarters, but I was in no rush to sit across the table from my brother for small talk. Vincent’s curiousness emitted, though. While organising magazines and firearms on the table, he watched me find a glass and pour a Macallan shot.

With my back to him, I sipped a generous amount of amber liquid, appreciating its warm flavours. I stared out of the kitchen window, and only darkness and my reflection greeted me.

My hand crushed the glass. I recognise the frustration glimmering in my eyes. It’s almost as if my younger-self stares back, taunting me, evoking unpleasant memories of a time where I resented life, a time where I had no control of everything rioting around me.

In the distance, I spot Brad’s figure skulking the perimeters, half-heartedly checking our vicinage for any unwanted visitors or trespassers. He’s a good man, a loyal soldier, an appreciated and loved brother. His lack of enthusiasm to protect Alexa had nothing to do with her. No, he’s fond of Alexa—he’s always been fond of her. His height of experiencing disenchantment has everything to do with Vincent, or perhaps his discontent belongs on my shoulders. I kept him in the dark regarding Vincent and Ray’s step-daughters. It’s a form of betrayal. Brad’s been my right-hand man since the night I claimed him as one of mine, and we partnered inseparable ever since. Concealing information, imperative or unimportant, isn’t how we operate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vincent asked, and I peered over one shoulder, watching him exhale cigarette smoke. “I am a good listener.”

Why would I share my problems with Vincent? He might be my brother, and it’s an unprecedented moment, us consolidating to assail the aftermath of Ray Warren’s loose ends, but I don’t know him, or trust him. We share blood, our father’s blood. He’s unfamiliar to me, though. This, us, being in a room together, it’s uncharted territory for me. “No.”

Seconds later, the cabin door flies open. Without looking at me, Brad, tousling his misted blond waves, tossed his keys onto the table. Before he reaches Jace’s bedroom, I hold out my arm, putting a palm to his chest. “Outside.”

Maddingly stubborn, he flicked his eyes heavenward. “It can’t wait until morning?”

Red clouded my vision. “Last I checked,” I rasped out, hedging him backwards, “I am your boss. If I say to get your ass outside? You do exactly that.”

Briefly slicing his angered eyes at Vincent, who’s busying himself with arsenal, Brad clicked his tongue, turned on his heel and stormed outdoors.

Finishing the remainder of my drink, I set the glass onto the kitchen counter and followed behind Brad, slamming the front door behind me.

In silence, we walked side-by-side down the cobbled trail, the sea-salt air permeating our humid proximity. “I disappointed you,” I said the second we reached the pedestrian pathway.

Slipping a toothpick between his lips, Brad puts his back to the parked Bentley, his arms folded. The muscle in his jaw throbbed as he ground his teeth. “We don’t keep shit from each other.”

Balancing a cigarette on my lower lip, I matched a flame on a deep inhale, respiring a veil of smoke towards the dark sky. “You were only trying to help me,” I began, and his stoic stare pinned me in place. “When we thought Alexa died. You did everything right, Brad. I was in a dark place, and it bothered you.”

“Too right,” he chimed, scratching his jaw. “I hated seeing you like that, Bossman.”

“But when I came to you, opened up and poured out my heart, Brad, you shut me down. You rebuffed the idea of Alexa’s existence and had me questioning my sanity. In some way, your disobedience and incredulousness put a wedge between us.”

“It was unfathomable to me,” he explained, kicking a pebble from under his boots. “I understood why you held onto hope, but, in my defence, I thought Alexa died. I was unprepared to enable your refusal of letting go.” He closed his eyes. “I did not, however, expect her to rise from the dead. Had I known, then, Christ, boss, I’d have helped you tear down London to find her. You know that.”

“Whether I lost it or not, I believed she was alive. You might be my brother, but I pay you a helluva lot of money to obey orders. If I say she’s still out there, irrelevant to your opinions, you stand alongside The Brotherhood and await command. You don’t question my reasoning, my mental state or motives.”

Clenching his jaw, he dipped his head.

“Because of your insubordination, I had no choice but to exclude you from recent quandaries.” Blowing out a slew of smoke, I glanced at the time on my wristwatch. “You don’t follow orders, listen to instructions or wire your damn mouth shut like the others,” I continued, a small smirk playing on my lips. “However, I’d be lying if I said I’d trade you for someone less rebellious.”

Brad’s guarded armour cracked, and he flashed me a toothy grin. “No one could do the job better than me, and you know it.”

His cockiness knows no bounds. “There are a few reasons why I didn’t tell you about Vincent. One being that I was in denial.”

“I don’t like that wanker.” Lip twisting at the corner, he groaned. “He looks like you, though.”

Agreeing, I nodded. “And I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about him hanging around.”

“Does it matter?” he murmured, unable to look at me.

My chest ached. “It matters, Brad.”

We held each other’s eyes when he said, “Call me pathetic, but I don’t want him taking my place.” Pursing his lips, he came forward, lowering his mouth to my ear. “Fuck blood. It’s been us for as long as I can remember.” His Adam’s apple shifted on a tight swallow. “Am I dispensable?”

“Never,” I said tightly, gripping the nape of his neck, keeping him close. “You are irreplaceable, Brad. If I could have had a brother growing up? It wouldn’t have been him. I’d have chosen you.”

Although he seemed reassured, his shoulders remained rigid and overwrought. “Can I make a request?”

Giving his neck a final squeeze, I released him. “Go ahead.”

“The next time I challenge you? Just give me a slap and tell me to behave. Don’t put me on the sidelines, Bossman.” He puffed out his cheeks. “That shit hurts.”

“You know I don’t make promises.” I made a mental note, though. “Let’s sit with Vincent and formulate a plan. I want Serena’s head…” My eyes narrowed, spotting a silhouette dashing from behind the cabin, hunkering low to rush behind the moss-covered brick wall. “Go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Arching a brow, Brad marked my line of vision and cursed to himself. “At this rate, Alexa requires a ball and chain.”

I wait until he’s almost inside, then walk behind the woman who’s determined to put me in an early grave.

Not once did Alexa scour her surroundings. In the act of foolishness, she grasped a handbag to her chest, the heels of her boots scraping on the floor. Next to a rusted-looking shed that resembled an antiquated Anderson shelter, she dropped her bag to the floor, fished out a chain of keys and fumbled with the lock.

I crept up behind her, both enamoured and frustrated by her closeness. The second she inserted the key to the lock, I slammed a hand over her mouth, tearing a muffled scream from her deflating lungs.

Her back collided with my chest as she thrashed against me, kicking and wiggling in my hold. “Alexa,” I whispered angrily in her ear, and her body slackened in my arms. “Why must you punish me?” Not in control of my temper, I flung her around to face me, her back knocking into the metal shed. “Answer me!”

“Liam,” she stuttered, her shaky fingers tucking wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “I just wanted to help—”

“To help?” I barked, my tall frame, looming above her. “I told you to go to bed.”

Her once timid gaze morphs into fuming rage. “I am not a child, Liam!”

“Then stop acting like one!” I castigated furiously, and tears sprang to her eyes. “No, don’t do that. Don’t stand here and weep, Alexa.” Don’t play with my emotions, tug on my heartstrings. “I told you to stay in bed, yet you defy me again. Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Bracing my hands on either side of her head, I put us eye-level. “You are pregnant with my child, nonetheless.”

She scoffed. “A child that you didn’t want.”

“Did I not come to you merely thirty minutes ago and rectify my mistake?” I snapped, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at me, not to shy away. “I assured you, immaterial to how much being a father terrifies me, that I’ll do right by you—by both of you—because it’s you. The woman carrying my unborn child is the love of my fucking life.” She jerked at my vituperation, but I am not finished. “How can I protect someone hellbent on meeting her goddamn maker?”

“Liam,” she sighed, her eyelashes lowering as she declined her gaze. “I am not that woman anymore. The girl you once knew died the night of the London fire, and I am unapologetically thankful for that. She was pathetic—”

“She was perfect,” I interjected, and her eyes jerked up to mine. “I loved her—I love you.”

“Yet you cannot accept that I don’t want to live in the shadows anymore,” she said argumentatively, reaching for my belt and tugging me in. “I fear nothing, but the man stood in front of me.”

My eyebrows bent into a sharp scowl. “You have no reason to fear me, Alexa.”

“No, I fear losing you, Liam. In fact, that’s my only concern in life.” Her thumb brushed across my buckle. “These women threaten you—threaten the man I love.” Her chin raised in defiance. “I am not going to sit back like a pitiful wallflower and wait for something bad to happen to you.”

In a blink of an eye, Alexa disarmed me and had the cold barrel of the Eagle thrust under my chin.

I remained impassive, but inwardly, her act of trickery had taken me off guard. “You going to shoot me, baby?” No, Alexa would never harm me, not intentionally. “Are you trying to prove a point?”

She cocked her head to the side and those eyes, those beautiful, transfixing hazel-coloured eyes were greener beneath the moon’s light. “I am not as defenceless as you so arrogantly presume, Liam. Through no fault of ours, I lived a life without you—thought of you every single day, but without the man that I love standing by my side. I made a choice,” she adds, her finger outlining the Eagle’s trigger. “I wanted to be better, stronger and more fierce. Someone worthy of your time.”

Why does she assume I wanted her to be different? “You have nothing to prove, Alexa. Yes, you suffered an ordeal, and the ramifications created a withdrawn woman, but you learnt to smile, laugh and live like any other untroubled person. You acclimated and adapted to your surroundings. Brick by brick, you broke down those walls and trained yourself to trust people, to trust me.”

Her arm sagged, the gun handle, flimsy between her dept fingers. “I don’t want to live in a cage anymore.”

I swept a thumb over her parted lips. “Baby, I…” I only wish to protect her. “I can’t lose you.” Kissing the crease between her brows, I lingered for a breather. “What were you hoping to achieve?”

“I was to find Serena and put her in her place,” she admits unregretfully, shrugging a shoulder. “Tonight, when Vincent showed up, I could see it.” Fixing the gun to the waistband of my trousers, she flattened her palms to my chest. “You had this troubled look in your eyes, and it bothered me. I know you find it difficult to share your emotions, and usually, you do well to hide them. Slowly but surely, I am learning to read you, Liam. You can’t conceal the truth from me anymore. You know that, right?”

Respiring a shaky breath, I searched her eyes for a minute. “I hate when I’m not in control. Instead, I rely on Vincent in the hope he doesn’t betray my trust.” Listening, she nods. “My woman refuses to heed. She carries our child yet insists on greying my hair.” My light-heartedness earned me a sad smile. “Serena, Molly and Greer, akin to Vincent, I don’t know them or their abilities. I feel like I’m—”

“Drowning,” she whispered, and my eyes bore the truth. “It’s a frightening feeling. I know it all too well.”

“And I hate that,” I said roughly, licking my dry lips. “Hate that you suffer and continue to do so.”

She shook her head. “It’s not about me.”

It’ll always be about her.

Alexa’s my reason to breathe.

“Okay, I am angry. I want to march into that village, find Serena and lob her off a cliffside for messing with you. But an unpredictable pregnant woman should be the least of your problems. So,” she wrapped her arms around my neck, “I will put myself to bed as you ordered.” Feeling relieved, I fluttered my eyes shut. “I like Vincent. And I think his heart’s in the right place. You might endeavour to believe it, Liam, but I think Vincent just wants a relationship with his brother. For peace of mind, though, remain vigilant and keep Brad at your side at all times. If nothing else, you know that man has your best interest. He’ll never let you down.”

Benumbed, I welcomed her palm to my jaw.

“Most importantly, remember who you are,” she stressed, her thumb soft to my stubble. “Liam Warren fears only his capabilities. Do not let your father’s past destruction dictate our future. Whatever you decide, stick to your guns and be the man that I know you are: ruthless, unforgiving and as brutal as necessary to get what you want.”

Her calm lecture oddly assuaged me.

“My behaviour tonight was thoughtless and reckless.” She pulled a face. “It’ll take time for me to get used to being pregnant.” Worrying her bottom lip, she pulled it between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Behind us, I hear tyres rumbling across the gravel. Jace kills the engine of an old truck before his boots slapping against the asphalt. Keys jangling in his hand, he shot us a quick, concerned glance and then trudged inside the log cabin. For once, I respected the man for knowing his place. “Come.” Lacing our fingers together, I pulled her alongside me, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Tell me, Alexa. What can I do to prevent your impulsive tendencies?”

She snuggled into my side. “Can I have a seat at the table?”

Her question had momentarily confused me.

Opening the cabin door, I entered the warm living area, keeping her near. I automatically sought out Jace, who stands at the kitchen counter, preparing a sandwich.

At the table, Vincent and Brad sit directly opposite each other, both silent, but arranging magazines.

Meekly, Alexa hovers as I become seated. I kicked out the chair beside mine, a silent gesture for her to join us.

Smiling triumphantly, she falls into position, putting her elbows to the table. A plate appeared. She thanked Jace, accepting a ham salad sandwich, not attempting to eat, though.

Vincent lifts his gaze, his eyes bouncing from her to me. “Brad narrowed down possible hideouts.” Thumbing through pages of a notepad, he locates what he’s scanning for and slides the pad across the table. “With only a handful of B&Bs in the village and two hotels, it’ll make for an easy search.” He puts a blunt to his lips. “Where would you hide?” His question was for Alexa. “Men think differently to women.”

Setting her plate to the side, Alexa leans into me, reading the scribbled notes. “Did you call the hotels yet?”

Brad jerked his chin. “And the list of bed and breakfasts. Unless she’s staying with a friend, which is a high possibility, I reckon our only options are the two warehouses or this homeless shelter.”

Jace invites himself to our conversation, standing between Brad and me. “Too obvious.”

“Nobody asked your opinion,” I clipped, setting my jaw.

Ignoring me, Jace chewed his sandwich, holding a mute conversation with Alexa.

Tapping a pen on the table, Alexa loses herself in contemplative thought. “You all believe Serena’s in Newquay for me, right?” she asked, and we stared unblinkingly. “She wants to play a game or conceivably cause damage to harm Liam…” I could see the cogs bending inside her head. “Jace’s right. Serena’s hiding in plain sight.”

Vincent leans back in his chair. “If you were that troublesome woman, where would you hide?”

Alexa continues her stare off with Jace. “I think she’s staying at the old Haines property.”

“Yeah,” agrees Jace, dusting crumbs from his hands. “That’s plausible. It’s an abandoned building. Plus, everything about Alexa’s past remains in those four walls.” His eyes locked with mine. “She mightn’t be necessarily looking for anything, but going to the victim’s childhood home? That’s the mind of a serial killer, huh?”

“We don’t know if Serena’s capable of murder, though, or if she’s capable of anything, for that matter,” Brad adds, the gruffness in his voice demonstrates that he’s contemplating the notion. “Is she?” His question was for Vincent. “You seem to know these women, so what do you think?”

Blowing out a trail of marijuana-infused smoke, Vincent considers the question. “I don’t know Serena. If this were Molly or Greer, I’d say, yes.”

“Serena’s working closely with the twins,” I remind him, my parched through in dire need of a drink. “We acknowledge her fragile state of mind. In all probability, those women are using her to their advantage.”

Alexa, noticing my irritableness, grabs a bottle of Macallan from the kitchen and sets it before me with a glass. “What’s the likelihood that Molly and Greer are playing puppet master with their little sister? I mean,” she glanced at me, “after the way Kathy turned out, nothing surprises me with siblings. I think they call the shots. And Serena, desperate for a relationship with her sisters, desperate for love and acceptance, will dance to their tune, march to their drum. I met her. Sure, she seemed somewhat normal, at first glance, but there’s no denying that something isn’t quite right with her.”

“As I said,” Vincent conversed, “Serena’s malleable.”

Without comment, I listened.

“We can go to the old Haines property tonight,” Vincent proceeds, balancing the blunt in the ashtray. “Instead of killing her on sight, why don’t we use her to our advantage? Serena’s a lost cause. We all know as much. Her sisters, though, that’s where the problem lies. We need Serena to locate them before they flip the tables and catch one of us.” Us, he said, meaning me. “If love and acceptance are what our little sister craves, then affection she will get.” He stands, swinging a coat over his arms. “Do you want a relationship with her, brother?”

I didn’t miss Brad flinching. “Absolutely not.”

“Then, once we put an end to the twins’ nonsense, Serena will join them in an unmarked grave.”

My lips twitched into a low, devious smirk. “I like the way you think, Vincent.” Soaring to my full height, I splashed a Macallan shot in my glass and knocked it back with a sigh. “Brad, suit up. You’re coming with us.”

“Thank fucking Christ.” Pleased to be involved, Brad leapt out of his seat and barricaded himself in Jace’s bedroom to fix himself.

I glared at Jace. “Alexa has agreed to stay here until I get back. I don’t like you, Jace, not even a bit, but I trust you have her best interest. Be a good man and ensure she’s protected while I am gone.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said, slipping out of his leather jacket. “You hate me, Warren. I get it. I only wish for Alexa’s happiness, though. You have my word.”

Delicate fingers brushed over mine. “I love you, Liam,” Alexa whispers for only me to hear, her lips touching my earlobe. “I expect you in my arms by sunrise.”

I bring her knuckles to my lips and press a soft kiss there. “You have no idea,” I said, keeping my back to the others. “No fucking idea of how much you mean to me.”

Whistling an annoying 80′s tune, Brad, dressed to the nines in a royal blue suit, his hair pulled into a top knot, reappears from the bedroom. “Let’s go and catch some naughty sisters.” He clasped my back before seizing Alexa’s jaw to leave a wet kiss to her cheek. “Behave yourself, woman. Or Warren’s wrath will have nothing on my lambasting.”

With Vincent in tow, Brad exits the cabin, the weapons and holdalls accompanying them.

“Alexa.” Sliding my hand to the back of her neck, I kneaded her flesh. “Vincent’s idea, did you buy it?”

“Yes, I think if Serena’s easily pliable, then let her lead you to Molly and Greer. With any luck, you guys can squash this before the weeks out, and we can all move on.”

Nothing in life is ever truly that easy. “Keep the bed warm.” Leaving one more kiss to her lips, I double-checked I had everything required and made a beeline for the door. “Preferably naked.”

Chapter 18

Liam

Across from the old Haines property, I rested my back to the parked Bentley, admiring the place Alexa once called home. Compared to the other houses lined along the street, the imposing two-story building blossomed with its white wooden exterior, and farmhouse window panes irrespective of the overgrown garden, littered pathway, lifeless sphere and intermittently concealed windows.

Brad unlocked the boot to retrieve a beanie hat. Tugging it over his head, he adjusted to fit and popped a toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “What should we do with the guns?”

Breathing out smoke, Vincent balanced a cigarette between his lips, his hand ferreting through the holdall. “If we’re to earn Serena’s trust, I suggest withdrawing firearms.” He looked at the old house. “That’s if she’s inside.”

“Why bring all this rubbish, then?” Brad rezipped the bag. “Bit of a pompous move, Vincent.”

“Was I to assume Liam would take my advice on board?” Vincent tucked a switchblade in his trouser pocket, his gaze coming to me. “I was sure you’d dismiss any suggestions I had. In actuality, I prepared myself for an onslaught.”

“Yeah, well,” Brad scoffed, his leather shoes scraping on the uneven gravel as he trudged ahead. “Still, those weapons aren’t all that impressive, Vincent. And what’s this contraption, huh?” He wielded a gold, ancient-looking chain. “Am I meant to strangle some fucker with this flimsy piece of shit?”

“How did you…?” Vincent’s hand shot to his neck. “Notable, Brad. I didn’t know you were a professional purse-snatcher.”

“Was that an insult, Vincy-Boy?” Brad retorts, halting harshly.

Reclaiming his jewellery, Vincent drops the gold chain over his head, the gold cross and onyx diamonds scintillating. “I expected more than pickpocketing from Liam’s right-hand man is all.”

Brad’s jaw locked, but he refrained from continuing their inimical debate.

“It’s a neck knife, actually,” Vincent confirms. “Not the most dangerous weapon, though, it tends to come in handy when someone’s getting the upper hand.” He exhibits, extracting the fine, honed blade. “Impale to the side of the neck,” he demonstrates carefully, the pulse in his jaw throbbing, “server the carotid artery. It’s a much longer death, but no less fun to watch.”

Who are you? I thought, somewhat intrigued by Vincent’s collectedness. Our uncanny semblances and corresponding characteristics confounded me. I felt an indescribable connection with him. It’s the way he holds himself, misleadingly harmless and trustworthy. If I were an outsider, watching him stroll down the street, I wouldn’t bat an eyelid. However, I throne at the pinnacle of an entire underground organisation, and I didn’t achieve an authoritative, respectable position by being senseless or dim-witted. I know Machiavellianism when it’s doughtily glaring back at me. I mightn’t like our newfound association, and once we bury the sisters I may never want to see Vincent again, but if we operate and handle situations, in the same manner, he may just be the missing piece of the puzzle. Maybe. That’s if he doesn’t betray or disappoint me in the process.

“Liam?” Vincent mused, and I blinked myself back to awareness. “What’s the order?”

What’s the order? He asked, confusingly respecting my judgement. Perhaps Alexa’s right. My younger brother, although seemingly dangerous and arrogantly self-determining, values my opinion more than his own. He craves my acceptance. I see it in his longing eyes.

With bated breath, I closed my eyes and gathered the gold specs dancing behind my lids. On a determined exhale, my gaze darkened and the man I had recently lost voices his vision. “Serena joins under my command. I will not stand back and watch her submit to you, just because her vacuous sister, Molly, has a ridiculous obsession with you and Serena, like the risible lapdog she is, longs for that nutjob’s approval. I don’t need her,” I spat, rolling back my shoulders. “It might take longer, but I’ll find those women regardless. Serena isn’t inexorable, and the twins aren’t inaccessible. I go in there,” I point to the house, “and demand answers—demand her accomplice. If she cannot conform to me, the demons of hell will be her only salvation.”

Pulling out Bill’s tattered gloves, I stretched the leather over my fingers. “Look at me,” I said, laughing at the absurdness. “Standing in Newquay, fretting over a bunch of brainless, predictable women. Since when did I give a flying fuck about them? About anybody for that matter.”

“Underestimating them will be your greatest mistake, brother,” Vincent drawls, imperceptibly shaking his head. “They aren’t normal women.”

He might have my best interest, but I’ve allowed this man to get inside my head for long enough.

“And I’m not your average fucking Joe, either.” I stepped up to him, putting us nose-to-nose. “I’m Liam Warren. I’m the last person anybody wants to fuck with.”

Shouldering past him, past Brad, I opened the old gate and ambled down the path. As a steel closure covers the front door, I automatically make my way to the back of the house, to find a possible damaged window. Finding one with a tapered frame, tested the resilience and shoved it upright, granting myself entry.

“I want a moment,” I said, hearing them close behind me. “Ten minutes before you come inside.” Bracing my hands onto the ledge, I pulled myself indoors, dragging my body across a wooden sideboard. “Can I trust you not to kill each other whilst I’m gone?”

Brad snorted. “A promise I cannot make, I’m afraid.”

Ignoring his light-hearted enmity, I dropped my feet to the floor, wiping the dust from my palms. It was too dark, so I unlocked my phone and shone the light around the room, highlighting sheet-masked furniture.

In the hallway, floorboards complained beneath my feet. I was here to find Serena, but my wandering eyes focused on Alexa’s childhood instead. For some strange reason, I pictured her young, almost saw her dashing from room to room—could hear her innocent giggles as my eyes skimmed over the old shelving unit, displaying trophies and gilded picture frames. Most of Kathy, I thought, reading the first place engravings.

Jerking open a drawer to the cabinet, I hunt through random items of miscellaneous junk that Adaline apparently couldn’t find a home for, my hand stilling on a polaroid.

Shining the torch on the picture, I marvelled the raven beauty, her face similar to the woman I love. Adaline Haines, wearing a red retro dress, sits on a bench, her youngest daughter tucked into her side.

Brushing my thumb over Alexa’s face, I smiled to myself, soothed by the happiness in her round eyes. Two people who truly loved each other ripped apart for money, greed and power.

Much like myself, Larry Fagan—previously known as Patrick Haines—formed a visualisation: money in abundance, affluence and wealth, to be socially accepted and lionised. The difference between him and me? I might be an irredeemable prick, but I’d never sacrifice the ones I love to better my future. I’d kill myself first.

“Fucking coward.” Sliding the image into the back of my wallet, I leave the living room and place one foot at the bottom of the stairs when I notice the basement door ajar.

My heart crashed to a stop. “You can come out now.”

Four pale fingers curled around the door, the hinges creaking as Serena emerged from the darkness. She didn’t leave the safety of the basement, though. Instead, she stood still, peering at me from under dark lashes. Her clothes, a knitted jumper and denim jeans. Nothing spectacular but normal. Long blonde hair cascading down her back.

Pushing away from the staircase, I rounded the wooden banister, my hands tucking into my trouser pockets. “You want my attention,” I said hoarsely, and her thin lips parted. “Here, you have it. What can I do for you, Serena?” Buried under her arm, a clean, fashionably clothed baby doll. “Is the baby asleep?”

My question ignited a smile. “Yes.”

Fucking hell. “What’s her name?”

“Josie,” she said, swaddling the baby in her arms. “Josie Warren.”

“Is that right?” I hummed, tilting my head to the side. “I guess that makes me her uncle.”

Serena’s sharp blue eyes snapped back to mine. “You don’t care about her,” she said fiercely, her soft tone replaced with croaky harshness. “You only care about yourself, brother.”

“Your perception of me is quite insulting. I don’t recall us ever holding a conversation.” I walked closer, stopping a few inches before her. “Apparently, you know everything about me, yet I know absolutely nothing about you.”

Cowering away from me, she sidestepped, her eyes on me the entire time. “You don’t need to know me, Liam.”

“Warren,” I corrected, marking her each step like a predator. “Only close associates address me informally.”

Her back met the wall. “How did you find me?”

“I have a better question.” Lighting a cigarette, I wafted smoke from my face. “Why did you follow Alexa to Newquay?”

“I must,” she said, squinting at me dubiously. “Molly—” Slapping a hand over her mouth, she shook her head vigorously. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

My narrowed eyes mirrored hers. “How old are you?”

Nibbling her bottom lip, she tapped her foot on the floor. “Twenty-eight.”

A twenty-eight-year-old immature woman who believes the doll’s her child. “You seem mature for your age,” I lied, scratching the scruff of my chin. “You look like them.”

Molly and Greer. Excluding the exactness of our eye colour, Serena reminds me of the woman who bumped into Alexa back in London. Both women, tall and slender with lustrous blonde waves—obviously, Greer alike. Only, there’s something pungently distinctive about Serena. Low nasal bridge, short palpebral fissures, small eye openings and slight ear abnormalities.

Hidden behind the shield of her hair, Serena cocked her head to the side, the baby tight to her chest. “I look like who?”

Her subtle defects were indecipherable. I wanted to know, besides being a diagnosed schizophrenic, the reason for those malformations. “Your sisters.”

My feigned compliment pleased her. “They love me very much.”

No, they don’t. Molly and Greer are self-centred opportunists, taking advantage of someone’s fragile mind. They sent Serena here, unprotected and vulnerable. If these women studiously watched me as much as Vincent led me to believe, then they’re playing Russian roulette with Serena’s life, knowing I’d come for her.

Think smart, Warren. Serena might be malleable, but she’s instilled trust in her sisters. “You made the trip alone?” I asked, segueing twisted personalities. “No company?”

“I have a phone,” she tells me, hushing the soundless doll. “I can call friends whenever I want to.”

“You mean, your sisters.” Dropping the cigarette on the floor, I put it out under my shoe. “The same sisters that left you alone.”

“Yes, Molly and Greer.” Her head lifted. “Why do you care if I’m by myself, Liam? You don’t even like me.”

“I don’t know you to like you.” I put my back to the wall, directly opposite her. “I am perspicacious though, and I think it’s rather unfair, them telling you to do their dirty work.”

She blinked owlishly. “What does that mean?”

My patience hung on by a thread. “What?”

“Perspic…acious.” Her lips pursed. “I don’t know that word.”

“Sharp-sighted, sagacious, intelligent and insightful. Take your pick. More to the point, I think it’s selfish, them staying in London, leaving you to deal with me. Don’t you?”

Perplexed, her eyebrows weaved inwards.

“You want to trust them. They are your sisters, after all, but where does that leave me?” I detected advancing footsteps. “Where does that leave Vincent?” At the mention of his name, adoration glazed her eyes. “Where does your belief in them leave your brothers?”

Vincent appeared by the door, and Serena stood ramrod. She hadn’t noticed me moving in until my mouth whispered near her ear. “Do we not matter?”

“Vincent,” she said, ignoring my question. “Why are you here?”

My temples pulsate. Preparing myself for a back-stabbing, I glared at him.

“You can’t be with him,” she hissed, hurling the baby to the floor. “We can’t be with him!”

“Why not?” he challenged, and the breath I was holding whooshed out. “He’s my brother, Serena. Does he not deserve a second chance?” His eyes lasered in on me, an unspoken conversation transpiring between us. “He’s never harmed me, or you, so why must we write him off?”

“He killed our father,” she whisper-shouts, glaring at him in a dark, dirty light, not the honest, noble light her sisters painted him in. “He shot my mother.”

I held back from rolling my eyes.

“Your mother,” said Vincent, gesturing between us, “and our father locked you away. They put you in a mental asylum, Serena.”

“Our father left you to rot,” I rasped, not understanding her devotion to them. “He left us all to rot. Something the three of us have in common.”

“He left me to rot, but I forgave him.” Her foolish stubbornness irked me. “It doesn’t even matter. Whatever his mistakes, he didn’t deserve to die and neither did my mother.”

I abruptly seized her wrists, hurling her chest to mine. “And this?” I barked, thrusting my hands under her jumper sleeves, fingernails pinching uneven scars. “Was she being a good mother when she forced a fucking blade in your hand?”

“Stop it!” she cries, striving to knee me in the balls. “Vincent!”

Backing her up to the wall, I pinned her arms on either side of her head. “You felt loved when mother dearest came running to your attention, enabling your self-harming? You could hide in a bathroom, sit on the floor and shred chunks of your flesh and bleed out on the floor. Next question, Serena.” My hand snatched her throat, and she choked on a sob. “What drove you to need pain, to find an escape? To relieve yourself from the gruesomeness of reality?”

Her lips wobbled. “I just wanted to feel something.”

Now, we’re getting somewhere. “And when hospitalised, who came to visit? Ray?” My brow curved sardonically. “Evelyn?” A tear rolled down her hollow cheek. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Feeling unloved, unwanted,” I whispered for only her to hear. “I sat on many a cold floor, wondering why I wasn’t good enough for my father, for my mother. We didn’t ask to be here, Serena. Neither did Vincent. Yet here we are, fighting amongst ourselves. Those bitches,” I enunciated, and her tear-filled eyes sharpened. “Wish for blood—my blood. And you, my beloved sister, want to help them.”

“Liam,” Vincent warned.

“If I was the canard monster they so cruelly claim, why haven’t I killed you yet?” My thumb pushed to her windpipe. “Why are you still breathing, Serena?”

“I don’t know,” she gasped, trembling from head-to-toe.

“Because I’m your brother.” Alleviating my hold, I drop my arm and step back, smoothing to palms over my hair. “We are Raymond Warren’s only offspring. His blood runs through our veins, which binds us together.”

Vincent digested my words, but there’s evident confusion on his countenance. “I concur,” he said, albeit unsure of my motives. “We don’t want to harm Molly and Greer. However, if they try to kill us, what choice do we have?”

“Unless they agree to meet with us,” I said, and he nods. “What if the five of us were to sit around a table to put an end to this nonsense.”

“They would never,” Serena adds, rubbing the ache from her neck. “Molly despises you, Liam.” Pure hatred dilated her sneering eyes. “As do all of us.”

“Do not speak on my behalf,” Vincent berated, surprising me when grasping my shoulder. “I picked a side, Serena. It’s time to choose yours.”

“Molly will never forgive you,” she jeered, her cheeks hot and flushed. “You betrayed us…”

My protective walls piled up around me. I side-eyed him. “What is she talking about?”

“He was supposed to lure you in,” she said, not looking at me. “I guess he got side-tracked with his angel instead.”

Vincent jerked back as though she impaled him. “Don’t play games with us, baby sister,” he warned in a low, threatening voice. “Do you honestly think Liam’s senile enough to believe someone as certifiable as you? You are grasping for straws.” He points in her face, and she hissed like a feral animal. “Coming here was a mistake, brother. I worry Serena’s a lost cause.”

“Affirmative,” I agreed, reeling from her convincing accusation. “Let’s go—”

“They won’t sit with you,” she shouts, bringing the two of us to a stop. “Vengeance means more to them than alliance.”

I turned back to face her.

Her eyes held mine. “They weren’t the best parents, Raymond and Evelyn, but they were still my mother and father. You had no right to take them away from me.” Crouching, she picked up her doll, murmuring undetectable words. “I can tell you where to find them. Molly and Greer. But it’ll cost you.”

Vincent fixed the cross dangling from his earlobe. “What do you want?”

“Money and a new identity,” she said, smiling gleefully at us. “And a one-way flight to the Bahamas. I hear paradise is very nice.”

I’ll give her a one-way ticket to the abysmal of the ocean. “Done.”

Her mouth formed an O. “And I want a puppy.”

“I’m sure our financial generosity can afford you a dog.” Vincent’s mirthful expression paralleled my inward amusement. “Now, where can we find them?”

Serena moved to the front door, tampering with the lock. “If I tell you, then you might kill me.” Cold winds blew inside as she stepped onto the veranda. “I will call you,” she looked at me, “in a few days. Deliver my small ask, and I’ll send you everything you need to know. If you trick me, though, I’ll tell Molly.” A tired sigh flew from her mouth. “I have had my fair share of disappointment, so please don’t let me down.” She walked away, but I caught her final whispered words. “I hurt, too.”

Vincent offered me a conflicted glance. “What do you think?” His eyes trained on the open door. “I’m not sure if I believe her.”

“Time will tell.” Ambling into the room stockpiled with old furniture, I climbed onto the sideboard and met Brad in the garden. “Why did you stay outside?”

Back to the house, he smokes a joint. His shoe propped onto the wall behind him. “Thought I let you siblings hash shit out,” he half-jokes, passing me the half-smoked blunt. “You good?”

I didn’t need to answer. Brad read the conflict in my eyes.

Inhaling a lungful of haze, I checked my phone to see if Nate had messaged with any syndicate updates—nothing.

“I’m Hank fucking Marvin,” Brad complains, unlocking his phone, scouring the internet for any local takeaways. “Could you eat?”

“Yeah,” I said, watching the stars twinkle above. “I could eat.”

Brad drove us back to the cabin before heading out to buy food. It’s dark on arrival, confirming Jace and Alexa retired a while ago. Vincent turns on the light, hurls his bag on the floor and shimmies out of his suit jacket. His eyes fall to the small, two-seater sofa. “That looks comfortable.”

My lip twitched. “Brad claimed the one by the window.”

Vincent made a noise. “I don’t recall him saying as much.”

“I know Brad.” Opening the kitchen cupboard, I grab a bottle of Jameson. “He’ll be back soon.” We shared an awkward moment of silence. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Leaving him in the living room, I opened the door to Alexa’s bedroom and quietly shut it behind me. Draping my suit jacket on the chair rear, I stack my shoes and unbutton my shirt, leaving it open as I crawled onto the bed, next to the sleeping woman, curled up onto her side. Propped onto one elbow, I stare at her faultless face. Her lips parted as she breathes, her thick eyelashes, resting on her cheeks. “Beautiful,” I whispered in her ear, kissing her slender neck. “I am in love with you.”

Alexa didn’t stir, too exhausted and lost in her dream.

Curling an arm around her waist, I nuzzled into her back, my face buried at the nape of her neck. “She’s harmless,” I breathed, knowing she could hear me. “Serena, I mean. She’s just lost, Alexa, and a small part of me pitied her. I understand her pain, her feelings of rejection.” My mind drifted to Vincent. “My brother, too. We all lived separately, differently, yet experienced equivalent anguish. Does it make me weak, sympathising with them? It’s unlike me, worrying about something so trivial—people, who, in my eyes, aren’t of great value or importance.”

I needed Alexa—needed her to help me forget, to take all my troubles away.

“Alexa.” Cupping her cheek, I gently turned her over, so I could kiss those soft lips.

Alexa’s eyelashes stuttered open. “Liam,” she murmured, cuddling her head to my arm, wrapping one leg over my waist. “You came back.”

I pressed our foreheads together. “I’ll always come back for you, baby.”

Her hand touched my chest, and her defined brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” she asked, detecting my irregular heartbeat. “Did something bad happen?” She tried to sit up, but I gripped her arm. “Is Serena dead?”

I nudged her nose with mine. “Kiss me.”

Alexa senses my uneasiness. Rather than beat an admittance from me, she locks a hand around the back of my neck and leans in to kiss me. It’s delicate, unhurried yet full of love. I feel it—her enamourment, raw passion and fierce possession. “You own me,” I growled, my teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

When she attempts to put me on my back, I prevent it, rolling her beneath me, settling my hips between her slackened thighs. “I don’t want sex,” I said gravely, kissing her breathless. “This, baby. You here, beneath me.” My tongue swiped hers, and I deepened our kiss. “Just you.”

Alexa’s fingers combed through my hair. “Do you love me?”

My heart thudded. I masqueraded any concerns and smirked down at her. “I’m completely fucking high for you—” she jabbed me in the side. “Fucking hell, Alexa,” I barked, dropping my head to her shoulder. “Yes.” My hands fused hers to the pillow. “I love my woman.”

Her cheek to mine, she smiled. “It’ll never feel real,” she said, her fingernails tickling my spine. “Liam Warren, in love with someone like me.” Her head turned, looking at me face-on. “How did I get so lucky?”

My head to the pillow, I catalogued her beautiful face. Her eyes, the same eyes that never fail to bring me to my knees, stared adoringly at me. “Thank you.”

She outlines my eyebrow with a pointer finger. “For what?”

“For demanding that I listened to you and fighting for a spot at the club.” I held her jaw in my hand. “For not giving up on us, or turning your back on me,” I whispered, shifting closer. “For falling in love with me and making me feel it.”

“Liam…” On her elbows, the sheet falling to her waist, she gripped my jaw, her thumb pressed to my cheek.

The door knocked. “Pizza’s here!” Brad yelled, but my eyes never strayed from her. “Quit fucking like animals. I paid big sterling for this ramshackle of fodder—the fucking liberty.”

Alexa laughed, combing hair from her face. “You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” Kissing the frown from my cinched brows, she swept her thumb over my lips, and I lightly nipped the end of it. “Love doesn’t give up. You could cast me aside tomorrow, but our soul’s paired, so I will always belong to you.”

I smiled against her lips. “As if I could breathe without you.”

Chapter 19

Alexa

It’s probable that almost everyone in this room has few or plentiful issues with one another. Liam hates Jace—Liam also keeps his brother, Vincent, in a questionable box. Brad seems to be warming up to Jace, but it’s perceptible he’s unimpressed by Vincent’s attendance. Vincent, well, he’s nice to me, patient with Liam. He’s said no more than five words to Jace and, when he’s bothered to converse with Brad, his tone, often short and sharp.

I held my breath.

What an awkward breakfast.

Buttering a piece of toast, taking a small bite, I sat at the head of the table, surrounded by dominant men.

A sequence of clattering cutlery and strained, laborious conversations ensued uncomfortably among us, and a bottle of Jameson substituted the cafetière I earlier prepared. In the background, quiet music played from the cabin’s stereo system, “With or Without You” by U2, courtesy of Brad’s exigencies for constant compositions.

“Are you visiting Corbyn today?” Jace asked, slicing through our untalkative silence. “I’m free until this afternoon if you want to finalise reservations.”

Across from Jace, Liam stilled with the cutlery. Slowly, he lifted his dark gaze, and Jace paused with a hash brown by his lips. I recognise Liam’s unforgiving expression. He’s seconds away from reaching across the table and ramming a fork in Jace’s skull.

Before all hell breaks loose, I quickly intervene. “Actually, I might visit Clarence alone.” I put my half-touched food beside Brad, who helps himself to my leftovers, dipping the toast into runny egg yolks. “Today could very well be our last, so I’d like to say goodbye.” Reaching for a steaming mug of decaffeinated tea, I brought it to my lips and sipped generously. “What’s your plans for the rest of the day?”

Jace cleared his throat into a tight fist. “Taking Kim for a late lunch.”

He spends more time with Kim than he does the others. Hell, I don’t even remember the names of his harem. “That’s nice,” I said, apprehensive of their evolving closeness. “At this rate, you may struggle to let her go.”

Laughing incredulously, Jace poured himself a coffee. “No chance.”

End of conversation.

Vincent sits to my left. I turn to him. “Will you be staying?” I wondered, and his blue crystal-like eyes, the exactness of his brothers, met mine. “We can hire additional camping bed’s from the tourist centre. I can place an order for you,” I suggested, looking between him and Brad. “I don’t like the thought of you both dangling off the sofas. They’re hardly comfortable.”

“I appreciate your concern, Angel,” said Vincent, setting his knife and fork with etiquette. “However, I leave for London in two hours.” The same smile Mr Smith once offered warmed my chest. “Business.”

“Business,” mutters Brad, scoffing over a mouthful of bacon. “Enlighten us, Vincy-Boy. What does business entail?”

At Brad’s inquiry, everyone’s piercing stares trapped Vincent, awaiting his response. Not in any degree did the manifestation of scrutiny derail Vincent. Nursing a whiskey glass, he leant back in his chair, pursing his thick, full lips. “Businessman, entrepreneur, tradesman.” He lifted a shoulder, ever so evasive. “Whatever you prefer, Jones.”

“You dabble around, huh?” Brad finished his breakfast, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “How does a tycoon possess a firearms trade without connections at Gateway?”

Vincent flashed him a smile, accentuating a left dimple. “What makes you believe I don’t have a rapport with Gateway.”

“Impossible,” Liam joins their tense discussion. “Nobody can pursue illegal trade without going through me.”

“Of course, I forgot.” Vincent downs his whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Nobody dares to delude Warren.”

“I don’t tolerate accusations by innuendo, Vincent.” Relaxing in his chair, Liam lights a cigarette. “If the foreman’s double-dealing, then a replacement is in order.”

“Is there no room for others to make one’s mark?”

“Not without denting my wallet,” Liam replies, tilting back his head to exhale smoke above.

Vincent harrumphed, rolling a waxy green apple in his hand. “I don’t need Gateway, so renounce your contractors,” he said, a tad sarcastic. “Port of Southampton serves me well.”

Liam’s rigid shoulders visibly relaxed.

Hands clasping together, Brad puts his elbows to the table. “So, extracurricular arms trafficking pays for the suits and cars, then? Or do you expect us to believe legitimate business funds your prosperous lifestyle?”

“I am the delighted owner of multitudinous businesses, Jones. All cost-effective, I would like to add. My predilection for weaponry isn’t a lucrative side-line.” He peels an apple layer. “Defence, however, is indispensable for a private occupation that I do not wish to share with you.”

Brad fumed, his face gnarled. “What?” He flicked an accusatory glance to Liam. “Is he bluecoat scum or something?” Judgmental eyes revisiting Vincent, he popped a chewing gum in his mouth. “Oh, I got your card marked. He’s undercover.”

Chuckling dryly, Vincent pours another whiskey. “Why would I be undercover?”

“You’re one of those bent detectives, building up a case against Warren.” He sliced his quizzical eyes. “I think you are full of shit with all that brother malarky.”

“Hardly,” said Vincent, biting into his apple. “DNA doesn’t lie, Jones. Liam’s my brother, one I’m trying to help, not crucify. In regard to your informant speculation, I can assure you, discounting Donny, a close friend working at the metropolitan, I have no allies with the Force. I can’t say the same for you.” He addresses Liam. “I hear that Burton has a rather close relationship with you.”

Jace gawked at me, elevating his eyebrows.

I had no words, either.

“There’s no room for Reginald’s name at my table.” Liam aborts the topic before it can even surface. “Whilst we are on the subject of deceitfulness. Divulge, Vincent. Was there any truth behind Serena’s accusation last night?”

When Liam came home yesterday, he made a short stop to my bedroom and then sat with Brad and Vincent for late drinks and takeout. I had heard indistinct conversations, but I was too exhausted to be my usual eavesdropping self. In addition, I slept until sunrise, awakening in time to witness the beautiful warm colours of the sun painting our horizon.

Summer’s amassed shells for the dreamcatcher vanished, so I spent an entire hour at the beach, hunting rock pools and gathering abandoned shells the tide washed up and left on the shore. Still, not enough sat in my bedroom. If all else fails, I’ll visit the local gift shop and purchase an assortment of mixed seashells, starfish and urchins scallops. It’s an easier option, the less thoughtful option, but it guaranteed a finished piece at the very minimum.

Liam was showering when I hid the shells inside my trainers, collecting dust at the back of the wardrobe. It was an odd place to hide Summer’s gifts, but Liam had yet to assure me about Serena’s motives. I couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t reappear and for a stupid reason, steal from me once more.

Entering the room, a towel around his waist, Liam dropped a kiss to my cheek, told me how beautiful I looked and changed into a two-piece suit, readying himself for breakfast with the men.

I wanted to cook.

Brad stationed me to coffee duties instead, which went cold, as the alcoholics prefer warm malt with their all-day fry-up.

Which brings us back to this chaotic breakfast date, where everyone feigned to tolerate one another until niggling reservations breached and fractured, ruining whatever forbearance and friendship building transpired.

“Surely, you didn’t believe that nonsense,” Vincent replied, agitated by Liam’s demand for verification. “I warned you, Liam. You cannot trust those girls. Serena’s shameless manipulativeness stems from our so-called step-sisters. As aforementioned, you underestimate them.”

I am sick to the high heavens of these women. “What was Serena’s accusation?”

“Serena implied that I betrayed them,” Vincent said flippantly. “Molly and Greer. Her act of convincing Liam seemingly worked, too.”

“Did I say, I believed her?” Liam fired back, tossing a fork onto the plate, urging Jace to ease back in his chair warily. “To be quite frank, I don’t know what to fucking believe anymore. All four of you appeared from nowhere.”

Puzzled, I remained demure as their argument escalated.

“I am a man of my word,” Vincent argued angrily, his fist tightening around the apple. “If you question my allegiance, why not involve Alzaim, brother? We all know that man has the ability to attain my file in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to hear it from Nate, Vincent.” Liam’s face reddened in anger. “I want to hear it from you.”

Affected by Liam’s futile attempt to mask his discomposure, I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Guys,” I said, peering from Jace to Brad. “Why don’t we go outside?” These brothers need to talk without an audience. “I’ll make you both coffee—”

“Don’t leave on my account.” Vincent stood, snagging his suit jacket from the chair rear. “I have hidden absolutely nothing from you, Liam. Your confusion is the result of ignorance.” He grabbed the black holdall from the sofa. “When you are ready to get to know me—really get to know me, not formulate concepts based on hearsay—you can find me here.” Extracting a business card from his pocket, he flung it onto the table. “Until then, I will not be a fucking hindrance to you any longer.”

With those departing words, Vincent opened the cabin door and left without a backwards glance. The door slammed, sending a reverberating bang throughout.

Pressing my lips into a tight line, I cupped my face and inhaled a deep breath. “Liam—”

“Don’t,” Liam snapped, the legs of his chair shrieking as he abruptly stood. “I don’t need a fucking lecture right now, Alexa.”

Lecturing him wasn’t my plan. “I know.”

Standing and gathering the dirty plates, Brad scraped leftovers into the bin, washed each item, right down to the mugs and glasses. Not a word came from him as he armed himself and exited the cabin. Soon, without looking at me, Liam followed, and the Bentley engine rumbled, confirming they’d left.

I sit at a clean table, my cup of tea now cold.

Jace exhaled a long breath. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, rubbing my painful temples. “Liam, he’s not the best at handling his…” Emotions, I thought, cleaving my tongue to my inner cheek. “It’s overwhelming, right? I mean, Liam strikes as being emotionless and hard-faced…” He’s human. Although silent, he cries, too. “Life as he knew it changed. Instead of being in London, managing Club 11, the restaurant and other business dealings, he’s here, worrying about me and embittered siblings that he didn’t know existed. Mentally, it’s too much for anyone to endure.”

He nods.

“God, I feel for Vincent, too. It’s obvious how much he loves his brother, but Liam refuses to see it.”

“I get it,” Jace said, rising from his chair. “Warren trusts no one, Alexa. Give him time. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Folding my arms, I arched an eyebrow. “That’s the second time that you have defended him.” Pleased by the progress, I smiled. “You know that, right?”

“He’s still a prick,” he joshed, laughing roughly. “Anyway, I got to head out. Are you sure that you don’t need me at Corbyn’s place?”

“Yes.” Kissing his cheek, I lost my dressing gown to the sofa. “Go. Have fun; I’ll text you later.

Jace departed.

I showered and exited the cabin to find a bastard Suit waiting to escort me to the village.

***

Clarence Corbyn never answers his door. He’s a curmudgeonly old sod, so unsociable and unapproachable. I stand outside his refurbished home, a newly bought Boston fern plant that symbolises happiness in my possession. Behind the door, a crescendo of dog barks and paw pounding.

Liam’s Suit sits behind the steering wheel of the Bentley, pretending to read a newspaper.

“Mr Corbyn,” I called, knocking the door with more urgency. “I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving until you speak to me.”

My head dipped, detecting a rattly cough.

Moments later, Clarence stood in front of me, balancing his weight on a cane. “What do you want?”

I held out the plant. “I brought you a gift.” His eyes went from the fern to me. “It represents happiness.”

“What in God’s name am I supposed to do with that?” He spurned the bedecked, graceful fronds. “I got enough on my plate with the puppies.”

“Puppies?” I mused, peeking over his shoulder. “Why would you buy more dogs?”

“I didn’t buy more dogs,” he grouchily complained, wobbling aside to welcome me indoors. “Daisy popped them out last week.”

Excitement bubbled inside me. “Can I see them?”

Wrinkles creased his tightened eyes. “If you must.”

Oh, I must. I head inside, placing the plant on the kitchen table. “Is the hellhound about?”

“What?” he asked, limping down the hallway with proprietorship.

“The big dog?” I hinted, walking in his unhurried footsteps. “The one that almost licked me to death.”

“Bruno,” he clarified, and I smiled meekly. “He’s asleep somewhere.” Inside the old-fashioned living room, he eased onto a floral high back chair, setting his cane aside. “Inside the dresser.”

Frowning, I stared at the grand mahogany breakfront bookcase, the upper tier has bold diamond lattice astragal glazed doors, and the plinth base has three cupboards. I heard muffled yapping, so crouched to get a close look inside. With my hand of the wrought-iron handle, I heisted, noticing a framed picture of my mother, proudly stationed on the middle shelf. Young and unassuming, she smiles, holding hands with a boy whom I don’t recognise, but I assume it’s Clarence’s son, Noah.

“Well?” Barked Clarence, frightening the composure out of me. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Oh, I was just…” Creaking open the door, I dipped my head inside, and familiar bug-eyes peered up at me. “Your chihuahua had babies.” The team of puppies whimpered and rolled over each other, fighting to get a feed from mum. “Why did you put them in a cupboard?”

“I didn’t put them anywhere. Daisy picked a birthing place, and I didn’t want to disrupt here.” Over my shoulder, I see him remove his reading glasses to gaze out of the window. “Why are you so nosey?”

Grinning, I extended my arm inside to smooth Daisy’s head, and she showed gratitude, nuzzling into my palm. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Your mother was very much the same,” he tells me, and my heart thudded harder. “Always asking questions. Forever poking her nose where it didn’t belong.”

“Sometimes you speak of her with such resentment,” I found myself saying, cupping one of the pups to bring to my chest. “Was she that much of a burden, Mr Corbyn?”

Clarence huffed a noncommittal noise.

Sitting crossed-legged on the carpet, I inhaled the pup’s fur, gently scratching its back. “Are you happy with the renovations?”

“I don’t have money,” he said stoically, his stare back to the window. “There’s jewellery in the drawer that you can pawn.”

“We didn’t help you for money.” Returning the pup to its mother, I selected a tan-coloured one, giving it the same attention. “Helping you was the least I could do.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Alexa.” His sad, dejected eyes watered, but he quickly looked away, not wanting me to see his upset. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know that you helped my mother. I know that you gave her a place to call home and parented her after my grandparents died.” It felt weird, addressing Nellie and Darwin as my grandparents. I know nothing about them, never mind being fortunate enough to have them in my life. “You kept her around after Beatrice passed away, and when Noah didn’t come back. You didn’t need to be that man, Mr Corbyn. You could have sent her away and moved on.”

I settled the pup beside Daisy. “I only had a short time with my mother before she was murdered, but what she and I had, it means everything to me.”

Clarence never uttered a word. He listened intently.

“If it weren’t for you, raising her in Newquay, she’d have never met Patrick…” The vile man who so happened to be my father. “She wouldn’t have had children.”

“I am undeserving of your appreciation, Alexa. You being here, breathing, existing, has nothing to do with me.”

No, but I still respected this man for never giving up on her. “I’m grateful, regardless.”

His sallow face contortions. “I…” Elbows to his knees, he stared at the carpeted floor. “Will you return home to London?”

“Not yet.” I stood, dusting my hands over the backs of my jeans. “Tony, I kind of like him. Plus, even though this sounds rather leachy and creepy, a part of me wants to build a relationship with him.” Realising how cringeworthy that sounded, my hands flew out in defence. “Not in that way. I don’t want a…” Sexual relationship, I thought. Dear God. Put a muzzle on it, Alexa. “Like, he knew my mother—”

“I know what you meant.” Mr Corbyn blew out his cheeks. His expression was suddenly haunted. “Has Tony mentioned anything regarding Adaline?”

An eyebrow shot up. “Yes,” I deadpan, unsure of the question. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“No, I mean, has he said anything about his relationship with you or your sister, Kathy?”

Not that I recall. “Here and there. Tony’s mentioned stories of us being young, trivial stuff. Why?”

Clarence gripped his cane and stood. “The picture of your mother,” he said, slipping on his glasses. “It’s yours. If you want it.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” Those memories belonged to him. “Thank you, though.”

“I insist.” Near the dresser, he took out a small key from his pocket and unlocked the glass door. “Please.”

I was perplexed by the desperate plea. Nevertheless, I claimed the photo and put it in my handbag.

“I appreciate the renovations,” he belatedly admits, his cheeks a shade of pink. “Very much, Alexa.”

Almost walking away, I paused, shoulder-to-shoulder and laid a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You’re a great man, Mr Corbyn.” My footsteps proceed, separating myself from the emotional humidity. “Don’t forget to water your plant!”

“Bloody teenagers,” I caught his mumbled insult.

Shutting the front door behind me, I gaited to the garden gate and my pace hastily glued.

An impressively tall, handsome, middle-aged man wearing jeans and a khaki-coloured parka coat, stands with two cardboard beverage cups in his hands. “I…” His gaze drifted over my head. “Do you live here?”

My handbag strap fell from my shoulder. “Noah.”

His head tilted. “Do I know you?”

My overly emotional pregnant-self welled up. “You came home.”

“I, uh?” His fingers whitened around the cups. “Pardon my manners, but I don’t believe we’ve met…?”

“Alexa,” I introduced myself, holding out a hand.

Puzzlement marred his features. He set—what smells like coffee—onto the path and shook my hand.

I didn’t let go. “Alexa Haines.”

Noah’s brown eyes slowly protruded. “I’m sorry. I missed that.” He released my hand. “What did you say?”

“I don’t understand how this happened,” I began, and he blinked rapidly. “Out of coincidence, you came here to fix the relationship with your father, or you received a phone call from Liam. Maybe Nate. It doesn’t matter.” I waved him off. “The fact is you came. And I’m just—Oh, let me hug you.” Wrapping my arms around his waist, I stole his welcoming, and he inhaled a harsh breath, patting my back. “This might be the best day ever.”

“I can’t breathe,” he wheezed, and I apologetically released him. “Yes, I had a call from Mr Alzaim, explaining that my father was searching for me.” He was dumbfounded. “Adaline…”

“Was my mother,” I said, and his shoulders sagged. “I hear you guys were pretty close.”

He’d seen a ghost in me. “I am speechless. Your mother, I cared about her, and I am so sorry for your loss—”

“As am I. A lot of people grieved her.” I picked up my handbag. “Being her daughter doesn’t make me an exception.”

“It does,” he whispered, his palm covering his mouth. “Why don’t you come inside? That’s if my father…”

Noah’s glassy eyes settled behind me, so I turned to see Mr Corbyn in the doorway. With no cane, the man braced his hands to the wall, his unreadable expression rioting my reservations. Clumsily, he reached for the wooden guardrail, grasped it and waited, taking another determined step.

Ready to interfere, Noah said, “Dad—”

“No,” Clarence shouted, holding onto the rail whilst descending the steps. “I don’t need your help—I don’t need anyone’s help.”

I worried that I had angered Mr Corbyn, or perhaps Noah’s unexpected arrival. I would soon learn how wrong I was.

Clarence achieved the bottom step with stiff strides, and his son, coy and anxious, gravitated towards him.

“I wanted to call,” Noah explained as I shut the gate behind me. “So many times, I wanted to call, to apologise.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Clarence embraced his son, who stood inches taller, his airy cries buried on Noah’s chest. “Oh, my son,” he croaked, cupping the man’s face and looking at him despairingly. “How much I’ve missed you.”

Unable to get my feet moving, I witnessed a father and son reunite through teary eyes. Listened to their manly sobs as they wiped each other’s tears. Coffee no longer mattered. Noah snaked an arm around Clarence’s back, helping him walk back to the house.

“I have a grandbaby?” Mr Corbyn asked in bewilderment. “Will I meet her?” He nearly shut the door, his red-rimmed eyes colliding with mine. He smiled. And he meant it.

Closing this chapter of my life, I gave him a two-finger salute and strolled down the street, a sense of fulfilment settling over me.

It’s a beautiful day. White clouds grouped above, the sun shining through. I found a bench and parked my backside, needing a moment to recuperate. Liam hadn’t texted, nor Jace, but there was a message from Tony.

Tony: I am organising a carnival tonight. I’d love for you to attend.

I replied instantly.

Me: Can I bring some company?

His response bounced back.

Tony: The more, the merrier!

“God, I need a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke.” Snivelling, I put my phone away and took out my mother’s photo. It didn’t feel right, claiming ownership of something Clarence indisputably treasured. She was, after all, amongst his proud possessions.

I went to place the frame in my bag when seeing a white corner sticking out from the backing board. Flipping it over, onto my knees, I unclasped the metal brackets and dismantled the frame, Underneath my mother’s photo, an old, folded letter.

Liam’s Suit parked the car across the street. He’s on his phone, reading something. Whilst he’s occupied, I open the letter.

My dearest Clarence,

What I am about to tell you, it must be taken to your grave…

My eyes fell out of my head, my fingers crushing the letter. “What the fuck?”

Chapter 20

Liam

Lined throughout Newquay’s local town centre multicoloured lights sporadically tranced from the hired funfair coalescing to the bustling beach where villagers in their variegated grass skirts, Hawaiian themed shirts and an assortment of luau garland necklaces, cavort near the campfire that’s burning devil-coloured embers and throwing warmth, casting dancing shadows along the expanse of sand. The leased tiki bar had a degree of unnecessary extravagance, and the unpalatable ale insulted my tastebuds, but inexpensive beer, condoning its bitter, sharp taste, was vital to get through this irritatingly horrendous omnishambles.

Presently, Brad, modelling a messy blond top-knot and an outlandishly ostentatious pale blue shirt, patterned in neon pineapples, argues his case against a pimpled-looking brown-nose. “I want another go,” he snatched the secured rifle, lifted and aimed fire. “Don’t be telling me I missed the target, you motherfucker.” Not quite over his outrage, his finger paused on the trigger. “What, you think this is funny?” He dropped guard. “You think I don’t know a rigged duck when I see one?”

Sipping a beer, I put my back to the side stall.

Paling ashen white, the funfair worker stabilised his brown-framed glasses. “How can I rig a duck?”

“Cunt,” Brad mutters under his breath, readying the rifle, narrowing one eye. “If I don’t make the shot,” he tells me quietly, “little miss goody two shoes over there will be choking on this barrel.”

My eyebrows meshed. “It’s a lad.”

“She’s a bastard fairy.” Pulling the trigger, he whips aim dexterously, not missing one shot, yet each duck, impenetrably stationed. “I’m going to kill him—”

“Not the face!” the kid screams, and I seized a raging Brad by the collar. “Please, I don’t make enough money for these insults!”

“Brad,” I said, low and commanding. “Who cares if they fixed the game?”

“It’s the principle.” Shirking out of my fisted grasp, Brad slammed the rifle onto the counter. “I want the big fucker.” He points to a large white and purple stuffed unicorn. “Now.”

Submitting to cowardice, the stall worker reached above and unclipped the ridiculous prize. “You can have it for thirty quid,” he boldly offered, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll chuck in some jelly beans, too.”

“Jelly beans,” Brad repeated in disbelief, and after the lad’s impetuously reckless decision to aggravate my second-in-command, I lost any fight to defend him. “Come here.”

“I’m fine,” the kid insisted, his cheeks dusted red under the inquisitiveness of other entertainment seekers, who stand close to watch the commotion. “Take it or leave it.”

Brad, always one to get to the point, abruptly caught the man’s T-shirt and hauled his deafeningly shrieking body to his. “You want to play big balls, bitch?” He wrenched the stuffed animal from the boy’s iron grip, and a little girl, who couldn’t be much older than seven, stared open-mouthed in horror, her ice cream cone plummeting to the ground. “You like to barter, huh? Chance your luck?” The unicorn landed at my feet, and I glanced away, bored. “I’ll give you thirty quid, you chopsy fucker—”

“Brad,” I snapped, and the whimpering lad squirmed. “Give the guy a break. He’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah?” Brad mused, tapping the boy’s cheek with harsh slaps. “Like what?”

“Like the fact he’s pissing his pants in front of everybody,” I pointed out, the lad’s urine tickling between his tattered trainers. “Bathroom break?”

“Shit.” Brad’s nose wrinkled in disdain. “Smelling a bit fusty, lad. You got the clap or something?”

“Please, stop,” the boy cried, red-faced and humiliated.

Brad’s fists, knuckle-white and unmerciful, tightened on the T-shirt. “That girl lost her ice cream.” Shoving the boy into a table, knocking over a pile of rainbow-coloured teddy bears in the process, Brad mopped his forehead, eliminating sudden sweat. “Give her a bear—and don’t be giving me any lip this time,” he warned, pointing an accusatory finger. “Where can I get food? I’m Hank Marvin.”

Dabbing his flushed cheeks, the lad, ignoring the stench of shame and urine, selects an unsoiled pink bear and leaves it on the counter for the little girl. “There’s a burger van down the high street.”

Rudely disregarding the boy, Brad picked up the unicorn and hauled it over one shoulder. “I need edible fodder,” he complained, polishing off the rest of his beer. “A hot dog will suffice. I’m not picky.”

We locate a chain of food trucks. Brad scours the chalkboard menus and uncharacteristically waits in a queue to order food. As I wasn’t overly hungry, I bought more bottled beers at the popup bar and sat by a wooden table that’s nestled in between loud conversationalists and inebriated partygoers in the beer garden.

I pull another sip, a different brand, which tastes moderately better than the last. Unlocking my phone, I check to see if Alexa’s sent a message, but only syndicate updates stockpile my inbox.

After I argued with Vincent this morning, I absconded the cabin and found a bar on the outskirts of Newquay. Brad accompanied me. We imbibed whiskey like it was to be inexistent, played a few rounds of pool and discussed recent dilemmas. Whilst pondering ideas regarding Molly, Greer and Serena, Alexa had text, extending an invite to tonight’s carnival. Fancy dress, she said. Wear a Hawaiian shirt or something exotic. She’d have better luck convincing me to sell the Eagle—never going to happen. I opted for a gunmetal grey two-piece suit. Brad, however, stunned me when pulling the Bentley over on a busy road, to stop a store manager from closing-up shop. Minutes passed before his return, a carrier bag in hand. He bought a decorative shirt and a floral garland, which he wears proudly, unashamedly, to buy nachos and three hot dogs from the van.

I haven’t heard from Alexa since the text, not completely assured if she’s still upset or angry. I had been rude, cold. Feel bad about it, too. And I refuse to think about Vincent. I’ll deal with him once home in London.

“You can sit there.” Brad plonks the unicorn on the bench and settles directly opposite me. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Scarfing down a handful of tortilla chips smothered in grated cheese and salsa, he eyes a group of becoming girls to our right with keenness. “You can disappear.” The unicorn hides under the table. “Anything I can help you with, ladies?” He winked, as cheeky as ever.

Turning at the waist, the woman deliberately elevated her chest, drawing attention to her padded breasts. “You can buy me a drink,” she said, her young voice betraying her mature body. “If you want.”

Brad’s cocky smirk vanished. “Jog on, brat,” he snapped, putting his back to the affronted group of girls. “Buy your own bastard drink.”

“What a douche,” the friend sang, her flippant hand dismissing Brad. “We should go to the beach.” She stood, and her friends rose in unison. “Away from old men!”

“The fucking liberty!” Brad barked, flinging them a disparaging glare. “What are you, like, ten? Take all that shit off and go home, girls. It’s way beyond your bedtime.”

I pop a cigarette between my lips. “Ignore them,” I said, drowning out their immature chords of insults.

“Can you believe that?” he asked, both impressed and thunderstruck. “Christ, I thought they were legal until the one opened her trap.” Cheeks flaring a furious red, he bites into a hot dog. “What the fuck are girls doing, glamming-up like a twenty-something-looking-year-old woman? It’s no wonder us guys get in trouble. What, with that fake hair, caked-on makeup, skirts up to their arses and eyelashes?” He tsked, unimpressed. “Shocking.” New occupants claimed the girls’ table, and his former vexing appreciatively shifted course. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

Under hooded brows, I peered to the ladies: tight-fitted dresses, six-inch heels and hourglass curves. Decent, I thought, grabbing another beer. Not a patch on my woman, though.

“Fancy some company?” one asked, her question directed to me.

“Married,” I lied, licking alcohol from my lips.

“Yeah, right.” Brad snorted, delving in for a second hot dog. “Ignore the moody old bastard, ladies. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

The table ruptured into giggles, and he grinned wolfishly at them. When they rose to their full, attractive heights, my eyes automatically searched the seating area as if expecting an unpredictable Alexa to appear to reprimand me. The bench groaned, a brunette sitting beside me. She gave me a coquettish smile and knowingly dragged a titanium barbell over her upper teeth.

“Oh, who’s this cutie?” Blonde and voluptuous asked, hugging the unicorn to her chest. “Can I keep it?”

“No.” Brad pulled a swig of beer. “It belongs to his wife.” He motions to me. “Hand it over.”

The woman lifted the stuffed, glittering prize.

“Do not give me that—” The unicorn hits me in the face, its unreasonable size knocking bottles over the floor, rotating and clattering. “For fuck’s sake, Brad.”

“You know what they say about married men, don’t you?” The brunette set her hand to my thigh, stroking dangerously close to my flaccid cock. “Sexual dissatisfaction leads to clandestine risks.”

“You know what they say about beguiling seductresses, don’t you?” I mock, my lips to her ear. “Dirty, rinsed-out whores.” She choked mid-drink as I stood, her rounded stare murderous. “Go and pry on another poor fucker. I’m smarter than that.”

I moved away from the table, hearing Brad excuse himself. Meandering through hordes of villagers—the stupid unicorn’s silvery alicorn dangling from my fingers—I hunt every nook, looking for Alexa. “Rhythm is A Dancer” by Snap resounds, the vibrations thudding beneath my shoes.

“Christ, let’s get on Nemesis.” Brad drapes an arm over my shoulders, pointing to a metal-clanking rollercoaster. “No, actually, I want to see the ghost train.”

“Get off me,” I scolded, shrugging off his arm. “I hate carnivals.”

“I quite like them.” He sucked a toothpick. “For the love of everything bastard holy. Can we go on those dodgems?”

He’s certifiable. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Bossman,” he childishly grumbles, staring at the hovering bright karts wretchedly. When I didn’t answer, he sulked—his bottom lip plumper. “Quite heartbroken now.”

I let out a long sigh. “Fine.” Shoving the unicorn into his awaiting arms, I unbuttoned my suit jacket and stepped onto the metal platform. “You fucking owe me for this.” Opening my wallet, I grab two bluey’s and slap them onto the attendants upward facing palm.

“Mind Bear.” Brad gives the guy his unicorn and chases behind me. “Prepared to be slaughtered,” he bellowed in my ear, zigzagging around the karts, selecting a blue one. “Rhythm is a dancer. It’s a soul companion,” he sings inharmoniously, gripping the steering wheel. “You can feel it everywhere.”

I fall into an orange kart, which scarcely accommodates my legs. “Fuck.” Adequately comfortable, I balance my shoe over the accelerator, waiting for customers to fill the other karts.

Teeth capturing his upper lip, Brad strums his fingers against the wheel, and when the piercing siren sounds, he slams a foot down, zapping forward. I moved into action swiftly, dodging oncoming cars, stealthily swinging to my right—a car crashed into the back of me, my head centimetres from the hitting the wheel. I look over my shoulder to see Brad reversing. “You fucking hit me!”

“That’s the point!” he yelled, zooming ahead and whacking two karts, spiralling them out of control, not waiting around to see the aftermath.

Impossible competitiveness commenced. My hands to the rubber steering wheel, I span the kart, put my foot down and darted behind him. He knew I’d come for him. Glancing back at me, his eyes popped, and his high-pitched shriek stabbed my ears.

We fought like cat and dog, slamming back and forth, laughing until my chest aches and thirstiness dried my throat. He took over the forte, the front of his bumper car ramming into my side and I lost power, spinning the wheel.

An alarm blared, and the vehicle slowed. I loll my head back, chuckling behind my hands.

Brad jumped out of the kart and reclaimed the unicorn. “Well,” he chimes, anticipating my approval. “Admit it. You had fun.”

“Have a fucking day off.” Hands in my trouser pockets, I slipped past the queue, on the prowl for a woman who has yet to rear her head.

Gravitating towards the beach, I trudged across the sand. And I stopped, an all-consuming emotion numbing my body. I can’t see Alexa, not through the gathered crowds or campfire, but I could feel her.

“I found Jace.” Brad signals to the positioned logs, utilised as floor benches, where Jace sits with a mob of females. “And he has a few birds.” Devastation marred his tight features. “Give this to Alexa.” Once more, the preposterous unicorn came into my possession. “That asswipe ain’t getting laid if I’m not.”

Gone with the wind, Brad jogs ahead, and I considered another cigarette when horripilation clambered my neck. Alexa stealthy crept up behind me, and I feign unawareness, appearing to be admiring the view. Her sweet perfume invades my senses, and then her delicate fingers capture my eyes, masking my vision. “Guess who?” she whispered, and even though I couldn’t see, my eyes instinctively closed to the sound of her husked yet feminine voice.

I made-up a name on the spot. “Carrie.”

“Carrie?” Her tone laced in accusation. She pushed me in the back. “Who the hell is Carrie?”

Low laughter fell from my lips as I turned to face her. “It was a joke…” My eyes travelled the length of her enticing body, and uncontrollable jealousy manifested. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Flinching at my disapproving enrage, she hugged herself, face flushed, thanks to curious observers. “Liam,” she whisper-shouts, her bulging eyes sending a threat. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Wearing a white—virtually transparent—floor-length skirt with double slits and a lace bralette, her middle section on display, Alexa’s backside and mile-long legs, draw too much male attention. Her untamed, natural dark curls cascade over one shoulder and her red painted lips match the hibiscus garland on her neck.

One of my men emerged from the shadows, and I waved him off. He’s no longer needed to protect Alexa, not with me here.

“It’s a Hawaiian party.” She meekly motioned to other females, all in grass skirts and lace bras, much tackier than her choice of attire. “You don’t like it.”

My chest expanded as I wrestled for a steady breath. It was infeasible to curb or channel jealousy. I had to pretend no one else stood on the beach, no males, no approving eyes. “Alexa.” Tracing her necklace with the pads of my fingers, I snapped one flower, twirling the plastic stem between my fingers. “I read a quote once.” Tucking hair behind her ear, I positioned the red flower, brushing my thumb on her cheek. “Give a woman the right lipstick, and she can conquer the world.” I dipped my head and kissed her soft lips. “You look beautiful.”

Her eyelashes fluttered open. “I remember that conversation,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. “It was in your bathroom at the club. You came in and, well, you thought I might have stolen a Rolex.”

I didn’t care about the wristwatches. “I trusted you wouldn’t.” She withdrew her arms, and I captured her hands, threading our fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she lied, steering her eyes to the sand. “A bit hungry. I can’t keep anything down today.”

My eyes settled on her flat stomach. “Is the baby giving you a hard time?”

“Yes.” Her nose twitched. “So, as you can imagine, I am ravenous.”

I’m pretty ravenous just looking at her.

“What’s that?”

My sights on the unicorn. “Bear.”

“It looks like a unicorn.”

“Brad named her Bear.”

Alexa itched the crease above her brow. “Why do you have it?”

“He won if for you,” I explained, handing over the burden. “Here.”

Speechless, she tousled Bear’s mop of sparkles. “I don’t particularly want it.”

Likewise. “Leave it here. I’m sure someone else will give it a forever home.”

Too thoughtful for her own good, Alexa contemplated the idea of abandonment and how it will encumber her morals. “What if leaving her upsets Brad?”

“That guy’s down there beach somewhere with a woman.” I snagged the unicorn and tossed it on the sand. “Fuck the stuffed animal. It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

Laughing at my light joke, she rubbed a chill from her arms. “It’s hardly dangerous.”

“Come.” Walking backwards, I lead her away from the hectic beach, towards the food trucks. “Let me feed you.”

“Oh,” she said in a suggestive voice unrecognisable to my ears. “What will you feed me, Mr Warren?” Her hand smoothed over my backside, and my brows shot up. “Well?”

“Alexa.” Holding her wrist, I drew her in, blocking the pedestrian pathway. “Don’t tempt me.”

Goosebumps sheathed her skin. “Tempt you into what?”

A lump wedged in my throat. “Fucking you in that alley over there.”

“Have you done that before?” she asked, genuinely interested. “With someone else, I mean.”

“I am not answering that.” Women and their trick questions. “Just know that you are worth more to me than a hard fuck against the wall in a piss-ridden lane.”

“Liam.” Pushing off her tiptoes, she fisted the back of my hair, teasing my lips with hers. “What if I wanted it?”

Alexa’s never been that woman, not where sex was concerned. Over time, yes, she grew bolder and more experienced, but she likes romance, respect, affection and love. Privacy. “You’re doing it again.”

Her defined eyebrows pulled in. “Doing what?”

Honesty is the best policy. “Thinking you know what I want.”

“It’s not about you,” Alexa argued. “And I don’t care if that alley smells like a skunk’s ass. I got the hots for you right now, so pick me up and fucking claim me.”

Alexa never failed to render me speechless.

Minutes later, cloaked in secluded darkness, I’m slamming her back to a bricked wall, kissing her with raw desperation. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I growled, and she locked her legs around my waist. “Fucking beautiful.” I left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck. My fingers painfully gripped to the apex of her thighs. “Fuck.”

Extending an arm between us, she helped get my cock out with clumsy hands, my belt buckle clanking. “Liam,” she moaned when my fingers dipped under the thin lace protecting her cunt, her arousal dripping. “Oh, God.”

In the background, a mixture of conversations, music and sirens soon faded into the distance. I tore her thong, chucked it over my shoulder and hoisted her back into my arms.

Grasping the shop’s window ledge above her head, she braced her weight. I lined myself up, and her spine arched as she stretched for me. “Liam.” I’d never seen her look so sexy. Her wild hair, and smeared red lipstick. Those dilated eyes. Her soft whimpers and trembling body.

I am lost for this woman.

I loved her then, I love her now, and I’ll love her in the future.

“Alexa,” I groaned, my forehead to her shoulder. “So fucking tight.” Her one arm declined my back, keeping me close. “I don’t know this new you, but I can’t say, I object.”

“I’m still getting to know her myself,” she said breathlessly, her sharp fingernails clawing the nape of my neck. “Oh, shit.”

My hips moved at a piston pace, gaining momentum. Her hard nipples taunted me; a darker shade visible through the lace bralette. Yanking the flimsy material down, revealing her perfect breasts, I closed my mouth around one, sucking and biting the hardened peak. Her spine bowed with each thrust, her juices soaking my cock. “I—”

“Who’s down there?” someone barked, and I caught her panicked fall. “It’s cornered off…”

I pulled out and helped Alexa stand, fixing her dress. “You’re insatiable,” I whispered, nipping her lower lip. “Trying to get me in trouble, huh?” Dim light drifted down the alley, but whoever guarded hadn’t caught us just yet. “Fuck, I tore your underwear.”

Rosy and all-smiles, Alexa tucked me away, fastening my belt and zipper. “He sounds like an old man who needs to find himself a woman.”

“Do I need to come down?” the guy called, flashing his torch.

I held Alexa’s hand, walking her in the otger direction. “Great. I’m hard and can’t do anything about it.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she kept a lookout. “God, he’s coming.”

“It’s no bother.” Turning the corner, past the steel skips, we re-joined the carnival, blending with raucous villagers. “Shall we eat at the cabin instead?” I’d prefer privacy and alone time with Alexa. The cabin offers a hot tub, overlooking the beach from the wrap-around porch. Her naked—fuck. I’m hard again, considering the outcome of our night together.

Alexa’s see-through skirt beckoned my suit jacket. I draped it over her shoulders, the material burying her frame. “Thanks,” she said, oblivious to my reasoning. Her footsteps falter. “You know what? That sounds like a fantastic idea.” Spinning on her heel, she lets go of my hand, ready to retrace our steps. “I can knock up a salad or something—”

“Alexa?” An older gent shouted, and her downcast face hadn’t gone unnoticed to me. “Is that you?”

Adopting a fake smile, she slowly faced the advancing man.

I stood taller, a muscle locking in my jaw.

Politely waving and addressing people en-route, the guy in faded denim jeans, a white T-shirt and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, came to a stop, and then snatched Alexa into his embrace the second their eyes connected. “I’m glad you came.”

Tilting my head to the side, I clicked my neck, freeing feverish tension.

Suffocated in his hold, Alexa gives the man an awkward back tap. “Tony,” she said, her strained voice unmissable. “Yeah, I mean…”

Knowing the unacquainted man was from Adaline Haines’ past inflated my chest. Tony’s unarguably fond of Alexa, but it’s strictly platonic—not that I had a reason to doubt them. I did doubt her, though, I thought, inwardly cursing. For a nonsensical nanosecond, I had wondered why she’d been haste to flee, or if she’d grown close to this man in my absence.

“Um, Tony, this is Liam,” Alexa introduced us, and I gave him a firm handshake. “He’s my…” Her cheeks sank. “Boyfriend. He’s visiting from London.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Tony ran a hand over his dark hair. “Are you enjoying your stay?” He eyed me from head-to-toe. “Not one for fancy dress?”

Tony doesn’t like me. Duly fucking noted. “I’m more of a suit type of man.”

“I see that,” he mumbled with a bogus glimmer of friendliness. “So, Alexa. I booked a table at Neel’s, the restaurant near the seafront.” The same restaurant where I got into it with a waiter and shamed my woman. “I hope you both will join us…” His thin lips flattened. “I, uh, invited Camila. She knows so much about you, and, well, I’d love for you to meet her.”

Alexa stayed quiet, toying with her bracelet. “I’d like that.”

I sensed a “but” somewhere.

“Great.” He clapped once. “Shall we head over?”

“But I feel a bit under the weather,” she prevaricated, and he looked genuinely gutted. “Maybe another time?”

“Oh, yes, right,” Tony stuttered, not quite knowing what to do with himself now that she’s dismissed him. “I am hosting a barbeque tomorrow. Will you attend?”

Her mouth opened to decline, so I intervened. “Of course.” Wrapping an arm around her back, I bring her to my side. “Drink preference?” Her eyes burn into me. “Some wine perhaps?”

“Yes, that’ll be superb.” He lingered a squeeze to her shoulder. “Okay, well, I guess I will see you then.”

“Goodbye, Tony.” Sidestepping him, Alexa sank into my suit jacket and walked off, leaving me to deal with a confused man.

“Hormones,” I said calmly, and Tony shot me an interested glance. “Alexa’s pregnant. Often tired.”

“Oh.” Nonplussed and wide-eyed, Tony scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t aware…I should go. Again, it was lovely meeting you. Be sure to bring Alexa to the barbeque.”

Without commitment, I strode in Alexa’s hurried footsteps and caught up in time to drop my arms around her. “What’s going on?” With her back to my chest, I put my chin on her shoulder. “Don’t make me force it out of you.”

“You reunited Mr Corbyn with his son, Noah.” We halted by a water fountain, the rivulets trickling over the rock display. “I appreciate it, Liam. Seeing them together…” Her eyes watered at the memory. “It was beautiful.”

Alexa asked if I could find Noah Corbyn. To be honest, I merely forwarded the details to the syndicate. If Noah’s home, then the favourable outcome has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with Nate.

Composing herself, Alexa looked up at me. “Clarence gave me a letter that he’d received from my mother. I don’t know what to make of it, Liam.”

I frowned. “What did it say?”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “She claimed Tony might father her child. And I think Mr Corbyn wanted me to know that. He insisted I kept the picture frame.”

Nothing surprises me. “Is that why you were cold towards Tony?”

“Was it obvious?” she asked, and I nodded. “Shit. I don’t know how I feel about it. I mean, judging by the letter, Tony was privy to my mother’s secret, yet he hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

“Your mother didn’t specify which child.”

“It’s me,” she said assuredly. “Kathy was born before Tony returned from the Royal Navy, so unless my mother had children, I am unaware of, I have every reason to believe Tony might be my biological father.” Yet the thought of another man, who wasn’t Patrick Haines, being her dad, on the face of it, displeased her. “Why wouldn’t he tell me? Or, after Kathy and I reappeared from years of captivity, why wouldn’t he come and find me? He doesn’t care, right? He’s happy for me to hang around, to alleviate his conscience, but he’s not interested in building a father and daughter relationship or—”

“Alexa, breathe,” I ended her breathless tirade, cupping the nape of her neck. “You’re confused and asking questions that only Tony can answer.” If the son of a bitch breaks my woman’s heart, I will fucking end him. “You are not that little girl anymore, remember? You are strong, fierce. If you want something, then you achieve.”

Her eyes searched mine. “What are you asking of me?”

“I am telling you to accept his invite, attend his home and demand answers.” If Tony patronises Alexa or facetiously simplifies this matter, he will contend with me. “Tonight, we go home.” My arm locked around her neck, and I kissed the tip of her nose. “I want to fuck my woman. Got a problem with that?”

Alexa’s beautiful smile fractured my heart. “None whatsoever.” Something indescribably life-changing and momentous transpired between us. I knew it—I felt it. “What’s wrong, Liam?”

“I’m in love with you,” I said, keeping my wandering thoughts of possibilities to myself.