Chapter 41

Alexa

Blood-soaked and weak-headed, staggering into the subterranean passageway to ascend the narrow, claustrophobic staircase, I had no murmured emboldening from my mother’s unembodied voice, or any heart-warming, salubrious flashbacks of my sister, Kathy, or redoubtable, unconquerable Suits forming a protective barrier around me. Jace’s hand didn’t find my lower back nor did his light-hearted, yet meaningful upbraiding grace my ears.

Deeply morose, ruminative, climbing the steps two-at-a-time, I burst through another steel door, down the humid intersecting corridors.

Liam wasn’t here to protect me, to tell me to keep calm, to find solace or a silver lining. No, it’s just me, terrified yet pertinaciously stout-hearted.

To trust and rely on oneself has to be one of the most significant accomplishments in life.

My visual quality lumbered to a funeral pace, and invariable shades of dreary fades heightened alertness as the gun secured underneath my dexterous fingers.

And then I heard it.

Incentivised by sporadic sounds of gunfire, I crouched to the ground and splayed my fingers on the floor to feel the volcanic tremors under my palm, a small, satisfied smile playing across my lips.

Of course, Liam’s men unearthed the twins’ hideout. In spite of deprived sleep or their acceptance and fondness of me, they had a boss to safeguard, a friend to rescue, a brother to bring home.

The intermittent lights aloft dimmed into a dazed trance and shrilling sirens pierced the air, alerting whoever roamed the compound of unforeseen visitors.

“You look lost,” a honeyed, female voice slithered in my ear. “Dare I ask whose blood stains your hands.”

Raising to my full height, I felt her nearness to the bone. “Molly?”

“Greer,” she whispered to the nape of my neck, her dainty hand touring the length of my spine springing horripilation across my cold flesh. “How did you escape the chamber?”

“I have my ways.” Slow and guarded, I turned to face the lesser of two evils. “You are out of luck, Greer.” Smiling wickedly, I added, “The syndicate’s arrived.”

“It’s of no surprise to us.” Her protruding green eyes assed the weapons in my hands. “We knew they’d come for him.”

“Warren,” I said sharply, lifting my chin in defiance. “Liam has a name.”

“Enough of the formalities.” She waved a dismissive hand. “We care not for our estranged brother.”

Then why have you done this to him? I wanted to scream, but I knew, no amount of interrogation rewarded beneficial informativeness. “You stand here to bore me. Why aren’t you running?” I achieved one gallant step forward. “Serena’s dead.” Shock dimmed her glassy gaze. “Molly’s next—”

“You bitch,” Greer seethed, her hands balling up into tight fists. “Do you truly believe you could outsmart my sister?”

Wait. What?

“Don’t underestimate Molly,” she said gravely, licking smeared pink lipstick from her upper teeth. “Her power exceeds yours.”

“Molly,” I whispered in disbelief, discerning her lack of care, love or interest in Serena’s demise. “Did you not care for her at all?”

Greer cocked her head to the side. “Who?”

“Serena.” Her scantiness of emotionalism and unbridled heartlessness struck me to the core. “Your other sister.”

“She served her purpose,” she muttered with stoical resignation.

Serena killed my unborn child and, for that reason alone, I’ll never forgive and forget the pain and suffering she had caused, but the good-natured, tender-hearted and empathic part of my unreasonable personality segued into sorrowful distress. “Wow,” I managed a whisper, blinking back unshed tears from my eyelashes.

Ray Warren and his wife, Evelyn, rejected their disabled, mentally unbalanced daughter. To deceive the world of its curiosity, they’d hidden Serena inside a mental asylum and pretended she’d successfully achieved suicide. As if abandonment wasn’t enough torture for Serena’s frail mind to sustain, her sisters, Molly and Greer, pried on her vulnerability for their selfish state of vengeance.

“You are so weak,” Greer scoffed, the mascara caked on her lashes sticking at the corners. “Sympathising for that incompetent fool.”

Humiliation heated my cheeks.

“Why does he tolerate you?” she asked, and I knew she meant Liam. “You are despicable.” Her lips fanned my jawline. “And unworthy of such a powerful man—” I thrust the knife forward, but she caught my wrist, dislodging the blade from my inept fingers. “I am not Serena.” The back of her hand clipped my cheek, sharp and short, plummeting me to the ground, sending the firearm across the concrete. “I come out of this laughable dispute without a scratch. You, Alexa Haines, will die tonight.”

Groggily disorientated, I rubbed the throbbing ache from my face and keeled over. Her heeled shoes echoed as she traipsed my crawling movement. Knowing she wanted me to run, to reobtain the gun and play into her wicked games, I stopped in my tracks, staring at the dried blood entrenched in my fingernails.

“Well,” she prompted, clapping her hands. “Get the gun, Alexa. Shoot the enemy.”

Pushing myself upright, I faced her head-on and rolled back my shoulders. “Must it always end in violence?” My mischievous smile mirrored her own. “Whatever happened to a good old fistfight?”

She examined her upward facing palm. “I’d hate to crack a fingernail.” Yes, those razor-sharp fingernails guaranteed decorticating damage. “And I…” Her widening eyes drifted past my head. “You.”

Feeling a lipped caress to the back of my neck, I welcomed his familiar protectiveness as his hand pressed to the small of my back. “You took your time,” I quipped, my eyelashes fluttering open. “I thought you left me to deal with these unhinged maniacs alone.”

“As if I’d leave you or my brother imperilled, Angel,” Vincent whispered, moving to stand alongside me. “And miss all the fun?” His dark eyebrow curving, he smirked deviously at his step-sister and then to me. “Someone else’s blood looks good on you.” Something equivalent to pride shaped his intense blue stare. “Where is he?”

“You insolent idiot,” Greer argued, not appreciating Vincent’s meagre acknowledgement. “You speak as though I am not in your presence—”

“I speak,” Vincent snapped, popping a cheek muscle, “as though you aren’t relevant, Greer.” Hurt shined in her eyes. “Surely you didn’t expect delightedness for immuring my brother.”

“A tap on the back perhaps.” Greer’s lips quivered into a sneer. “Your recent act of betrayal with our pestilent,” her eyes briefly flickered to me, “enemies rendered Molly dumbstruck. I, however, knew you’d stab us in the back.”

I eyed them both narrowly. “What is she talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t he tell you?” she antagonised. “Vincent’s our lover.”

“A rather tedious dalliance.” Perfect impassiveness masqueraded his emotions. “Once upon a grotesque time. And to rectify your statement, I never, ever, conspired against Liam.”

My nose crinkled in repulsion.

Vincent, catching the mechanical pose of my disapproval, clicked his neck to the side. “Meaningless sex, Angel.”

I wondered if Liam’s mindful of their history and, if cognisant, how he felt about it. “You aren’t obliged to explain any sexual relations with me, Vincent.”

“You agreed to lure him,” Greer continued her desperate act of defaming and discrediting Vincent’s disposition. “You promised to bring him to us—”

“Oh, just be quiet,” I fired back, collecting the gun from the floor. “Who are you trying to fool, Greer? Us or yourself? You and I both know, Vincent hadn’t schemed or plotted to hurt Liam.” Creating a force of impenetrable partnership, I set a supportive hand on Vincent’s shoulder, not missing his muscles tauten under my innocent touch. “Vincent chose a side—the right side.”

Before Geer could vomit pathetic excuses, Vincent brandished an impressive firearm, cocking to aim fire.

Hands held up in surrender, her nostrils bristled on a sharp inhale. “I am your sister.”

Finger curving on the trigger, Vincent tutted. “An unwanted mongrel.”

I flashed her a goading smirk of triumph. “How unfortunate for you?”

Greer, lost in Vincent’s entrapping stare, hadn’t prepared for my uncaring impulsiveness. I pulled the trigger, the bullet whistling through the air, spearing into her chest. Her body heaved backwards and crashed into the wall, but her life, holding on by a threatening thread. Slumping across the floor, choking on a slew of—if Vincent chooses to intervene—idle promises, Greer curled onto her side, her outstretched arm and round, pleading eyes, calling upon him for leniency.

“Aren’t you the unpredictable mare?” Draping an arm across my shoulders, Vincent tugged the material of my hoodie. “And then there’s me, foolish to presume I’d have to whisk you away and save the day.”

At his light teasing, I smirked up at him. “Acclimatisation came later in life.” Too much indecisiveness or second-guessing my opponent often landed me in a cell, so regrettably, I had to learn the hard way. “Kill or be killed.”

“Better late than never,” he hummed, removing the gun from my hand. “My brother taught you well.”

Yes, Liam had a hand in remoulding me, to be more fierce, stronger and less forgiving, but then, so did Jace.

I detected cornering footfalls.

“Go to him,” said Vincent. “I can handle the runts.”

Nodding mechanically, I hurried down the hall with Vincent running hot and hard on my heels. Let me deal with Molly, he’d called and, upon encountering two armed, burly men, I ducked in time for a bullet to fly over my head, courtesy of Vincent’s eagle-eyed sharp-shooting. The rapid gunfire curtailed the oncoming man and his portly accomplice as I evaded, slipping through their buttery hands and roared profanities.

The yellow line washed-out.

I stood at the steel door.

Wiping my clammy hands on the oversized hoodie, I put two palms to the door and carefully crept it open. An unceasing barrage of bullets echoed throughout and quickened footsteps above rattled the ceiling light fixtures, but I lost interest in the upheaval of bombardment and gravitated towards the unconscious, disrobed and beaten man chained upright in the middle of the room.

My lips trembling, I rushed to Liam’s side and cupped his lolling head. “Liam,” I whimpered, kissing his cracked, lifeless lips. “Let me see your eyes.” My thumbs brushed his eyebrows. “Please, I need to see your eyes.”

I spied the dank room and located a set of keys on the workbench. Kissing Liam one final time, I darted to the table, fetched the keys and emptied a carrier bag: a pair of mismatched socks and extra-large shorts. It’ll do.

Kneeling on the floor, I worked the lock, inserting multiple keys until the manacle disengaged, freeing his discoloured ankles. With gentle meticulousness, I pulled the socks to his shins and double-knotted the short’s drawstring or else they’d fall from his lean waistline.

“Vincent’s here.” I elevated off my tiptoes to unshackle his left wrist. “Brad’s around somewhere. Having too much fun beating someone up, no doubt.”

Liam’s body, holding up by one shackle, slumped against me. “Shit,” I groaned, incapable of upholding his weight. “Liam…” Nuzzling my head in the groove of his neck, his beating pulse on my lips, I kissed the taste of coppery blood from his beaten skin. “Please, Liam. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I can’t find Molly…” Vincent’s voice drifted.

Keeping Liam upright, I peered over my shoulder and watched the younger Warren brother, palid and fearful, intervene.

“Brother.” Wrapping an arm around Liam’s waistline, Vincent snatched the keys from my trembling hands, reached up and disconnected the last restraint. “I got you,” he mumbled, capturing Liam’s heavy, unconscious body in his arms. “They’re coming.”

Teary-eyed, I opened my mouth to respond to Vincent when Brad, dishevelled and blood-splattered, appeared at the doorway. “Fucking Christ.” Unconcealed fear dampened his wide eyes. “We need to get him out of here.”

I stood back in time to see Nate, robed in all-black attire, follow Brad into the room, the rest of Liam’s men, equipped yet withdrawn, remain in the shadows.

Without a word of utterance, Vincent and Brad hoisted their brother’s body, but it took Nate to detach my fingers from Liam’s unresponsive hand. “He’s good, Alexa,” he drawled in my ear, his hand to my hip, rooting me to his side. “Let the men handle it from here.”

I couldn’t watch them leave. “He’s hurt.”

Concern diluted Nate’s sliced eyes. “Yes.”

Nate’s rare despondency shattered my heart. “Oh, God—”

“No,” Nate scolded, preventing me from hiding behind my hands. “Don’t be pulling that panic attack shit right now, Alexa. Get a handle on it and breathe.” He tugged my hair by the roots, causing a sharp, piercing sting to my scalp. “Warren needs you, remember?”

A slow, lung-inflating breath floated down my windpipe.

I nodded.

“Good,” he breathed, his inked knuckles nudging my chin. “Let’s get you to the Bentley.” He inspected a graze on my shoulder. “That needs stitches.”

Another scar, I thought, tracing the deep cut. This time, I didn’t resent my battle wounds; I bore them proudly.

***

After losing two sisters and an army of loyal Albanian men, Molly Brown disappeared from the compound. Her unplanned haste of escapism and little hidey-hole hadn’t lasted for too long since Vincent located her graveyard sanctuary merely twenty-four-hours later. He’d called me and confirmed her death but spared me of any dreadful details. Knowing Vincent, though, I imagine a blood-bath or a torturous departure: buried alive, eaten by rats, dipped in acid, or perhaps he concreted slabs to her ankles and tossed her off a cliffside.

Oh, I wickedly love the thought of Jaws gnawing on that woman’s deceptive ass.

Sipping sweet coffee, I put my back to the parked Bentley and shut my eyes to feel the sun’s warm rays on my face.

Any ghastly scenario of Molly’s merciless demise stroked the devil on my shoulder satisfyingly. They’d surprised me, all three sisters. I lived in fear of their treacherous capabilities, when, in actual fact, they’d demonstrated pure amateurism. Yes, I lost a child, and the hacking to my wound lessened my chances of future pregnancies, and Molly, she had put Liam through the wringer by ordering her men to beat him within an inch of his life—an unfair battle, I might add, since they’d bound and shackled him—but the syndicate, in the beginning, unwisely underestimating their rivals’ dangerous capabilities, had been their only advantage.

Even if I hadn’t outsmarted Greer, or entrusted Laurent, or killed Bukuroshe—the sick, twisted human who tried to violate me—did the three sisters truly believe Liam’s loyal subjects were incapable of spawning a monstrous attack?

I mean, their sudden death did feel like a somewhat anticlimax.

They deserved so much more torture.

More bloodshed.

More pain.

But we had better things to be getting on with. For example, I needed a job, and Liam seemingly has an alcohol addiction.

“I need a drink,” Liam complained, tilting his head back to look at the sun behind tinted designer aviators “A stiff whiskey.” His upper lip curled at the corner, so I know he’s furtively staring at me. “Preferably off your beautiful body.”

“From off me?” I mused, holding the lapels of my black faux-fur coat. “How, pray tell, does one drink whiskey from a woman’s body?”

Unable to hide his roguish smirk, Liam reached for my coat and tugged me close. His hand slipping beneath layers of thick fur, he flattened his palm to my derrière, a low, savage growl escaping his lips. “Omit the body shots,” he rasped, his teeth nibbling my earlobe. “You, naked and sprawled across the bed, a bottle of Macallan in my hand…” He waited for me to cotton on to his vivid imagination.

I set the cardboard coffee cup onto the Bentleys roof. “You wish to pour liquor down my chest?”

His chest vibrated. “I wish to lick it off every fucking inch of you.”

My thighs pressed together in anticipation. “Every inch?”

Liam’s fingers grazed the lace material concealing my sex. “No holds barred.”

Over his eyebrow, strands of jet-black hair blow in the soft wind. “Does it hurt?” I asked, cupping his purple, wounded cheek. “You slept for three days.”

When Nate pulled up outside of the Manor, Brad and Vincent exited the Bentley and carried Liam straight to the master bedroom, where Josh, prepared for Nate, arranged medical supplies on the bedside table. Whilst Liam slept, Nate cleaned and stitched uncountable lacerations to his boss’ back before fixing my shoulder. During the entire process, Liam hadn’t stirred once, not for food or water, but when his beautiful blue eyes sought mine one night, I sobbed in relief and promised never to let go. We laid together until sunrise, untalkative, the silk sheets tangled between our legs. It took Tony’s loud, inharmonious singing to get me out of bed.

“My jaw isn’t made of glass.” Liam smiled against my lips. “Now, who is this motherfucker, and why must I help him?”

My hands to Liam’s shoulders, I looked behind to see the noisy private jet approaching above; it’s burnt orange background accentuating the high-gloss black finish and personalised wings.

Reducing thrust and slowly landing on the runway, the jet’s gyrating propellers lessened as the pilot steered across the asphalt and, in less than five minutes, the cabin crew opened the exit door and descended alongside an attractively tall brunette.

A car door slammed.

Laurent, buttoning up his faded denim shirt, lingered near a parked vehicle to watch his wife collect luggage.

Happy tears saturated my eyes.

“Babi!” a soft yet loud voice called. “Më gjete!” Appearing from behind his mother, the little boy jumped off the last step and stumbled towards his father.

Laurent, slackening his tense arms, matched his son’s powerful strides.

“Babi!” Crashing into his father’s waiting arms, the boy buried his head on Laurent’s chest, who, from this angle, seems too overwhelmed by the proximity of his small family. “Me mungove shume babi.”

Liam moved me until my back met his chest. His arms snaking around my waist, he put his chin on my shoulder, kissing the column of my neck. “Why are you smiling?”

My smile widened. “I just am, Liam.”

Her long hair flowing, Afrodita dropped the luggage and rushed to her husband’s side, sobbing inconsolable tears. Keeping his son elevated, Laurent cupped the back of his wife’s head and peppered kisses to her forehead, murmuring words in his native language.

Thanks to Liam—the tenacious man who’d rather die than admit to a willing act of kindness—Laurent, with the paid assistance of Chief Superintendent Reginald Burton, received legal citizenship for him and his family. Owning a three-story townhouse in central London, Laurent planted former weapons, washed the sins from his hands and obtained a regular nine-to-five job in preparation of his wife and son.

I squeezed Liam’s forearm. “Thank you for helping them.”

“I did this for you,” he said, too stubborn to admit otherwise. “Not them.”

Craning my neck back, I puckered my mouth. “I love you.”

“You have no idea.” He laid a gentle kiss to my lips. “No fucking idea how much you mean to me.”

Laurent stuffed his wife’s luggage into the boot of his car. Once his family buckled up to leave, he rounded the bonnet and hesitated by the driver’s door. Across the roof, his eyes met mine and understanding passed between us.

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

“Oh, I think I know,” I teased, twisting in Liam’s arms, hearing Laurent’s car hum to life behind me. “You have expressed on more than one occasion, Mr Warren.” My arms enveloping his neck, I pulled myself up against his body, fastening my legs around his waist. “Now, do I use this knowledge to my advantage by coaxing a pair of shoes from you?”

His tongue licked the seam of my lips. “What shoes?”

“Liam, it’s a joke.” My playful grin diminished. “I can purchase my own shoes.”

“I said,” he growled, lazily flicking his tongue in my mouth. “What shoes?”

I grasped a handful of his hair. “If I tell you, you must promise not to buy them.”

He settled my backside onto the car bonnet. “I don’t make promises.”

Very well. “I kinda got my eye on the black Jimmy Choo Aveline sandals.”

“Okay.” His ringed fingers closing around my throat, he applied desired pressure, and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. “Now give me that mouth.”

Two days later, I found a signature Jimmy Choo package on the long-stretched bench inside the walk-in wardrobe.

I might just sleep in those ribboned bad boys.

Chapter 42

Alexa

When someone thinks they have the God-given right to conceal you from the rest of the world, how does one readapt to their natural environment?

Years prior, I had asked myself a similar question. In many instances, pessimism subjugated and controlled conflicted fear, so I willingly lived within the shadows of others, justifying the many reasons for affrighted behaviour until a time where I no longer cared enough about life to acquiesce.

Recently, I ensepulchred negativism and Sisyphean hopelessness and, in exchange, disentombed unparalleled hope, joy, optimism and possible achievability for the sake of someone I love. And it felt good, really good, quelling woeful, grievous plight to control my own destiny.

And sanity.

Existing didn’t seem so terrifying anymore, not when I had everything to live for.

Lifting the steaming mug of coffee to my lips, sipping a generous amount, I peered over the rim of black-tinted sunglasses to pry on the not-so-very-quiet conversationalists seated across from me at the round wooden table.

“It was one time,” the redheaded female argued, imploring her male companion to understand. “It meant nothing.”

“Your regret doesn’t make this hurt any less,” he retorted, his balled-up fist rubbing the weariness from his eyes. “You cheated on me.”

Oh, damn.

You’d never think I had something more productive to do than sit here, earwigging their lovers spat.

No, I had zero plans this afternoon. Coffee and gossip most certainly marked an entertained gap in the calendar.

“You are acting unreasonable,” she huffed, her slender legs crossing. “How long will you make me suffer?” At her bad-tempered martyrdom, I choked mid-swig, averting my nosiness to the tiled floor when she threw me a questioning glare. “It’ll never happen again.”

He sighed in defeat. “You screwed my cousin.”

My mouth formed a dramatic circle.

Well, that’s a quandary in their relationship—one hefty spanner in the works, for sure.

She tapped her knuckles on the table. “She came onto me first.”

Eyebrows shooting up to my hairline in puzzlement, I fanned the heat from my face.

I had so many questions.

“I don’t know why I did it,” she continued, digging herself a deeper hole of unforgivable betrayal. “I don’t even like women.”

He begs to differ, I inwardly responded, tossing a handful of Belgian chocolate-coated Brazil nuts in my mouth.

“I cannot erase the image,” he said in a strained, croaked voice, and I had the sudden urge to intervene, to put my ten pence worth into this diabolical mess by telling her to swing her hook. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the pair of you in bed together.”

My ears perked up, and I waited in eager anticipation for her pitiful justifications.

“I had too much to drink,” she began, her fingers fumbling with a napkin holder. “And I thought of you the entire time—”

“Oh, just stop,” I piped in, having lost the will to feign ignorance, and both participants lasered their melancholic attention to me. “Spare the poor sod of cringy details and own your mistakes. You boned, well, scissored his cousin because you wanted to. You are a closeted lesbian, or bisexual, I haven’t quite decided and, instead of letting him move on, to forgive, to forget, to find happiness, you sit there and feed him lies while you try and determine which team you advocate.” Ashen white, her mouth slackened at my rude assessment. “He’s not an experiment for your selfish insecurities.”

Her ex-boyfriend swallowed what looked like a hard, painful lump.

“Besides,” I lifted the shades atop my head to give them my judgmental hazel coloured hues, “isn’t living a lie exhausting? Aren’t you entitled to a semblance of happiness, too?”

“I…” Her lips wired shut, and a shade of warmth highlighted her defined cheekbones. “I don’t…” Picking up the black handbag from the floor, she uncrossed her legs and stood. “I’m sorry.”

Although initially, he’d repudiated the idea of them rekindling, panic smeared his features as he watched her walk away. Finalising whatever conflict warred inside her head, she exited the building, not so much as a glance over her shoulder on departure. On the verge of tears, he slumped back in the chair, his eyes volleying from me to the seat she once occupied. “I love her.”

I gave him a sad, tight smile. “Learning to love herself exceeds your hankering.”

Nodding in a sullen, grumpy state, he leant forward and clutched a coffee mug; it’s strong substance, cold yet inviting. “I had an inkling,” he whispered, his Adam’s apple jiving in his wide throat. “You know when something’s wrong. Even though she said everything right, her actions suggested otherwise. I’d catch her eyeing other women and, at first, I thought she was self-conscious or whatever, but now, it’s apparent. How much she wanted them.”

My lips puckered.

How did I become a relationship adviser?

Oh, that’s right. I meddled.

“You should arrange a lads night out,” I suggested as a dark shadow fell upon me, and I sat taller, preparing myself for a well-deserving onslaught of unrestrained reprehension. “Get laid or don’t. Either way, an immeasurable supply of alcohol, dance music and unbridled cavorting might be the answer to your prayers tonight.”

To my right, the person, infuriated by my spared acknowledgement, coughed loudly to gain my attention.

“Yeah, I think you might be onto something.” The legs of his chair screeched as he stood. Offering me a flat yet grateful smile, he chucked a wad of cash onto the table, covering their bill. “Thank you…?”

My lips parted to enlighten him, but the impossible intruder drilling holes to the side of my head responded on my behalf. “Alexa Haines.” A laminated menu slammed next to my coffee mug. “The self-centred, rudely unapologetic and shame-faced woman who dares to sit in my Coffee House, giving people advice, when she should be fixing her own wrongdoings.”

I sipped lukewarm coffee. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, Gray.”

“The audacity,” Grayson whisper-shrieked, whipping a chequered tea towel over his shoulder. “Get out.” He pointed to the main door. “You are fired.”

“How can you fire me?” I argued, blindly waving off the departing male as Gray took a seat opposite me. “I don’t even work for you anymore.”

“Oh, yes.” His angry expression morphed into mordant delight. “That’s right. You didn’t even have the decency to hand in your notice.” His elbows to the table, he inched in, scowling at me. “Which, for your information, I had to work back-to-back shifts for almost two weeks, while interviewing, not one, but two employees to replace you and that other meathead.” Tetchiness danced in his eyes. “Where is the hot son of a bitch anyway?”

“I apologise for being taken against my will and forgetting to ask my captor if could use his phone to call in sick,” I said bitterly, pointing the finger at him. “As for Jace, he’s still around. He bought a tattoo studio to keep himself busy.”

“Yeah, I heard about his daughter, Summer.” Sadness marred his tight features. “And I watched your case unfold on the news. I’m glad you got out of that situation alive or whatever.” He played off his relief sourly. “But that doesn’t excuse your selfish decisions subsequent to captivity, Alexa. You could have called, or Hell, a text message might have softened the blow for me. Knowing you returned to London and hadn’t bothered to check in on me, sucked big time.”

Explaining the transpired events between abduction and present freedom was pointless. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “For whatever stress or pain I caused. I truly am sorry, Gray.”

He pinched and twirled his fresh, dyed pink perm. “Oh, fuck it to Hell.” Opening his arms wide, he dipped his head to his parted thighs. “Come here and give me a hug.”

My smile broadened.

Rounding the table, perching my backside onto his lap, I snuggled into his embracement, inhaling the pleasant scent of his sweet cologne. “I missed you.”

He flicked my chin. “Did you miss me enough to come back and work for me?”

I listened to customers conversing near the restroom. “I am on the road to a different journey.”

“To do what?” he asked, and I shrugged my shoulders. “You’re a bit lost, huh?”

I am happy, and that’s all that mattered. “Spontaneity sounds fun, right?”

“For normal people, like me, who aren’t privileged enough to date a wealthy hot-shot business tycoon who funds my lifestyle, spontaneousness might land me inside the welfare office. So, no. It doesn’t sound fun. It sounds recklessly ludicrous.” He yanked my ponytail. I craned my neck to look up at him. “But living vicariously through you soothes my soul, so there’s that.”

Rather than correct Gray by telling him that I had earned plentiful cash irrespective of my partner’s wealth, It’s easier to let him assume Liam finances my lady-of-leisure way of life. “I guess.”

“Right.” Plonking my backside onto the leather bench beside him, he clicked down a waitress to order coffee refills. “I want all the juicy details. Tell me everything, Alexa.”

I started at the very beginning, where I had questioned Jace’s motives, to the moment Liam confessed his love. I talked him through each unspeakable memory.

The Isle of Man.

My first ferry trip.

I met Tommy, the gypsy king and spent time at a trailer park with amiable travellers.

Heather’s extended hospitality.

Summer Williams’ death.

Finding the alternativeness of Victoria Rose.

Jace had become a man I couldn’t live without, to how my love for Liam Warren solidified.

Of course, I omitted ‘stealing from politicians’ and my involvement with City Hall’s bombardment and my connection to The Mayor of London, Larry Fagan’s disappearance. And I didn’t need to further complicate the conversation by mentioning Liam’s estranged siblings, Vincent and Serena. Then there’s the crazy twins, Molly and Greer…

Damn, so much occurred in such a small time-frame.

I could write a memoir of my preposterous life.

“And you forgave him?” Grayson asked. “I don’t think he deserved your forgiveness, Alexa.”

“Jace did what he had to,” I continued, pulling layers of buttered pastry. “No punishment exceeds the grief of burying his daughter.”

“I suppose,” he responded with great reluctance. “And Warren? Is he cool with you guys cosying up?”

“Liam’s coming to terms with the idea of me having male friends,” I corrected, chewing a mouthful of croissant. “It’ll take time. I am sure he’ll accept Jace, eventually.”

“Yeah.” Grayson snorted. “Right.”

I smiled at his twisted countenance of scepticism.

Yes, it’s implausible Liam will ever tolerate Jace. He hasn’t killed my best friend, but that doesn’t mean he’s softened. It means he’s turned a blind eye for the sake of my heart.

Gray rested an arm across the rear of the booth. “Aren’t you going to ask about Goldie?”

I never lifted my eyes from the coffee mug. “How is she?” His silence prompted a nervous glance from me. “I assume she’s well.”

“Chloe hates you,” he said, forthcoming and blunt. “You were alive and never reached out. You can’t blame her for resenting you.”

Nodding, I curled my fingers around the mug. “I understand.”

“You understand?” he repeated in utter astonishment. “What, that’s all you have to say for yourself? Don’t you think she deserves an explanation?”

Heat claimed my cheeks. “Obviously, she deserves answers.”

He sliced his criticising eyes. “Will you reach out?”

I shrugged.

“Alexa,” he scolded.

“What?” I threw up my hands in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Gray? Would you prefer I lied to you? I left my old life behind. That meant leaving Chloe in the process. It’s not what I want. I love that girl to death, but if she’s washed her hands of me, I am in no position to fight for us.” The way he stared at me, disgusted and condemnatory. “What?”

“I am your past.” He stretched back in his seat. “Does that mean you should leave me behind, too?”

Wetness claimed my eyes. “It’s different.”

“How so?” he asked gruffly, thumbing a tear from my cheek.

I shifted the knot in my throat. “I fear she’ll reject me.”

“She will reject you, at first,” he said openly, snaking an arm over my shoulders. “You guys were more than friends. You were like sisters. And guess what? Sisters fight sometimes. But that doesn’t mean it’s goodbye.” Dipping his head, he sought my eyes. “Let Goldie cry and blow off some steam. When she’s tired of listening to her own voice,” he added, and we both laughed morosely, “give her a hug and put the world to right over a bottle of something lethal.”

I turned my head to look at him. “You guys became friends?”

“Unfortunately,” he joked, finishing the dregs of his coffee. “When you ‘died’, I was a shoulder for Chloe to cry on. It started here, our friendship. She’d rock up for Yorkshire tea and spend the entire afternoon looking out the window. Missing you.”

Regret tightened my chest.

“Over time, tears turned into laughter and routine coffee afternoons soon became nights out on the town. I helped her move on.” Sadness greyed his features. “We had to move on, Alexa.”

“Yes,” I agreed, fixing his upturned shirt collar. “I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

“For what it’s worth?” His lips meshed into a line. “I’m kinda glad you came back from the dead and all.”

“Me too, Gray.” I set the dismantled croissant aside. “Me too.”

***

I found someone waiting for me outside of the Coffee House.

Suited and deliriously handsome, Josh, behind gold-rimmed Cartier sunglasses, watched me walk towards him.

“What are you doing here?” I wondered aloud, scoping the perimeters for the two Suits who’d previously followed me to Gray’s place. “Is Liam okay?”

His eyebrows met. “Was that a serious question?”

Opening the Bentley door, I hurled my handbag onto the backseat. “What are you drinking?”

“Mango lassi,” he said, holding the yoghurt smoothie between us. “Do you want some?”

My nose wrinkled. “No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He chucked a set of keys at me, which I hadn’t expected, resulting in them crashing from my chest to the floor. “Buckle up. You are taking me for a spin.”

“What?” Fishing the keys from off the ground, shaking stagnant puddle water from the keyring, I see him around the car bonnet and fall into the passenger side. “Josh, what’s going on?”

“Warren ordered driving lessons,” he informed me, pointing to the steering wheel. “Get in.”

My mouth remained open. “Liam wants you to teach me how to drive?”

He blinked in response.

“No,” I protested, tossing the keys on his lap. “You can’t trust me on the road. I’ll kill every pedestrian in sight.”

“Quit the dramatics,” he berated, leaning across the centre console to insert the key into the ignition. “Just get in and drive.”

Oh, he makes it sound so easy.

Huffing bangs of hair from my face, I collapsed behind the wheel, closing the driver’s door. “Where do I start?”

Checking a message on his phone, purple straw between his lips, he gulped smoothie deliciousness whilst sending a text message. “Drop the handbrake.”

I searched for the handbrake but came unstuck.

The ignorant sod continues to text a woman. “Josh!”

“Jesus, Alexa.” He jumped, the phone slipping from his fingers. “Why are you shouting at me?”

I delivered an intolerable deadpan. “If you are forcing me to drive, at least, for the sake of everyone, concentrate.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he asked, “What’s the problem?”

“You are the worst driving instructor.” Buckling up, I adjusted the seat, pulling myself closer to the wheel. “Where’s the handbrake?”

“See the electric handbrake?” He demonstrated, using one finger to click it back. “Up for release. Now you do it.”

I couldn’t differentiate whether he’s sarcastically talking me through this horrific experience, or genuinely helping me.

Clicking the handbrake, I pasted my hands to the steering wheel and waited. “Now, what?”

“Foot on the clutch,” he said, and I side-eyed him. “Seriously, Alexa? You don’t even know where to find the clutch?”

“What part of ‘I don’t know how to drive’ do you not understand?”

He blew out an exasperated sigh. “The clutch pedal is on the left of the brake.” When I blinked, he growled, “For crying out loud, Alexa. The pedals are on the floor, by your feet.”

“Oh, yeah.” Smiling gleefully, I put my left foot to the clutch. “Well, this is easier than I thought.”

A cheeky smile danced on his lips. “You haven’t pulled away from the curb yet.”

“Alright, Mr Satirical.” My fingers drummed on the wheel. “What’s next?”

“The Bentley has automated indicators, so we won’t stress over alerting change to other drivers.” His tattooed hand gripped the wheel. “Use your clutch foot and your accelerator foot to find the biting point.” His hand atop mine, he placed it on the gearstick. “Put us in first gear.” I did as instructed. “Good. Now slowly ease forward while turning the steering wheel. That’s it. Nice and slow.”

On instinct, I double-checked the wing mirror. “What if I kill someone?”

Josh ordered my foot back to the clutch so that he could put us in second gear. “We’ll worry about that when it happens.”

Laughter escaped my lips. “You know, most instructors would have taken me to a quiet place to learn, not on a busy street.”

“I am not most people,” he said gloatingly. “Okay, calm down, Hamilton.” He watched a panicked couple dash across the road to avoid death by the reckless, unlicensed driver. “Let’s avoid a collision if possible.”

“I don’t know how to stop at the traffic lights.” We passed parked cars, heading towards the red light. “Do I just hit the brake?”

“No, you don’t need to slam on the brake. You drop back in first.” Once more, he set my hand on the gearstick. “Foot back to the clutch when switching gears. Good. Now ease onto the brake. You want to slow the vehicle down. Not throw us through the windshield.”

Before I could follow instructions, the Bentley jerked slightly, halting us in the middle of the road. “What happened?”

“You stalled,” he told me, and that’s when car horns blared behind us. “Ignore them.”

Redness attacked my face. “Oh, God.” I covered my eyes. “This is humiliating.”

“Hey, lady!” someone yelled as I sank deeper to hide. “Get your arse off the bloody road!”

Josh lowered the window to stick his head out. “Shut the fuck up.”

I peeked through rigid fingers. “Kill me now.”

“Do you want to die?” Josh shouted back, lost in a heated argument. He threw the door open, ready for an onslaught. “I swear to—”

“Josh!” Gripping the back of his suit jacket, I forced his ass back to the seat. “Please don’t. Just ignore him.”

“Disrespecting a member of the syndicate is just as bad as disrespecting Warren himself.”

“Liam’s not here,” I argued, removing my buckle to lean over the angry sod to shut his door. “He doesn’t need to hear about this—”

“Are you mental?” he bickered, ruffling his messy brown mane. “Warren has eyes everywhere. You don’t get to make those types of calls, Alexa.”

I growled in frustration. “I’ll deal with Liam.” Turning the key in the ignition, I shifted into first gear, made a small move and stalled once more. “For heaven’s sake. Why is this so difficult?”

“Hey, lady!” the guy behind roared, slamming on his horn repeatedly. “Some of us have jobs to get to, so move your fuckin’ arse!”

I lost the will to live. “I hate my life.”

Josh kicked open the door, leaving me unattended to deal with Mr Argumentative. I didn’t watch one of my favourite Suits deliver a punishing backhander to silence the man, but I didn’t miss his cracked knuckles when he opened the driver’s side door, ordering me to move so that he could take over.

Climbing across the centre console to the seat that’s safe from responsibility, I fastened my seatbelt and remained quiet while Josh drove ahead, furious by the previous encounter.

Ten minutes later, Josh steers into an empty car park. “Shall we try again?”

My arms folded across my chest, I breathed out a long sigh. “I don’t think it is safe for me to drive a vehicle.”

“We all have to start somewhere.” Killing the engine, he put his back to the car door, getting comfortable. “It gets easier.”

“Did you stall the first time you started a car?”

“Alexa, even now, after years of being behind the wheel, I still stall.”

“Really?” I asked, sitting taller. “Why?”

“It can happen to anyone and at any moment.” He lifted a shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”

My eyes roamed around the car park, contemplatively. “I will learn to drive on one condition.”

Josh pulled a face. “And what might that be?”

I unlocked my phone to show him the address. “I want you to take me here.”

Snuggling closer, he put an elbow to my shoulder and quickly read Gray’s text message. “No.”

“What?” Tilting my head to the side, I gave him a blank look. “Why?”

“What business do you have with the likes of Stone?” he asked, lines crinkling between his meshed eyebrows. “Warren would kill me.”

“I didn’t know Liam and Harold were old friends,” I said, a touch sarcastic. “Feel free to enlighten me on this boss’ behalf.”

“Friends?” Josh snorted. “Warren doesn’t associate with anyone outside of The Brotherhood.”

My eyebrow bent. “Then, what’s the issue with Harold?”

“Stone’s just…” His face scrunched up. “He’s a pompous wanker.”

“Really, Josh?” I laughed at the absurdity. “That explanation hardly satiates curiosity, and it isn’t a good enough reason for me not to visit.”

His eyes squinting, he swallowed excessively. “Are you having an affair?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Josh.” I lowered the window for some fresh air. “Tell me that wasn’t a serious question.”

“Well, why are you visiting Stone behind Warren’s back?”

“I am not visiting Harold.” God, I don’t even know the man. “I want to see his wife, Chloe.”

It took a few seconds for Josh to cotton on. “The blonde chick you used to live with?”

“My friend, yes.” I massaged my thumping temples with delicate fingertips. “Is that prohibited, or will you accuse me of bisexuality next?”

He cracked a toothy grin. “I mean, one brunette and one blonde, rustling the sheets…” His smile widened. “It’s an awfully tragic sight.”

I aimed to clip him around the back of the head, but he ducked. “Get that image out of your head, right now.”

“I can’t,” he chimed, restarting the engine of the Bentley to drive off. “It’s too beautiful.”

“Josh.” Groaning behind a hand, I considered a short nap to evade his light teasing. “Can we not?”

“We should play a game.” He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “For old times’ sake.”

I admired my red-polished manicure. “I don’t like your games.”

“It’s pretty simple.” He returned us to the main road. “I ask questions, and you answer honestly.”

My eyes visited the sky. “You are so transparent.”

“I know.” He winked. “Okay, so, would you kiss, grope or ride Chloe Stone?”

I blinked at a rapid pace. “Ride?”

“Is that your final answer?”

“No,” I argued, folding my arms. “I don’t even know how to ride a woman.”

“But you would do it,” he hedged, sparing me an elated glance. “If you knew what it entailed.”

“Josh?” I hummed as he veered the car down a side street. “Would you stroke, tease or taste Brad Jones’ baby-maker?”

“What the fuck, Alexa?” Repulsed by the idea, he choked on nothing. “None of the above.”

Kicking my heeled shoes onto the dashboard, I eased back in my seat and dropped the sunglasses over my eyes. “I rest my case.”

Chapter 43

Alexa

Josh drove into the Stone Estate and parked across from the picturesque gardens to smoke a pre-rolled joint; a stunning view, he’d said. At least I can watch those two mutts wreak havoc in the flower beds whilst you and Chloe reminisce about the past.

I heard and cared for only twain syllables in his mumbled sentence—two mutts. Nothing else. Not his animated blathering about the antiquated water fountain, the unused stables, or the strutting peacocks waving their blue and green iridescent feathers. Ferocious barking and the bruxism sound of snarling teeth, the only unpleasurable noise to agitate my delicate hearing.

“Did you know, peacocks can fly?” Josh mused, and I simply sat in silence. “Irrelevant to their massive trains. And you don’t need to kill them for feathers because when mating season strikes, they shed.”

Having heard such intellectual information, I will sleep soundless and peaceful tonight. “That’s wonderful.”

“Back in medieval times,” he prattled on, “they were a delicacy. You’d pluck, roast and then re-dress them for the dining table.”

My nose twitched in distaste. “Sounds edible.”

“I know, right?” He searched the glove compartment for a lighter. “Personally, I prefer duck.” His eyes settled on me. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

“Oh, I apologise for procrastinating,” I said sardonically. “I didn’t want to be rude and leave the zoologist when he was halfway through a passionate lecture.” Seeing the dogs barrel out of the thistles, rolling in the mud, I hold the handbag to my chest, pressing down on my erratically thumping heart. “What if they eat me?”

Smoke crawled from Josh’s parted lips. “Who?”

“Those barbarians,” I stressed the obvious, pointing to the black and brown dogs, dashing across the vast grounds. “Oh, God.”

His eyes followed the fighting mob. “They seem harmless.”

I gave him a straight-faced look. “Define harmless?” When his lips separated to respond, I held up a shushing hand. “Don’t you think they’re a little aggressive?” As if understanding our private conversation, the dogs came to an immediate stop, right before the Bentley and, with their ears pointed to the glowing crescent above, they glared straight at me. Not Josh. Me. “In their eyes, I am not a friendly human; I am a large, juicy steak that they plan to sink their razor-sharp teeth into.”

Holding my worried gaze with his, Josh dragged on a lungful of haze. “Why not a chicken?”

“Josh,” I admonished, flinching when one of the large dogs pranced around the car bonnet to slap his huge, clawed paws onto my window. “I changed my mind. Take me home and never let me make adult decisions again.”

Laughing and snickering, Josh ran a hand down his face. “He’s licking the glass.”

Yes, his wayward tongue is having a good old taste. “Why can’t you park closer to the house?”

“If I park any closer, I’ll be on the porch.” Turning the keys, he cut off the engine and reclined his seat to relax. “Will you hurry up.” He sighed when perceiving wild trepidation ablaze in my round eyes. “Fine. If the mutts try to eat you, I will shoot them.”

“You can’t kill them.” My chin slackened. “You do realise animal cruelty is a felony, right?”

Groaning expletive complaints in an aggravated undertone, Josh snatched a navy snapback cap from the backseat and tugged it over his head, the detailed rim, shielding his closed eyes. “And so is the heinous acts of murder, yet I commit how many a week? Courtesy of your loving boyfriend, of course.”

My lips puckered. “Spare me the details.”

“At least fifteen,” he said regardless, tapping his chin. “Actually, Warren—”

“Enough,” I interrupted, not wanting elaborative knowledge to syndicate matters. “Can’t you distract them while I make a run for it?”

“I am not electing myself as a running fucking buffet.” He scoffed. “Entertaining a Doberman Pinscher is below my paygrade.”

Shit, even the name of their breed clattered me to the bones.

Espying movement out the corner of my eye, I look to the Victorian-style house to see a silhouette looming behind the vertical blinds in the downstairs window. The unmoving shadow remained. Either Chloe or her husband, Harold Stone, waiting for the people who parked on their land, without an invitation, to present themselves.

An ominous feeling of dread pushed a lump up my throat. I suddenly felt too aware and self-conscious of my glamorous appearance. Don’t get me wrong, I love my newfound taste for high-end fashion and ice diamonds, but the designer labels and red bottom shoes might somewhat intimidate my old friend.

We used to talk about the type of wealthy people who’d fine dine and devour smoked salmon and caviar just because money was of no importance. The edacious eaters would sit at a table—dressed in expensive clothes that we could only dream of wearing—ingurgitating exorbitantly priced champagne, conversing about trivial or moot subjects, looking down their noses at the two young girls who pretended not to listen while sharing a bag of salt and pepper chips.

But we did listen, Chloe and me. We’d laugh about them on the entire journey home, swearing to each other that, in the event, one of us were fortunate enough to win the lottery, we’d never change for the worse or judge people based on their appearance, lack of funds or inadequate affordability.

Always stay grounded, Chloe had said. Despite riches, no matter what happens in life, let’s not change who we truly are, Alexa.

We also vowed never to leave each other behind.

Not for love. Not for money.

I betrayed Chloe’s trust and broke a promise.

I have become the very person she loathes.

“Do you plan on watching them mate all night?” Josh’s tired voice filtered in the broken cracks of my ambivalent thought process.

“Do I look okay?” My eyes locate the male Doberman as he mounts his better half. “It’s not too much, right?”

Josh popped one eye open. “I dig the leather pants.”

My eyebrows drew close. “I’m wearing skinny black jeans.”

He scratched his chest. “Well, those pants stick to your callipygian saunter like a Victoria Secret’s model.”

“My what?” I asked, itching the tip of my bent eyebrow. “What kind of gibberish is that?”

“It means your shapely buttocks tend to make me drool.” He stretched an arm over me to unlock the passenger door. “Can you get out now? I need beauty sleep.”

I gnawed down on my lower lip. “Are you sure, I look okay?”

“You look like Alexa.” Relighting a half-smoked joint, he wafted marijuana fumes away from my face. “Now, quit fretting and get out of the car.”

I pulled the coat’s red faux fur hood over my head. “Fight or flight?” I asked, easing the door open.

“Don’t be heroic,” Josh grumbled in a low, somniferous tone. “If those dogs see you? Run like a motherfucker.”

I felt my pupils dilate. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

My foot touched the ground first. Beneath the black, starless sky, I soared from the vehicle and zoned in on the beastly looking animals. Unable to swallow the tightness from my windpipe, I gently closed the car door, and that’s when the rampage of humping paused.

I eyed them.

They eyed me.

My shallow breathing was heavy and thick. “Please don’t eat me,” I repeated a mantra, the heels of my shoes alternately clicking against the stone pathway, leading to the house.

Gale force winds weaved through tendrils of hair as invasive horripilation crawled along my spine. Hesitating in fear, I pressed the handbag to my chest, tighter than before, and peered over my shoulder to see both dogs belt towards me. “Don’t panic, Alexa.”

In turn, the growling—hopefully domesticated but highly unlikely—carnivores appeared in front of me. An unfriendly warning to “back off” perhaps, or the dribble of saliva dangling from their exposed gnashers meant “dinner time.”

“I am skin and bone.” I exhibited a long, slender leg. “See? You won’t get much meat from those knobbly knees.”

The male Doberman cocked his head.

“Shit, you like bones, right?” For heaven’s sake, Alexa. “This is why I could never be a salesperson. Like, I wanted to convert you into herbivores, but instead, I make my inedible-self sound more appealing.”

“Are you quite finished?” Chloe’s familiar voice caged my breath.

My tongue adhering to the top of my mouth, I lifted my watery gaze to see a seraphic beauty standing at the front door. “Hey,” I whispered, forcing myself to smile. “You look great.” No, she looked sad. Dejection and vexation pooled in her glassy, forest-green eyes. “I mean, I love your shoes…” Her beige kitten heels are cute and her once, long and luxuriant blonde hair, replaced by a sophisticated, angled bob, matured her image. “Is that a new haircut?”

Underneath the porch light, Chloe moved onto the step, shutting the door behind her. Avoiding my eyes, she tied her floral-patterned ankle-length kimono and clicked down the guard dogs.

Loyal and obedient, the female pet stretched itself across the doormat; however, the obstreperous male continued to circle my legs, sniffing and licking the back of my ankles.

“Ronnie,” she hissed, but the untameable beast merely flouted her harsh finger clicks. “Get here.”

Sucking my upper lip, I peeked down in time to see Ronnie sprawl over my feet, making himself at home. “I could be allergic to animals.” I tried to pry my foot from under his grubby fur, which prompted him to get further comfortable. “Shit.”

“We both know that’s not the case,” Chloe muttered, jutting her chin forward. “What do you want, Alexa?”

I hadn’t foreseen a pleased or happy welcoming, but her apparent coldness and incredulous expression felt like a kick to the stomach. “Are you not going to invite me inside?” I asked audaciously, and her wet eyes protruded. “Sorry, that’s cheeky. I’m a little nervous.”

“Nervous,” she repeated in sheer disbelief, chewing her inner cheek. “Why?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question. “Well, I haven’t seen you in so long…”

“And who’s fault is that?” she argued in a calm yet grating voice.

My eyes glazed over involuntarily. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” she cut me off before I could even start. “You are not welcome here, Alexa Haines.” Reopening the front door, holding it open, she ordered the two dogs inside. Hanging their heads low, they scuttled into the warm foyer. “Leave. And don’t come back.”

“Please just hear me out, Chloe,” I syllabised in a strangled whisper. “For the sake of our past.”

“Why should I listen to a word you have to say?” Her hand glued on the door, she glared deep into my eyes, probing, as if needing something, a small slither of realism, sincerity or genuineness.

Hugging myself, I gave her a sad smile. “We were best friends.”

“Do not come here and pretend what we had meant anything to you.” Unshed tears beaded on her eyelashes. “I learnt of your ‘fake death’ on the news, just like everybody else.”

When she moved to enter the house, I gripped her elbow, preventing her from leaving this conversation under a dark cloud. “I hurt you, but don’t throw me aside until you hear me out.”

Her lip ticked at the corner. “I don’t have the time nor the mental capacity to deal with your lies.”

“What lies?” The fierceness in my determined stare urged her to take a wary step back. “There are three sides to every story. Yours, mine and the truth. We owe it to each other to talk and listen.”

For too long, Chloe remained tight-lipped and pensive. “Okay, for argument’s sake, I’ll hear whatever pathetic excuse you conjured up.” Once more, she shut the front door and stood on the veranda with me. “Why, when alive and breathing, didn’t you call? Or if nothing else, send a bloody text message to say that you hadn’t forgotten about me?”

I put my back to the brick exterior of the house. “When held captive by Flamur Bajramovic, I spent the majority of time alone. It didn’t seem that way, but over the years, as I aged, reflected and looked back, isolation dawned on me.

“Unconsciously, I mastered lonesomeness by pondering my third-person inner dialogue. Often, either inwardly or vocally, I talked to myself. I think it helped to keep me sane, dreaming and pretending.

“My mother,” I said, seeing her beautiful face flash behind my eyes. “For a short while, I had her in my life. For the worst part, I had memories or fabrications.” My tongue smoothed across my upper teeth. “I can’t even differentiate between illusions and reminiscences.”

Letting out a long, drained sigh, Chloe rested her shoulder to the wall beside me.

I faced her head-on. “Irrelevant to how much my mother loved me, I used to think she favoured Kathy.”

At the mention of my sister’s name, Chloe fought against an eye-roll. “Why?”

“Well, Kathy’s the first-born, so that has to count for something. Plus, she was older. Her and my mother talked more, laughed more. I was very young, spoilt and demanding. I remember lying in bed at night, listening to them giggle as they made midnight hot chocolate in the kitchen.

“Concrete soon replaced the pink comfort of my childhood bedroom. It was then that I would search for those memories just so that I could hear their happiness. It didn’t matter how much I missed them, though, because that thought, the one where Adaline preferred the company of her eldest child, regularly haunted me.

“Even as a young, naive little girl, I understood the ridiculousness of my immature thoughts—”

“Alexa,” Chloe sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, given the sensitive subject, but where are you going with this?”

My cheeks hollowed. “I can be very talkative when nervous.”

Not looking at me, she nodded.

Evoked by happy memories of my childhood, I turned my frown into a flat yet happy smile. “Someone once told me the book of knowledge comes to us late in life,” I whispered, absently rotating my bracelet. “My mother loved us equally; however, naturally and rightfully so, the youngest child requires additional attentiveness. It’s an unspoken rule, I guess. You are susceptible to danger and solely dependent on your guardian.

“With Kathy being older, she fended for herself and seemed happy, but as a mother, Adaline knew, deep down, that her eldest daughter was silently crying out for help.” Images of my sister screaming and crying as she fought against our father invaded pleasant memories. “It wasn’t favouritism. As a parent, she divided her love evenly, but she made choices by protecting the most vulnerable.”

Chloe’s face bunched up in confusion. “I still don’t understand.”

“I found myself in a similar situation,” I explained further. “I had to decide which person needed me the most. Was it my best friend?” Her eyes jerked up to mine. “Was it Grayson? Liam?” A soft wind blew across my face. “Perhaps it was the man who sobbed in my arms like a little boy, pleading for the safety of his baby girl?”

Misty-eyed, Chloe swiped a tear from her cheek.

“Maybe I chose the wrong person. And maybe I’ll regret that decision for the rest of my life. Who knows?” My shoulders lifted. “Time will tell. As it stands, though, I feel like I made the right choice. I hate myself for offending you. I hate myself for any upset or pain I caused,” I cried, muffling it under my palm. “But Jace needed me more than you did, and I can’t apologise for that.”

“This is going to sound awful,” she mumbled against her knuckles. “It feels as though he replaced me.”

Unable to withstand the question in her miserable stare, I looked away. In some way, Jace has replaced Chloe. He’s my best friend and soulmate. He’s a man I could never live without. “I love you,” I whispered, liking a salty tear from my bottom lip. “I love both of you.”

Displeased by my response, she turned from me. “I suppose you better come inside for a cup of tea.”

I stifled excitement. “Can we add a double shot of vodka to that?”

Rolling her eyes, Chloe opened the front door and signalled for me to follow. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“What?” Wiping my shoes on the doormat, eliminating wet grass and mud, I lowered the fur hood from my head. “Since when?”

She dropped a set of keys into the glass dish on the wooden sideboard. “Since I got pregnant and opted for a healthier lifestyle instead.”

Expressionless, I watched her, not knowing if I should or shouldn’t admit to speaking to Gray.

“It’s okay, Alexa.” Her hands fell to her hips. “I know Grayson told you.”

“Sorry,” I winced, hanging my coat on the freestanding coat stand. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss between you guys. He was excited to spill the beans.”

“He wouldn’t be Grayson if he kept his mouth shut,” she added lightly. “Peppermint tea?”

My eyes narrowed in an automatic response.

“Oh, come on, Alexa. Don’t knock it until you try it.” We entered the contemporary living room, where Ronnie and the other unnamed dog slept beside the stone fireplace. “Take a seat.”

“What’s her name?” I asked, sinking onto a champagne-coloured crushed-velvet sofa.

“Reggie.” Chloe added a pink block to the wax burner. “Two males.”

“The Krays.” Perplexed, I glanced at Ronnie and Reggie. “That’s…original…”

“Harold decided,” she said, turning off the muted television. “What’s that look on your face?”

Scratching the back of my head, I asked, “What look?”

“I mightn’t have seen you for a long time, but that doesn’t mean I have forgotten who you are, Alexa.”

“It’s just…” I couldn’t steer my troubled gaze from her huge pets. “Are they gay?”

“Gay?” she asked in a high-pitched tone. “Really, Alexa?”

“Well, it’s, like, they hump each other.” Ronnie lifted his head and growled. “Oh, great. Now he’s angry because I snitched.”

“He’s a big baby.” Chloe patted Ronnie’s head. “Honestly, he wouldn’t harm a fly.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to her dogs, she folded her arms and looked up at me. “Dogs don’t have a sexual orientation the way we do. They were probably fighting for dominance.”

“Fair enough.” Stuffing a pale pink pillow behind my back, I crossed my legs and grasped my hiked knee with both hands. “So, you got married?”

“I did,” she said proudly. “And became a mother.”

“And you bought a beautiful house.” I waved a hand around the room. “You also chopped off your hair.”

Her cheeks flared red. “Do you hate it?” she asked, fussing with loose strands.

“What? No, I love it,” I said, though, I had loved her longer locks, too.

An awkward silence stretched between us.

Chloe smoothed her pets. “It’s weird, right?”

“Yes,” I agreed, tapping my foot restlessly. “Where’s your little one? In bed?”

“He’s spending the night with his grandparents.”

Another moment of quiet eeriness.

“What about Harold?” My eyes flickered to the living room door. “I’d love to meet him.”

“Harold’s at the office,” she said, short and sharp. “I doubt he’ll be home anytime soon. Are you still dating Warren?”

I didn’t miss the saltiness in her tone. “Yes.”

“Do you live with him?” she probed, twisted her wedding ring.

“Yes. Liam bought us a house—”

“Oh, that’s right,” she interrupted, pushing onto her feet. “He got you a big mansion on millionaires row.”

In one breath, Chloe appeared happy and calm. In the next breath, she sounded angry and bitter. I couldn’t keep up with her puzzling change of behaviour. And why is she asking me questions that she already knows the answers to? “Did Grayson tell you that?”

Her hand paused on the door handle. “Tell me what?”

My eyebrows dipped. “About our residency?”

“Yes,” she lied, disappearing into the hallway. “I’ll prepare the tea.”

While she left me unattended, I unzipped my handbag and fished out my phone.

I sent Grayson a text message.

Me: Shall we meet for lunch next week?

I wanted to ask him if Chloe’s ideocratic behaviour was normal, but I’d rather leave sensitive questions for when I see him in person.

Gray: Count me in, Doll.

Gray: Bring the goods.

Me: What goods?

Gray: That hot meathead and absinthe.

Me: I don’t drink such filth.

Waiting for his response, I clicked Jace’s thread to read the array of unanswered messages he’d sent.

Jace: I tried calling Warren. He wouldn’t even speak to me.

Jace: Alexa, I am worried about you. I swear if you don’t message me back before the week is out, I am coming to the manor. And I give no fuck’s about Warren’s men. I’ll break down the door if I have to.

Jace: Are we over?

Jace: Fuck. That sounded wrong. I had a drink so bear with me.

Jace: I love you, Alexa. You’re my girl, and it’s like I’m losing you.

Jace: Am I losing you?

Jace: Why won’t you answer my calls?

Jace: You know what? Fuck you. I hope you have a nice life.

He’d sent the last one two days ago.

My heartstrings tugged.

Me: I am sorry, Jace. Please don’t hate me.

My phone vibrated.

Josh: I am freezing my bastard bollocks off out here.

Gray: Cock then?

I replied to Josh.

Me: Turn the heaters on.

Then to Grayson.

Me: Cock? Was that a typo?

Gray: Did I say cock? I meant cocktails (inserts a wink emoji here).

Me: You are impossible.

Gray: Quit texting me. I am on a date.

I sent him the middle finger.

“Here we go.” Chloe placed two white mugs on the coffee table. “Extra mint?”

My phone jittered.

Jace: Save it, Alexa. I’m not interested.

Devastated by his response, I felt my heart stutter.

“Alexa?” Her eyes bouncing from me to the phone in my hand, Chloe kneels on the shaggy rug. “Can’t the other important people in your life be put to the side for a few hours? We haven’t seen each other in so long, and, well, call me selfish, but I don’t want any distractions.”

“Sure,” I whispered, but the strong urge to reply to Jace weighed heavy on my chest. “Of course.” My phone returned to the handbag. “So,” I picked up the peppermint tea and sipped, “where were we?”

She extracted a lemon slice from her cup. “Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

Hiding my dislike for her beverage choice, I took the vodka bottle out from my bag, unleashed my tongue and told her everything.

Chapter 44

Alexa

Ideally located on central London’s outskirts, Chloe’s detached, uniquely historic Victorian property comprises four bedrooms and three en-suites with abound features throughout; reception space, fitted kitchen and a formal dining room that opens out onto the spacious garden. “That’s Harold’s home office.” Chloe motioned to a locked room as we toured through the grand adjacent hallways. “You’ll find a fully stocked library in there.”

With a vodka bottle tight in hand, I shadowed her upstairs. “It’s a beautiful home, Chloe.”

“Thank you,” she said humbly, tapping a white glossed door. “Dominic’s room.”

I didn’t want to see her son’s bedroom. “What about the master suite?”

“We’ll get to that.” Waving a dismissive hand, she moved into the unthinkable space. I daren’t move my feet. “Come on, Alexa.”

Rooted to the ground, I unscrewed the bottle cap and downed liquid courage. I hadn’t noticed her shoe removal upon entering her son’s bedroom, but the discarded kitten heels suggested a silent order, so I slipped out of mine, leaving them on the wooden floor to put my bare feet onto lush, thick carpet.

With bated breath, I allowed my eyes to catalogue the stone grey walls and all-white furnishing. Bringing alcohol into his room felt wrong. In an ensorceled blur, I left the bottle on the floor in the hallway and proceeded to marvel.

“My father paid for the crib.” Chloe fussed and faffed in the middle of the room, tidying her son’s sleeping space, rearranging its immaculate cushion display. “Harold’s brother bought the pram and…”

My overthinking brain obscured Chloe’s unbreathing loquaciousness and descriptive presentation. With a combination of sadness and interest, I bit back loathsomeness and opened the wardrobe. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to see the colour coordinated clothing. Only, I didn’t find a variegated pallet. They’d lined Dominic’s cupboard in a white monochromatic fashion.

Perfect. Everything about his cosy space felt utterly perfect. It also sprung tears to my eyes. My hand fell to the drawer, and I eased it open to feel the soft, cotton sleepwear beneath investigatory fingertips. Freshly washed and ironed, I thought, bringing the small item of clothing to my nose to inhale—what I can only describe as the smell of a new baby—and appreciate the gentle fibres against my cheek.

It was impossible to ignore nostalgic grief and emotional pain. The impulsive urge to sit on the feeding chair with my little one dropped a single tear down my cheek. I wanted nothing more than to hold you, to kiss your soft cheek and whisper a thousand promises in your ear. I wanted to see your face brighten when I cuddled you to sleep and to witness your happy smile when daddy came home from work.

I wanted you.

“Alexa?” Chloe placed a hand on my lower back. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry.” Blinking tears to the back of my eyes, I offered a fake smile and folded the sleepsuit back into the drawer. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Are you broody?” Her questioning gaze never faltered. “Oh, shit. Are you pregnant?”

In the last two hours, I have explained much of what transpired whilst Jace and I hid from the rest of the world. I kept a few details to myself, though. Losing the baby was one of them. “No, I am not pregnant.” Putting my emotions in check, I closed the drawer. “Maybe someday.”

“Phew.” Sighing dramatically, Chloe shut the cupboard for me. “I was ready to pour your vodka down the toilet. Come,” she prompted, leading me to another room. “You must see the master suite.”

Inside the spacious master bedroom, I set the vodka bottle and cast-off shoes beside the teal coloured two-seater fabric sofa. I liked the contemporary layout and warm, peaceful ambience; however, the accurately stationed furniture and wall-mounted pictorial landscape paintings contrasted her original love for pre-owned possessions and quaint vanities.

Perhaps plenteous money emboldened her taste for modernised living. Although, I still struggled to understand or believe in such a drastic personality alteration.

Irrelevant to funds, Chloe used to be a self-proclaimed antiquarian, a true antique aficionado. She’d perambulate from one charity store to another, hunting for random or unusual ornaments to decorate our flat. Mismatched rugs, odd furniture and scatter cushions that were baffling to look at. “It’s a lovely room.”

“Look.” Delighted by my feigned approval, she darted into the interconnecting walk-in closet; the sound of moving hangers soon followed. “We should do a fashion show.”

“A what?” I asked, joining her inside the all-encompassing line of polythene garment coverage. “New clothes?”

“Oh, no.” Removing an ankle-length pleated skirt from the packaging, the annoying plastic, harsh and grating on the ears, she handed it to me and a long-sleeved blouse. “Go ahead. Try it on.”

I fingered the chiffon material in wonder. “These belong to you?”

Her perfectly defined eyebrow bent. “Was that a question?”

Masking disapproval, I stuttered, “Yes—no. I mean, it’s different. Your fashion taste, I guess.” Her heated glare heightened innermost judgements. “Sorry, it’s the vodka talking.”

She stood taller. “Do you frown upon sophisticated elegance?”

It’s not you, I thought, turning around to undress. And it’s not exactly a stylish selection of attire. It’s something you’d see someone’s grandmother wear to afternoon tea. That and a cashmere cardigan draped over the shoulders.

Sheathed from the neck to the ankles, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, buried negative thoughts and tried to respect the woman glowering back at me. “It’s like silk,” I murmured, adjusting the collar. “And bright.”

“Orange suits you.” Moving to my side, she untied the bobble from my hair and combed her fingers through the straightened ends. “Here.” Selecting a pair of espadrille wedges, she declined to one knee and slipped them onto my feet. “What do you think?”

I think Liam would have a stroke. “I like it,” I lied, not wanting to offend her further.

Chloe’s shoulders drooped despondently. “No, you don’t.”

My sullen face fell. “Chloe,” I sighed, pressing two fingers to my temple. “I don’t hate your clothes—”

“But you’d prefer cheap and tawdry,” she rudely snapped, and instant rage traded meekness. “No worries.”

“Are you serious?” I argued, stepping out of the wedges. “Louboutin shoes aren’t exactly cheap, Chloe. As for the rude comment about tawdriness?” I lost her outfit to the floor and sauntered my lace-covered ass to the chair. “I see nothing wrong in wearing Alexander McQueen.”

“Except the corset-like bodice and underwired cups scream desperate, Alexa,” she continued her need to affront me, disparaging the black lace I pull over my chest. “It’s hardly necessary, and it’ll gain the wrong type of attention.” Her eyes lingered on my exposed middle section. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, I strongly disagree, actually.” Tugging the jeans over my legs, I snatched the bobble from her fingers and redid a tight ponytail. “The bloody irony.”

Her eyes grew wilder. “I beg your pardon.”

“I only started to wear dresses because of you,” I reminded her, storming into the bedroom. “I loved slouch pants and pyjamas. Hell, I didn’t give a shit if I wore odd socks. You quite literally forced me to wear less and expose more.”

“That was before I became a married woman and a mother,” she rowed churlishly, slumping onto the foot of the double bed. “Honestly, Alexa. Age and maturity come to us all, eventually.”

“You speak as though I am a fifty-year-old woman—” A door slammed downstairs, and Chloe, suddenly pale and frenetic, leapt off the bed. “Calm down, grasshopper.”

“You need to leave.” Giving me the vodka bottle, she flung open the bedroom door and disappeared down the hall.

I heard raised voices seconds later.

“Shit,” I whispered, stepping into my favourite shoes.

Finding my way downstairs, I rounded the foyer and trailed the sound of their heated argument. I didn’t want to pry, but after the bizarre exchange upstairs, I didn’t want to part ways without resolution, either.

Outside of Harold’s office door, I mopped the perspiration from my forehead and welcomed myself into their furious quarrel. The second I appeared at the threshold, Harold’s attention bounced in my direction, and unmistakable puzzlement coated his red, incensed countenance.

Introducing myself was the polite and reasonable method, but the rising tension between husband and wife left me in a state of mutism.

Chloe hadn’t pardoned me a glance. Blotchy tears dusted her pale cheeks and the suavely dressed, handsome, yet arrogant looking man, ignored her unmuffled snivelling. “You didn’t tell me we had guests,” he said in a deceivingly calm and baritone voice. “Darling?” His stoic stare slithered from me to his wife. “You were drinking.”

“No,” she assured him, dabbing her eyes. “She keeps vodka in her bag. I didn’t touch it.”

Chewing the corner of my lip, I shook the half-empty bottle. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Jesus, Alexa.

Quit whilst you’re ahead.

He placed a hand to his mouth. “I see that.”

Feeling out of place and uncomfortable, I swallowed hard. “It was a joke…” The car seat stationed by Harold’s feet gained all my awareness. I cared not for their precipitous dispute or the disapproval emitting from his tense shoulders. “Is that…?” A smile stretched across my lips as I floated towards the sleeping baby. “Oh, God.” Leaving the vodka on the mahogany desk, I squatted to get a better look and melted. “Chloe, he’s perfect.”

Previously, I consumed a bit too much alcohol, so I didn’t reach in to touch his small hand or move the knitted blanket. As an alternative, I beamed from afar. Dominic Stone was the smallest baby I had ever clapped eyes on. He had an adorable button nose, cute, pouty lips and the faintest sheer of blond hair.

I looked from Chloe to Harold. “So, does he have his mother’s green eyes or his father’s blues?”

In a rude and unfathomable manner, Harold seized my wrist and yanked me away from his son. “Step away from my son immediately.”

“Mr Stone?” My eyes rounded in shock. “Get off me!”

Raising two hands, Chloe stepped forward. “Harrold—”

“The Haines girl,” he sneered, his fingernails piercing my skin as he wretched me closer. “I don’t welcome vermin into my house.” He shoved me out of his reach, and my back crashed into the bookshelf. “Get out of my house, at once, and stay away from my wife.”

Hiding his shaking hands inside his trouser pockets, he stormed back to the desk and ordered his wife to put the vodka bottle in the bin. Without an ounce of disobedience, she did as instructed.

“I don’t…” I was speechless, holding my sore wrist to my chest. “What did I do?” The question was for my friend. “Chloe?”

“Alexa,” she expelled my name in a way that suggested exhaustion. “Please, just leave.”

Unreasonable sadness owned me. I was on the verge of tears, but I cast my blurred eyes to the ground and inhaled a composing breath. I made two steps before realising I’d left my handbag upstairs. “I need to grab my bag.”

“Chloe.” Harold put a hand on Chloe’s lower spine. “Find the bag whilst I escort your old friend off the premises.”

“Of course,” she responded, tottering off like the obedient little housewife.

Consumingly nonplussed, I glared at the spot where she once stood, hearing her rattled footsteps above. “I don’t require hired help, Stone,” I clipped the second he and I were alone. “If I need someone to usher me from one place to another, I’ll be sure to call a friend.”

I made a lackadaisical effort of sidestepping Harold, which, as expected, encouraged a firm elbow-gripping. His fingers prodding in my flesh, he towered above me in all his conceited arrogance.

“Right, I see,” I said, coughing to clear my throat. “You wish to intimidate me.”

Not a word uttered from his curled-up lips until we reached the front door. “Chloe’s innately kind and considerate, Haines. I, however, am not.” He flung me outside so quickly, I stumbled and almost lost my footing. I span on my heel to face him, to berate him, but he beat me to it. “If you come near my wife again,” he threatened, snatching my jaw for theatrical effect, “I’ll bury you with lies.” Spine-chilling darkness filled his once blue eyes. “Do we understand each other?”

“Did I kick your ass in a previous life or something?” Narrowing my eyes, I remained demure and tried to control panicked breathing, but the all-too-familiar tightening in my chest intensified. “What is your problem? You can’t stop me from seeing my friend.” I cannot believe the ludicrousness of this confrontation. “Harold, let go of me.” Our fingers wrestled as I tussled to detach his buttery paw from my face. “Harold!”

It happened too fast. In one instant, I am panting for breath and squirming against a vile bully. Next, I am on my hands and knees, gasping and refuelling my lungs to the sound of uproar behind me. With trembling hands, I pushed onto my feet, slapped my palms on the wall and swayed to regain consciousness.

“Don’t hit him!” Chloe cried concurrently with something shattering. “Alexa!”

Momentarily disoriented, I blinked twice as hard to clear blurriness, waded through imaginary shadows and re-entered the house. Broken pieces of mirror crushed under my shoes, and Chloe’s perennial sobbing shrilled in my ears.

Josh has Harold pinned to the stairs as he delivers blow after blow. His knuckles cracking with each punishing jab to the man’s jaw. “Josh,” I said drowsily, fisting the back of his suit jacket. “Josh—” He jerked his arm to shirk me away. “Stop.” Another brutal fist to Harold. “Please, stop! I don’t want this—” Gripping Stone by the shirt, Josh hurled the man’s body upright and lunged him into the sideboard. “Josh!” The force of Harold banging into the wood strewed ornaments and potpourri across the floor. “Josh, that’s enough!”

His dark brown eyes on me, Josh rolled his shoulders back and wiped his blood-streaked hand across his busted lip. I thought he’d listened; I thought I’d gotten through to him. But he’s not just the cute lad from the bar anymore. He’s a vital member of the syndicate, so when he seized Harold’s hair and thrust the barrel of a gun in his mouth, I could only close my eyes and decipher his newfound conduct and face the consequence of my actions. “It’s my fault,” I whimpered, unable to comfort the other woman in the room, the one who pleads and cries. “I goaded him, Josh.”

“That’s inconsequential,” he rasped, fusing Harold’s back to the wall. “No one touches Warren’s woman and lives to hear the end of it, Alexa. It’s an unspoken rule.”

Dominic’s ear-splitting cries echoed from the office, and everybody stilled to listen.

Oscillating between helping her husband and rushing to her son’s side, Chloe meshed her wobbling lips together. “Please…”

I put a palm to Josh’s cheek, forcing him to look at me. Feeling a surge of fury weaving through his enraged body, I blindly located the gun and rested my hand atop his rigid fingers. “Don’t let Dominic grow up without a father,” I whispered for only him to hear.

Ten long seconds passed before Josh retreated, ripping the barrel out of Harold’s mouth and stuffing the gun into the waistband of his trousers. He picked up my handbag from the floor, draped it over my shoulder and almost walked me outside. “You’re on my shit list, Stone,” Josh growled, delivering one final blow, a boot to the chin, sending Harold into a heap by his wife’s feet. “You,” he pointed to Chloe. “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t do something stupid. Warren got eyes and ears down the metropolitan. Make one foolish call, and I’ll be back to finish the job before sunrise.”

Stunned into a brief moment of silence, Chloe looked at me. “Is that right, Alexa?”

My heart continued to palpitate. “I’m sorry, Chloe.” Taking Josh’s hand, interlacing our fingers, I brushed a thumb across his cracked, bloodied knuckles. “My loyalties lie with the man I love.” Watching Harold roll onto his stomach, I added, “Much like yourself.”

***

I don’t know how I managed to convince Josh to keep tonight’s events on the hush-hush, but after twenty-five minutes of threatening emasculation, my favourite Suite promised not to inform his boss. It’s an unreasonable request on my behalf. Josh could land in serious trouble if Liam ever finds out about Harold, but I had a friend to consider. Sure, she hates me, and that mightn’t change anytime soon. Who knows what the future holds, though, right?

Peeling off my fur coat, folding it over my forearm, I traipsed behind Josh. Delivering a nod here and a curt nod there, he led me through Club 11, past the sweating mob of customers and dight men guarding the perimeters. “What’s your poison?” he shouted over the music, holding open the door to the prestige suite. “Fancy some shots?”

“Vodka shots,” I confirmed, and his eyes bounced to the ceiling. “What?”

He nudged securities’ knuckles. “You should try something new.”

“Said by the man who lives on whiskey,” I chimed, setting my handbag on the glass bar top. “Cîroc.”

“Touché.” Moving behind the corner bar, Josh gathers essentials. “You good, Cher?”

God, kill me now.

“Hey, Josh.” Cherry’s fake boobs jerked as she pulled up a stool to sit beside me. “Alexa.” Her candy scented perfume wafted straight up my nostrils. “You look well.”

“I’m surprised you remembered my name.” Accepting a vodka shot from Josh, I put the glass rim to my lips and knocked it back. “Candice, right?”

Her tongue piercing peaked out. “Funny,” she deadpanned, pouring herself a glass of gin. “Where’s the boss?” she asked Josh, attempting to get under my skin—it’s working. “He looked a bit flustered earlier.”

I will smack a bitch.

Noticing my rosy cheeks, Josh cracked a toothy grin. “Warren’s dealing with a rat,” he informed me, and Cherry’s smugness plummeted. “There’s no foreplay here, Cher.” He playfully lobbed an ice-block at her chest. “Put the claws away.”

Pinching the ice between black painted fingernails, she licked a trickle of water from her thumb. “You love these claws.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered into another shot. “Is there any member of the syndicate you haven’t ridden to shantytown?”

Josh choked mid-drink, beating a fist on his chest.

Turning at the waist to face me, Cherry tilted her head to the side. “You sound jealous.” Her loathing eyes burnt right through me. “Are you?”

I refuse to dignify her with a response.

The music segued in the background, and half-naked dancers strolled throughout. I spotted several recognisable Suits. When working for Liam, I had tried on many occasions to converse with them, but they seldom interacted. Tonight, something felt different. Each bumptious Suit addressed me with the utmost respect and unreserved admiration.

“How’s it going, Alexa?”

“You look nice, love.”

“Is that a new dress?”

“It’s good to have you back.”

I’m sorry, what? Since when did the stuck-up Suits give a shit about me or what I wear?

“Thanks,” I said cagily, looking to Josh in wonder. “I guess.”

Josh and Cherry talked in hushed tones, too loud for me to miss, though. Sex was on the agenda tonight, or so I thought. “What’s happening, Boo?” Until Brad showed up. “You look edible.” His arm snaked around my shoulders and he plonked a kiss to the top of my head. “Get some Macallan on the go, Joshy Boy. Man’s on a bastard rampage.”

Cherry’s light-hearted flirting with Josh morphed into pure jealousy.

To annoy her a touch more, I curled my fingers around Brad’s forearm. “You smell like sin,” I said, eyeing the smidgen of blood on his white shirt sleeve. “What did I miss?”

Squeezing my shoulder, Brad slid up the bar to stand alongside me. “You know the rules.” He lifted his brows, thanking Josh for the double-shot of harsh liquor. “Let’s get wasted.”

Oh, I liked the sound of drunken stupor, but I had to find my love first. “Where’s Liam?”

Ignoring Cherry’s blatant bedroom invite, Brad sucked spilt whiskey from his thumb. “He’s around.”

“Brad,” Cherry said quietly, sadness in her longing eyes. “Can we talk?”

Moving through gathered dancers, Nate strolled behind the bar. “Your shift doesn’t end for another two hours,” he drawled, slipping on black-framed glasses. “I should get the boss to dock your wages.”

“Cigarette break.” Cherry’s finger circled the circumference of the gin glass. “Brad—”

“What?” he barked, losing his collectedness. “I’m not interested, Cher. Get back to work.”

Degradation shaded her cheeks crimson. “You weren’t saying that last week.”

Humoured by their public display, Josh folded his arms onto the bar and watched keenly. “What happened last week?”

“None of your fucking business,” Brad scolded, pulling a disgruntled face when overhearing Cherry’s muffled complaints. “You sound like a broken record.”

My eyes bounced between them.

“Pretty sure you said those exact words the first night we met.” His acrimoniousness rocketed. “What was it, Cher? Five minutes.”

“Fuck you, prick,” she spat, jumping off the stool. “You ain’t better than me.”

Smiling at Josh, I whispered, “Five minutes for what?”

Thinning his lips, he shrugged.

Brad furtively received a small clear bag from Nate’s hand. “Five minutes for her to pop my cock in her gob.”

Of course, in Cherry’s nonsensical mind, Brad’s rude, belittling behaviour was my fault. “You can shut up,” she argued, squaring up to me. “The boss fucked bitches seven days a week after your apparent death, so don’t be sitting there, looking all smug—”

“Cher,” Nate warned, and she scoffed. “Just get back to work.”

Her hand flew out to the side, almost clipping me in the face. “She pisses me off—”

“Why do I irritate you so much?” Sick to the high heavens of Cherry’s sourness, I fronted her face-on. “I’m not a threat. I just so happen to date your boss. Honestly, Cherry. I am tired of the back-and-forth between us.”

Tweaking her bralette, she rolled her eyes and shouldered past me. “Tell someone who cares to listen.”

Nate unlocked the cash register. “You good, Alexa?”

All three males studied me closely. “I’m fine.” Truthfully, I don’t care if Cherry hates me, I am not here to make friends, but sometimes, her blatant disapproval can rub me up the wrong way. “Now, where can I find Liam?”

Brad keyed a mound of cocaine to his nostril. “Cellar.”

I will bloody kill that man.

Chapter 45

Alexa

Security uncurled their spines as I exited the prestige suite. Stupefied by their recent manifestation of veneration, I slowed down, hesitating across from an older male whose black aviators and coached indifference masqueraded whatever former pasquinade replayed inside his head.

In order to put a dent in his stone-cold countenance, I waved a hand in his face. “Isn’t it exhausting?” I wondered, studying the constellation of freckles across his nose and the moustache hanging over his strong jaw. “Honestly, what’s the punishment for passing acquaintanceship?

“Broken knee-caps,” someone grunted behind me, and some of the men snickered along.

I turned to discover the jokester’s voice. “Does this rule apply to everyone, or am I the exception?”

Eight tailored men, and not one of them expounded.

“I see.” Understanding their unspoken confirmation, I returned my heedfulness to the first male. “Well, I am to speak to your boss and rectify this nonsense immediately.”

Incapable of curbing amusement, I smiled foolishly to myself and proceeded ahead. When I ambled into the adjacent hallway, I heard the stationed Suits chortle hysterically. Men, I thought, formulating a brutal chastisement for Liam. I am unaware of any rats sniffing around the syndicate, as the man who shares my bed rarely discloses information, unless asked, but he promised to take it easy.

Thanks to the crazy twins and Serena-the-certifiable-mental-case, Liam suffered hours upon hours of excruciating torture. Before I left the Manor to visit Grayson this afternoon, he had agreed to spend the day at home, rest frequently, and enjoy sabbatical time off work.

Don’t get me wrong; the man isn’t bed-bound or incapacitated. He can move around just fine, and he most certainly hasn’t lost any stamina, if you catch my drift; however, overlooking the faded bruises and blemishes on his handsome face, I cannot stomach the raw, inflamed injuries on his broad, muscular back. It’s painful to look at, yet he never complains. In actuality, he becomes agitated when I ask to examine his stitches, and he disregards any conversation regarding his condition by luxuriating in the bath.

Hell, even Tony offered to entertain Liam. He’d cooked a full-English breakfast from scratch and arranged newspapers onto the kitchen island.

I thought Tony’s man-to-man proposal was a lovely gesture. Liam took umbrage to a game of chess. He snatched a bottle of Macallan en-route to the office and barricaded himself away from the worried yet meddlesome people who merely strived to comfort him.

Liam Warren’s a stubborn man, so his reappearance at work under such conditions shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, but his recklessness infuriated me.

I almost ventured downstairs, to the cellar, when overhearing his low, raspy voice inside the office. Too aware of my enraged appearance, I fixed my hair and drew in a deep breath in preparation to admonish him.

Once more, I didn’t reach my destination in time. With a phone to his ear, Liam stormed out of his office, beautifully dishevelled, and caught me in his sights. “I’ll call you back.” He stuffed the phone in his suit pocket and stood taller. His lazy gaze roamed the length of my body. “Leave us.”

As instructed, posted security dispersed down the corridor to give us some level of privacy. I waited for the last member to round the corner and asked, “Must you always disobey orders, Mr Warren?”

Liam’s powerful strides backed me up until my spine met the wall. “You test my resilience, Miss Haines,” he said hoarsely, positioning his hands on either side of my head. “I don’t recall such intricacy when you left the Manor.”

“It’s hardly revealing.” Courtesy of the red fur coat I had buttoned to my neck. “Do you disapprove?”

Dipping his head, Liam brushed his nose along my jawline. “I don’t like the thought of my men,” he whispered, grazing my midriff with rough knuckles, “looking at you in a way they shouldn’t.”

“Careful, Liam.” I couldn’t possibly shake my smile. “You sound threatened.”

“Protective.” His tongue flat to my neck, he slowly licked a tortuous path and nibbled on my earlobe. “And obsessive in a way that’s possessive.”

I grasped his jaw. “You promised to stay home and rest.”

“Blasphemy,” he joked, his eyes closing to my tender touch.

It’s pointless. I didn’t possess enough strength to dispute him. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“I live for the job.” His hands glided down my thighs, and he gripped my derrière. “Don’t fight me on this, baby. You’ll lose.”

“What’s the reason behind your impishness?” My forehead furrowing, I pondered his frolicsome teasing. “You’re in no position to trivialise your condition.”

“My condition?” His lips twitched into a smirk. “I have endured far worse than senile women and a belting, Alexa.”

The dire thought of someone hurting Liam heated my blood. “Can we talk?”

He pulled one of my legs around his waist. “About us?”

“About your men,” I tweaked, and the hand caressing my thigh fell to his side. “Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Detaching himself from me, he stepped back, aroused yet exasperated, and our eyes collided. “I am in no mood for a lecture right now.”

“Who’s lecturing you?” I asked with an ingenuine smile. “It’s called a tête-à-tête, Liam. Couples tend to have them sometimes.”

He studied me. “I question your motives.”

“Moi?” Feigning offence, I slapped a hand to my chest. “Whatever for?”

His eyes were hard. “I pay them enough.”

“Money wasn’t the topic of conversation.” Following him into the office, shutting the door behind us, I placed my handbag on the white gloss coffee table and collapsed on the leather sofa. “Why aren’t they permitted to talk to me?”

Two glasses knocked together as he prepared drinks at the minibar. “For what purpose?”

“Well, I hate silence.” I stuffed a grey cushion behind my back for comfort and stretched my legs across the leather. “I can appreciate it’s their job, but I’d much rather the occasional banter.”

Liam handed me a glass of vodka. “How was your afternoon with Turner?”

My eyebrows snapped together. “Who?”

“Grayson Turner.” Sitting beside me, he dragged my legs across his thighs and draped an arm across the sofa rear. “How can you work for a man and not be familiar with his surname?”

I had no credible response. “Can we get back to the discussion of your men?”

Tilting back his head, he ingested a double shot of Macallan. “No.”

God, he’s insufferable. “Then we shall confer why you absconded the Manor whilst Tony busied himself in the garden.”

Placing the empty glass on the floor, he set a hand on my knee. “No.”

I rolled my eyes. “Men.” He waited for me to finish the vodka. In a flash, the glass accompanied the one on the floor, and the incorrigible caveman hauled me onto his lap. “Liam.”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, coaxing me to straddle him. “Just sit here with me.”

“I don’t like it.” Resting my backside on his thighs, I flattened my palms on his shoulders. “Your back—”

“My back is fine.” He clasped my jaw, and, unlike earlier, when Harold’s soft-skinned, yet punishing fingers, dented my cheeks, the feel of this man’s emanating possessiveness ignited a fire within me. “Must I wait all night?”

My eyelashes fluttered open. “For what?”

He brushed a thumb across my lips. “A kiss.”

“You ask very little of me,” I teased, leaning in to inhale his masculine scent. “But I have one more question.”

“Of course.” He cupped the back of my neck. “You wouldn’t be Alexa if you didn’t.”

My lips almost touched his. “Who’s the caged rat?”

His cold blues held me captive. “And you would know about that how?”

I tapped a finger to my chin. “I have many sources.”

“Rather, I have many men who don’t know the meaning of confidentiality.”

“You can’t hold other people accountable for my nosey tendencies.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He cast me to the side and stood. “Care for another drink?”

“Is there a snitch among thieves?” My naughty footsteps chased him to the minibar. “A spy, perhaps?”

Leaning against the unit, he crossed his legs at the ankles. “Are you quite finished?”

I thanked him for the straight vodka. “Can I be of any assistance?”

He paused with the glass to his lips. “Come again?”

“Liam, let’s not pretend, I am a timid wall-flower.” Neglecting the temptation of alcohol, I snaked my arms around his neck. “Will you show me?”

His mouth thinned. “Why?”

“You gave me a seat at the table, did you not?”

“I value my woman’s opinion on certain matters.” He raised the glass between my arms and swigged. “However, I didn’t agree with underground assistance.”

I snorted. “I don’t remember contractual stipulations.”

“I should feed you.” He pried my arms from off his neck. “You don’t eat enough.”

The vodka found its way down my throat. “I eat plenty—and stop changing the subject.” When his judgmental gaze settled on my flat stomach, my hands fell to my hips. “I dare you to make one snide remark, Warren.” His phone vibrated. Not answering the call aggravated him. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

He made a frustrated sound. “It’s a woman.”

Instant anger detonated. “Excuse me?”

Perceiving the furious mist dusting my cheeks, Liam pushed a hand through his hair and towered above me within seconds. “Downstairs.”

I was beyond perplexed. “The woman calling your phone is downstairs?”

“What?” His jaw sharpened. “No, Alexa. Forget about the phone call. In the cellar, I hold a woman.”

“Oh.” Awareness dawned on me. “Cash register larceny?”

“There hasn’t been an employee foolish enough to steal from me since your beloved sister,” he quipped, lighting a cigarette.

Ignoring his sarcasm concerning Kathy, I approached him. “What did she do?”

The office door knocked.

“Come in,” Liam ordered, and Josh entered. “Give us a moment, Alexa.”

I glared between the suited men. “I am not standing outside like a spare part, Liam.”

“I never asked you to leave, baby.” He obtained a file from Josh. “Five minutes of silence is all I require.” Cigarette balanced on the edge of his lips, he read the paperwork. “You might want to put some ice on those knuckles.” The folder closed. “Confrontation?”

Josh maintained inscrutableness under his boss’ intense scrutiny. I, however, slithered into the shadows like a naughty teenager.

“A minor dispute,” Josh replied, holding Liam’s stare. “Alexa stalled on the road this afternoon, and a motorist was, as you can imagine, less than impressed.”

Yes, Josh had pummelled the shit out of the poor sod. His swollen fist was the aftermath of Harold’s iron jaw, though.

“I wasn’t aware.” Expelling smoke, Liam passed me a glance. “You know the rules, Josh. Why has it taken you all day to relay information?”

“It’s my fault,” I intervened, and both men lifted their eyes to me. “I wanted some alone time with you, Liam, so I offered to bring the matter to your attention.”

My excuse displeased him. “Why does she speak on your behalf?” he asked in a deceivingly calm tone. “You have a voice, lad. Use it.”

Josh swallowed nervously. “I apologise, sir.”

Liam straightened, prompting Josh to take a cautious step back. “What’s the reason for your apology?”

“I allowed my friendship with Alexa to cloud my judgment,” Josh said firmly. “If there’s to be an incident in the future, I’ll be sure to contact you straight away.”

Stressful silence rioted trepidations. Touching the chain around my neck, I put my back to the desk edge, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down my nape.

“Broken knuckles.” Liam slapped the file on Josh’s chest. “Have Nate tend to your injuries.” Respiring a veil of smoke, he rounded the desk and snubbed the cigarette in the ceramic ashtray. “Leave.”

My regretful eyes sent Josh an unvoiced apology as he exited. “Liam,” I sighed, ashamed and guilt-ridden. “I hate the way you reproach your men at times. And here’s me believing he’s one of most favoured.”

“I don’t have favourites,” he lied, responding to a text message on his phone.

“You can’t lie to me, Mr Warren.” My breathing was heavy but controlled. “You forget how well I know you.”

“Alexa.” Slipping the phone in his trouser pocket, he snatched my throat and whispered a kiss to my lips. “How long will you punish me?”

“Oh, that’s right,” I breathed, taking hold of his shirt. “You wanted a kiss.”

Resting his forehead on mine, Liam feathered a kiss to the corner of my mouth. His tongue parted my lips as an erotic groan vibrated in his chest. Sliding an arm around my rear end, he hoisted me upright and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Each stroke of his tongue impassioned me. I wanted him right here against the desk. But when my hands slid under the back of his shirt, and a pained hiss fell from his lips to mine, I recoiled, fusing my palms to his chest. “Stop.”

“Don’t make me beg,” he growled, putting my back to the desk, spreading me underneath him. “I’m high for you.”

“No, you ignore the pain,” I rowed, rolling from beneath him to stand. “Let me check your back, Liam. I insist.”

Adjusting his trousers to make room for his erection, Liam contemplated denying me until perceiving the deadly threat in my eyes. “Fine.” Eliminating his suit jacket to the chair, he unbuttoned his shirt and carefully peeled the material from his sculpted body. “Go ahead.” He gave me his back. “Satisfied?”

“Wholly unsatisfied,” I said angrily, examining the purple, swollen stitches near his shoulder blades. “Liam, it’s a ruptured wound.” Picking up his white shirt, I showed him the fresh blood. “How can you ignore this? It surely hurts.”

“Put a bandage on it.” When he tried to reclaim his shirt, I pulled it out of reach. “Alexa.”

“Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand. “I am calling Nate.”

Liam’s obstinateness nearly got the better of him. To avoid an argument, he slapped the phone on my upward facing palm. “Make it quick.”

I sent Nate a short message. “Now, will you agree to rest?”

“No.” His arms folded, and I openly gawked. “What?”

Redness attacked my cheeks. “You make me feel all hot and bothered.”

He smirk was cocky. “Never one to hold her tongue.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

“Never,” he rasped, reaching for my hand. “I love all that you are.” Bringing my wrist to his lips, he kissed my pulse. “Come in.”

With a holdall in hand, Nate strode into the office. “Josh popped three knuckles…” His concerned gaze toured his boss’ back. “Do you require any pain relief?”

Liam peered over his shoulder. “Nothing a bit a sniff can’t handle.”

Nate arranged medical supplies onto the desk. I decided to occupy Liam by taunting his inner demon. “Can I try?”

“I don’t need that.” Liam eyed the syringe in Nate’s hand. “Try what?”

“Cocaine,” I said the unthinkable, and he shot me a double-take. “What, with you lot glamorising drugs, I feel left out.”

“Categorically fucking not,” he said decisively. “It’s non-negotiable, Alexa. I refuse to corrupt my woman further.”

I had no real interest in such a dirty substance. “Are you partial to blow, Nate?”

Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Nate bent a deriding brow. “Someone’s educated.”

“I’ve had a good teacher.” I smiled at an incensed Liam. “Isn’t that right, Mr Warren?”

Liam made a noncommittal noise.

Nate used sterile equipment to clean the ruptured gash on Liam’s back. “Anaesthetic,” he explained, injecting the sore area. “I’ll apply new stitches.”

Giddiness waved through me. “I might vomit.”

“Refrain from doing so.” Nate pinched Liam’s tear and worked the first stitch. “If Alexa spoils the floor, I vote Brad for housekeeping. He ain’t lifted a finger all night.”

“Hey,” I scolded playfully. “I hear snitches wind-up in ditches, Nate.”

“That chopsy pillock left me to deal with a drunken mess tonight.” My favourite Suit flashed me a mischievous grin. “I am simply repaying the favour.”

I was intrigued. “May I ask what happened?”

Nate added another stitch. “Brad banged…” Liam side-eyed him. “I mean, he slept with a regular and then cosied up to one of the dancers seconds later. Hurt her feelings or whatever.” He shrugged. “She got pissed, drank herself into nonentity and then threatened to tell everyone about his tiny pecker.”

“Scorned.” I burst out laughing. “Why is a man’s member a woman’s first port of ridicule? Poor Brad—and Cherry, actually. It seems she reaped the tail end of his embarrassment.”

“No,” Nate disagreed. “Brad decided to antagonise the woman by escorting his new friend to a private room. Hence I had to pick up the pieces. Put the screaming mess in a cab and paid the driver.” He tightened the fifth stitch and then pointed to the faint scram on his cheek. “Caught myself an unexpected slap for ‘defending his honour’.”

“When did chivalrousness warrant a clip to the face?”

Liam’s eyes widened a touch. “Do my ears deceive me?”

My eyebrows knitted. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to himself. “I am on receiving end of your palm every time you blow a fucking gasket.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” I muttered, lifting my chin. “You are no better.”

His arms folded again.

I wish he’d stop doing that.

My vagina might explode.

“Your hand permanently homes my throat,” I reminded him, and the arrogant man smirked wolfishly. “Oh, I am glad reality amuses you.”

“You love it.” His arm bound around my waist. “Don’t you, baby?”

Yes, I live for his dominance. “No,” I scoffed, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. “So, how does the story end?”

Nate covered the freshly stitched wound with an adhesive bandage. “We parted ways.” Binning the gloves, he extracted a napkin from his pocket. “After she tossed this at my feet.”

“Pecker boy,” I read the messy penmanship. “I shouldn’t laugh because it’s untrue.” Folding the napkin, I tucked it into my pocket. “But I will gladly deliver this message for you.”

Liam seized my wrist. “Are you privy?”

Something akin to jealousy honed his expression. “Liam, in my defence, Brad embraces nudism at any given opportunity. You can’t deny that he’s a bloody eyesore.” The muscle in his jaw ticked, so I looked at Nate and said, “Liam’s bigger.”

“That’s enough,” Liam chastised, shouldering past me. “It’s not a fucking pissing contest, Alexa.”

“You need to get a handle on your jealousy.”

He yanked on his shirt and mocked, “You need to get a handle on your asinine puerility.”

My mouth fell open. “Maybe you should quit being a tyrannical asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he stomped closer, the buttons of his shirt loosened, “maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth.”

Wide-eyed and unblinking, Nate observed. “Maybe I should get the fuck out of dodge.”

“You do that,” Liam barked at him and then pointed at me. “Don’t say another word.”

Hearing Nate retreat down the hall, I snatched Liam’s forearm. “Get your finger out of my face, or I’ll bite it off.”

His chest heaved on a deep inhalation.

“I often wonder why I put up with you.” I placed his hand on my cheek. “Luckily for you, I struggle to dispose of the one’s I love.”

“I won’t apologise for the man I am,” he said roughly, and I immediately relaxed under the spell of his devoted eyes. “You have the power to bring out the worst in me. What can I say?”

“Arguing over Brad is senseless, and you know it.” Gripping the waistband of his trousers, I tugged him in and uncurled his twisted chain. “As much as it thrills me to know I can convert you into a domineering barbarian with a click of the fingers, why don’t we try a different approach? Less shouting,” I whispered, moving his hand to my ass. “More fucking.” I blinked innocently. “Once your back heals, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated in a hushed voice. “I’m in love with you.”

“And I am very much,” I kissed his jawline, “in love with you.” My fingers worked to button up his shirt. “Now, who is this woman laid to rot in your chambers?”

Following a pit stop to the minibar for a round of shots, Liam led me underground. I knew the space all too well, yet I insisted he held my hand upon bypassing the horde of stone-faced men who guarded the vestibule.

What can only be described as a dreadful combination of urine, vomit, and stagnant blood invade my nostrils. The stench had my eyes watering, and I was grateful for sparse light. “God, who died?”

Liam squeezed my hand. “Do you wish to go back?”

“No,” I protested, blowing my cheeks out. “Although, a heads up might work. What’s the nature of her crime?”

Holding open another door for me to enter first, he laughed once. “You can be the judge, jury and executioner,” he said in a tone that suggested reciprocated humour. “Lift your head.”

I did as instructed. “Well, it must be bad for you to keep…” My eyes landed on the curled-up form inside the padlocked cage. I didn’t need to see her face; I’ll never forget the woman who conspired against Liam. “Why the hell is she breathing?”

Dark, soulless eyes peered from greasy strands of dirty blonde hair. “Alexa Haines,” she said, scratchy and thick. “Did you come to finish the job?”

Her unclothed body and protruding ribs hadn’t stirred an ounce of compassion. “Vincent lied to me.”

“Instruction.” Liam crouched before the cage. “Are you ready to talk, Molly?”

“What’s there to discuss?” I mirrored his position. “Kill the mare and be done with it.”

“That would be too easy.” He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Besides,” he said, kissing me softly, “she has something that belongs to me.”

“You both make me sick,” Molly snarled.

“Yeah, well, you smell like a rabid skunk,” I spat, resenting her until her last breath. “So, who are you to talk?” I stood, dusting off my jeans. “What do you hope to achieve, Liam?”

“Your happiness.”

“I am happy—kill that laughing cow and I’ll be elated.”

To silence Molly’s exaggeration of giggling, Liam coded a keypad on the wall and a burst of water, showered from the ceiling. Her spine-shattering scream jerked me into seriousness. Scampering to the corner of her cell, she hiked her knees to her chest to evade—what I deem an opening to wash. Hot steam misted past my face. It was only then, I realised, the scorching temperature that he’d flushed onto her naked form.

“You had everything!” she yelled, spittle flying from her chapped lips. “You killed my mother and father. You left me without sisters.” Wiping her cheeks, smearing blood and dirt, she glared at him. “What more could you possibly need, Warren?”

I felt a twinge of sadness for the woman.

“I don’t need anything,” Liam said smugly. “But it pains you to hand it over, so I want it.”

“Liam,” I whispered, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’d rather die a thousand deaths than hand my father’s legacy over to you.”

Without taking his eyes off Molly, Liam turned off the hot water. “Then a thousand deaths you shall suffer.”

Knowing she’s safe to come forward, Molly stood on trembling legs and limped towards the enclosure. Her muddied, begrimed fingers gripped the metal poles, and her head cocked to the side as she stared right through me. “Do you feel empty yet?” She grinned, exhibiting more gum than teeth. “I hear they flush the unwanted down the toilet.”

My hand dropped to my stomach mechanically.

“Serena’s artistic temperament, did it leave a bad taste in your mouth?” She slowly licked her lips. “Hey, you could always adopt some other pitiable fucker, right?”

Keen to intervene, Liam stepped forward. I put a hand to his chest. “Give her a week, Liam.” He moved me away from her cage. “She’ll sing like a canary.”

“I’ll sing for you, you ugly bitch!” she shrieked, shaking the bars with vigour. “Of all the women, brother! You choose to lay down with that nasty-ass-rake-looking-motherfucker! It’s disgusting!” The padlock rattled. “Let me out of this fucking hellhole!”

A breath of air woodshed from my mouth the second Liam bolted the room door behind us. Tucking strands of hair behind my ears, I side-stepped him to head upstairs. He caught my arm and pulled me back. “Alexa,” he whispered, paying no heed to Molly’s unceasing screams beyond our four walls. “Talk to me.”

“She is a vile woman,” I said breathlessly. “Saying they flushed our unborn down the toilet.” Tears saturated my eyes. I dabbed my cheeks with my fingertips. “God, give me strength.”

“Hey,” he berated, gripping my jaw. “Look at me.”

I expelled a long breath and listened. “What?”

“Are you going to let scum like that beat you down?” he asked, a challenge in his penetrating glare. “She’s not worthy of your tears.”

I hugged myself. “I never anticipated humiliation.”

Liam understood. He wrenched my arms from my waist and replaced them with his. “Her ridicule holds no truth,” he said throatily, kissing the crease between my brows. “My life would be incomplete without you.”

Molly hadn’t lied, though. I am underweight, gaunt, and a shadow of the woman I should be. And Liam, he’s settling for less, committing himself to someone like me.

Pretending the last five minutes hadn’t bothered me, I held him tighter. “You promised to feed me.”

He lifted his head, a devious twinkle in his eyes. “I am more than inclined to feed you, baby.”

We walked ahead, and I melted into his side. “If you stay true to your word—chocolate fudge ice cream,” I added under my breath, “I’ll most certainly make it up to you.” Pausing in the middle of the stairs, I faced him. “In bed, between your thighs, or on my knees. You decide.”

“No ice cream.” Liam held the guardrail as he inched closer. “You will join me for an acceptable dinner date. If I feel generous, I will purchase a litre or two on the way home for you to indulge tomorrow.” He was all smiles as we kissed. “In bed works for me, but you’ll sit on my face first.”

“Generous,” I said coolly, playing off his grand gesture. “Will cautious sex be on the table?”

“Keep looking at me like that, Alexa,” he growled, lifting me into his embrace and carrying me up the stairs. “We’ll miss our table reservation.”

My back crashed into the closed door. “I’d prefer takeout,” I panted, tugging his belt and zipper. “Liam, what about your back?”

“Enough.” My jeans landed on the floor atop my shoes and his discarded suit jacket. “Don’t tell me how to fuck.” He ripped off my thong. “Kiss me.”

He impaled me in one, hard thrust. “Shit,” I moaned, clinging to him. “Honour your word, Warren. Nail me to this door.”

Dinner could wait.

Chapter 46

Alexa

The scintillating sun kissed the streets of London, leading a warm path for me to promenade and spend compulsively. So far, I have purchased a nonpareil panoply of designer shoes, each pair, parcelled in pastel-coloured crêpe paper and ribbon-bowed into drawstring gift bags, for Josh, the cantankerous sod, to convey to the parked Bentley.

And I bought a new line of lace lingerie which I plan to model for Liam this evening when he returns from the office.

“Can we go now?” Josh carped, stacking my beautiful assemblage inside the car boot. “I need to eat.”

“You had a breakfast roll merely an hour ago.”

“So?” Cartier sunglasses shade his blood-shot eyes. “Since when was halloumi and smashed avocado a hangover cure? I need a cooked breakfast, Alexa. The more fat, the better.”

I plucked out the travel size moisturiser from my handbag. “Well, I enjoyed it.”

“How can you lie? You eat like a budgie, so consuming a decent meal means nothing to you.” His lips puckering into a sulky pout, he watched two female commuters saunter past in high waisted pencil skirts and sophisticated up-dos. “Damn.” He extends a low whistle. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“What’s the name of that fictional ladies’ man?” His current female interests are either receptionist buddies or personal assistants who take breaks together. “Oh, that’s right. The legendary Don Juan.” I poked him in the ribs, and he flinched. “It’s fair to say, you and Brad give that Lothario a run for his money.”

Pulling his lip into a smirk, he rubbed his hands together. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” A soft wind breezed through his tousled brown hair. “Her and a prime bush.”

My nose wrinkled. “I am a woman, Josh. Save the licentious remarks for Brad’s ears.”

Upon hearing Josh’s groaned approval, the females glanced over their shoulders and giggled, flushed and newly energised. The larger, shapelier of two women hadn’t joined her friend inside the coffee shop. Her provocative eyes sought Josh as she lit a cigarette.

I suddenly felt like a third wheel.

“Why do women do that?” Moisturising my hands, I sat on the edge of the open boot. “For all she knows, I could be your girlfriend, and she’s eye-fucking you from across the lot.”

He respired marijuana fumes around us. “This is a moot discussion because you are not my girlfriend. You belong to Warren.” Generating a safe, unquestionable gap, he swayed his hips, sashaying backwards. “So, keep your distance—and she can eye-fuck all she wants. It doesn’t mean I’ll advance with my tongue out.” He ogled in consideration. “Now if her friend stood there, I may or may not have a difference of opinion.”

His disapproval explored the stretch of her curvaceous body, and something similar to defensiveness unleashed my capricious tongue. “You shallow pig.”

“Huh?” He scratched the nape of his neck, pinching the joint between his lips. “Did you just call me a pig?”

“Don’t forget, shallow.” I shake my head in exasperation. “Honestly, Josh. And here I thought you were one of the good ones.”

“Can we rewind for a second?” He raised two hands. “Why are you mad at me?” Tall and slender returned, handing a medium-sized beverage to her friend. “I want her number.”

“Oh, you disgust me,” I muttered, storming around the car to the passenger seat. “Asshole.” Tugging the seatbelt furiously, I aimed to buckle up, but it locked it in place. “Fuck it to Hell.”

Josh collapsed behind the steering wheel. Blowing out a long, weary sigh, he leaned over me and gently threaded the belt through his hands; I kept an eye on his bandaged knuckles. “The car senses a collision because of the amount of force you used.” It clicked. “See?” He relaxed in his seat. “Mind telling me the cause of that hormonal tantrum.”

“Is size important to you?” I asked, and his eyebrows burrowed into a harsh scowl. “I mean, when did specific assets become a crucial selling point for the male population? It is immaterial whether a woman bears a resemblance to a screen goddess.” Across the road, exiting the butchers, an overweight mother strolls along the path with a pushchair. “If she’s unbecoming, tired, stressed and cares very little for her appearance because her children refuse to sleep at night, so she’s exhausted, does it mean she’s less attractive?” I traced my prominent collarbone with investigative fingers. “What of minimal curves if any? Some people can’t lose weight no matter how hard they try while others suffer the opinions of critics for being distastefully underweight.”

“Alexa.” Josh slid an arm across my shoulders. “I have a predilection for blondes.”

I frowned. “What?”

“I love women.” He tucked a strand of dark hair behind my ear. “I’ll take them in all shapes and sizes. Fuck, she could probably have a third nipple, and I’d still suck it.”

“Josh,” I chuckled, mirth surpassing low spirits.

“Hey, I wouldn’t say no to the voluptuous redhead,” he assured me. “I’d just make a pass on the blonde first, I guess.”

Regret hindered me. “It had nothing to do with her size?”

“Fuck, no.” He flung the joint out of the window. “Do you not remember Kat? She was a big mamma, and I fucked her until I passed out.”

I briefly jogged my memory. “Oh, my god.” A delighted smirk danced on my lips. “The Kinky customer for Club 11. I wonder why she never came back for round two.”

His head to the headrest, Josh winced. “She kinda had no reason to.” His hands covered his face. “I still go there sometimes.”

“I thought her kinky dominance frightened you.” My mouth circled, and I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re a closeted fetish master.”

“I am not,” he barked, his cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. “Hang on. What does a fetish master entail?”

“Toe sucking?” I jerked a shoulder. “Whips and chains perhaps?”

His eyes darted to my feet. “Keep those gammy toes away from my mouth.”

“Hey!” I slipped off my shoe to marvel at red-polished toenails. “They’re not that bad.”

“Call them what you will.” He shifted forward to start the engine. “But I don’t want any part of kissy-foot.”

Josh steered out of the car park onto the main road. He managed to bypass three restaurants and four roundabouts before surrendering to a twenty-four-hour drive-thru. “I need to eat.” He listened to the chipper female via the intercom. “Yes, can I order two portions of salt and pepper fries? The cold mayo chicken burger and a stack of onion rings. How much is the chargrilled wrap? And how many cheddar bites in the share box?” She told him the price. “Chuck them in. I’ll give the steak burger a bash, too. And a large strawberry milkshake. Actually, put two of those steak burgers on my order.” He slipped a debit card from his leather wallet. “Do you sell doughnuts?”

“You are such a gluttonous binge-eater.” Plonking my shades atop my head, I busied myself with the music system. “Mark my words, Josh. That fast-working metabolism will slow down one day. You’ll beg me to roll you out of bed in the morning.”

“I told you before. I can eat whatever I want because I train so hard.” He eased the car to the next window. “How do you think I got these bad boys.” Holding open the top of his shirt, exposing a slither of his chest, he alternately tensed his pecs. “Do you want to touch them?”

“I have something better to do with my fingers.”

His eyebrows danced suggestively. “Oh, yeah?”

I flipped him the bird.

He opened his mouth wide and wrestled for my hand.

“Get off me,” I cracked up, failing to keep ownership of my arm. “Josh, don’t you dare slobber on me—” My elbow caught him in the nose, and he bellowed in pain. “Oh, shit. I blame you for that.”

“How am I at fault?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blinked a nerve-stricken tear from his eye. “I think you broke my nose.”

“Um…” Mrs Condemnatory holds a cardboard box from the restaurant’s window. “Your order, sir.” Her eyes twitched from him to me. “Should I call someone for help?”

“Ignore her,” Josh said, tossing a thumb in my direction. “She’s adopted.”

I squinted at him. “Speak for yourself.”

Josh placed his ridiculously sized order onto my lap. “Thank you, love.”

He’s addressing the store manager, but I replied, “No problem, pudding.”

With his second female interest of the day locked in his sights, Josh cleared his throat. “I wasn’t talking to you, Alexa.”

“We should get you home.” I stole a salted fry from his box and plopped a kiss on his cheek. “We know how cranky you get without an afternoon nap and a quick tummy rub.” The woman ebbed away from the window. “Oh, shit. Are you blushing?”

“Alexa,” he whisper-shouts, rolling up the window. “Please stop talking.”

I put a hand to his cheek and heat radiated beneath my palm. “I made you blush with embarrassment.”

“No,” he fibbed, putting his foot down on the accelerator. “No, It’s hot today. I am hungover—just give me a fucking burger.”

“Calm down.” I unwrapped the chicken stack and slipped it on his awaiting hand. “Great.” Seizing a napkin, I wiped at a dollop of sauce determined to ruin my green blouse. “Why must I suffer from your bad eating habits? Will it stain?”

“No idea,” he said in a blasé tone. “We have an hour or two to kill. Shall we take the Bentley somewhere quiet for you to test drive?”

“Sure.” I sipped his strawberry shake, sensing his eyes on me. “What?”

Working the steering wheel through one hand, he sank his teeth into the burger, licking cheese from his bottom lip. “Do you plan on spending the rest of duration shopping and drinking fruit smoothies to cloak the scent of vodka you mix in?”

I cocked my head to the side. “Was that an accusation?”

“An innocuously non-judgmental inquiry.” The tips of his ears were red. “Albeit accusatory.”

“You needn’t worry, Josh. I am not a raging alcoholic.” No matter how partial I am for a neat Grey Goose. “As for employment status, I am torn between hunting for a new job and sending another apologetic email to the youth centre. It’s more than likely Matthew, the hub manager, granted another candidate the position since I didn’t have the decency to acknowledge his last voicemail.”

He glimpsed from me to the road. “Go on.”

My lips were dry. “I really wanted that position, Josh. I mean, I only attended a short meeting, but there’s something gravitational about that place.” Tree-lined streets blurred as we drove past. “It’s not about money for me. If I can help one person, one vulnerable teenager or troubled youth.” My heart ached. “Then, my past serves a purpose.”

Parking opposite an abandoned building, Josh switched off the engine and put his back to the window. “Alexa, finding someone who experienced demons alike and lived to talk about it is a rarity.” He levelled me with sympathetic eyes. “You know that, right?”

Yes, I am one of few victims who outlived abduction, but there’s an entire spectrum of child abuse to question. “Pain-is-pain no matter the circumstance.” It is irrelevant to deliberate the cause of trauma. “I can still help others.”

To be understood. That’s all that matters.

***

Bearing an eighteen-inch pizza and a bottle of Russian vodka, I arrived at Pierced and Inked with my tail between my legs.

Today’s driving lesson was just as stressful as the last. Josh is an awful instructor, especially after a night of reckless inebriation; I am momentarily deaf from his inexcusable upbraiding.

Manwhore: I texted Warren.

Manwhore: He’s happy for me to leave.

Pausing in the foyer, I looked out the shop window to see Josh’s Bentley speed down the street and turn a sharp corner.

Me: Seriously?

Manwhore: That’s what I said.

Me: Don’t be a jerk, Josh.

Me: You head butting the dash is not my fault.

Manwhore: No, it’s my fault that you pulled the emergency brake, right?!

Manwhore: For a bastard pigeon, I might add!

Manwhore: You owe me a new nose, Alexa.

Breaking into a fit of laughter, I changed his name and sent a response.

Me: You earn enough money. Pay for your own nose job.

Moaning Minnie: I am blocking your number.

Me: I love you, too.

Me: On a serious note, has Liam arranged for another Suit to park out front? It’s unusual for him to leave me without a handyman.

Moaning Minnie. He’s cool. I told him you were at the studio.

Moaning Minnie: Warren knows Jace will take care of you until Nate arrives.

I rubbed my eyes to ensure I hadn’t read incorrectly.

Me: Liam’s happy for me to be unchaperoned?

Moaning Minnie: Until Nate shows up.

Moaning Minnie: Be grateful. Warren’s trusting Jace to be alone with you.

Moaning Minnie. Progression, Alexa.

His text left me in a paralysing state of stupefaction.

Liam hates Jace.

Alleviating security from duty exceeds uncharacteristic receptiveness. Liam’s tolerant to the idea of our friendship, Jace’s and mine, and he’s willing to let Jace prove himself in the absence of his most trusted.

Bursting from hope and excitement, I stopped myself from texting Liam. It’ll irritate him if I thank him. And I’ll receive an array of defensive messages. He’d never admit to open-mindedness nor acceptance.

It’s no bother.

There are other ways of bestowing gratitude.

Conversational customers ensconced the all-leather waiting area. Roaming through the spacious parlour, peering around posted partitions for small-talk with employees, I caught a glimpse of vibrant pink hair and chased behind her furious footsteps. “Harlyn,” I called, and she ignored me, rounding the main desk to scribble on a notepad. “Is he around?”

“Who?” Hurling loose change in the cash register, Harlyn slid an aftercare cream bottle to a short male boasting about his new sleeve. “Booked you in for a week Thursday.”

“Harlyn,” I said, losing patience. “Where’s Jace?”

Her dazzled eyes seared into me. “I’d strongly advise disowning him.” Flashing me her pearly whites, she snatched the box from my hand, opened it onto the counter and disconnected a cheesy slice. “What’s the green shit?”

I put my back to the wall. “Peppers.”

“Alexa,” Jared chimed, ruffling his jet-black mane. “To what do we owe this pleasant visit.” His light teasing had my lips twitching. “I thought you were vegan.”

Harlyn laid pepperoni on her tongue. “I lied.”

“Who checked the stock cupboard last?” Shane helped himself to a bite of pizza. “Hey, Alexa-shit,” he barked, waving a hand over his mouth. “Hot.”

“It’s a good kick to the tongue.” Nodding in Moorish glee, Jared sucked infused chilli oil from his thumb. “Are you looking for Jace?”

I scoured the place. “Is he around?”

“Yes.” Shane dumped his slice back in the box. “Moody as fuck, though. You might want to reconsider coming here.”

Three pairs of different coloured eyes homed in on me.

“Am I missing something?” It’s clear Jace has offloaded on them. “Nice.” Hiking my bag strap over my shoulder, I headed to the back. “Enjoy your pizza.”

The faint sound of “The Blues” By Switchfoot drifted down the hall. Furious, I marched to Jace’s office, omitted a door knock, and shoved myself into his private room.

Forest green eyes jerked up from the intricate design in process on a client’s neck. He held my vehement glare for a millisecond before the buzzing of the needle continued. His slow-moving gloved hand curved to add shading beneath the man’s chin.

“I missed you, too,” I said on a swallowed breath, leaving my handbag on the uncluttered desk.

Unresponsive, Jace shifted closer to the man sprawled on his back, adding a deep tone of purple to the splayed wings of a ghastly moth.

It would be two hours of awkward silence and a repeated playlist later before I heard Jace’s deep voice. “All set,” he rasped, throwing the balled-up gloves in the trash. “Mirror on the door.”

Swinging his legs over the bed, the man trudged to the long-length mirror to appraise and eulogise Jace’s brilliant artwork. “Love it,” he said huskily, his head moving from side to side. “And I like what you did to the eyes. This is why I only come to you.”

Lounging on the tattered leather sofa, hurling a tennis ball above, catching it, I listened to his excessive lionising with a permanent frown. “He’s simply the best,” I sang to myself. “Better than all the rest.”

Jace scoffed, packing up his equipment.

“You got that right,” the guy chimed, and I flung the ball behind me without direction. “Shall I pay out front?”

“Square up with Harlyn.” Jace sprayed disinfectant on the bench and wiped. “Later.”

The door clicked. “Okay,” I began, having no idea how to fix this. “I managed to hurt you somehow and—”

“Alexa,” Jace sighed, sitting on a chair, pulling himself up to the desk. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, I do.” Combing hair out from my face, I stood. “I don’t like the thought of you hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Hands clasped to the back of his head, he relaxed. “I just think you are selfish at times.”

“You know what happened.” My hands laid on my hips. “I needed time to myself, to process everything—re-evaluate my life and consider…”

“And that’s fine,” he retorted, his cheeks flushed in anger. “I’m not a wearisome young lad who seeks attention, or a fucking ego-stroking, Alexa. I’m a grown man. I can handle brutal honesty.” He tossed his phone on the desk. “One message. That’s all. One text to tell me you were okay—to say you wanted time to yourself. I get it,” he added, rubbing a tattooed hand over his shadowed jaw. “But ghosting me? Yeah, I know where I stand in the scheme of things.”

Guilt encumbered me. “It felt wrong.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked in a dubious undertone.

I uncapped the vodka bottle and set it on the desk. “You lost a child.”

His dimple deepened. “I remember,” he said sarcastically. “What does that have to do with you?”

“How can I mourn in front of a man who grieves—who will forever grieve—the death of his baby girl? It may hurt the same, but it’s not the same. It would be inconsiderately unjust for me to cry on your shoulder about missing someone I never even met after you lost her.” Casting my gaze to the ground, I gripped the back of a chair. “I should have texted you. I threw myself a pity party and hid from reality.”

He stood up, pulling a swig from the bottle. Sliding his backside across the desk, Jace offered his hand. I stared at it, long and hard. His thumb grazed mine, coaxing me closer, and, with our palms as one, I interlaced our fingers and snuggled within the protectiveness of his arms. Hearing his steady heart rate under my ear, I nuzzled into his tender touch, his manly scent and reciprocated love.

“Odds and ends, Alexa,” he whispered in my ear, his large hand cupping my head. “You and me, we stick together. No setback keeps us apart. You should know that by now.”

I craned my neck to look up at him. “I can’t lose you,” I murmured, placated by his nearness. “It’s an impending heartbreak.”

“Where am I going?” he joshed, shaking the bottle between us. “I can close-up shop early. Perks of being the boss.”

With a wicked smirk, I reclaimed the bottle. “Then we shall order more pizza.”

“More?” He scratched his scarred eyebrow.

“I doubt your famished employees left us a slice.” My phone buzzed. “Why don’t you order a box or two? Make it three. Nate’s due to land.”

I unlocked my phone to message Nate when an email notification seized my attention. Loading the app, I clicked onto the thread, saw the blue and gold logo and stopped breathing.

Dear Miss Haines,

On behalf of Inseparable Youths, I am happy to offer you a full-time position if you wish to accept. We believe you will be an excellent addition to our team and are very much looking forward to having you onboard (favourable start date and salary information attached below).

In the meantime, if you have any questions about this email or any other aspect of your potential position with Inseparable Youths, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Kind regards,

Matthew

Hub Manager

Jace re-enters the office. “I ordered four large pizzas.” Reaching above to grasp the door frame, he ran his tongue piercing across his bottom lip. “The others reckon they can smash a few more slices.” He stared at me in confused silence. “What?”

“Do you remember I inquired about voluntary work at the youth centre?” I asked, and he gave me a curt nod. “Well, I never went back…He just emailed me a salaried position.” My forehead creased. “Give me a moment.”

I typed a message to Josh.

Me: Did you speak to Liam?

Three dots bounced on the screen.

Moaning Minnie: Didn’t we have this conversation already?

Me: Smartass.

Me: You didn’t happen to mention the youth centre to him, did you?

His response felt like a lifetime.

Moaning Minnie: I don’t know.

I sighed.

Me: You’d know, Josh.

Moaning Minnie: I might have mentioned your little meltdown earlier.

Moaning Minnie: Warren didn’t comment, though. What’s the problem?

Me: Nothing. I’ll text you later,

Me: Liam?

“I’ll pop to the corner store to grab another bottle of vodka.” Jace slid his arms into a leather jacket. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m good,” I said, palming my phone. “I’ll join you out front in a minute.”

Liam: Miss Haines.

Me: You wouldn’t happen to know why the youth centre’s manager just emailed me, would you?

Liam: No.

Me: Are you lying to me?

Liam: No.

I tapped the screen.

Me: He offered me a permanent position.

Liam: I’m happy for you, baby.

Me: You didn’t threaten to kill him or anything, did you?

Liam: For what purpose?

Me: For not responding to my last email.

Liam: No.

I didn’t believe him.

Me: I hope not. He’ll treat me differently otherwise.

Liam: Care to elaborate?

Me: Well, what if he takes his frustration out on me because you pissed him off?

Liam: He’ll think better of it unless he wants me to pay him a visit.

Me: So, you did contact him?

Liam: No.

Me: I thought you had an extensive vocabulary.

Liam: Affirmative. However, no means no, Alexa. How many other ways do I need to say it?

Me: Lose the sarcasm, Mr Warren. It’ll land you on the sofa.

Liam: You wouldn’t last the night without me in your bed.

Me: Presumptuous. I am the proud owner of perfectly working fingers.

Liam: You’d miss my tongue.

My thighs clenched together.

Me: I’ll survive one night without it.

He didn’t respond.

Me: I lied. I’d only sneak onto the sofa with you.

Liam: The sofa isn’t big enough for the two of us.

An entire football team could lounge on those sofas.

Me: Are we flirting?

Liam: You tell me.

Me: I am not good at sex-talk.

Liam: I have a vivid imagination.

I heard a knock on the office door.

“Alexa?” Nate called. “You in here?”

“Yes,” I replied, slipping my phone away.

“Nice.” He briefly scanned the room. “Is he any good?”

I smoothed my tongue across my teeth. “Who?”

“Jace,” he mused, flipping open a leather-bound folder. Impressed by Jace’s portfolio, he angled his head for a clearer view. “He did all these?”

Jace’s work had a mesmeric effect on me. “He’s exceptionally talented.” I picked up my handbag. “I’m hanging around for pizza if you wish to join us.”

“I could eat.” He closed the folder. “Are we sitting in here?”

“Out front.” I walked ahead, and he followed. “Is Liam expecting you back at the office?”

“Not until later,” he drawled, popping open the button of his suit jacket.

Jared bothers Shane by invading his station. Hearing the voice of another male, they glimpsed to have a nose. They know Nate. Not by acquaintance but hearsay. They exchanged worried glances whilst Harlyn swept the floor. “We are closed,” she yelled, muting her headphones. “Come back tomorrow.”

Nate made a show of disrobing. Every chiselled muscle tensed as he stripped off his shirt. He cast it aside as though the designer emblazon meant nothing to him whereas Jared seemed horrified by his negligence. “Do you want me to hang that up?”

“Hey, asswipe.” Harlyn stomped over. “Did you not hear me correctly? We are closed.”

Maddened by Harlyn’s disrespect, I opened my mouth to defend Nate, but he beat me to it. “I heard just fine.” Nate sat on a leather chair. “But I don’t pay attention to menials.”

Jace stepped into the parlour, the pizza and vodka in hand. “They only had the cheap stuff…” His gaze zoned in on Nate. “Hey, man.” Coughing irritation from his throat, he lost his leather jacket and passed the boxes to Shane. “Alexa?”

I read between the lines. “I think Nate wants some ink.”

“A cover-up,” Nate explained, pointing to faded ink on his chest. “Ex-girlfriend.”

My ears perked up, and I searched for a name.

Harlyn threw her hands up. “What, we give special treatment now?”

“Shut up, Harl,” Jace snapped, and she simpered. “Go across the road and grab the man some gin. Consider your people skills en-route.”

“No problem, boss.” Hurt by Jace’s rudeness, Harlyn snagged her coat off the rack, mumbling profanities under her breath.

The door slammed behind her.

I watched her cross the road. “I don’t think she’ll return.”

“She got nowhere to go,” Jared said behind a curled-up fist. “She’ll be back.”

“What do you have in mind?” Jace sanitised his hands. “I’ll need to work on a template.”

Nate unscrewed the barbell from his right nipple. “Free-hand.”

“You trust me to free-hand your skin?” Jace asked warily, stretching his fingers into black latex gloves.

“Well?” Folding his arms behind his head, Nate asked, “Do I trust him, Alexa?”

Placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder, I beamed proudly. “He’ll put your previous work to shame.”

Nate clicked to the chair, and Jace became seated. “Then, I trust you.”

I love the men in my life.

Chapter 47

Alexa

I wear sunglasses and a black jacquard coat on a cold winter’s morning. Inhaling the fresh scent of petrichor in the misted air, hearing the damp, rubiginous leaves squelch underneath heeled shoes, I meandered through clusters of trees and lonely gravestones. Nesting in the cracks of a dilapidated mausoleum, two lustrously feathered crows pose a threat as they watched me drift along the cobblestone pathway.

Finding the rightful plot, I crouched on a patch of wet grass beside loosened soil, opened a carrier bag and cleared fallen leaves and dead flowers. “It hurts him to talk about you, Summer,” I said softly. “I see it in his eyes. Your death haunts him.”

Unwrapping the shepherd’s crook that I had bought from a local garden centre, I drove it into the ground, to the right side of her headstone. “I have the tendency to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

I laid a tartan blanket on the soggy grass, sat comfortably, and utilised a key to slice through the seal of a cardboard box. “Anyway, you know how grownups drink acky alcohol? Even though it’s bad for them. Well, I found myself drinking inside a relatively unbusy tavern once. I do that sometimes.” Imbibe an alarming amount of alcohol to forget, to deaden the pain, to overhear imaginative raconteurs share their weekly antics over a bottle of rum. “Hunt for a quiet spot to unwind.”

Unpackaging the solar-powered lights, I unstring the one-metre thread and drape an unlit daisy chain across her stone. Grey, billowing clouds clustered above, and I peered to the depressing skies in search of a ray of sunlight. “I sat in a booth behind a young female and an older gentleman. Initially, I thought they were a couple, but within ten minutes, I recognised them as estranged siblings.” Her rosy cheeks and red-brimmed eyes ineffectively tugged on the man’s heartstrings. He had been stolid, emotionless, expressionless. “They had buried their grandmother six months prior.”

I opened another parcel. “The sister was very angry at her brother. Not once, since the demise of their loved one, had he visited the cemetery to lay flowers. I, too, while sipping…lemonade, judged him for being so arrogant and heartless towards the sister he claimed to love. He was utterly disrespectful and disregarded her upset. He mocked her even.

“I mean, why didn’t he reassure her? After their intense quarrel, if nothing else, why didn’t he take her hand and offer to drive her home? Why didn’t he promise to call once the dust settled between them? No, he just sat there, glaring at the empty seat as though it insulted him. He never even looked out of the window to see her rush down the street.

“I did. I watched her oscillate on the sidewalk, sobbing into bunched-up tissues as she flagged down a taxi.

“I failed to mention that I also tend to be meddlesome.” I smiled, knotting a thread of string. “Of course, I went to his table and advised him freely. I explained the importance of siblingship and why he must make an effort with his only sister.” I told him, if something terrible were to happen to her, he’d regret the cessation of unconditional love for the rest of his life. “He said loving her wasn’t the issue. He adored his baby sister. He even had a hand in raising her.

“By this point, I am fully engrossed in his life story. Discussing his grandmother sprung tears to his eyes, so he avoided the topic, mostly, but before I left, he meticulously elucidated the purposelessness of graveside mourning.

“His grandmother believed in wandering spirits,” I recited the exactness of his words. “You can lay their bodies to rest, but their souls move on. Some find peace whilst others visit all the beautiful wonders of the world.

“I never thought of it like that until him.” Tying the final shell, hanging it on the hook, I sat back on my haunches and listened to the soft, harmonious sound of bells as the wind whispered through her dreamcatcher. “It’s not that he doesn’t miss the woman who stepped in to raise him and his younger sister. He simply valued her opinion enough to believe she wandered.

“Your daddy loves you so, so much,” I expelled a woeful sigh. “But he doesn’t feel you here, Summer.” Setting a pink ribboned rose on the grass, I knuckled a tear from the corner of my eye. “He feels you everywhere else but not here.”

Josh placed a hand on my shoulder. “You good?”

“Yes,” I murmured, holding the sleeve of his shirt to stand. “I’m glad I finished the dreamcatcher. It’s been on my mind for a while.”

He pinched a hanging shell between his thumb and forefinger. “This sucks, right?”

I nodded. “The flowers have been dead for a long time.”

Massaging the nape of my neck with devoted fingers, Josh studied the grave. “You know, if it makes you feel better, you could always pay a florist to deliver a bouquet once a month,” he suggested, his thumb kneading the tension from my body. “Has Jace mentioned why he doesn’t visit?”

I picked up my handbag and carried the rubbish to a nearby bin. “No.”

Josh traipsed alongside me as we strolled to the parked Bentley, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. “I wouldn’t come here, either.”

“Really?” I asked, resting my back on the passenger door. “Why?”

Behind tinted shades, Josh scoured the hollowness of the cold-misted graveyard. “It’s just barren.”

I had to agree.

But when the clouds parted for a mere five seconds, casting light across our horizon, I felt a small slither of hope.

***

“It smells heavenly in here,” I complimented, grabbing a bottle of white from the dual-zone wine refrigerator. “What’s on the menu this evening?”

Tony snagged the tea towel from his shoulder to dust off his hands. “Crab and prosecco linguine.”

Nice, I thought, descending the four marble steps into the capacious dining area. I wavered on the last step. Tony had laid the long-stretched table. Taper candles twinkled from the gold-plated candelabrum along with gilded dinnerware, polished silverware, crystal goblets and some fancy looking dessert.

Perplexed by the unforeseen lavishness, I asked, “Are we celebrating?” My feet moved on their own accord. “What’s with the tartlets?”

“Ah.” Tony’s oven-gloved hands carried the main dish to the table. “Those would be strawberry and mascarpone tarts with limoncello.” Silence settled for a moment. “Did I say it correctly? It doesn’t matter.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. “I found the recipe on Gino D’Acampo’s website. I do hope you enjoy it.”

My frown maintained as I became seated. “I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t.” He arranged three dinner plates. I thanked him for mine. “Who’s the third person?”

“Liam’s upstairs,” he informed me. “I imagine even a busy man like him enjoys a family meal.”

Family, he’d said. I had to bite my lower lip to stifle a happy smile. “Hardly,” I joked, picking up a fork. “Liam practically lives on takeout or convenient meals.” My chest vibrates as I blow out a shaky breath. “How was your day?”

“I took a tube to Croydon market,” he said, and I paused with a cherry tomato near my lips. “Bought fresh fruit punnets and vegetable hampers.”

I uncaged my bottom lip for gritted teeth. “You toured the Croydon borough by yourself.”

“It’s very lively down there,” he responded, not noticing my apprehensive countenance. “The thoroughfare supplies plentiful produce unobtainable in leading supermarkets. I got my hands on some decent quality plants for your garden, too.”

Unanchored uneasiness waved through me. I don’t like the idea of him exploring London alone. To build a relationship with me, he’s unknowingly aligned himself with one of London’s most notorious crime syndicates. Alas, it’s unsafe for him to live freely, not with the indisputable awareness of Liam’s adversaries.

I had to tell him.

I had to explain all the gruesome reasons why security was a prerequisite for survival. That meant exposing the nature of Liam’s corrupt lifestyle.

“Tony,” I sighed, reaching for a water glass to quench parchedness. “There is something I must discuss with you.”

He opened a bottle of wine. “Ditto.”

“Oh,” I said, hearing footsteps echoing in the lobby. “You should go first.”

Pouring effervesces into three glasses, he corked the bottle and set it aside. “Considering how long I have stayed here, I haven’t seen you all that much, but it’s been a pleasurable visit.”

The misery in Tony’s eyes betrayed his mustered smile.

I traded water for wine. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he cooed, the genuineness in his soft gaze mollifying me. “I wish I could stay longer—”

“Are you leaving?” Dread pitted at the abysmal of my stomach. “Why? Is the guestroom unsatisfactory? I could always move you to another room.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with the room, Alexa. Honestly, it’s by far the best accommodation I have ever had the luxury of sleeping in; however, my life is in Newquay. I have to get back to normality eventually. What, with the business and Camilla.” Wincing, he rubbed his eyes. “I miss her.”

I liked Camilla. “You could always invite her to stay. I mean, there’s plenty of room for the two of you…” When he averted his eyes from me, I drowned in sadness. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“It’s never goodbye for us, Alexa.” He extended an arm across the table and covered my balled-up fist. “I can return. Perhaps for Christmas?”

My favourite day of the year. “That would mean the absolute world to me.”

“It’s settled then.” Squeezing my hand, he regained the fork and twirled linguine. “Christmas at the Warren Manor. It’ll certainly be an event to remember. Now,” he forked a mouthful of food into his mouth and chewed, “what is it you wished to discuss?”

Liam chose that moment to enter our conversation. “Did you receive my text message, Tony?” Dressed casually in black jogging bottoms and a fitted T-shirt, he throned himself at the head of the table. “Baby,” he said hoarsely, leaning in to skim a kiss to my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

I blushed. “You always say that.”

He growled, low and only for me to hear. “That’s because I always fucking mean it.”

“Ah, yes.” Tony dabbed his lips with a napkin. “I apologise for not responding. It had somewhat troubled me.”

Although I wasn’t overly hungry, I made an abstemious effort to eat. “Should I be worried?”

“We shall discuss it after dinner,” Liam said in an authoritative tone that I knew not to challenge. “Until then, stop playing with your food and enjoy your wine.”

The all-seeing eye doesn’t miss a trick.

***

Wringing my fingers, pacing the all-encompassing marble hallway from one end to the other, I try my utmost best to heed Liam’s and Tony’s private conversation. When gallant enough to creep closer, I placed my ear to the office door. The pair spoke in hushed tones, which made me wonder if Liam knew I had hung around—despite his order for me to wait for him inside the master bedroom—to eavesdrop their man-to-man whiskey session.

It’s no good. I can’t hear a bastard word.

I disappeared down the hall.

There is a bottle of vodka in the fridge with my name on it.

Josh’s unsubtle insinuation halted the bounce in my gleeful footsteps.

I can go one night without alcohol. It’s hardly compulsory, so I opted for a cup of tea.

Stomping my feet into fluffy ankle slippers, I unlocked the back door and presumed to the garden. It was a dark, yet peaceful night. Tony’s newly installed ground lights directed a serene route. It was pleasantly quiet, but I knew better than to think I was alone. I felt eyes on me the entire time. It’s no bother. I am accustomed to the watchfulness of Liam’s men, though, sometimes, I wish they’d emerge for a conversation.

Appearing from under the arched hedges, I blew over the mug’s rim and sipped tea. I relaxed on a chaise lounge overlooking the infinity-edge pool and pondered for a reasonable reason why I hadn’t gone for a swim yet. Then again, I’ve never been one for swimming, so it’s unsurprising.

Kicking off the slippers, setting the mug down, I teetered to the pool, rolled my jeans to my knees, sat on the ledge and eased my legs into the warm water.

Two equipped, suited men surfaced from the shadows and strolled ahead. “I don’t bite,” I called out, unsuccessfully winning their acknowledgement. “You can talk to me. I promise to be a good listener.”

Nothing. I commend their resilience.

“Who are you talking to?” Tony asked, and I counted his unhurried footfalls until his shadow fell over me. “Alexa?”

“Bodyguards.” Leaning back on my forearms, I slowly kicked my legs to feel soft bubbles weave through my toes. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Tucking a pair of rolled-up socks into his tanned boots, Tony folded his jeans to the shins and plonked himself beside me. “It truly is a marvellous home, Alexa.” His eyes exploring the garden, he lowered his legs into the water. “I can’t get enough of it.”

It’s royalty. I am a lucky woman. “Where’s Liam?”

“He’s on a call,” he said in an airy voice. “Mr Jones, I believe.”

God, the anticipation killed me. “What did he wish to discuss with you?”

Tony’s lips widened into a humoured smile as though primed for the question. “He kindly offered one of his men to drive me home tomorrow, to save me forking out travel fare.”

“Liam’s a wonderful man, Tony.” I really didn’t want him to leave. “You may hear…” Rumours, I thought, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I mean, at some point, you might…” He stared narrowly, waiting and listening; I couldn’t muster the courage. “Sorry I went blank.”

“Fair enough.” He plucked up an envelope from the ground; I hadn’t even noticed it. “Liam wanted to give me this.” His thumbs dented the white paper. “After a stern warning not to upset you.”

My lips parted on a soft hitch. “Did he threaten you?”

“Not at all—threaten me?” My question had taken him aback. “Liam expressed concerns. We all know you haven’t had it easy, Alexa. He wishes to avoid disappointment. You know, in case I decide not to come back, or call, or continue…That’s never going to happen, so you needn’t worry.”

My shoulders untensed, but my restlessness grew.

Tony scrubbed a shaky hand over his face. “We contemplated possibilities back in Newquay,” he continued, knuckle-whitening the envelope. “Do you recall the conversation?”

I could no longer look at him. “You said, you wanted a relationship with or without a paternity test.” And the outcome trembled in his hands. “But knowledge changes everything. If the results are unfavourable, you might feel differently, and I am okay with that. You are not obligated to me.”

His hand touched my back. “Alexa—”

“Why would you?” Infuriating tears glazed my eyes, and I braved to meet him face-on. “To free yourself from guilt, or to make peace with Adaline. You don’t have to do that, Tony. My mother would want you to be happy—I want you to be happy.”

“I am the happiest, I’ve been in a long time,” he retorted, brandishing the envelope between us. “I do not sit here to rectify my past mistakes. I do not sit here for Adaline.” He gripped my jaw and stared pensively at me. “I sit here for you, Alexa.”

I surrendered to his fatherly touch. “Why?”

“Because you are incredible,” he said without hesitation. “I would be a damn fool to walk away from you.” Tearful, he forced the envelope into my hands. “I don’t need to know the results. As far as I am concerned, Adaline blessed me with a beautiful daughter, so I wish to keep her in my life until my dying breath. Take it; open it; read it. That’s your choice. But I want no part of it.”

Blinking tears from my eyes, I cast my eyes to the envelope. It was right here—the final piece to my broken past. “We promised to create new memories, right?” I dragged my legs out of the water, and we stood in tandem. “You are one of the good ones, Tony.” Tearing the results in half, I handed him the second part. “I see why she fell in love with you.”

Tony cupped the back of my head and breathed a kiss to my forehead. He ripped another. And another. We tore the resolution of lies and deceit into small pieces and released them to the wind.

Tilting my head, I gave him a half-smile. “Thank you.”

He watched bits of paper drift into the pool. “For what?”

For being so wonderful. “I should find Liam.”

“And I should check on the pond.”

I turned back to him. “What pond?”

Grinning mischievously, Tony yanked on his socks. “I am in the process of building a pond near the wooden bridge.”

Since when did we own a wooden bridge? “Do you mean with actual fish?”

“Yes.” He hunched forward to knot his shoelaces. “And frogs.”

I grimaced. “Well, good luck with that—wait. What if they die? You leave tomorrow, and I don’t know what fish eat.”

“I haven’t bought any yet,” he assured, walking away from me. “We can do that together on my next visit.”

It was pitch black inside the Manor, but distant conversations put me at ease. I made my way through the house, expecting to see Liam inside the master bedroom. The bed was empty, not a crease on the sheets. I stripped out of my sodden jeans and unbuttoned my blouse, tossing both items into the laundry basket. I pulled on Liam’s oversized T-shirt and knotted his slouch shorts at the waist.

I tailed the sound of Brad’s unbridled chuckling, locating him inside the billiard room. He lost his suit jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. His messy top-knot had a few loose strands that irritated his concentration as he leaned onto the pool table to pot a red ball.

Liam’s back rested against the dominating floor-to-ceiling bookcase. His unreadable glare held mine before dripping to his feet, a silent order to come forward. Unpreventable gravity impelled me closer. I stopped right in front of him, splaying my hands over his chest.

“How the fuck did I miss that?” Brad growled behind me. “I’m taking that shot again.”

“Are you okay?” Liam asked, curling an arm around my waist, his head falling to the groove of my neck, inhaling this morning’s perfume from my skin. “Baby?”

“I’m fine.” Putting my back to his chest, I melted against him. “More than, actually.”

Liam propped the cue to the wall. One arm slid across my waist while the other trapped my neck. He wasn’t letting me out of his sight any time soon. “Tony?”

“We didn’t open them, Liam,” I said, knowing he requires an update. “We feel it is unnecessary.”

Brad laid the cue on the table to refill their glasses with bourbon. “I am more of a snooker fan.”

“You only say that because you can’t play pool.”

“Have a day off.” He scoffed, handing his boss a glass. “I’m just having a difficult day. That’s all.”

“I might watch a movie,” I said eagerly, tapping Liam’s forearm so that he can release me. “Enjoy the rest of your game—”

“Hang on a minute.” Brad virtually inhaled his drink and slammed the glass onto the minibar. “What kind of movie?”

My arms crossed. “A romantic comedy.”

Brad groaned in protest. “I stamp a vote on an action movie.”

“I didn’t invite you,” I pointed out, spinning on my heel. “But if you must join me, bring the ice cream and popcorn.”

I didn’t wait for further complaints from Brad.

Inside the dimly lit theatre room, I zig-zagged through the tiered arrangement of recliner sofas—Liam took my hand, preventing me from heading to the front. “You’ll get a better view from the middle.” He ascended six steps, gesturing for me to enter the row first. “Are you cold?”

“No.” It was warm if not muggy in here. “I don’t mind if Brad selects the movie.”

Liam collapsed on the sofa, tapping his leg. “Come here.”

Stretching onto my side, I set my head on his thigh and studied him from a different angle. He was no longer looking at me, too busy clicking the remote in search for a movie. Within seconds, the room darkened completely, and then a movie began to run on the projector. His head lolled against the cool black leather as he shifted for comfort. Absently, his dutiful fingers combed through my hair, and when something seemingly comical flashed on the screen, he smiled a rare smile.

I was undeniably in love with this man.

Liam must have sensed my scrutiny because his eyes lowered. “What?” he asked in a rough voice that sent a shiver through me. “You…” I palmed his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble on my fingertips. He shut his eyes, tilted my wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss there. “I chose this movie for you.”

I couldn’t care less for the movie.

My chest rises and falls as I struggle for breath. I had no explanation for the shift in the air. Liam blinked down at me, I blinked up at him, and then he eased further down the sofa until my head nuzzled into his chest. My body caged in the protection of his strong arms. “I am in love with you.” His whisper warmed my ear. “Alexa, I—”

“I got the goods,” Brad chimed, chucking a large bag of toffee flavoured popcorn between us. “I didn’t bother with ice cream. That assortment rendered me colour blind.”

“I have a different flavour for every night of the week.”

“Dairy overdose. What a way to pop your clogs? That or a bad case of bowel syndrome.” He slumped onto the sofa; I heard a rustle and a swig. “Christ, what the fuck is this shit? What happened to an action movie?” He went quiet. “I take it back. I think I might enjoy this.”

I returned my attention to Liam to see his inquisitiveness hadn’t left me. “What?”

“Nothing,” he lied, briefly scanning my face before the raised voices of Ed Helms and Zach Galifianakis beckoned him. “Thinking.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

My eyebrow raised. “What about us?”

Liam tightened his arms around me. “Just watch the movie, baby.”

Chapter 48

Alexa

Fashionably on time, I arrived at the youth centre.

“Good afternoon, Miss Haines.” Informally dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt, the welcoming hub manager, Matthew, held the main door open for me to come indoors, the smell of acrid disinfectant and zesty lemon pervaded the airy entrance hall in the wake of this morning’s cleaners. “Excited or anxious for your first day?”

“A bit of both.” I find a gap on the cloak rack to hang my fur coat. “I worry the children might see right through my lack of expertise and use it to their advantage.” I half-joked. “Contrariwise, I am ready for the challenge.”

“A bit of advice. I’d refrain from calling the youths ‘children,’” Matthew instructed, providing a tour of the bathroom facilities, multipurpose gymnasium, commons room and storage cupboards. “The hub manages teenagers.” He switched on a light inside the cosy staffroom and offered me a coffee. “Problematically quarrelsome teenagers.” Switching on the kettle, he arranged two mugs and extracted a carton of milk from the fridge. “Sugar?”

I put my back to the stainless-steel counter. “Two please.”

“Did you drive?” he wondered. “We provide parking permits for staff. It beats receiving a ticket. Traffic wardens are renowned for dishing them out around here. You wouldn’t believe the number of tickets I dispute a month.”

I had a lift from Josh. “No, someone dropped me off.”

The door jerked open, and a middle-aged light-haired woman strode into the staffroom and abandoned her patchwork handbag to the two-seater teal-coloured fabric sofa. “Hello,” she chimed, unravelling a many-hued woollen scarf from off her neck. “You must be Alexa Haines.” Extending her arm, she shook my hand, a firm grip that clicked my fingers. “Miss Adley.” She flashed me two dimples. “But you can call me, Susanne.”

Susanne had a celebrity smile, stark white and perfectly straight, yet she had the most sorrowful, dejected face and the type of messy hair that hadn’t seen a brush in three days. She also had the quirkiest dress sense: pale pink tights, a black and white tartan skirt, a multicoloured cable knit jumper, black ankle boots and mismatched earrings.

I smiled nervously. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Susanne’s an interventionist at Tree Life’s drug and alcohol treatment centre,” Matthew punctuated each syllable, and I must have pulled a face because he asked, “What?”

“Did you say drugs and alcohol?”

He blinked in confusion. “I did.”

I frown at him. “I thought those facilities were for recovering adults.”

“Perhaps you should read scholarly articles for teenage drug addiction.”

I picked up a coffee and sipped. “Sorry, I hadn’t expected a conversation about substance abuse. Are there seriously children here using drugs and alcohol?”

“A minority of teenagers, yes,” Susanne partially explained, and I blew out a shaky breath. “Are you prepared to handle the behavioural and emotional problems among these youngsters, Alexa?”

It wasn’t a rude question.

Yet I was tongue-tied.

Discomfort glowed in her eyes and the cordial air midst our standoff soon evaporated. “She’s to deliver programmes for relationships, smoking, drugs, bullying, serious violence and dangerous gangs,” she said while looking at Matthew. “She has to work in partnership with families and care workers. How can she conciliate both parties without an understanding of the system?”

My shoulders tensed. “Susanne, I appreciate the concern. You are only doing your job. But questions about me should be directed at me; I don’t need Matthew to answer on my behalf. With all due respect, he didn’t hire me to report misbehaviour and delinquency among youths. He hired me to set up fun-based activities and develop relationships by earning their trust and respect. I am to mentor, support and encourage them to be exactly what we dispute—teenagers. Normal, content, happy teenagers who run to the youth centre for escapism, rather than avoid it because they fear consequences.”

She gave Matthew an unconvinced look. “But can you handle the reality of consequence if it so happens to arise?”

“I was abducted by a paedophile and abused throughout my entire childhood,” I said bravely, ignoring the tightening of my chest. “I think I can handle a naughty teenager caught with cigarettes or a young couple taking an interest in sex.”

Susanne’s jaw slackened.

“Alexa’s the product of an unauthorised removal of a minor.” Matthew cleared his throat. “Who better to understand our youths than someone who once walked in their shoes.”

Oh, I don’t know about that. I wasn’t the most outgoing teen. Meek, quiet, reserved and nervous; the old Alexa was unsociable and flawed any rebelliousness. “I didn’t have a vice,” I said, and they grudgingly drew away from contretemps. “I read an article once, and the writer detailed various vices for those who sought avoidance. I didn’t have one. I preferred the safety of solitude instead.” Just us, Kathy and me. “As Susanne highlighted, he’d listed societies denounced coping strategies, sex, drugs, alcohol and violence. He had a compelling argument, but I spurned his points then, and I spurn them now. I see self-destruction as more of a cry for help. So, as much as I respect your concerns, I don’t want to know, or understand, or learn the outcome of irresponsibleness among ‘troubled teenagers’; I want to know the root cause of disorderly conduct by opening my ears and listening to them.”

Matthew placed a hand over his mouth to smother a smirk.

“Cocaine abuse is hardly a minor offence, Miss Haines,” Susanne chirped, adjusting her red-framed bifocals.

“Is the youth centre a place to ensnare pending youth offenders, or is it a convivial home for the less fortunate? I am struggling to draw a logical conclusion,” I said, unable to chide sarcasm. “Matthew, I didn’t sign up for an intervention.”

Matthew’s teeth worried his bottom lip. “Our main goal is to keep our teenagers on the straight and narrow. However, by law, we must work closely with social care providers, youth-offending teams and local authorities to construct a dedicated support network.”

I felt a spark of rage. “And what of the teenagers who misbehave because of dysfunctional households?”

“That’s where child protection services come into play,” Susanne said, pouring milk into her coffee. “If we build enough evidence to prove child abuse, we reach out to the authorities who therefore involves protection officers and so forth.” Her lips pinched as she blew over the rim of her steamy mug. “It’s a tedious process.”

I sloshed my coffee down the sink. “So, they just become another number in the system.”

Matthew thinned his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“And then what?” I asked, hearing grouped footsteps in the hallway. “What happens once authorities place them into the system?”

“We work on our next case,” Susanne said flippantly. “Foster care is beyond our pay grade, Miss Haines. You needn’t worry yourself.”

I had an urge to slap her. “Do you have children?”

“No.” Faint wrinkles cinched at the corner of her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

I stared at her dumbfounded. “Yes.”

***

Insuperable Youths burst at the seams. You couldn’t put a pin between tables, counters or floor space. The teens reminded me of wild animals. Not in the literal sense, that’s just my outlandish thought process getting ahead of itself again, but the disrespectful attitude and vulgar jargon from young ladies almost knocked me off my feet a time or two, and don’t start me on the young boys—unsuppressed boisterousness borderlines volatile bellicose. I had to separate two lads from ripping each other’s throats out a mere ten minutes ago. And for a girl, nonetheless. The same girl who’s onto her next flavour of the night while the naughty lads take a time-out inside Matthew’s office.

Conveying boxed paperbacks to the main function room’s centre stage, I dodged disorderliness, hearing unspeakable conversations en-route. To be fair, Susanne and Matthew accentuated the likelihood of lewd remarks amid hormonal teenagers; however, I hadn’t quite readied myself for the uttered ghastliness that can only belong in the urban dictionary.

I set the box down and typed words into the search bar; peng; clunge; sket; heels up; truffle butter.

Gasping in arrant horror, I pinched the bridge of my nose and slipped my phone away.

These youngsters didn’t need sex education lessons and free condoms; they needed church on Sunday and a bastard bible.

“For you.” Andrew, the health and wellness coach, tossed an identification lanyard on the table. “Do you need any help?”

I only met Andrew twenty minutes ago. He’s polite and friendly, and the younger females ogling from the benches seem to appreciate his lean, boyish image and soft brown eyes. “No, I’m good.” Organising the books onto a pop-up table in alphabetical order, I dismantle the box and pull the identity strap over my head. “What’s that smell?” Heady scrumptiousness wafter through the air, and my stomach protested. “Do we cook here?”

“Yeah—get down from the tables,” he yelled, and a crescendo of female giggles resounded. “Tricia and Dave, the kitchen staff, knock up containers; curry and rice; beef stew; chilli con carne; spag-bol.” He counted on his fingers. “I think they do a chicken roast on a Friday. It’s optional. The kids don’t have to eat, but they can take some home with them…just in case.”

In case it’s their only warm meal of the day. “Well, it smells divine.”

Andrew put a whistle to his lips and deafened me with one blow. “Get off the tables, Christie. That’s your final warning.”

Seeing a golden-haired beauty step down from the table and into some lad’s arms, I futz about with the arranged books. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen,” he confirmed, his sinewy arms crossing at his chest. “What’s wrong?”

I rubbed a hand down my face. “They look so much older.” It’s their clothes—or the lack of clothes, rather. “The girls, I mean. If I didn’t know any better, I’d consider them eighteen.”

He dipped his head. “It’s an attention tactic.”

Yes, the short, pleated skirts and skimpy tops certainly gain the awareness of young males. My concern is older males, though—the predators who emerge when these unassuming girls walk home unaccompanied at night. “I saw the poster in the hallway. Matthew hosts weekly get-togethers for them. Are they group meetings, or does he sit with them individually?”

“Group meetings,” Andrew validated, pointing to the stacked chairs lined across the far side of the commodious room. “Not everyone attends, but it’s a terrific way for the teens to sit together and disclose information about their week and whatnot.”

I wanted to see what disclosure entailed. “Can I attend?” He nodded. “Do you go to the meetings?” He nodded again. “I won’t participate, but I am keen to stop by and listen.”

“I am sure Matthew will appreciate your input, Alexa.” His eyes drifted across my head and frustration reappeared. “Christie. A word.”

Her close-set eyes rolling heavenward, Christie untangled herself from the horde of snickering girls and strode towards us. Twirling a glossy lock of blonde hair around her finger, she blew out a white bubble. It popped, loud and jeering, and she peeled it back with her tongue. “Andrew,” she cooed, fluttering her false eyelashes. “Is there a problem?” Her eyes assessed his trouser-clad crotch. “Maybe I can help.”

Her flirtatiousness set my unease to high alert. While Andrew sustained unfailing professionalism, keeping his apathetic mask in place, I toyed with unprofessionalism. “You are a child,” I all but scolded, and her lidded stare lunged at me. “Show some respect when addressing supervisors, specifically males. Not only for self-worth purposes but, for the simple fact, it’s morally unfair to put an undeserving man in a compromising position—and don’t you dare roll those eyes at me, young lady.” Fuming, I gestured to the door. “Go to the foyer and wait outside Matthew’s office until he’s ready to deal with you.”

With a hideous aura of entitlement, Christie muttered a snarky comment but listened to instructions. Her white trainers slapped against the wooden floor as she stomped ahead, the power of those angry stomps had nothing on the hall’s door smashing into the wall as she exited, though.

That had to be the tantrum of all tantrums.

“How do you cope?” I asked, putting my back to the watchfulness of Christie’s pissed off friends. “Tell me. What’s the aftermath of her suggestiveness? I assume it discomforts you.”

“You learn to ignore it,” he said candidly. “Christie wanted to get a rise out of me, as do others who behave in the same way. It used to trouble me. Now, though, I just take them with a pinch of salt by ignoring rudeness and bringing it to Matthew’s attention at the end of the day. He takes it from there.”

“And how does Matthew handle continuous misbehaviour?”

“It’s a process of verbal and written warnings.” He pointed to something behind me. “Like Broderick, for example. He’s already on three warnings. If he reaches five, then we call the parents in alongside social workers to present a plan of action.”

Broderick, I thought, pivoting to scour the busy floor. “Plan of action?”

“Anything from extracurricular activities to voluntary work to permanent expulsion,” he told me, blowing his whistle at the two lads chasing each other between tables. “Pipe down, please. We don’t need any accidents tonight.”

“What did he do?” I wondered, in a daze as I watched the familiar boy drift through the lively hall, mesmerisingly carefree; a gym bag over one shoulder; a basketball in the nook of his arm. He jerked his eyebrows to a group of seated boys, but he didn’t hang around for a conversation. His sole focus—his sole purpose—was the back door, the one leading to the vast field and fenced-in courts.

“Who? Broderick?” Andrew clicked a tune with his tongue. “He’s difficult—aggressive. Always fighting and throwing his weight about. Keep an eye on that one.” Blowing the whistle again, he clapped his hands, loud enough to quieten raised voices. “Take the football outside. You know the rules.”

“Has he had a disciplinary yet?”

“Too many to count,” Andrew sighed. “Suffice to say; he’s not the easiest to mentor. Due to his behaviour, Matthew called his mother, and she agreed to biweekly appointments.”

I knew that look. Disappointment. “She didn’t show up.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the P. “Not one meeting in over four months. And she’s changed her phone number, so it’s impossible to get hold of her.”

My heart hurt. “I’ll be right back.” Muting the proximity of commotion, I chased the boy’s footsteps outdoors. In a world of his own, the blaze of stars across the sky, a scenic backdrop, he bypassed benched youths and gravitated to the graffitied basketball court.

Logan Broderick.

The boy with sad blue eyes.

Losing the gym bag, peeling off his hoodie, he ducked into the enclosure. Over-the-ear headphones sounded music, and the netless hoop meant more to him than life itself.

Creeping into the all-encompassing concrete and overhead metal enclosure, I glued my back to the sprayed wall of vulgarity and slid onto my backside. Resting my folded arms onto hiked knees, I watched him warm-up, jogging from one side of the court to the other, his tattered white trainers, loud and heavy, kicking up dust and disturbing potholes of stagnant rainwater.

Lost.

Pensive.

Directionless.

I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Logan regained the basketball.

Powering through a sequence of sprints, dribbling the ball between crisscrossing legs, left to right, he spun on his heel and closed in on the net. Pushing off one foot, he took a shot, not hanging around to witness it fall into the hoop. He doesn’t smile or celebrate his skillset. He wiped the sweat from his brow, puffing out a long, misted breath as he gazed into the distance.

My eyes went to the ball.

It thumped, thumped, thumped across the floor, and something akin to cognitive empathy twinged my chest.

Logan plucked it up and aimed. He threw the ball to the hoop, and it circled the circumference, slowly, tauntingly, and then it bounced off the rim. Looking up at the net with his hands on his knees, he uncurled his spine and spat out a curse. It’s defeatism hindering his movements. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but there’s a slight limp in his step. He’s resilient, though. Determined. He retrieved the ball, lodged beneath the fence separating us from the street, and spun with effortless finesse, dribbling back to the net. He jumped off one foot, and, in what felt like slow motion, he slammed the ball straight through the net. His feet crashed to the ground, and I caught sight of a satisfied smirk. He’s proud of himself. Hell, I was proud of him for not giving up.

I clapped my hands, slow claps that immobilised Logan. His eyes widening a fraction, he tugged the headphones to his neck and found me sitting on the ground. His shoulders pulled back, and he primed himself for something I couldn’t quite decipher, an argument, perhaps. Maybe he thought the uninvited female spectator had enough innate strength to outmanoeuvre his clenched fists.

“Do you plan on using those?” I joked, motioning to his white-knuckled hands. “You do realise, I am a woman, right?”

Blinking rapidly, Logan examined his tight fists and lingeringly loosened his fingers.

I stood, dusted off the back of my jeans and closed in. “That was a great shot.”

Logan’s towering height and hard-faced expression almost gave me second thoughts. He was far too tall for a boy of his age. And concerningly intimidating. I approached with caution but hoped the faltering of footsteps was unperceived. “I forgot your name,” I lied, having a vigilant gap of five steps between us. “Leighton, right?”

His upper lip twitched. “Yeah,” he fibbed, pulling a whatever-face. “You can leave now.” Rudely giving me his back, he picked the ball, bounced it twice, and sized-up the hoop. He didn’t take the shot. “What, Alexa?”

My smile broadened. “You remembered my name.”

Hurling the ball to the side, Logan let out an exaggerated sigh of frustration and regarded me with upper-lip disdain. “You’re kinda hard to forget.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. “Can I play?”

“Yeah—no.” Mockery radiated off him. “In case you can’t tell, I like to play alone, so…” He waited for me to finish his sentence. “Why are you still standing here?”

My hands slid to my hips. “Why are you so rude?”

He mirrored my stance. “Why do people choose to do anything?”

It was an indecipherable question. “Human rights…?”

“Exactly.” He waved a hand towards the entryway. “Fuck off.”

I overstepped and possibly lost my job. “Why don’t you fuck off?”

His mouth agape in shock, Logan’s dark eyebrows sprang to his hairline. “Did you just cuss me out?”

“I did,” I said unapologetically. “And I will not apologise. You treat people how you want to be treated. Based on your actions, you must be a glutton for derision.”

He was either speechless or stopped listening. I didn’t think his shoulders could tense anymore, but they squared alongside his posture and his hands curled up again. His eyes lost sight of what’s in front of him because something else required his attention—or someone else.

I flapped a hand in his face. “Are you there?”

“Broderick,” someone called, and the roughness in his dark tone stood the hairs on my neck to attention. “How’s it goin’?”

Logan swallowed and the muscles in his angular jaw pulsed. Fear.

I tracked his line of vision to the metal fencing where an assemblage of young rogues, wearing all-black tracksuits and snapback caps, peered into the centre’s court. I didn’t need confirmation to know they weren’t part of Inseparable Youths. It’s their demeanour, arrogant and unmanageable, the type of youngsters that loitered outside of my old tenant-building, cursing, fighting, hostile to neighbours and dealing drugs to passing vehicles.

“You got five minutes?” the tallest of the group asked. “Move it.”

Logan stepped forward, and I slapped a palm on his chest. “What’s it regarding?”

“Nobody asked you,” another spat, and they chortled. “Don’t make us climb the barrier.”

Beet-red with fury, Logan jerked off my iron-grip and sprinted to the fence. His body, taut and guarded, he grasped the poles to heed whatever inaudible conversation occurred.

My worried eyes never left him.

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

Breaking into clamorous laughter, the group ebbed from the fence and dispersed down the street. It’s only then that I breathed out a relieved breath.

Spearing a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, Logan jogged towards me. “Are you mad?” he barked, ramming his shoulder into mine as he stormed off. “Fucking idiot.”

“Hey, calm down.” I hurried behind him. “You’re not seriously scared of a bunch of wannabe hoodlums, right?”

With a disgusted face, Logan yanked on his hoodie, left the ball on the ground and beelined the exit. “Don’t pretend to know shit.”

“And there goes the assumptions again.” My legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Logan!”

His charged footfalls faltered, but he never turned to look at me. “I thought you didn’t remember my name.”

My heart beating furiously inside my chest, I reiterated, “You’re kinda hard to forget.”

Picking up his gym bag, Logan slid the frayed strap across his wide chest and stared right through me. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his anxiousness briefly revisiting the fence. “If you say so.”

This time, when Logan walked away, I didn’t follow.

***

“How was your first day at the centre?” Drumming his inked fingers against the steering wheel, Nate whistled in tune with the car radio. “You look beat.”

No, I am worried for a disrespectful little shit. Well, Logan’s hardly little, but it sounded better in my mind. “I love it there.” Debatable. I haven’t quite decided how I feel about Inseparable Youths yet. Time will tell. “It’s different—in a positive way.”

“That’s good.” The traffic light signalled green, so he accelerated forward, switching gears. “The boss texted. I have to swing by that Chinese restaurant to pick up an order.”

“Shit,” I whispered, rubbing my temples. “I forgot we had plans.” It’s Tony’s last meal with us before he’s driven back to Newquay. “Would you mind if I waited in the car?”

“Sure.” Nate steered the Bentley into the next street and mounted the curbside. “Any preference?”

I shook my head. “I’ll eat anything.”

“I won’t be too long.” He killed the engine and soared into the frosty night. “Be right back.”

Kicking my feet onto the dashboard, I reclined in the leather chair and stared out of the window. Nestled between Indian cuisine and a brightly lit convenient store, the Chinese restaurant’s gilded grand entrance and floor-to-ceiling windows charmed commuters and tourists, but the horde of rowdy youths taunting shoppers as they fled from the run-down store captured my interest.

I couldn’t possibly be that fortunate.

Thanking my lucky stars for the coincidence, I reached for the gun strapped beneath the passenger seat. I flung the door open, inhaled a lungful of cold air and checked for oncoming traffic as I scuttled across the road.

Throwing chips at eachother, shrieking profanities, the group slipped into a bricked alleyway, discussing a house party.

Hiding the gun in the waistband of my trousers, I stayed voiceless until we were entirely out of sight. “Hey,” I shouted, and eleven pairs of eyes zapped towards me. “You—the big, gobby shit. I want a word.”

Exchanging baffled glances, they snorted into hysteria, clapping each other on the backs. “Yo, that’s the chick from the centre.”

Flipping his ball cap backwards, the tallest outstretched his arms. “You got a problem, bitch?”

One by one, they formed a circle around me, a predatory glint in their eyes. I wasn’t edgy nor scared. I didn’t peg them as woman-beaters or rapists; jumped-up assholes who watched too much crime-inspired television.

“You ain’t scared, are you?” A guy muttered in my ear, and I cracked a smirk. “Need me to help you out?”

Someone brushed their hand along my backside. “She’s shakin’ in her boots.”

“Quite the opposite,” I said, batting my eyelashes. “I couldn’t care less for a homeless-looking ASBO.”

“Ain’t nothin’ homeless ‘bout these creps,” the other kid boomed, gesturing to his designer trainers. “You don’t belon’ on this side of town.”

“Yeah,” the leader breathed, his nose on mine. “You stepped outta line, walkin’ that ass on these streets. Sure you can handle it?”

I snorted. “What are you, like, fifteen?”

“Twenty-three,” he said smugly, his tongue soothing his upper lip. “You need to back the fuck up.”

I put a warning hand on his chest. “The streets don’t belong to you.”

“You here to settle the bill?” he mused, and I frowned. “Broderick promised to pay up for his junkie bitch, but this,” his finger slipped under my chain, and his eyes dazzled upon seeing the collection of scintillating white diamonds, “gotta be worth a mint.”

I felt someone’s warm breath at the nape of my neck. “How much are you talkin’?” he mumbled, tugging the hem of my blouse. “Few hundred?”

“More,” the leader pondered, and not laughing at their ridiculousness remained a mystery to me. “If it’s real.”

“Oh, those diamonds are most definitely real. And the red one? That’s a rare find in itself,” I said with unfaltering confidence.

Pound signs flashed in his awe-inspired eyes as he flipped over the white gold military tag.

“It’s not for sale, though.” I saw it, the question greying his expression. He thumbed the engraving and lazily lifted his distrustful gaze. He didn’t want to lose face in front of his friends, but he let go of the necklace and stepped back, an apology sticking to the tip of his tongue. “Now, I want you to listen carefully because I am only going to say this once. Whatever issues you have with Logan ends tonight. He’s a good kid—”

“This shit ain’t got nothin’ to do with you,” the one behind me barked, slithering around my body to shove his face in mine. “Tell that little bitch if he got an issue…” He bristled, moving away from me. “Alzaim.”

His chest flush with my back, Nate tore the gun from my jeans’ waistband and stretched an arm over my shoulder. “Alexa.”

I loosened my tongue. “I want them to leave Logan alone.”

He’s unfamiliar with the name, but he defended him regardless. “Which one of you motherfuckers do I need to hit it home to first.”

They held up their hands in unison, but one said, “Listen, we didn’t mean—”

Jerking the barrel to a random lad, Nate deliberately aimed to the floor and pulled the trigger, the bullet rips through the concrete, and a shrilling bang scattered the group into a panic.

“Don’t hurt us,” the smallest stuttered, falling backwards. “It’s a misunderstandin’—”

“What about you?” Targeting the one closest, Nate fisted his grey hoodie and thrust the barrel under his chin. “Did you hear the woman or is there something else you got to say?” His friends fell over each other to run away, crashing into communal bins and piles of trash bags. “I asked you a question.”

His lips wobbling, the boy shook his head vehemently. “I heard—”

“Because if you heard incorrectly, and you go ahead and do something stupid tomorrow, I’ll be left with no choice but to come back for your ass. Do you want to know how I deal with a no-good wasteman like you?”

“No,” he whimpered, withering in Nate’s inexorable cage. “No, I don’t want to know—”

“I’ll show you.” Nate unexpectedly snatched his hand, bent a finger, and a horrendously painful-sounding snap coincided with his guttural bellowing. “One by one, of course. It doesn’t end there. Not for you. Not for them.” He tossed him to the ground like his life meant nothing and spat in his face. “You got it?”

His agonised sobbing whistled into every crack of the alleyway. Heaving back a vomiting choke, he held his wrist, rolling onto his side. “Yeah,” he cried, pressing his cheek to the uneven floor. “Yeah, I got it, man.”

“Well, go on.” Nate pointed the gun to the exit route. “Make yourself scarce.”

Crawling off the ground, he stumbled into the wall, seemingly light-headed, and then broke into a rudderless sprint.

“What the fuck was that?” Nate’s punishing green eyes bore into me. “And who’s Logan? It doesn’t even matter.” He clutched me by the elbow and dragged me back to the Bentley like I was a naughty teenager who got caught drinking by her overbearing father. “I told you to wait in the fucking car.”

My eyebrows met. “No, you didn’t.”

“Stop talking,” he warned, jerking me ahead. “You know I have to report this back to Warren, don’t you?”

I can handle Liam.

Chapter 49

Liam

Beautifully wind-swept and raging mad, Alexa stormed into the kitchen like a scalded cat, pointlessly swinging out cupboards to read labelled tins to re-shelf them seconds later. “I made a bad call.” Flinging open the refrigerator door with unnecessary strength, she grabbed a bottle of vodka and tossed the cap onto the bespeckled granite counter. “I apologise. It won’t happen again.”

Not quite chiding his weariness, Nate set packaged takeout onto the island. “I served,” he drawled, slipping out of his royal blue suit jacket, swathing it over the stool’s rear. “Alexa’s your problem now.”

Entertained by their unusual bickering, Brad tongued a toothpick to the corner of his flat lips. “What did she do?”

“What didn’t she do?” Josh ruffled Alexa’s hair en-route to the adjacent dining quarters. “Don’t let her wicked smile deceive you, brother. She’s always up to no good.”

“Can we not talk about me like I am not standing here?” Gulping down vodka like it’s water, Alexa peeled off her sodden coat, hurled it on the dining table and collapsed onto the overly decorative sofa beside Josh, strewing sequin-suede scatter cushions onto the floor, the disorganisation galvanising her compulsive need to clean. “Nate’s hangry.” It’s no good. She gathered the pillows and piled them on the leather pouffe. “He needs to eat and chill out.”

I licked a rizla seam, pinched the fold and rolled. “What happened?”

Doe eyes the bewitching colour of hazel peered at me from over the sofa. “I pissed off my least favourite Suit.”

“What?” Nate scoffed, wholly offended. “You told me I was your favourite ten minutes ago.”

Brad’s eyes curved into slits. “I thought I was your favourite.”

Alexa shifted away from a puzzled Josh. “It’s you,” she whispered to him and a toothy grin slanted across his vainglorious face. “Just don’t tell the others.”

“We can hear you.” With his black shirt unbuttoned, Brad carried white plates to the glass coffee table. “Make yourself useful, woman. Get a bottle of Macallan on the go.”

“I’m not your slave, Brad.” Alexa marked Nate’s every move until each see-through container cluttered the extendable coffee table. “Do I smell noodles?”

“That and every other item on the menu.” Brad stabbed a fork into plated noodles and handed it to Alexa. “I need a favour.”

She eyed him distrustfully. “What’s the favour?”

“I want you to braid my hair.” His assuming smirk produced a left dimple. “Please, and thank you.”

“I haven’t agreed to it yet.”

Tony appeared from the vestibule leading to the garden. “I added extra solar lights near the poolside.” Washing his hands in the sink, he dried them with a tea towel and dived into a fried rice dish avidly. “I am almost packed.”

Alexa nodded sullenly. “Do you need any help?”

“No, I got it covered,” he said, thanking Nate for a bottled beer. “It’s only a few bits from the dryer to add to my case, and then I am all set.”

“Okay.” Alexa did well to cloak upset, keeping her tears in check, her eyes not lifting from the plate, but I caught the slight hitch of wistfulness in her gentle voice. “That’s good.”

I sparked a lighter flame, lit the joint and inhaled a mind-numbing haze. “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Slumping beside Alexa, sliding an arm behind her head, I exhaled a slew of smoke. “You and Nate?”

She resembled a deer in the headlight. “Oh, it was nothing—”

“It was nothing my ass,” Nate chimed in, uncapping a portion of fried duck. “Your girl went fishing down an alley tonight.”

I frowned. “What?”

“I wasn’t fishing.” Alexa almost climbed off the chair, but my hand locked around her nape, kept her in place. “Okay, I fished a little.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I chastised, and Tony, immediately defensive for Alexa, set the plate down to intervene. “You know better than that.”

“That’s not all.” Nate scraped fried mushrooms onto a plate. “She got into it with some street kids—after she borrowed something from me.”

I am going to kill her. “Alexa?”

“Can we do this later?” she asked, subtly motioning to Tony. “In private.”

“Is everything okay?” Tony’s restfulness heightened. “Maybe I can help.”

“Everything’s fine,” Alexa lied, evading an inevitable argument by clearing the coffee table. “Tony, call me before you leave. I am taking a quick shower.”

***

I had the perfect view of the forecourt from the office window. Security assembled to pack Tony’s suitcases inside the Bentley while he stood to the side, embracing Alexa for a long, emotional hug. He mouthed sentiments for her ears only and then stepped back to zip-up his coat. Tears coated his inflamed, puffy eyes and indecision lumbered his reluctant footsteps. Despite vacillation, he waved Alexa farewell and disappeared into the backseat of the vehicle.

“I like Tony.” Brad stood alongside me, jangling loose coins in his trouser pocket. “He’s a bit country like, but he’s decent enough.”

I feel nothing for Tony. I’ll tolerate him for Alexa’s benefit. He can stay on my good side just as long as he doesn’t hurt her. “Yes.” Headlights beamed across the driveway as the driver reversed. Tinted windows obscured Tony, but I know his eyes are on Alexa, who watched the car pull away from the prodigious veranda. “Alexa’s quite taken by him.”

Brad hummed. “Do you need me for anything? I got to get some shut-eye before dealing with that psychotic cunt in the morning. Shouldn’t she be pushing up the daisies by now? I can’t take much more of her screaming.” He pinched a blond lock between his fingers and scrutinised the ends. “Christ, I’m due for a barber visit.”

“I don’t want Molly dead yet.” I punched the code to my safe and extracted a black velvet pouch. “I’ll assign Nate if she’s too much for you.”

He pondered, ingesting a shot of Macallan. “No, I’ll only regret it. I plan to amputate her toes tomorrow, so it’ll be worth the headache.” He set the empty glass onto the desk. “Can I be frank with you? I’ll say it anyway. You’ll wait a lifetime for Molly to disclose any information where poppa Warren’s concerned—hours of torture be dammed—because she’s taking that shit to her grave.”

Much like myself, Brad has an unparalleled sense of perception. I mightn’t say it often enough, but I do value his opinion. “Molly can seek pleasure in death once she’s given me what I want.”

“Stubborn,” he muttered, and I shot him a warning glare. “What? It’s not as though you need the money.”

It’s the principle. “Sue me.” Call me dogmatic, but I’ll never, ever, come to terms with my father’s piss-poor decision making. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t kill him, not the way I did. It was too easy, too painless. He got off scot-free. He and that no-good-junkie mother of mine can turn in their graves while I acquire his hidden wealth and burn every last dime just because I can. “I want access to Ray’s overseas accounts, Brad. Do whatever necessary to make it happen.”

Giving me a two-finger salute, Brad unlocked the door and slipped down the hall. He doesn’t reach the imperial staircase because a half-cut Josh challenged him to a game of pool. With an insane level of competitiveness, Brad forgoes a restful night’s sleep to accept Josh’s proposal.

In no mood for late-night entertainment in the billiard room, I locked the office door behind me and ventured upstairs to find Alexa.

It’s moderately dark inside the master bedroom, the security lights from outside casting shadows on the damask inspired walls. Near the window, she stands, tonight’s security detail strolling around the garden, in her view. If she heard me enter, she doesn’t look or acknowledge or pull away from the uninteresting events occurring beyond these four walls.

I unclipped the gold cufflinks from my shirt sleeves and set them on the bedside table. “We should talk.”

“Can we save the argument for tomorrow?” she asked numbly. “I am tired, Liam.”

“I won’t lie to appease,” I said, losing every item of clothing bar boxer briefs. “What you did tonight was careless and downright foolish. You of all people understand the dangers of our world and the consequences of incorrigible recklessness; however, in exchange for confrontation, I offer to head your explanation.”

Alexa closed the distance between us, stopping on the other side of the bed. “You wish to hear me out?” Apprehensiveness thickened her voice. “It was an impromptu decision, a mere happenstance that I bumped into them.”

I climbed onto the bed and rested against the headboard. “What did you borrow from Nate?” I knew the answer. If Nate’s expression hadn’t given it away, then Alexa’s panic-stricken glance to the nine-millimetre strapped to his ankle would have. “Baby, I don’t like repeating myself.”

Primed for deliberation, Alexa sat crossed-legged beside me. “I misplaced the revolver,” she said meekly, fumbling with her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

My blood heated. “How could you lose the revolver, Alexa?”

“I thought it was in the black Birkin, but when I checked this morning, I couldn’t find it…”

I hate irrelevant details. “Get to the point.”

“Well, so, I had to borrow Nate’s gun.” She fell back on the bed in a huff. “I mean, you should be proud of me. I had the sense to arm myself beforehand.”

I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Turning onto my side, propped onto one elbow, I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “In the event of your irresponsible outburst,” I whispered, leaving open-mouthed kisses to her neck, “did anyone step out of line?”

“No.” Her fingernails seared my spine. “I had a word with one kid before Nate showed up. I didn’t even get a chance to use the gun.”

“You sound disappointed,” I said huskily, sliding my hand around the back of her thigh to grasp a handful of her beautiful ass. “Now, the real question.” Nibbling her earlobe, I braced myself above her sprawled body. “Since when did a load of good-for-nothing street-kids warrant any attention from us?”

Her hair fanned across the pillow, she peered up at me. “Do you ever feel the need to help someone? Not by alliance or acquaintanceship. But a random someone who needs one person to notice them, to recognise their endeavour, to intervene and lend a hand…” She fixed my twisted chain. “I do,” she breathes, lost in momentary thoughts. “When I see a homeless person asleep on a street corner, I have to extend food or money, or the man stood in the grocery aisle, counting change in his hand to buy essentials off the shelf, but he’s without funds, I have to slip twenty pounds in his pocket because I hate the desolate look on his face.

“It’s not always about money,” she continued, breathing kisses to my fingertips. “Sometimes, a little interference is enough.”

I gripped her wrist. “Who did you help?”

“Logan,” she tells me, and I searched her gaze. “His name is Logan Broderick. He’s one of the teens from the youth centre. I don’t know what it is about that boy, but I can’t see beyond him when he enters a room. He’s beautifully flawed, rude and obnoxious and his eyes…He has the saddest blue eyes.” Distress poured from her every touch to my chest. “Liam, he’s in pain.”

“You met him once.” My perplexity amplified. “How can you possibly know what goes on behind closed doors by simply looking at him?”

It was a stupid question. I know too well how easy it is to read people.

“I feel it.” Her palms cupped my cheeks. “I feel it every time Logan looks at me. So yes, I chased those idiots into an alleyway tonight to ensure they stayed away from him—that boy already has the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

Elaboration disinterested me. I didn’t care for Logan nor his sob story. “This boy,” I rasped, holding her jaw. “Baby, he’s not our problem.”

Her throat bobbed on a forced swallow. “Liam…”

“No.” I don’t want to hear anymore. “You go to work, and you come home. Don’t involve yourself in situations beyond supervision.” I leaned over her to grab the velvet pouch from the bedside table. “Next time you stumble into quandaries,” I joshed, unknotting the drawstring to reveal a custom-designed gold Glock, “refrain from pilferage and use your own firearm.”

Inhaling a stuttered breath, Alexa curled her hands around the gun, and her exploratory fingers grazed along the polished barrel. “What’s the occasion?”

“It was to be a gift,” I said, evasive and uncommitted, quelling prior arrangements and pending conversations for another day. “It’s yours. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I am scared to use it.” Her lidded eyes inviting me for a kiss, she tested the Glock’s weight in her hands. “Most girlfriends receive superfluous flowers and expensive jewellery from their better half. Not me,” she quipped, unconcealed happiness brightening her once sad countenance. “I get a deadly weapon to shoot-down pigeons.”

“Pigeons,” I murmured, tracing her lips with mine. “Is that what we call bitches these days?”

Alexa stuffed the Glock underneath the pillow and wrapped herself around me. With a delicate yet determined shove, she coerced me to lie down, and her beautiful body soared above. Her knees to the mattress astride my waist and her teasing, taunting fingers outlining the cords of bunched-up muscle hitching my chest, she toured her way south, to the area slowly hardening, anticipating whatever her wicked hands and mouth planned to gift. “Bare yourself to me,” I ordered in a strained voice unrecognisable to my ears.

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her T-shirt—or rather, my T-shirt—and she disrobed, slow and sensual, exposing her small breasts, the soft, slight curve of her waistline, welcoming my ravenous hands. Her rigid nipples ached for contact. My thumbs pinched her there, just a touch, and an erotic moan escaped her delectable lips, a moan I longed to hear.

It’s always enough. Her breathless whimpers drive me insane—she drives me insane.

Her head disappearing between my thighs, Alexa eliminated the only clothing keeping us apart—her lace thong and my boxers—took my heavy cock by the base and pulled a paced upstroke, a paced downstroke. Her hot mouth suckled pre-cum from my crown and her approving moan sprouted goosebumps to my misted body.

Tucking my folded arms behind my head, I closed my eyes and savoured the feel of her working me into submission. “Fucking hell,” I grunted, bucking my hips a touch for her to take me deeper. “Baby, fuck.”

Stroking me from root to tip, fast and punishing, she bobbed her head on long sucks. Fluttering her tongue along the underside of my cock, she double-fisted and drew me to the back of her throat.

“Come here.” My fingers tangling in her lustrous hair, I tugged her mouth off my shaft and growled an order, “Ride me.”

Alexa wiped the taste of me from her lips, crawled up my body and straddled my thighs. Her hand reaching between us, she tossed my elongating cock once, twice, and then looked down to watch herself ease onto my length. “Liam,” she moaned, slapping a palm to my chest as she adjusted to the thickness. “Shit.”

“I know,” I hummed throatily, holding her hips. “Kiss me.”

Our eyes aligned, and she dipped her head, demanding access to my mouth. Her tongue flicked the seam of my lips, and they parted in time for her to caress, taste and explore. “I love you,” she breathed; I felt her devotion to the bone. “I love you so much, Liam.”

Her tongue stroking and dancing with mine, she rolled her hips forward, and I enveloped an arm around her lower back, locking her in place.

Chest-to-chest, I shifted beneath her and hiked my knees to the back of her thighs, widening her stance. “Harder.”

Alexa positioned her knees to the mattress, held my hands at her waist and bounced up and down, crying out as I met her thrusts.

My pounding heart reacted to the way she looked at me.

What’s the question in her eyes?

What’s preventing me from asking?

“Liam,” she whispered, moving into a slow grind. “What’s wrong?”

I love you, yet I cannot bring myself to ask.

Abruptly rolling Alexa beneath me, I pulled out and laid her face down. “Ass up,” I ordered, pressing a hand to the side of her head, pinning her to the bed. “Wider.” My lips toured the length of her spine and across the intricacies of inked angel wings. “Good girl.”

Exquisitely positioned on all-fours, she bowed her spine and grappled the sheets with white-knuckled urgency. My tongue licked the crevice of her derrière to her swollen, dripping sex. Inhaling her scent, relishing the taste of her arousal, I flattened my tongue and drew long sucks, earning myself a muffled whimper as she backed up, silently pleading for more. I parted her lips with two fingers and delved deeper, attacking her bundle of nerves.

Recognising she’s close, I stopped, gripped her by the waist and slammed home.

Moaning at the unexpectedness of my cock burying to the hilt, she fisted the sheets and implored for more, a desperate plea.

Rotating my hips, pummelling her breathless, I drove at a piston pace, in and out, filling her beautifully.

I fucked her with restrained vigour until I could no longer bear it. I wanted hard, merciless sex—the type of sex where you lose all sight of what’s in front of you.

Parting Alexa’s flushed backside, I stared at her tight, puckered hole and groaned with thoughts of taking her there, but the second I pushed the tip of my thumb inside, she bristled. “Liam,” she said cautiously, peering over one shoulder.

“Let me have it,” I husked, grasping a handful of her ass cheek. “I promise to make it good for you.”

Redness painted her cheeks as she considered, but something held her back. Fear of the unknown, perhaps. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologise,” I said, stifling disappointment.

My expectedness dampened the mood, so to regain momentum, I covered her body with mine, braced my hands on either side of her head and rocked, slow and steady. With her trapped between my arms, I wedged myself to the point of no return and claimed every inch of her body, biting and sucking her shoulders, kissing and tasting her skin.

Respiring a stuttered breath, she turned her head to the side, and her lustful eyes gazed at my mouth. I heeded her unspoken desires, breathing a kiss to her lips, tasting myself on her tongue. Our slapping bodies sent a flush to her cheeks. Her hand found mine, and she interlaced our fingers, clinging to me, moaning for me.

“I’m close,” I groaned, resting my head on her shoulder, shoving myself in deeper. “Come with me.”

“Please don’t pull out,” she keened, her fingers on mine tightening. “Please, Liam.”

Knowing what she wanted, I drew back. She whimpered at the loss of me, but those glassy eyes rounded the moment I fixed my hands to her inner thighs to open her legs fully. I pushed the crest of my cock into her cunt, and she engulfed me perfectly. “Don’t stop,” she cried out, locking her ankles behind my back. “Liam.”

“I know, baby.” Her pussy gripped my cock like a vice as she combusted. “Fuck.” Her hip in my one hand, her hair in my other, I fucked her through a wave of orgasms. “We’re doing this?” I asked, and she nodded in the groove of my neck. “Alexa—fuck.” My entire body tensed up on one final slam. In an ambivalent state of light-headedness, I emptied myself inside her and slackened my weight onto my forearms.

“Liam,” she breathed in my ear, tracing my jawline with a red-polished fingernail.

“I promised you another…” Baby, I thought, kissing the corner of her lips. “I don’t want this to come between us, though.” Moreover, I didn’t want Alexa’s need for a child to hinder our sex life. “Shouldn’t we deliberate further?”

“Let’s not complicate it,” she suggested, and I gave her a curt nod. “Why don’t we just see what happens? We know how it works. We fuck each other’s brains out and, in the event, I am lucky enough to get pregnant, it’s a win-win.”

“Okay.” I lifted our joint hands and kissed her inner wrist. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Alexa’s head nestled against the pillow. “What is it?” Her phone vibrated on the dressed. “Shit—I should get that. It’s probably Tony.”

“He can wait for a minute,” I said impatiently, and her forehead furrowed. “Alexa—” The phone jittered again. “What the fuck is that guy’s problem?”

“Liam, calm down,” she winced as I eased my cock out. “A little slower next time, old man.”

I seized up. “Old man?”

Wrapping the sheet around herself, she flashed a mischievous grin. “Well, you are how many years older than me?”

It was an innocuous joke, but I took umbrage. “What, you’d rather some immature pretty-boy to fuck about with? Go ahead.” I tugged on a clean pair of boxers. “Be my guest.”

I’d kill anyone who dared to even look at her the wrong way.

Alexa’s mine, and I am keeping her.

“Liam, I was kidding.” Her hand fell to my chest. “People do that sometimes—make silly jokes to mask discomfort.”

“You should savour that ache between your legs,” I said tightly, seizing the cloth veiling her beauty and hurling it to the floor. “Old man, you said.” Backing her up against the wall, I took her ass in my hands and hoisted her into my arms. “Do I need to rectify your perception of me, baby? Am I not fucking you hard enough? Long enough?” My semi-hard cock pressed up to her soaked cleft, I sank my teeth on her chin, and she winced, clawing at the nape of my neck. “Alexa, I—” Her phone chimed. “I am seriously going to murder your father.”

“You could be twenty years my senior, and I’d still want you.” Alexa ignored the unrelenting vibrations in the background. “Liam, I’m in love with you.”

I brushed a thumb across her lips. “Alexa,” I whispered, my heart missing too many beats. “I want to ask you something.”

A knock came on the door. “Sir,” Josh called, and I blew out an aggravated sigh. “I got Tony on the phone for Alexa.”

I lowered her feet to the ground. “Go on.”

Even with all the money and time in the world, I can’t get five minutes alone with the woman I love.

Chapter 50

Alexa

Inseparable Youths was enervating more often than not. When resting in bed at night, I contemplated all the reasons why I should embrace the gallimaufry of naughty behaviour, headache-inducing disorganisation, immature lewdness, omnipresent brawls and distressing tales.

Mentoring untameable yet susceptible youngsters is harder than I thought. In one breath, I want to clip them around the head. In the next breath, I want to wrap protective arms around them.

Thus far, I have concluded, Samuel, the antagonistically bad-tempered boy whose self-centred, dishonest and unfriendly characteristic traits, will land himself in a juvenile detention centre, and Christie, the seraphic beauty, feigning dumbness and naivety, the one with a bright future ahead of her, may or may not be the paradigm of a young, single mother if she doesn’t exchange underage sex for self-respect and education.

Samuel and Christie, two seemingly unsalvageable teenagers, keeping me awake at night; however, my concerns for them are negligible if you add Logan to the mix. He’s an entirely different story, the boy who seeks companionless solace rather than social entertainment. Yet, he manages to gain the most unwanted attention and receives more warnings than any other youth at the centre.

It makes my blood boil.

Don’t get me wrong, Matthew isn’t picking on Logan or mistreating him due to favouritism among youths, but I noticed a behavioural pattern. Sure, Logan’s stone-faced and quite literally intimidating. His height and broad physique unnerve the male supervisors, and it’s not because they can’t handle brusque outbursts, but the boy with sad blue eyes is unpredictable. When the gloves come off, he wreaks severe damage. He becomes possessed, blinded by rage, and everybody within his incensed proximity cops the tail end of his uncontrollable belligerence.

“Logan!” Andrew scolded, pinning the poor boy to the ground. “That’s enough!”

“He started it!” Red-faced and snarling, Logan thrashed beneath an unyielding Andrew, fighting to get off the floor. “Get the fuck off me!”

Matthew marched a hostile, flustered and dishevelled Samuel to the office.

“Move away,” Andrew addressed the watchful teens with a gesticulating hand wave. “Go outside for an early break.”

Everyone moved out whereas I hung around to witness a tear roll down Logan’s cheek.

Logan’s a good kid when he is left alone. He’s undemanding, independent and strong-willed. He’s always the last to arrive and almost never interacts. Not with teenagers alike. Not with his supervisors.

You’ll find him outdoors every night playing basketball underneath the dark skies. Him and the ball, that’s all that mattered.

I got to know Logan by merely watching him from a distance. He wore identical tracksuits throughout the week, two black, one grey, and tattered white trainers that were fit for the bin. His gym bag had seen better days and the dark circles around his striking eyes implied sleepless nights. He loves music; the inspirational voices inside his ears contributed to hours upon hours of unrestful court games. I knew very little about basketball, but it’s palpable for all to see raw talent drives him forward. On the rarest of the occasion, he smiles. It’s a beautiful smile of pride and gratification, a boyish look reserved for no one, not even for the intrusive female, who, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, fall after fall and curse after curse, is becoming his biggest fan.

“It’s a double-edged sword.” Sprawled across Liam’s bare chest, I peppered kisses along his stubble jawline. “Yes, Logan tends to fly off the handle, but it’s only when defending himself. When left to his own devices, he’s no trouble at all. It’s unprofessional to favour individuals or judge one person more than the other. I can’t help it, though. Samuel’s an entitled little prick. How I haven’t skull-dragged him into the office and given him a piece of my mind…” I blew out a heavy sigh. “What’s his problem, Liam? It’s almost as though he relishes in Logan’s distress.”

“You answered the question,” he rasped, his fingers writing something indiscernible along my spine. “Samuel’s invigorated by schadenfreude. You cannot condone his actions; however, you can learn the psychology behind bullying.” His coarse hand smoothed across my rear end. “Now, where were we?”

I slid under the bedspread until I was completely on top of him. “You promised a night of uninterrupted sex,” I whispered to his mouth. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

His fingers continued to write on my back. “I don’t make promises,” he lied, all-smiles as his lips dominated mine for a long, heated kiss. “You—fuck.” I eased down his length, and he growled, low and throaty. “Nice and slow.”

I rolled my hips, slow and thoughtful, just as instructed. “This might be my favourite position.”

“Yes,” he hummed, deepening our kiss as he locked a hand around my throat. “It’s certainly a beautiful vision.”

I’ll love this man until my last breath.

Monday had to be my preferred day of the week. It’s when the hub team gathers for early morning coffee to discuss activities ahead. Around midday, we stop deliberations for lunch, nothing too fancy, a trip to the local pub for a beer and a burger. It’s a tavern special. You get cheap ale and greasy fodder for the discounted price of five pounds.

“What’s in the burger?” I asked, examining the excessive splurge of sauce dripping from the grilled bap. “Brown sauce?”

“Barbeque,” Trudy said. “And that’s caramelised pineapple.”

Auburn-haired and eyes the colour of emeralds, Trudy’s naturally pretty, innately friendly and generous to a fault, unlike Susanne, the boot-faced tyrant, who clearly needs to get laid—I swear the boorish woman can hear my judgmental thoughts. While dismantling the burger, I can feel the intensity of Susanne’s glare from across the table.

Ignore her, Alexa.

It’s not personal.

She’s a moody cow.

I looked up, and our eyes collided. “Susanne.”

Her eyebrow bent. “Miss Haines.”

My hand clenched around the fork. I placed it down to stop myself from lunging across the table and impaling four spokes to the side of her neck.

Putting my elbows to the table, I hid my mouth behind interlaced fingers. “What’s her deal?” I murmured to Andrew, and with a mouthful of food, he glanced from her to me. “Does her coldness extend to everybody or just me?”

“Susanne?” he asked quietly, and I nodded. “She’s been off-ish since her husband died six months ago. I wouldn’t take any notice.”

“Oh.” I felt a twinge of sympathy in my chest. “Well, that makes sense.”

Way to go, Alexa.

Pick on the grieving woman, why don’t you?

“How are you enjoying the youth centre so far, Alexa?” Jesminder asked. “Its reputation can be quite deceiving, can it not?”

The teenagers attributed to Insuperable Youths’ bad news coverage. Not all of them. A small percentage of our teen boys evolved to adulthood much sooner than they should have. Their wellbeing was a topic of conversation this morning, or more accurately, concerns for their safety. “Yes,” I agreed, palming a bottled beer, the only beer Matthew authorised because of work. “Honestly, I think every one of our teens has huge potential.” Even the street kids who roam with gangs at unsociable hours, selling drugs and vandalising the neighbourhood. “I couldn’t care less about how the media paints them or the centre.”

“You don’t see antisocial behaviour as a problem?”

The question came from Susanne. “It’s an indisputable issue.” Knowing her situation helped to refine a calmer approach. “But washing our hands of them isn’t an option. We can only mould them to the best of our knowledge in the hope for improvement.”

“Easier said than done,” Matthew said conversationally. “The hub is their social ground—away from their parents’ authoritativeness.” He forked a seasoned potato wedge into his mouth. “Unfortunately, they don’t see us as inspirational supervisors. They see us as overbearing hindrances, meaning they devalue our input and opinions.”

“Well, what if we change the way they see us?” I suggested, and everyone put their food aside to listen, except for one stubborn mare. “To gain their respect, we must earn it.”

“You cannot reason with delinquency, Miss Haines,” Susanne said condescendingly. “Yes, you can lead some of them to a path of righteousness and moral integrity, but don’t delude yourself into believing all can be salvaged. Alas, I see a life of organised crime and prison sentences for the majority. I am sure the rest of the table concurs.”

Judging by their stern expressions, I had to agree. “So, what’s the point of the foundation if it’s destined to fail?”

“To keep them young for as long as possible,” Trudy said with a sad smile. “It’s all we can do.”

I wanted to prove them wrong.

In fact, I am determined to prove them wrong.

Over the next two weeks, I put nosiness to the test. Following the discussion of possible gangs with Matthew and the team, and some private file snooping, I kept a close eye on Samuel and his friend, Tre.

According to Matthew’s notes, both Samuel and Tre live on a council estate with unemployed parents and too many siblings to enumerate. Yet, they model designer tracksuits, brand new trainers and gold jewellery.

I silently questioned affordability.

Surprisingly, Christie, unlike her friends, comes from a good home. Her father’s a wealthy businessman, and her mother’s a well-paid financial analyst. Living inside a gated community, Christie has twenty-four-hour access to private stables, additional tutoring and frequent holidays to the Caribbean islands.

For someone so fortunate, why the misbehaviour?

“What’s his story?” I asked one night. “Logan, I mean.”

When hunting through Matthew’s filing cabinet, I couldn’t find Logan’s folder.

“Broderick?” Rolling a pen between his fingers, Matthew relaxed in the chair behind his desk. “What do you wish to know?”

Everything. “Is he happy?”

“Happiness is subjective. Feel free to ask Logan that question if he ever bothers to show up for group assemblies.”

I nibbled my bottom lip. “Why doesn’t his mother attend biweekly meetings?”

Matthew considered. “I can’t answer for her.”

“But you can speculate, right?” I rest my shoulder to the doorframe. “Is it because she works long hours? Maybe her other children exhaust her attention? Disabled?”

“Firstly, Logan’s an only child,” he began, and I rushed to the chair opposite his desk and took a seat. “I can assure you that his mother’s not immobilised. I had the pleasure of meeting her once, and let’s just say, it was an experience.”

That doesn’t sound promising. “What about his father?”

“I have notes on Logan’s step-father, but his biological father remains a mystery.” He unlocked the desk drawer and extracted a faded blue file with Logan’s name on it. “Remember our conversations regarding dysfunctional households?” The folder landed between us. “He’s our biggest concern.”

Horripilation struck my skin like shards of glass. “What?”

Matthew gave me a curt nod. “We think Logan’s the victim of maltreatment.” I paled by the second. “We have documented bruises but Logan’s uncooperative. He lies through his teeth and covers for whoever’s responsible by blaming sports.”

“Are sports injuries implausible? Logan plays in the courtyard and stumbles a lot.” Thanks to impracticable footwear. “I mean, if he’s adamant that nobody hurts him, what proof do we have?”

“Observation.” His downcast eyes scoured the notes. “Logan’s reoccurring contusions are the result of grievous bodily harm, not minor scuffles with the likes of Samuel or fallen trips on the courtyard.”

I didn’t want to believe it. “Who do you suspect?”

“His mother?” He threw up two hands in uncertainty. “The step-father or a relative. I don’t know, Alexa. What I can tell you is the boy hates this place, yet he still comes here because it’s safer than whatever lies in secret.”

Feeling nauseous, I stared in trepidation. “Shit,” I whispered, weakened by the deplorable information.

That night, I ran around the Manor like a demonic madwoman, up and down the stairs, from one room to another, ordering reluctant Suits to lend a helping hand. I stockpiled clear containers to the brim and stacked them in the grand foyer.

“It’s not enough,” I thought aloud. “Is Josh around?”

Tall and moody responded, “He’s at the club, Ma’am.”

“What about Brad?”

“I believe he’s with the boss, Ma’am.”

I clicked my tongue. “Nate?”

Bored and frustrated answered, “He’s with the clean-up.”

“Oh.” Knotting my satin robe, I whisper-shout, “Who died?”

“They are not authorised to speak on my behalf,” came Liam’s baritone voice. “Not unless they want to lose their tongues.” His strong arms wound around my waist, and his chin came to my shoulder “Dare I ask, what’s in motion?”

“I am not sure yet,” I said honestly, twisting in his arms to steal a kiss. “Where are the others? Never mind. I can hear Brad’s gob approaching.” He cupped my cheek and moved in for a passionate kiss. Suddenly breathless, I savoured the taste of whiskey on his tongue and melted against him. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason to kiss my woman?” His throaty question sent a shiver through me. “Make yourself available tomorrow night.” He released me the second Brad and Josh came barrelling through the front door. “I am taking you out.”

Brad tugged my ponytail as he passed.

I wrangled my fingers. “Like a date?”

“Yes.” Hands tucked into his trouser pockets, Liam paused behind his men to sweep his lazy gaze over me. “It’s a date.”

My cheeks ached from smiling so hard.

The following evening, I went to a nearby click-and-collect station and then to a corner newsagent to amass unsold newspapers and magazines. I was late for the centre’s opening hour, but I didn’t show up empty-handed.

Josh, accompanied by two Suits, helped me carry everything indoors. The magisterial duties amongst Liam’s men had raised a few querying eyebrows from colleagues, but they refrained from asking questions. They saved gossip for staffroom coffee breaks as an alternative.

Eyeing my outfit choice, Matthew advanced. “Um…” Clearing irritation from his throat, he scratched the back of his head. “What are you wearing? And what’s with all the boxes?”

I model skinny black jeans, a red, off-the-shoulder long-sleeved knitted jumper and a pair of black Louboutin heeled shoes. I finished my look with gold jewellery, red lipstick and beach waves for hair. It screams fashionably sexy, yet dignified—something our teen girls lack. “I am setting an example,” I whispered for his ears only, smiling at a group of ogling boys. “Trust me, Matthew. I know what I am doing.”

His back to the room of wandering eyes, Matthew leaned in to lower his voice. When nothing came, I lifted my gaze to determine the reason behind his procrastination. “What?” I rubbed my cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, it’s just…” He briefly studied the scar under my eye. “It doesn’t matter.” Rubbing a hand down his face, he averted to the boxes and fossicked through tagged clothes, boxed shoes and sealed makeup. “What’s this for?” He turned over a newspaper. “Alexa?”

“I have an idea. Instead of letting the teens wreak havoc all night, why don’t we eliminate their crutches and switch things up a bit?”

He stroked his chin. “What do you have in mind?”

I brandished the scissors. “Making memories.”

Trudy and Andrew accepted the challenge first. As I didn’t want to come across too bossy, I made suggestions and then left them to crack-on. Whilst they began to paint a tree on the main wall, I joined Jesminder at the portable table where teenage girls assembled for jewellery making. It took Christie forty-five minutes of sulking before she acquiesced. Beads and charms disinterested her, but the makeup box beckoned for testing. I watched her flick through shades of bright lipsticks and sealed mascara tubes.

I crept up alongside her. “With bright eyes like yours, you don’t need additional layers.” Toying with the nude lip gloss, I held it out for her. “Simple but effective does the trick.”

Frowning, Christie pocketed the gloss and touched her fake lashes. “I like them.”

“Miss Haines,” Samuel called, and his friends smothered laughter. “Will you go out with me?”

“Samuel, I am flattered.” I placed a hand on my chest. “But I’m spoken for.”

Jealousy radiated off Christie. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“It’s a joke,” he defended himself, shooting me a wink. “Ain’t that right, Miss Haines?”

I didn’t respond.

Christie spent the rest of the night on her phone. But the next day, she wore jeans and a low cut sweater to the hub. Her lips painted beige and natural eyelashes. Being popular had its perks. By the end of the week, the impressionable young girls alternately substituted tawdriness for less-is-more.

I inwardly celebrated.

It was nowhere near finished, not until I got the camera out, but the vibrant green leaves and outstretched branches of our painted tree grew stronger every day. Hell, even Susanne lingered long enough to add some acorns.

It’s too soon to get excited by the promising shift in the air. All it takes is one set-back, and the crafting tables and newspaper cut-outs might result on the floor. And, as much as I hate to give moody Susanne credit, I lost hope for Samuel. He’s disruptive and a bad-influence. He bad-mouths the supervisors and earns himself another warning from Matthew. Basically, he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“Can you carry these to the kitchen for me?” Jesminder pointed to a tray of colourful paint pots. “I need to dismantle the table.”

“Of course.” Lifting the tray, being sure the doused brushes didn’t plummet to the ground, I used my back to open the door and teetered down the hallway.

Upon reaching the kitchen, I saw a shadow move past the glass window. Dave and Tricia left an hour ago, so I knew it wasn’t them going through cupboards.

Confused, I peered inside. Holding open his gym bag, Logan hunts the shelves, stealing packaged produce, cartons of juice, crisp packets and cereal bars.

Pocketing from the hub, no matter the insignificance is the cause for instant expulsion.

Not wanting to startle Logan, I moved away from the door, coughed loudly to alert him, waited for a few seconds and then entered the kitchen—he crashed into me, and the tray slipped through my hands, scattering a multicoloured mess across the floor.

“Shit—I’m sorry.” Pale-faced Logan squatted to help me clean. “I didn’t mean—”

“Why are you in the kitchen?” I asked, not looking at him. “It’s a teen-free zone.”

His hand paused above a dirty dishcloth, and I cringed at the awful state of his bruised knuckles. “I, uh, I mean,” he stuttered. “I had a headache, so I came in to, uh, find paracetamol or something.”

My heart hurt so much.

We stood in tandem.

I hugged the tray to my chest. “Why didn’t you speak to Matthew?”

Sweat trickled from his brow. “Yeah, I mean…” His guilt-ridden eyes lowered to the floor. “I’ll be sure to do that next time.” Before he could rush past, I gripped his elbow, and he winced as though the slight contact pained him. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Sorry.” I withdraw my hand. “Logan, I—”

“What’s going on in here?” Matthew stood in the doorway. “Logan, why are you in the kitchen?” His worried stare bounced between us. “Alexa is everything okay?”

Logan rubbed his eyes with a shaky hand. “Matthew…”

I composed myself. “Logan has a headache, but I can’t find the medicine cupboard.”

Worry lines formed on Matthew’s forehead. “Susanne’s the only person with a medical license,” he explained. “Logan, you should know this by now.” He assessed the dirty floor. “What happened to the paint?”

I told another lie, “I tripped over the mat.”

Matthew bought it. “Let yourself out, Logan.”

Hands adhered to the bag strap, Logan darted out of the kitchen and never looked back. Matthew, however, blocked my exit route. “We’re all going to Weatherspoon’s for a drink if you fancy joining us.”

I wasn’t in a partying mood, but denying myself the chance of new friends felt senseless. “Sure,” I agreed, following him back to the main room. “I’d like that.”

It would be the second time I forgot about my date with Liam.

Chapter 51

Liam

Nursing a Norlan glass of cognac, I surveyed the hectic raucousness of Club 11’s nightlife from the office window. Inebriated customers overpacked the spatial proximities, erotic dancers enthralled overcompensating clientele, and security detail faded in the background.

The club is a successfully lucrative establishment. It’s where I laid the foundations to business ventures and unperceived to the outside world it shields and homes the syndicate. I love it here. But lately, ubiquitous rambunctiousness and mundane routine drove me to long periods of ennui.

I craved a change of scenery.

“What of Andino’s casino?” My fingers strum on the cognac glass. “Gathering dust, I imagine.”

Josh looked up from the coffee table of amassed folders and cash adhered by rubber bands. Tossing a pen down, he kicked his feet onto the table and tucked folded arms behind his head. “I put an out of business sign on the window. As it stands, the casino’s overcapitalised and faces liquidation. I uncovered extortion emails between Andino, shareholders and bondholders. He’s left us to defray the financial obligations of unsettled debts.”

“Unliquidated damages remain counterfactual until corporation investors serve a meeting of request.” My jaw hardened. “In the meantime, obviate the problem—one by one. I am sure the unexplainable disappearances of certain table members and the sordid vicissitudes of misfortune prerequisites pressurised share transfers.”

There was an infinitesimal pause. “You want me to use scaremongering tactics in the hope they willingly stand down,” Josh sighed. “It’s said that you are the average of five people you accompany, so judging by Andino’s unprincipled track record the board members won’t go down without a fight.”

I relaxed my jaw. “Which brings us back to my initial proposition of obviating the problem.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brad asked upon entering the office. “Not that I am complaining, but I thought you had a date with Alexa tonight.”

On two separate instances, I arranged to escort Alexa to a romantic five-star restaurant followed by an overnight stay at the Ritz Hotel. For someone as clueless and unromantic as myself, I found each necessary and unnecessary detail taxing. From reservations to transportation to the brand new Christian Siriano one-shoulder flyway gown and Giuseppe Zanotti sandals, which currently sit on our bed in a presentation box, I aimed for the paragon of perfection and memorableness.

Alexa stood me up as an alternative.

I poured another cognac. “Change of plans.”

More to the point, Alexa agreed to arrangements without the intentions of commitment and even dared to quell her partner’s discontentedness with a texting process of rationalisation.

I read the messages for the fourth time since returning to the office.

Me: Where are you?

Alexa: I am at a sleazy dive-bar with work friends. I could say I hate it here, but I’d be lying.

Alexa: Don’t worry, Liam. The Suits stand by the bar, watching my every move.

Alexa: I promise not to be too late.

Alexa: I love you.

Her array of messages increased.

Alexa: Have I upset you?

Alexa: You haven’t answered.

Alexa: I’ll grab my bag and leave.

Me: We had a date planned for this evening.

It would be five minutes before she braved response.

Alexa: OMG. Liam, I am so, so sorry. I completely forgot.

Me: Incoherent repetitiveness in current admissions of guilt, baby.

Alexa: I know. I cannot apologise enough. It’s just Matthew asked if I wanted to grab a drink with him and the others and I felt obliged to agree. I am still a newbie here and let’s keep it real, I am practically a friendless loser these days, so I seized an opportunity. Please don’t be mad at me.

Me: Inadequate excuses for poor decision-making.

Alexa: Liam, I genuinely am sorry.

Alexa: I am leaving right now.

Alexa: We can still go out for dinner.

Me: You will return to an empty house. I am en-route to work.

Me: Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Haines.

Alexa hadn’t replied. She’s not an intentional bitch, but her forgetfulness irked me. Still, I sent security detail orders to keep her safe and to prolong her night with co-workers. Based on their last update, she’s yet to leave her newfound social circle.

“I had to…” Nate’s expressive arrival faltered the moment he caught me in his stupefied sights. “Apologies, sir. I thought you were off the job tonight.”

Asking him why my whereabouts mattered became an afterthought when I espied Blaire in his footfalls. “Nate,” I said, short and sharp. “Why is Blaire in my office?”

Dilatory and reflective, he uncurled his spine and poised himself. “Blaire helped at Gateway. I needed an extra pair of hands for transfers.”

And I was born yesterday. “Since when did you require assistance for relocating merchandise?”

Blaire fixed the leather-look lace scarcely covering her pendulous breasts. “Friendly company doesn’t hurt, Mr Warren. I keep him occupied.”

“I bet.” I gave them a short, derisive laugh. “Nate, I oppose this arrangement.”

“I should have asked you.” He discerned his error. “I made a quick decision to bring her along before authorising with you first, but assumptions are inexcusable.”

“You senseless pillock.” Brad scoffed. “I still don’t understand why you vouched for her. If it’s sexual frustration you struggle with, I can get Cherry and Cora upstairs to fix an itch. Don’t be wasting your time with that baghead.”

“It’s not always about sex, Brad,” Nate clipped, tightening his jaw.

Blaire fumed. “Speak for yourself, psycho-slut.”

“You might want to fucking check yourself.” Brad bolted off the sofa so fast, Blaire had to take several steps back to keep a line of safety between them. “This,” he gestured to her promiscuous outfit of all-leather and thigh-high boots, “fools that blind bastard,” he points to Nate, “but I know an opportunistic bitch when I see one. I have said it a hundred times, brother. Ignobility and malevolence.” He thumps her forehead with the heel of his hand, and she whacked the air to get away from him. “She’s going to sail your ass up the goddamn river.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I might actually like Nathaniel?” She squared up to Brad. “He’s a good guy, Brad. Shit, compared to you, asswipe, he’s a saint. You can’t determine malice based on personal dislike—hating me, for a reason, I have yet to fathom, by the way. I did nothing to you.” Her voice cracked, and Brad rolled his eyes, not buying her theatrics of crocodile tears. “Sorry, I don’t know why I am upset.”

“Brad give the girl a damn break.” Nate almost touched her back but decided against it. “Need I remind you it’s our fault she’s even in this mess.”

“Was that an accusation?” I spoke for the first time in five minutes.

“No, sir. I don’t blame nor judge you for Blaire being here. But facts are facts. We brought her into the fold. I vouched for her. You authorised. It’s done, so why can’t he cut her some slack?” He doesn’t look at Brad. “What’s the point of endorsement if rendered nugatory by the syndicate and its values?”

Nate was right. I knew it. We all did.

Blaire’s involvement failed to appease me, though. After her little stunt at the penthouse, where she climbed into my bed, I should rid myself of the girl. For the majority of rationalising, I despise everything about her.

The night I saved Blaire from Bajramovic’s twisted, safe haven, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was grieving. I lost the woman I loved, and the timid, brown-eyed girl resembled her in more ways than I care to admit.

Alexa’s here now, and so is Blaire.

The voice of reasoning inside my head screams tribulation. But I must lead by example and axing Blaire without a basis for reason breaks honorary brotherhood codes.

“Are you in bed together?” If their close fondness and body movements are anything to go by, I’d say yes. “When did it start?”

Nate’s eyes implored me for a private meeting away from the vigilance of his closest allies.

My hand crushed the glass. “I asked you a fucking question.”

“Yes, sir,” he admitted, working on a tight swallow. “I promised fidelity a while back.”

Blaire shifted from one foot to another. “I love him.”

“Really?” I don’t believe she knows the meaning of true love. “What do you love about him?”

“Sir,” Nate whispered, clasping a hand over his knuckles. “Request for a conclave.”

“Denied.” Hands buried in my trouser pockets, I soared above Blaire’s attractively tall height and searched for a crack in her equanimous demeanour. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

Blaire’s sunken eyes assessed the men in the room in an attempt to avoid our nearness. “He makes me happy,” she said so quietly, I almost didn’t catch it. “I missed happiness.”

In a slow, unhurried motion, her stare fell to me, and an assessment of reverence occurred. It began at my chest and then my shoulders. She examined the hardness of my jaw and its encased stubble. It didn’t end there, either. Her admiration toured the hard lines of my face, but eventually, she settled on my eyes, and that’s when I found what I was looking for.

I dipped in and whispered for only her ears, “If you hurt him, I will rip out your goddamn throat.” Her head turned, and our noses grazed. “Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She drew in a stuttered breath. “I understand.”

“Good.” My spine straightened. “Get her out of my sight.”

With regretful strides, Nate exited the office. His dearly beloved followed suit.

“That was intense,” Josh joked, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Brad if it’s any consolation, I don’t like the chick, either.”

Brad dropped a toothpick in the bin. “Said, by the man, who stared at her ass for the entire confrontation.”

Hiding behind inked hands, Josh snorted. “I plead the fifth.”

“Molly’s on her last legs, by the way.” Brad grinds marijuana to build a deck. “Prepare yourself for disappointment. If she doesn’t squeal in the next few hours, I reckon she’ll be dead by sunrise.”

No, there is plenty of time for one final trump card.

I sent a text message.

Me: I request an hour of your time.

***

I am sitting on a wooden crane inside the underground of the club’s cellar. Pungent urination, putrid vomit, sacramental blood and tears of dejection pervaded every corner of the chambers. Lying face downward in a pool of crimson deceit and lies, Molly watched me watching her. Purple and yellow bruises sheathed her starved ribcage. Dry blood and dirt begrimed her chipped fingernails, which she’d used to claw at the cracked walls through spouts of egregious hallucinations, and shallow gasps hitched her strained breathing.

“I didn’t always hate him,” I spoke calmly, and her raw, chapped lips crept open. “There was a time where I’d have given anything for him to be in my life. For an illogical reason, I looked up to the man and made excuses for him.” Nostalgia disseminated through me. “Nobody prevails in the propinquity of pernicious toxicity.”

“I don’t understand,” she croaked, rolling onto her back, exposing her naked chest of ruptured wounds and swollen, infected flesh. “Who can be more toxic than the man you claim to loathe?”

“My mother,” I said in reverie, and her eyebrows cinched. “If you can even call her that.”

“Your mother must be beautiful.” Molly studied me intently. “Be grateful you inherited her good looks and not Raymond’s.”

I frowned at that. “I resemble my father.”

“Only in the eyes.” Her chest rattled on a fit of coughing. “Which sucks for you, considering your eyes are your best feature. Everything else?” Her lip curled up in disdain. “Hideous. Honestly, brother. If it weren’t for tainted wealth, you’d die a lonely old man.”

“It’s a good job I am not hypersensitive, or I’d take umbrage to insults.” I lit a joint, and she eyed it with longing. “Do you think that’s why she chose me? Alexa. Is it because I line her bank account generously?” Her opinion meant nothing to me, but I had fifteen minutes to kill. “To counterbalance hideousness.”

“You are punching above your weight with that one, Warren. I don’t know how she can stomach someone as vile and inhumane as you.”

“I concur. I ask myself the same question daily. Although, I do wonder, why did you upbraid and ridicule her if undeserving?” Molly’s cruel insults hit Alexa hard that night. “To get to me, I suppose.”

“Something like that,” she muttered, draping a bruised arm across her tired eyes. “Insults bounce off you and pissess me off. But mention Alexa Haines, and that’s when I get to see the real you.” She peeked at me from under her elbow. “It’s the only time you can’t hide true emotions, brother. How pathetic.”

My stomach tautened. “I am not your brother.”

“We shared the same father until you killed him, so that has to count for something.”

“Wrong. You loaned Raymond from me. He was never your father to claim.”

“Are you jealous?” She snickered a grating mock. “Did him loving me hurt your little feelings? Aw, poor baby got daddy issues.” Heaving on a congested splutter, she rolled onto her side and phlegm rattled inside her constricted throat. “Rejection did a number on you. Normal people file for unpaid child support or turn up out of the blue to demand answers. Not you, you fucking crackbrained maniac. You came to our house with the intent to kill a man because you were all butt-hurt and bitter. It was pitiful then, and it’s pitiful now. And to add salt to the wound, you killed an innocent woman in the process, leaving three parentless girls to fend for themselves—”

“I don’t care!” I barked, pushing onto my feet. “You didn’t walk in my shoes, so don’t fucking judge me! You speak about having to fend for yourself—the son of a bitch left me to rot before I even understood I had a father. And for what? To marry another woman and to raise a bunch of spoilt bitches? I didn’t matter!” Raging, I slapped a hand on my chest. “Vincent didn’t fucking matter.”

“Can you blame him?” Molly staggered to her feet, and the heavy fetters attached to her ankles dragged the jarring sound of heavy-duty chains across the floor. “You want to know why daddy turned his back on you, or why mother of the year chose drugs and men over you? Look at you! You are an abomination to society! Nobody likes you, Warren! Your allies are that of the ones you pay!” she roared, spittle spraying from her gnarled mouth. “Three times, she walked into an abortion clinic. Three times, she wanted them to cut you out.” Venom laced her every word. “Not having the courage to follow through was her greatest failure.”

Molly left me speechless.

I was enraged but speechless.

“You are lying,” I growled, backing her up against the metal enclosure. “You know nothing of the woman who birthed me.”

Wicked evil blackened her round, wild eyes. “I know more than you care to acknowledge, brother,” she spat, flattening a hand on my chest to prevent me from lunging. “Go ahead. Slake curiosity. Ask me anything you want, and I’ll happily provide the answers. If you let me out of here, you will never have to deal with me again because I’ll get my ass on the first flight to nowhere.”

“I don’t barter with scum.” I snatched her throat, and she bristled. “You harmed Alexa, killed my unborn baby and lessened the chances of us conceiving again. And here you stand, pleading for leniency in exchange for piteous enlightenment. You fail to remember, Molly, I am uninterested in bloodlines. I cannot regret, love, miss or empathise with someone I didn’t know. Raymond and…” I couldn’t recall my mother’s name, and Molly perceived the confusion in my eyes and smiled triumphantly. “Nothing you say is of relevance to me. My so-called parents could resurrect before my very eyes, and I’d still turn my back and walk away—right after I put a bullet between their eyes, of course.”

“Technically, Serena attacked Alexa. I was the puppet master, though, so I don’t mind paying the price.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “You think it’s clever, prying on the young, naïve and vulnerable. You think her devotion and love will stand until the very end. You’re mistaken. Something tells me, Alexa will open her eyes and see you for what you truly are. Mark my words, brother. She’ll look back and thank the Brown sisters for doing the one thing your mother couldn’t, and that’s ending the Warren name once and for all; I am only sorry that I won’t be around to bear witness.” Her fingernails scratched my wrist. “As for your parents, well, you can lie to me all you want, but I can see the pain in your eyes. You don’t hate the people who brought you into this word. You hate how much you love them regardless of abandonment, and that fucks with your head.” My fingers tightened around her throat, and she moaned, whispering under her breath, “Secrets have no mercy.”

My left hand greeted the right hand. I squeezed, draining the life from her wet, protruding eyes. Listening to the voices inside my head, I elevated her feet from off the ground and closed my eyelids, feeling a mixture of rage and excitement coursing through my hot veins.

“Liam.” Vincent grasped my shoulder, and my eyes snapped wide. “Not yet.”

“I don’t want it,” I said without conviction, envisioning Molly’s neck splintering in my unyielding hold. “I don’t want it, Vincent.”

“Give me five minutes.” His palm closed around mine, and he pried away my fingers. “Block it out!” he barked, and I jerked into awareness, hearing a deafening clamour of pulsations inside my ears. “Let. Her. Go.”

I released Molly’s throat. She gasped on a stuttered inhalation, slid down the wall and doubled over at the waist, refuelling her overworked lungs.

Thrusting a hand through my hair, I composed myself by facing the other way. I heard their exchange of undertones but no longer cared enough to meet the aftermath.

Balancing a joint on my bottom lip, I lit the end and clouded my space in fumes, needing to release tension.

“I’m sorry,” Molly cried, and I hated her more for venerating him. “I’m so sorry, Vincent.”

“We share the same father, yet she treats you like a deity,” I said in disbelief. “It’s incomprehensible.” Her final breath slithered through the chambers, and I glimpsed over one to shoulder to watch Vincent slash her neck and wipe the bloodied blade over his black trousers. “Explain it to me.”

With Molly’s lifeless body in his arms, Vincent laid her to the concrete and rose from a squatted position. Her slashed throat doused his white shirt, which peeved him, yet he cleaned splatters from his face with indifference. “I can’t explain something I do not understand.”

“I will bury her remains under these very floors,” I said, expelling a veil of smoke. “You came late.”

“I arrived.” He cleaned his hands with a silk handkerchief. “Our father disinherited us for a reason, so why do you chase the right of primogeniture? We don’t need his money nor his joke of a legacy. We are stronger without it.”

“It belongs to us,” I rasped through gritted teeth. “Deserving or not. That man cheated us out of our birthright.”

His blue eyes homed in on my face. “If you believe it’s important, then I have no reason to overrule.”

“When you stand alongside me, you lack jurisdiction by default,” I remind him. “What did she tell you?”

He pitched the spoiled handkerchief on her spread out body. “Molly said to look closer to home.”

I was growing impatient. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“How should I know?” He lit a cigarette. “You’re the mastermind, Liam. You tell me.”

Molly left us grasping for straws. Even in death, she holds the power cards. “Did she suggest someone in our close circle knows something we don’t?” He simply blinked in response. “Speak when addressed, Vincent.”

My edginess and intolerance stoked Vincent. “You are asking the wrong questions,” he clipped, breathing smoke from his flared nostrils. “Ask yourself if someone from the syndicate is capable of uncovering what lies beneath. If so, start there. I am pretty certain Alzaim knows a thing or two about investigating.”

“Nate would never, ever, withhold valuable information from me.”

“Not intentionally,” he continued, giving me a moment to mull over the concept. “Let’s disregard the possibility and consider another theory. Perhaps Molly bellied veracity and wanted us to believe knowledge starts inhouse to misdirect us spuriously.”

The latter sounded more plausible.

I pondered, prolonged and vigorous. “I need an address.”

With a bemused expression, Vincent scowled at his leather shoes. “I don’t think Molly and Greer ever had a place to call home, not really. They jumped from one sofa to the next, renting multiple properties for a short time frame…” His hands to his hips, he looked off into space. “Unless she meant Serena held onto something? Fuck, I don’t know.”

Realisation froze my pacing movements. “What happened to Raymond’s house?”

He stroked his chin. “I imagine the house was sold and divided between beneficiaries.”

“Or, by operation of law, beneficiaries obtained proprietorship,” I said assuredly, and he gave me a knowing smirk. “Get cleaned up, Vincent.” Walking away with an aura of optimism, I rubbed my cold hands together. “It’s time for a journey down memory lane.”

Chapter 52

Liam

Stretching my fingers into Bill’s leather-worn gloves, I paved the way to Raymond’s old Victorian-style house in the remote area of overgrown grassland and dense trees.

With the full moon shining down on us, ghost-like winds whispered through long hanging branches and the owl, wherever it was hiding, hooted and glided nearby.

Vincent slowed the pace to look around, to locate the bird’s whereabouts. “It’s warding us off,” he said, flashing a torch above. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Whacking overgrowth out of my face, I climbed the moss-layered steps to the front door, kicked the sodden mat aside and picked up the rust-covered key.

Inserting the serrated point inside the eroded lock, turning the handle, I entered the echoing foyer of dust-coated marble, gossamer threaded embellishments and besmirched chandeliers.

Ray’s home used to have an unfamiliar smell, and, for the unsophisticated, uncultivated, younger version of myself, it was outlandish on the eye.

However, looking back, the fresh scent in the air, pleasant infusions of home cooking, proudly exhibited portraits and stuffed animals strewn across the floor exemplified nurturing, loving homemaking and open-hearted parenting.

I remember when the floors shined and hanging crystals coruscated. Gilded photo frames decorated the grand walls, and opulent furnishings bespoke vintage riches. It was full of life and memories, not an ornament out of place.

It is empty now, cold and lifeless and unimpressive for someone so attuned to spectacular opulence. Knowing my father’s wealth didn’t surpass my own left me in silent victory.

You called me the devil, old man.

You thought I’d amount to nothing.

I saw it in his eyes.

Hatred. Regret. Disappointment.

If only he could see me now.

“Liam?” Vincent lingered beside me. “Are we in the right place?”

“Do you think I would lead us astray?” I focussed on the faded, timeworn carpet leading to the upstairs landing. “Check the office. I’ll look upstairs.”

Vincent grabbed the sleeve of my suit jacket. “What am I looking for?”

I stared at the hand that adhered to my arm and shirked out of his reach. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your fucking fingers.” My shoes thudded on each step as I ascended to the next level. “Move it, Vincent.”

He let out a long, exasperated sigh and disappeared into the living room.

Floorboards groaned under my footsteps. Each stride felt impossibly laboured and heavy. I didn’t want to be here, not in the halls haunted by Ray’s sobbing, disembodied voice and his wife’s terrified blathering.

Standing in the middle of my father’s unfurnished bedroom, staring at the faded carpet, where a dominating bed once laid, I replay the night of his death.

No one wanted you, Liam.

You’re a nobody.

Take whatever you want.

Just don’t hurt us.

You’re just a kid.

Why would you throw your life away like this?

Throw my life away, I thought.

Fatherly words said by the very man who threw away his duties and abandoned his children.

His phantasmagorical eyes found mine. “Son.”

Blinking rapidly to expunge him from vision, I bolted out of the room, slamming the door behind me. With cautious steps back, I glared at the closed door until my back crashed into a wall, knocking a framed painting off the wall in the process.

Glass shattered and cracked under my leather shoes as I trudged into a girl’s bedroom. Lemon and pink coloured the walls, and shaggy rugs lessened the groan of old, creaking floorboards.

I searched the bookcase, the cupboards and chest of drawers, dust particles airborne and eye-watering, and found old produce packages hidden under the mattresses.

What am I looking for?

I had no idea.

Maybe I had led Vincent astray, or perhaps Molly’s declaration of honesty meant nothing, a purposeless dead end. Her final roll of the dice to mislead and play mind games.

I scratched the scruff of my jaw.

Brad’s right. I didn’t need Ray’s money.

This entire trip is a waste of valuable time, and it’s given me nothing but a headache.

Throned behind Raymond’s sheet-covered desk, Vincent doesn’t look up from the outmoded desktop computer, but his fingers pause on the keyboard. “Find anything?”

My selective mutism answered his question.

“They stayed here from time to time.” A smouldering cigarette balanced between his pinched lips. “Molly used the computer to send emails approximately…” His eyes squinted as he read headers. “Three months ago.”

“Who paid the bills?”

“Again, Molly.” He tapped the keyboard. “Annually, it seems.”

I gave him a sharp nod.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, and I flung him a scathing look. “Killing our father. It was a rather impulsive decision for such a young boy.”

“I don’t have regrets,” I said, staring at the unlocked safe. “I learn from my mistakes.”

“So, you admit to miscalculating the situation?” he mused, exhaling cigarette smoke.

“I admit to reckless behaviour.” Inside the safe, I combed through stained letters and envelopes. “If given the opportunity again, I’d prolong the inevitable.” I felt his eyes on me. “I’d make him suffer.” Tossing paperwork to the side, turning to face him head-on, I slid my hands in my trouser pockets. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“I don’t care enough,” he answered honestly, lifting one shoulder. “If you hadn’t killed him, would I have done the deed for you? Doubtful. Would I want a relationship with him? Probably not. Would I loathe him as much as you do?” He pondered. “Hating someone is emotionally wearisome. Exhausting energy on someone as pathetic as him. It’s not worth one’s sanity.”

I considered that for a moment. “I’m a bit of a grudge bearer.”

Vincent smirked openly at me. “I know.”

I assessed him. “You have quite an old head on young shoulders, Vincent.”

“Said by many.” The computer’s light flickered across his stern features. “You could learn a thing or two from me.” He regarded me with levity. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Flouting his boastful assurance, rounding the desk, I parked my backside on the wooden ledge and with madding inexpertness, I squinted at the unreadable words brisking across the monitor. “What is this?”

“I am trying to decode these emails,” he explained, reaching my gaze. “Do you wish to continue?”

Decrypting transmissions was Nate’s métier. “No.”

The computer bleeped. Vincent sat taller and leaned in to get a closer look. “Greer.”

“Greer?” I asked, confused by his evasiveness. “What does that mean?”

“Molly sent emails to Greer.” His chafed undertone and displeased face beckoned questions. “Son of a bitch.”

“Vincent,” I barked, agitated by his equivocalness. “Get to the goddamn point.”

“It is a fabrication, Liam.” Snubbing the cigarette on the desk, he relaxed in our father’s leather chair. “They used hoax emails to delude us. Greer’s an apparent lawyer, and Molly’s a grieving beneficiary on the hunt for her stepfather’s alleged inheritance. What a load of fucking nonsense.” Hurling open the desk drawer, he pointed to the perfectly laid piece of paper and snatched it between clenched hands. “How convenient?”

Murderous rage palpitated my heart.

“I, Raymond Warren, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior Wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Evelyn Warren, as Personal Representation of my Last Will and Testament. In the event of death, resignation, removal, incapacity, refusal or inability of Evelyn Warren to serve as Personal Representation, then I appoint…” His frown deepened. “Then I appoint…” Pushing onto his feet, he paced the small space between the desk and the sheathed leather sofa. “They lied to us—I need to go.”

“Wait.” I watched him fold the copy and tuck it into his inner suit pocket. “What else did Raymond say in his will? And if he hadn’t promised his first-born grandchild an inheritance, why did Molly go through such tedious efforts to entrap me?”

Vincent gave me a pointed look. “Even if you don’t see your child, you are obligated, by law, to contribute to his upbringing. You are a self-made man of millions. Do the maths, Liam.” He stormed down the dark hallway. “Any woman lucky enough to bear your kid is financially free for life.”

“Wait.” Chasing his footsteps, I flung the front door open and faced eerie darkness. “Vincent?” Head snapping from side to side, searching, I descended the few steps to the garden path and listened for any distant sounds. “Motherfucker.”

Vincent vanished into the night.

***

Alexa

The gorgeous barista flashed me a toothy grin. “Welcome to the Coffee House,” Grayson chimes, using his teeth to uncap a black marker pen. “What can I get you?”

Barely understanding his mumbled sentence, I reached over the counter and extracted the cap from his gritted teeth. “I’ll have the office assortment, please.”

“Office?” he yelled my order to his employees. “Since when did you work in an office? The discounted menu is for lawyers and emergency workers only.”

I delivered an eye-roll. “I work in a youth centre, so that has to count for something.”

He rested his folded arms on the countertop. “You paint recyclables and hang colourful buntings for a living.”

“I am also your best friend, and best friends get free coffee.”

“Oh, now she wants freebies,” he joshed, capping tall beverages: americanos, lattes, cappuccinos, Yorkshire tea. “Does the lady care for some complimentary snacks, too?”

Stifling a humoured smile, I slide a bank card out of my purse. “You can throw in a few sarnies if you wish.”

“Of course.” His amusement heightened as he added deli flavoured subs to my order. “One of your five a day?” In goes packaged exotic fruit punnets. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some of those chocolate-coated strawberries off your hands.”

“Sure thing, doll.” He rang all the items on the till and swiped my card. “So, I am still waiting for our night out. Just throwing that out there,” he waved a flippant hand, “in case you forgot or whatever.”

“I didn’t forget.” I made sure Grayson charged full price for the order. “How about next weekend? I’ll even set a reminder on my phone, or you can text me the night before, you know, to ensure I don’t…forget.”

Grayson bent an eyebrow.

I threw up my hands in surrender. “Hey, I suffer from short-term memory loss.”

“It’s only cute when Dory says it, Alexa.” Locking the cash register, he slipped the receipt inside a medium-sized cardboard box, storing a flavoursome mixture of warm brews and freshly prepared produce. “So,” he hedged, leaving an unsmiling employee to deal with customers to walk me to the door, “I heard you visited Chloe.”

I accept the box of orders from him. “She told you, huh?”

He grimaced. “I mean, what was Josh thinking, Alexa? Beating on her husband like that.”

I masked the initial shock. “Is that what she said?”

“Not that I’m one to gossip,” he lied, and I pulled a face. “But yeah, Chloe was distraught. Harold had to visit the emergency room. Two fractured ribs and a dislocated jaw. She had to stop him from pressing charges.”

We stepped back in unison to give way for a customer. I wanted to tell Grayson why Josh intervened that night, but I hadn’t discussed the matter with Liam, so divulging felt wrong. “There are two sides to a story, Gray.”

“I know.” Pursing his full lips, he nodded. “What’s your side?”

“Harold’s lucky Josh handled the situation. If it had been Liam, we’d be having a different conversation.” My mouth flattened into a harsh line. “That’s all I am willing to say on the matter.”

He groused under his breath. “Can’t you give me a smidgen more?”

“Why? So, you can run back to Chloe and exchange notes?”

“Touché.” His arms crossed. “On a serious note. Will you and Goldie bounce back from this?”

Grayson’s soft gaze evokes feelings of nostalgia. I love Chloe. I don’t know when or why it happened, but somewhere along the way, we drifted miles apart. “I miss her,” I whispered, flooded by happy memories of us together. “Maybe someday.”

“If it’s any consolation,” his hand squeezed my shoulder, “she misses you, too, and she talks about you all the time.”

I inflated my lungs. “Not all bad, I hope.”

“No,” he assured, and I breathed out a choppy breath. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Pushing the door open with my shoulder, I stepped outside and walked back to the youth centre in the sights of watchful Suits.

***

“How’s the head?” Matthew joined me in the kitchen, where I arrange purchased coffees onto the steel table for everyone. “You didn’t half pack some shots away last night.” Selecting an americano, he blew over the cardboard rim and sipped. “Hungover?”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned, face hidden behind my hands. “Fortunately, I feel okay. Sluggish but okay. If we ignore headaches and tiredness, of course.”

“I had to get you down from the table.”

My groan lengthened as I lowered my head to the table.

“You wouldn’t let anyone share the karaoke machine.”

“Please stop,” I mumbled into the nook of my arm.

“And your voice?” He winced. “Yeah, you are blessed with good looks, but the vocal cords require some work.”

My headache re-emerged. “Kill me.”

Matthew chuckled. “What happened with Warren?”

“What?” I bolted upright, and a wave of headrush almost knocked me for six. “What do you mean? Did I say something about Liam?”

“He was angry.” His eyes roamed over my face. “You missed date night.”

My lips parted. “I told you that.”

Jesus, Alexa. You blabbermouth.

How drunk were you?

I was drunk enough to fall into bed fully clothed and heeled.

I was drunk enough to sleep through my alarm this morning.

Hell, I was intoxicated, so I don’t remember Liam coming home or leaving for work. But I recall the disgusting stench of vomit in my hair when I fell in the shower.

I nervously chewed my fingernail. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Why did I discuss issues with Matthew?

“Did I have anything else to say?” I asked, annoyed at myself. “Liam’s a private man.”

Matthew became cautious and guarded. “No.”

Oh, God. He’s lying. “Matthew…”

“Well, you might have said something here and there,” he prattled on evasively. “Hey, I’m not a gossipmonger, Alexa. You spoke to me in confidence.”

No, I spoke to him in a drunken stupor.

I wanted to punch myself in the face.

“What’s on the agenda?” Andrew asked upon entering the kitchen. “How’s it going, Celine?” With fisted hands, he outstretched his arms and squared his chest. “My heart will go on—”

“Stop.” I held up a hand, silencing the academy award-winning song I apparently obliterated last night. “Please, for the love of God, spare me the embarrassment.”

My squirming entertained Matthew. His eyes were ablaze in humour, and his bottom lip nibbles failed to strangle soaring laughter. He broke, coughing and chortling into a tight fist.

I hate life.

“She wasn’t that bad.” Andrew’s playfulness mirrored his boss’. “Wiping the floor with Susanne? Now that was hilarious.”

Feelings of dread replaced mortification. “What?”

Matthew handed Andrew a latte. “Yeah, you told her to…what was it again?”

“To ‘stop moping around like an old fart’ and to ‘get laid’,” Andrew enlightened, taking great pleasure in delivering such unsettling news. “Was that before or after she face-planted the floor?”

“Before,” Matthew said, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. “You didn’t spill an ounce of vodka, either. It was pretty impressive.”

“It’s pretty fucking humiliating,” I countered, rubbing my ruddy cheeks. “I am calling in sick.”

Matthew’s face scrunched up. “But you showed up to work.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” I grabbed my handbag. “I need to find a hole and die in it.”

“Hello,” Susanne’s chipper voice penetrated the air, and I almost fainted. “Is that coffee I smell.”

“Alexa bought them.” Matthew passed Susanne a lukewarm tea. “You look different.” Both men examined her peachy countenance. “New haircut?”

“I popped into the salon this morning. What do you think of the highlights?” She bounced her ironed curls. “The hairdresser said the bangs made my face look a bit slimmer.”

“It’s shorter than usual,” Andrew said warily. “What’s the bruise on your neck?” He inched closer to get a more precise look, and his eyebrows jutted up. “Oh.”

“What?” she asked, touching her neckline. “Did I spill something?”

Matthew tipped the remainder of his coffee down the sink. “Someone left their mark last night.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I’m lost.”

I held my bag tighter. “I’m leaving—”

“Not so fast.” Matthew gripped my shoulders from behind. “I need you in the gaming hall tonight.”

Oh, thank God. I can hide for the rest of the night. “Great.”

“Alexa?” Susanne called before I could escape. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Matthew’s lips touched my ear. “Good luck,” he whispered, exiting the kitchen with Andrew on his heels.

I adopted fierceness and fronted the grumpy mare head-on. “Listen, I apologise for any inappropriateness demonstrated. It’s easy to blame alcohol for any insensitive behaviour, but it’s also an act of cowardice—”

“Alexa,” she interjected, rubbing my arms. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I am a miserable cow at times.”

“I said that?” I murmured behind a clasped hand. “I give you permission to slap me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Worry lines creased her forehead. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me,” I repeated in disbelief. “For insulting you?”

“For helping me get my leg over,” she punctuated each syllable, and I inwardly cringed. “I had the best sex of my life.” Her voice lowered to a sultry whisper. “I can still feel him down there.”

Coffee curdled in my stomach. “That’s wonderful.”

“I better unlock the main doors before our teens arrive.” She winked at me. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I sighed the second she left me alone. “I am never drinking again.”

Uprooting my phone, I unlocked the screen and sent Liam another message.

Me: Ignore

every

message

sent

p

rior.

You’re right. I do make excuses for bad decision making. I haven’t prioritised you or considered your feelings. I don’t know what plans you made, but I can only imagine how much thought and effort you put into spending a night alone with me.

I let you down.

More than once.

Please don’t ever think it’s because I don’t love you.

If anything, I love you too much.

Is that even possible?

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is how sorry I am.

I want to make it up to you If you allow it.

Come home early.

I promise not to disappoint.

I am in love with you, Liam.

Always.

Tucking my phone into my bag, I blew hair strands out of my face and readied myself for teenage carnage.

Chapter 53

Liam

I am in love with you, Liam.

Always.

I read Alexa’s text message repeatedly while driving to the Manor, unmindful of what’s in store for me this evening—knowing Alexa, a charred three-course meal and our preferred alcohol on the table. She’ll wear knee-high socks and one of my T-shirts—hair in a shambolic topknot.

The Manor’s wrought iron gates separated once security recognised the Bentley. Threading the steering wheel through my hands, stones and gravel crepitating below the tyres, I rolled the vehicle down the extensive driveway, parking beside the tiered water fountain.

I cut the engine and rose from the driver’s door, jangling the keys in my hand. Tailored security patrolled the perimeters. Two young males dipped their heads as I strode past. I didn’t return their acknowledgements, though.

Unlocking the Manor’s front door, entering the dimmed, marble foyer, I dropped the keys into my trouser pocket and checked the dining room first, expecting to find Alexa at the table, which was stupid, given the fact we seldom utilise the main function room. We eat in the kitchen. Always the kitchen.

“Alexa?” My leather shoes struck the glistening floors as I meandered the halls. Her silence and the cold emptiness inside the Manor slowly began to grate on me. If she overlooked our plans this evening, I will drive to the youth centre and castigate her for all to bear witness. I am in no mood for petulance, not tonight, not after Vincent abruptly fled from Ray’s property without an explanation. “Alexa?”

Soft glimmers of light cast shadows on the wall adjacent to the kitchen. I stopped to listen for any sounds or movements, skirted the corner and trailed the burning flames of pillar candles on the floor until I found the culprit sat elegantly on the stonework island. In a simple yet sexy black dress, Alexa sips from a glass of champagne, strumming her red-polished fingernails on the counter.

I inhaled through my nose and held my breath.

“I cooked,” she said, her long, dark hair falling over one shoulder. “It sucked.”

Putting my back to the wall, hands buried in my trouser pockets, I paused to admire her beauty, from the six-inch Louboutin shoes to the delicate bracelet on her wrist, to the matte red coating her delectable lips. “No bra?” I asked, my voice raspier than I’d have liked. “Should I be concerned?”

Her smile did something to my chest. “I hardly need one.”

It ached. Just looking at her made breathing difficult.

Encircled by flickering candles, Alexa slid from off the counter, her heels alternately touching the ground. “Care for a drink?” She held up the champagne bottle to tempt me. “I bought chocolate-coated strawberries, too.” Her cheeks glowed, red and blushed. “I know how much you secretly love chocolate.” Regret and guilt emitted off her jittery body movements. “I can order takeout to counterbalance the cremated steaks.”

“I am not interested in the steaks,” I said hoarsely, nodding my head once.

Alexa set the champagne aside, dodging bright flames as she strode towards me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, hesitant to move closer. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you.”

I swallowed hard. “Come here.”

Curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she came forward an inch. “Liam—”

“I won’t ask you again.”

Touching her flushed chest, she took one more step, and I waited, keeping my hands hidden, wanting her to make the first move. And she does, gingerly, placing a palm on my chest, keeping an eye on my reaction. Her lips brushed mine, and I could almost taste the champagne on her tongue. “Is it too late to ask you to reconsider our date?” she asked breathlessly. “I could even throw sex on the table?”

“It’s not always about sex,” I said, and she nodded. “There should be more to us than that.”

“I know,” she agreed in a gentle voice. “I truly am sorry, Liam.”

Alexa’s incapable of emotional concealment. Her eyes were bright and glacier than normal. Disappointing me had bothered her, and even though our initial arrangements hadn’t gone to plan, I commend her efforts.

Wrapping an arm around her waistline, I pulled her in, nudging her nose with mine. “Do you love me, baby?”

“Yes.” Regarding me with heavy-lidded eyes, she fisted the collar of my shirt. “I love you.”

“I can’t promise an eventful night of surprises or fixed romance. You have yourself to thank for that. But I can pick up where I left off.” I put a hand between our tight bodies, and she interlaced our fingers together. “Can I take you on a date, Miss Haines?”

Alexa laid her head to my chest, smothering nervous laughter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve so much more.” Holding the back of her head, I breathed a kiss on her forehead. “But you belong to me now.”

***

Whilst Alexa freshened up for our date, I packed an overnight bag for us and ventured underground to select different wheels. It’s not often I drive as the men chauffeur me from one place to another. If I do, I usually stick to the Bentley. Tonight, fancying a change, I opted for the gunmetal grey Aston Martin, which, judging by Alexa’s troubled expression, serves its sumptuousness.

I lowered the car window. “Need a ride?”

Holding a faux fur coat to her chest, Alexa peeked inside to examine the leather interior. “Is it safe?”

I blinked once.

“Fine.” Opening the passenger side door, she collapsed onto the heated seat and buckled up. “If we crash inside this monster? I am coming back to haunt you.”

“You are not leaving me in this life or the next.” Steering wheel in one hand, I set my palm on her exposed thigh, massaging her soft skin with dutiful ring-laden fingers. “We’ll die together.”

“How morbid?” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the plan?”

I didn’t respond because I didn’t have the answer.

Classical music lasted for forty-five minutes before Alexa’s boredom and restlessness manifested. She picked her fingernails, read news articles on her phone, praised her shoes, re-applied red lipstick and talked my damn ear off. I learnt a lot about her youth work. Job role. Names of peers. Names of teenagers. The colour of the courtyard and what repast the kitchen staff served on Wednesdays.

“You think my cooking is bad.” Her body visibly shuddered. “Wait until you try their chilli. I swear they use dog meat.”

I soon diverged subjects. “New dress?”

“No, I found it in the back of the wardrobe.” Tugging the hem of her skin-tight black dress, she crossed her slender legs. “Do you like it?”

Alexa’s magnificent in whatever she wears. “It’d look better on the backseat.”

The corner of her lip twitched. “Sitting here in diamonds might distract other drivers.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

This woman knows how to press my buttons.

Another fifty minutes passed, and Alexa lost the will to live.

“Okay, Liam. I might fall asleep.” She almost opened the window fully, but when strong winds blew in her face, she frantically rolled it back up. “Where are we going? At this rate, a twenty-four-hour drive-thru will be our only option. And I hate to whine, but this woman has a bladder, and she needs to relieve it.”

I relaxed against the seat. “Do you oppose eating without leaving the car, baby?”

“No, but I bloody oppose pissing myself, Liam.” She bounced her knees up and down in irritation. “No, seriously. I need to pee.”

“Can you hold on for ten more minutes?” I asked, and she rubbed a hand down her face. “We’re nearly there.”

“Oh, thank God.” Her head lolled on the headrest. “You can wipe the smile off your face. It’s okay for you. Men can pull out and take a leak whenever they want. It’s not so easy for a woman, not unless you want to pop-a-squat.”

Easing off the accelerator, I double-checked for oncoming vehicles, veered the roundabout and drove onto a quieter street. “Pop-a-squat?”

Alexa’s eyes never left the window. “Pissing in a bush or something.”

“Or something,” I murmured, driving passed a familiar line of closed stores. “Not for my woman.” Pulling up outside an old building, I turned off the engine. “Let’s find you a bathroom.”

Holding her dress to stop it from rising, Alexa stood from the car and glanced up and down the street of sporadically flickering street lights, a few boarded-up houses and parked vehicles. “Where are we?”

I took the holdall from the boot and locked the car doors. “Checking in at our accommodation.”

Alexa followed my line of vision to an old, inhabitable building. “It’s a house,” she said, studying the colourful graffiti on the bricked-walls and the swinging metal gate. “A seemingly empty house.” Her hands hugged her hips. “Are we breaking in?”

“Come,” I ordered, leading the way.

Hedging potholes of stagnant rainwater and sheers of overgrown grass, she traipsed in my shadow, the heels of her shoes clicking along the concrete pathway.

Tossing the bag down on the weather-worn welcome mat, I fished out a set of keys, unlocked the main door and gestured for her to enter.

Peering over my shoulder, Alexa looked into the small foyer—from the scraped blue door to the uncarpeted stairs to the dead plant knocked over on the floor—and scratched the crinkle between her gathered eyebrows. “Flats?”

I entered first. “Upstairs.”

Rubbing a cold chill from her arms, she stepped inside and ascended the narrow staircase to the next level. With the holdall strapped across my shoulder, I granted us entry to the bed-sit and waited once more for her to join me inside. Her curious eyes bounced to the neighbour’s side first. “I am so confused.”

In the small yet uncluttered room, Alexa sets her clutch purse onto the round bistro table and wanders around. Her unreadable expression caved my chest. I stood back, awaiting her reaction. Her questions. By the bathroom, she creaked open the door, examining the enamel suite, the broken wall mirror and empty manscape products, and then she returned her interest to the tattered two-seater sofa. It had a black throw draped across the rear and a taped television remote on the frayed armrest. A fake plant layered in the dust on the wooden coffee table. Old trainers chucked beside the radiator and folded towels on the kitchen counter.

Her eyes fell to the coverless bed, and its disarray of ragged scatter cushions. Running the pad of her finger along the headboard, she collected a layer of dust and eyed the oriental rug beneath her feet.

Alexa moved to the window and placed her hand on the glass. “How many times did you stand here, watching the world pass you by?” At my unresponsiveness, she blew onto the pane and drew a heart. “What went through your head?”

I watched too many times to enumerate. “I used to wonder.”

Her lips crept into a satisfied smile. “I used to imagine.”

My eyes fixating on her, I whispered, “About what?”

“The sun,” she said quietly. “I used to imagine the sun on my face.”

I didn’t want her to stop talking. “Go on.”

“Was the snow as white as I remembered?” She turned at the waist to look at me. “What did people do all day? Did the food taste as good as it smelt? To dance to music and laugh at something funny. To eat ice cream from the tub because nobody was around to stop me.” Her shoulders hiked up on a deep Inhalation. “If someone was out there trying to find me.”

Time stood still.

She said after a while, “What about you?”

Long years have since elapsed. “I was lonely,” I admitted, and her interest piqued. It’s not often I open up about my past. “I’d watch people interact, talk, argue, laugh or cry.” I put my hand on the heart she’d drawn and wiped away condensation for us to see an inebriated couple sway down the street, loud and cheerful. “It wasn’t important. Having a family or friends. I didn’t need people to understand me or what I’d been through, yet I craved it more than life itself.”

Alexa’s eyes were on me. “When did you stop feeling this way?”

“When I put myself first.”

“Well, all those wonders found you regardless.” She studied me in awe. “Take Brad, for instance. You’d be lost without him.”

“Wonders?” I mused, tugging an arm around her shoulders. “Brad’s the bane of my bastard life.”

Laughing, she wiped the moisture from under her eye. “What about Nate and Josh? You have Vincent and an entire syndicate looking up to you.” Her hands cupped my shoulders. “You have me.”

Smiling against her lips, I teased her mouth for a kiss. “And where would I be without you?”

Her lips parted for my tongue. We kissed, slow and sensual, our hearts thumping between us. My fingers tangling in her hair, I dominated the kiss, overpowered her with urgency, tasting mint and champagne on her tongue. I heard her stomach grumble and pulled back. “I should feed you.”

“I’m not hungry.” With lust-filled eyes and swollen lips, she cupped my face. “I want you.”

“Not yet.” Prying her hands down, I backed her towards the door. “Date first, remember?” I hate how much she neglects herself. If I didn’t remind her to eat, she’d consume nothing. “Ladies first.”

“Wait!” Ducking under my arm, she belted to the bathroom. “Toilet break.”

***

Walking alongside me with a cone of salt and vinegar chips, Alexa nibbles on a battered sausage, humming to the music belting from a corner bar. “This is so good,” she moaned in abstemious delight. “Have you finished yours?”

I trashed the empty newspaper ten minutes ago.

Alexa’s too lost in indulgence to understand the purpose of stock-piled people in the alleyway. On occasion, she scrutinised raucous lads, shoving and imbibing bottled beers, and she listened to chattering women, smoking cigarettes and cackling rubbish, but her sole focus—food engulfment.

I had zero complaints. My woman doesn’t eat enough. I have yet to determine whether food deprivation is a calculated method to stay slim, in some cases, underweight, or if her mind runs a hundred miles an hour and she overlooks eating. Both theories, unsatisfactory and displeasing. I couldn’t care less how much she weighed because I love her, but her bad eating habits and health issues trouble me. Living on ice cream and vodka indisputably worsens whatever unspoken condition sustained. I won’t voice concerns yet. I’ll subtly remind her to eat more, and if she doesn’t pack on some pounds in the next few months, I have no choice. I’ll intervene, starting with meal replacements and supplements.

“Why did we stop walking?” Alexa asked, sucking salt from her thumb. “I need a bin.”

Furtively eyeing her leftovers, I take the cone and dump it in the communal bin. “Come.” Keeping our hands locked, I meandered through throngs of people, up the smoke fumed staircase and into the rowdy gym. Loud-mouthed spectators occupied the benches encompassing the ring. Motivational music pumped from aloft speakers. Cigar smoke permeated the dank, humid air and women in glittering glad rags sauntered from the hired bar.

“Liam?” Alexa’s fingers crushed mine. “What is this place?”

“Whatever fuckin’ next,” came Rex’s voice. His frail hand slapped down on my shoulder. “Liam Warren.” His arms cradled me in for a long hug, and it took great restraint not to jerk out of his hold. “Two visits in one year. Aye, I must be fuckin’ blind or sleepin’.” Balancing on his wooden cane, he stepped back to further insults when his eyes clapped on Alexa. “Oh, shite. And who might we have ‘ere then?”

“Alexa,” she introduced herself, giving him a firm handshake. “Alexa Haines.”

“Alexa?” Rex’s grey, unkempt eyebrows snapped together in confusion. “Aye, I thought ye snuffed it.”

“Long story,” I clipped out, rubbing irritation from my jaw. “Rex used to train me.”

“I did more than bastard train ye, ye fuckin’ eejit,” he scolded, wrinkles cinching at the corners of his judgmental eyes. “I taught ye how to roll the mop ‘n bucket.”

“Liam?” Alexa burst out laughing. “I didn’t know you could mop floors.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Alexa.” I gave her a derisive glare, and her taunting grin stretched. “Well done, old man. She’ll have me on cleaning duties next.”

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, Warren.” Rex looked fondly at her. “Ye did well with that one like.”

Alexa smoothed unruly hair from out of her face in an attempt to conceal the blush tinting her cheeks.

“Yeah,” I rasped, curling an arm around her waist. “I got lucky.”

“Stop,” she said in a low tone, not wanting to be the centre of attention. “What else did you teach Liam?”

“Well,” Rex chimed, puffing on his pipe, clouding us in thick smoke. “I taught him how to throw a killer right hook.”

I scoffed at his audaciousness. “Behave.”

“You denyin’ it, lad?” Fumes gyrate above his head, and the crowd roared encouragements to our left, championing their favourite boxers, who throw punch after punch in the ring. “Got him on the kettle, too. He makes a mean cuppa.”

Alexa put her head to my arm. “Younger Liam sounds wonderful.”

“Aye, ye were a good lad, Warren. I don’t know what the heck happened to ye.” He flashed me a wink. “Ye hangin’ round to watch a fight? Got Scott comin’ on in a minute.”

I briefly scanned the gym to locate Ryan.

“He’s in the changin’ room, warmin’ up.” Rex tipped his brown fedora hat to another gent. “Placin’ big bets on him. Can I interest ye in a cheeky gamble?”

Alexa responded before I declined. “I will.” Fumbling with her clutch bag, she counted twenty-pound notes, and Rex’s eyes peeled wider in gleeful enchantment. “I don’t know how this works, though.”

“Put it away, Alexa.” Sliding a hand inside the pocket of my suit jacket, I extracted my wallet and handed it to her. “Here.”

“No, I want to pay…” Alexa perceived the warning in my eyes. “Who am I to deny the man?” Faking a smile, she thumbed through fifty-pound notes and slapped a wad onto Rex’s upward-facing palm. “Now what?”

His two hands gripped the cane handle. “Well, are ye bettin’ on Scott or O’Neil?”

She sought me for guidance. When I ignored her silent ask, she shook her head. “Jesus, Liam. Help me out. I don’t know how to place bets.”

I bit back a smile. “You should have thought about that before you became a willing participant.”

“Fine.” She let out a small breath. “I’ll go with O’Neil—”

“Fucking O’Neil? You don’t pick that prick,” I objurgated, and her eyes rolled heavenward. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You bet on Scott.”

“Christ, Warren.” Rex scratched his nape. “Is that any way to speak to a woman?”

“Oh, no,” Alexa’s quick to reassure him. “It’s okay. Liam’s innately bad-tempered. It’s not personal.”

My teeth sank into my bottom lip. “Tighten the noose, baby.”

“Well, he should know better.” His cynical stare hardened. “Ye not too big for a slap, lad. Wind yer neck in.”

Honestly, if I didn’t like the old geezer…

“Here ye go, grandad.”

A tray of plastic shots appeared in our circle; the rum spillage was the least of my problems.

I recognised her voice.

Bronagh O’Sullivan.

“Captain Morgan. Can I get ye champers?” Her question was for Alexa, but when our eyes collided, something akin to astonishment flashed in her round eyes, and the tray slid through her fingers, crashing against the wooden floor. Each plastic cup clattered and bounced until the final one rolled to a stop beneath my shoe. I crushed it.

Bronagh set her hand on my arm. “Is that ye, Liam?”

Her stare alternating from B to Rex, Alexa stood taller, taking possession of whatever outlandish throughs festered inside her head.

Suddenly aware of her tawdry appearance, Bronagh tugged her jumper sleeves and raked a hand through coils of bright red hair. Her white, creamy skin darkened in colour, and her lips jutted out as another question dangled on her tongue.

I looked at her—really looked, deep into her glassy green eyes, the same, beguiling eyes I used to seek when working for Rex. She’s gained a bit of weight, nothing extreme, but she’s not the slim, smiling girl I remember. In fact, as I openly judge her unbecoming presence, I can’t help but think what a brainless imbecile I used to be. I fell hard for B, once upon a time, not love but an embarrassing dose of infatuation. After all, she was the first girl to pay me real interest, to claim my virginity and promise me the world. Now, I see a mistake, an afterthought, a forgotten memory, a nobody.

“Alexa,” my woman introduces herself, affable yet hesitant. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Bronagh’s investigatory stare roamed Alexa from head-to-to. Resentment and jealousy radiated off her every pore. “Bronagh,” she said, tight-lipped and reluctant. “I’m an old friend.”

“Bronagh’s Rex’s granddaughter.” I cleared my throat. “She came here from time to time.”

“I used to fatten him up with baked goods.”

I wanted to cull her neck. “I barely touched them.”

Alexa stifled annoyance.

“What?” Bronagh feigned offence. “I don’t remember ye complainin’, Liam.”

“When didn’t he complain about somethin’?” Rex joined in, oblivious to our past. “Ye chomped gums at every wakin’ moment.”

“You loved my cookies,” Bronagh continued, smiling for the first time since seeing me. “Chocolate fudge smarties were his favourite.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Alexa did well to mask discomfort. “Liam hates my cooking.”

“I love your cooking.” Needing to restore her confidence, I pulled a protective arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “And I love you.”

Sagging in my arms, Alexa breathed out a stuttered breath.

“Did ye ever think ye’d see the day?” Rex asked his granddaughter. “Warren all doe-eyed and loved up.”

Touching the freckles on her cheek, Bronagh made a noncommittal noise. “Money did a number on ye, Liam.” Sadness dampened her eyes. “It’s a good look, aye.”

“Go on, lad. Get seated.” Rex jerked my shoulder. “Scott’s comin’ out. Ye need to prepare for this one. He’s a blinder, I tell ye.”

Eager to escape Bronagh, I drew Alexa in front of me and hunted for a seat in the stands. I spot one in the second row and encourage her to keep moving.

“Liam, there aren’t enough seats.” She climbed the tiered steps, apologising to seated spectators as we squeezed through. “Why don’t we watch from the sideline?”

Relaxed on a plastic chair, I tapped my thigh. “You can sit on my lap.”

Smoothing a hand around her backside to ensure the dress stays down, Alexa slid onto my leg and rested an arm behind my neck.

Anticipating her brewing question, I watched her intently.

Three. Two. One.

“Was she important?” she asked, avoiding my gaze. “Bronagh?”

“No.” Pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I forced her eyes to mine. “I had to find you, remember?”

Her fingernails stroked the nape of my neck. “I wouldn’t have slept back then,” she said, referring to her childhood. “Knowing I had you to look forward to.”

Two lads geared-up for a fight emerge from the changing rooms. Scott and O’Neil. The room blacks out for a few seconds while flashing lights danced to the sound of the commentator’s voice. When brightness beamed, Scott ducked under the frayed ropes into the ring. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he shoved a gumshield in his mouth and bent down to listen to Rex’s inspiring speech. His head raised sharply in search for someone.

Before he could locate me, I turned my head to kiss the column of Alexa’s neck, savouring the taste of her sweet perfume on my lips. “So, do you fancy a sleepover at my old place?”

“On one condition.” She snatched my jaw. “We flip the mattress and buy vodka on the way home.”

“I packed vodka.” My voice was thick and gravelled. “I even packed new sheets.”

“You planned this.” She melted in my arms. “What about pyjamas?”

“You don’t need a hideous T-shirt.” Palming her backside, I grasped a handful. “You and a bed. It’s all I crave.”

Screaming with excitement, the crowd jumped to their feet, supporting Ryan, who’s taunting his opponent. Alexa flinched at the unexpected commotion. “I like this date.” Toying with my gold curb bracelets, she sank an elbow on my shoulder. “What will tomorrow entail?”

I wasn’t sure about anything except her.

Chapter 54

Alexa

I awoke to the sound of Liam’s soft breathing and the sun’s warmth on my face. Brightness crested the boxed room, illuming deep alcoves and airborne dust particles. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I twisted in his strong arms and kissed the crevice of his muscular chest. He looked ruggedly handsome, tousled hair and a smatter of stubble across his jaw. His lips, slightly dry yet inviting. I struggled to look away.

His hand fastened to the Eagle beneath the pillow, which raised questionable concerns, given our impermeant sleeping arrangement. In a rabbit hole of speculation, I glanced from him to the double-locked door. He never mentioned apprehensions, not last night, but something, or someone, uneased him enough to stay armed. Maybe he anticipated unwanted visitors. Perhaps it’s how he always slept, back when residing here, so it’s instinctive, sleeping with one eye open.

Not wanting to startle his restful slumber, I uncurled his ice-ringed-fingers from the gun and set it onto the bedside table next to his leather wallet and phone. His uninterrupted peacefulness somewhat flummoxed me. The last time I obtained a gun from his hand, he aroused with a start and, in a state of perplexity and exhaustion, he flipped me onto my back and pinned me beneath him like I was a serious threat, the barrel thrust under my chin.

Sitting up to stretch, the sheet falling to my waist, I let out a long yawn and climbed to my feet to peer out of the curtainless window. It was dead outside, not even a bird in sight, but I smelt coffee drifting from somewhere.

It’s nice here, quiet and cosy. I love the unmatching furnishings, the elements of randomness and basic décor. The uncluttered, unpretentious bedsit used to be Liam’s home. A place to call his own. A sanctuary that belonged to him—only him. It’s hard to imagine him dwelling in unimposing possession, wearing unfashionable clothing, eating convenient microwavable meals and purchasing second-hand furniture.

My heart ached.

Impoverished isolation was his prerequisite for determined transformation. I suddenly understood his obligatory ostentatiousness and compelled veneration. It’s what the younger, underprivileged Liam hankered, lavishness, acceptance and respect.

Whilst Liam’s dead to the world, I unzipped his holdall, searching for a T-shirt. I made myself decent, sat on the two-seater sofa and checked the notifications on my phone. I had text messages from Grayson, Jace and Mathew, but the alert from the period tracker stole my full attention. I am due for a show in two days.

Huffing out a long, wearisome sigh, I hurled my phone onto a cushion and tapered down any thoughts of possible pregnancies, even though, deep down, I hoped for an efficacious outcome. Hell, it’s not as though I demand plentiful children. I didn’t need a huge family. I’d be content with one. A part of me. A part of Liam. Someone to love, cherish and adore.

Grabbing a towel from the kitchen counter, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and fumbled with the shower until warm water burst from the faucet. I peeled the T-shirt off and climbed into the bath, standing behind the frosted-glass door.

Serena reduced the chances of pregnancy, but there is still a light at the end of the tunnel. Never say never, right? It could happen if I hoped and prayed enough. I won’t allow myself to overthink possibilities, though. I have read too many disquieting articles where women, who try to conceive, fail because of mental stress and analysis paralysis, which impedes the route of conception.

Forcing myself to vault any considerations of desired pregnancies, I stand under the hot water and let the steam reduce tension.

Liam left products in here for me. It’s the little things I rarely acknowledge, but he’s thoughtful at times. I squirted the rose-scented gel onto a white loofah and scrubbed my body, avoiding the fresh purple and yellow bruises he’d left on my hips.

Lost in the memory of last night, I shut my eyes and slowly dragged suds across my middle section. I could still feel Liam’s rough hands on me, his lips on my neck, his teeth dragging across my skin, his dominance on my flesh.

After returning from Rex’s gym last night, Liam used an app on his phone to order additional alcohol from a twenty-four-hour convenience store. He had it delivered right to our door. He flipped the mattress, changed the sheets and locked himself in the bathroom for a tedious amount of time.

By the time he reappeared, a towel tied around his waist, steam emitting in his wake, I’d cleared half a bottle of vodka in soliloquised dreariness.

Taking long showers isn’t atypical for Liam, as he’s renowned for luxuriating in silence, but he looked torn and conflicted, smiling at me with a touch of ambivalence. Rechecked his phone and then relocked the door. While I forced nugatory conversations, he glanced out of the window, absorbing harsh liquor and avoiding my eyes, pretending to listen.

In the end, I lost the fight and called it a night. Threatening to sleep snapped Liam out of whatever mental disorganisation transpired. He finished the final drop of whiskey, lost his slouch pants and crawled onto the bed beside me. I was face down on the pillow five seconds later, the dress torn from my body, landing in a heap on the floor. My legs were forced apart. His head was buried between my thighs. His wicked tongue coaxed an orgasm from me, and then his glorious shaft replaced his mouth. I was lost in the moment—lost in him and his punishing length. But our quick, hard fuck and the ensued uncommunicativeness rioted apprehensions. I had many questions. I knew better than to poke the bear, though.

“Should I give you a moment?”

At the sound of Liam’s tiered voice, my eyes flew open, the soapy loofah plummeting to the whirlpool of water at my feet. “You scared me.”

Resting his shoulder on the doorframe, Liam lazily raked his eyes down my naked body. “Where did you go?”

I put my back to him. “I was reliving our date.”

He emptied his bladder. “What about it?”

Pouring shampoo on my hand, I scrubbed my scalp. “How good it felt to be fucked all over the bedsit.” I paused. “You bruised me.”

Turning on the tap, he washed his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Liam!” Freezing water belted down on me. I shrieked, slapping burning bubbles in my eyes. “Oh, shit—I can’t see!”

“Alexa, calm down.” Moving the glass door out of the way, he coiled an arm around my writhing body and rubbed a towel across my face. “Keep still.”

“It burns.” Warm water soon restored. “Shit, I think I’m blind.”

He examined my eyes through curtains of wet, scraggly hair. “There she is,” he whispered, his thumb circling my cheek. “Better?”

I nodded.

“Good.” He kissed my forehead. “Breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.” Blinking soreness from my eyes, I washed out the shampoo and conditioned the ends of my hair. “So, what’s on the agenda, Mr Warren?” He brushed his teeth without water. “We can spend the day in bed? Unless the syndicate requires your attention, in that case, I’ll go shopping.”

Liam stepped out of black Philipp Plein boxer briefs and joined me in the shower. It’s too small for the two of us, especially with the bath limitation, but he found a way for us to share the space.

Leaving open-mouthed kisses to my shoulder, he set a hand on the cracked tiles. His hard length pressed against my lower back. “I am not staying in bed all day,” he said, and I bellied disappointment. “But I don’t want our date to end just yet.”

His palms smoothed across my shoulders and down my arms. Linking our fingers, he positioned our fisted hands to the tiles, a silent order for me to keep them there. In a state of pure ecstasy, I closed my eyes to heighten the feel of his affectionate touches. His hand on my stomach lowered, tempting me to push into him, desiring more.

“Liam,” I breathed out, my body cased in goosebumps.

He slid his fingers between my legs to tease my throbbing ache.

My breathing laboured. I stayed motionless. “I want you.”

“You had me last night,” he said throatily, nibbling my earlobe. “We should wait.”

“Why?” I asked, licking water droplets from my lips. “I prefer spontaneity.”

“Christmas is less than two weeks away,” he reminded me. “It’s your favourite day of the year, yet you haven’t mentioned it. Why?”

“I’m over festivities,” I half-lied, adjusting the shower temperature. I don’t hate Christmas or any other holiday season, for that matter. However, the last time I overindulged, overspent, over-elaborated, and, I don’t know, got myself in a mess of bursting excitement, this man, the one awaiting answers behind me, ruined it. He disregarded my inspirited efforts and braced exhilaration by spending the afternoon at Club 11 with his dependable Suits and an infuriating redhead in order to facilitate his lover’s heartbreak.

Liam’s a modernistic Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s apathetic toward the joyous season. If in possession of such obliterating powers, he’d abolish festivities altogether.

Of course, I scoured shop windows in contemplation recently. I can imagine a beautifully decorated Christmas tree dominating the Manor’s lobby and perfectly wrapped parcels arranged vertically beneath. If he weren’t a cantankerous sod, I’d even buy him a pre-filled stocking. But such concepts are not worth reprimand. I can learn to live without tinsel, novelty jumpers, hot cocoa and fluffy socks…Well, not the socks. I cannot part with those.

“Baby?” He turned me in his arms, his finger elevating my chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “So, breakfast?”

His eyes sliced in distrust. Reaching behind me, he grabbed the shower gel and scrubbed himself raw. “Brunch?”

I nodded. “Happy hour?”

“Behave.” His adoring eyes following my every move, he gave me a rare smile. “I packed you a change of clothes. Check the bottom of the bag.”

Knotting a towel around my body, I walked lightly into the living room, leaving foamed footsteps in my shadow, and hunted for clothes. Towel-dried and moisturised for the day ahead, I combed through folded piles inside his holdall, found a grey jumper dress and black suede knee-high boots. “Where’s the underwear?”

“I thought you didn’t need lace?” he mused upon exiting the living quarters.

I glanced at the window to check the weather. “Did you pack socks?”

With an unlit cigarette balanced on his bottom lip, he laid out a royal blue suit. “Pinch a pair of mine.”

Perching onto the sofa edge, I rolled up black socks and made a lackadaisical effort of slapping makeup on my face. “Where should we go first?”

He matched a flame and inhaled a lungful of smoke. “Harrods.”

“Harrods?” I wondered aloud, tousling the dire mass of curls atop my head. “Why?”

“Alexa, stop asking questions.” He pulled on boxer briefs. “Get ready in silence.”

***

“I think we need a new bed.” I fell back on the world’s comfiest bed and snuggled into the duck-feather cushions, cocking my leg over a fluffy throw blanket. “Let’s take this home with us. It belongs inside our bedroom.”

Liam scrubbed a hand down his face. “Alexa, get off the bed.”

“I don’t want to,” I protested like a querulous child. “Look.” My eyebrows dancing, I showed him the product details. “Upholstered in velvet for a passionate edge.”

His contemplative gaze raked down my legs. “You disarranged the sheets.”

“I thought you liked messy sheets,” I flirted, and his eyebrow arched. “Fine.” Bolting off the king-sized mattress, I collected myself, taking possession of his elbow. “Why are we here, Liam? You won’t let me buy anything—oh, God.” Releasing his arm, I meandered through a plethora of Jimmy Choo and gravitated to the glass-encased white Aveline sandals to read the description. “Exquisite, extravagant and elegant. Jimmy Choo proudly presents asymmetrical Aveline sandals decorated with two oversized bows and sewn for a dramatic finish.” I felt his nearness before his hand came to my lower back. “Handcrafted in Italy.”

“Worn for special occasions,” Liam reads the small print. “Unless my memory deceives me, Alexa. I am pretty sure I purchased you a pair just recently.”

“You got me the black ones.” I touched the glass with covetous fingers. “I need them in white, too.” Unzipping my bag, I pulled out my purse. “I will die a painful death if I don’t buy these.”

Narked by my compulsive need to spend, Liam sighed in my ear. “You never wear white.”

I snagged a white chiffon blouse from the clothes rail. “Now, I do.”

Imperceptibly shaking his head, he stifled a smirk, gesturing for the unoccupied sales representative to intercede. Dressed in all black and an emblazoned shirt, the amiable male, heeded response. Whilst Liam spoke, he nodded, listened, obtained the blouse from my unyielding hands and ventured to the stockroom for the boxed Aveline shoes.

“It’s yours,” Liam whispered, sliding a black card onto my palm. “Enjoy.”

Shopping in Harrods was the highlight of my year. Liam’s squandering cooperativeness earned him guaranteed head tonight. If the surfeit of designer shoes hadn’t sealed the deal, the Christmas tree and intricately designed baubles sure as hell did. Nothing perturbed him. He gave me free rein in exchange for another dinner date.

What more could I possibly want in a man?

To Liam’s dismay, I didn’t spend all that much. It’s pointless. With stunning shoes in hand, Christmas festivities arranged for delivery and a perfectly handsome man on my arm, I felt utterly high on life. Happy. Complete.

By the time we left Harrods, nightfall had draped the streets of London. Liam hadn’t eaten all day. His mood swings attested to starvation. With maddeningly long strides, he powered ahead to locate a restaurant. Italian cuisine. “Mr Warren.” Fixing his satin purple tie, the waiter snagged a leatherbound menu from the main desk. “Table for two? Should I call for management? Complimentary champagne?”

Liam’s accustomed to theatrical lionising, but tonight, his patience levels were slim. “A window seat,” he clipped, interlacing our fingers. “No management. No interruptions. It’s all I require.”

“Absolutely, Mr Warren.” The waiter fell over himself to escort us to a romantically laid out table before the floor-to-ceiling window. “May I interest you in a bottle of Rennina Brunello di Montalcino?”

His concentrated stare on my red-painted lips, Liam popped open the button of his suit jacket and became seated opposite. Declining the menu, he gave the waiter a sharp nod. “Spaghetti with clams and chilli. Do you wish for dessert?” I opened my mouth to ask if I could see the overlooked menu when he answered on my behalf. “Lemon sorbet.”

“Of course, Mr Warren.” Arranging three tea lights onto the white-clothed table, the waiter set the wicks alight, removed decorative plates and eagerly retreated.

“I can speak for myself,” I said snappishly, twirling the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. “I wanted chocolate ice cream.”

“The menu only offers sorbet.” Liam glimpsed at his Rolex. “You’ll enjoy it the same.”

He speaks from experience. “Have you dined here before?”

Liam regarded me with a glint of cautiousness in his eyes. “Yes.”

With a satin blouse tucked into a black high waist skirt, the blonde sommelier appeared at our table to pour wine. I waited to see if Liam noticed her ample breasts and long, sleek legs. His determined stare homed in on my face.

“With Brad?” I asked, whispering gratitude to the friendly waitress. “Nate?”

His mouth curved into a knowing smirk. “You wish to know if I accompanied a love interest?”

Damn him and his infuriating mind-reading capabilities. “No.”

Liam chuckled, low and throaty. “Why do you care, Alexa?”

Okay, that question spawned further inquiries. “To torture myself, apparently.”

“You are far too extraordinary to be troubling yourself with such pointlessness.” His arms folded. “Who cares if there were women before us? I am here with you. If I am to return, it’ll be with you at my side.”

I held my breath. “And if we don’t make it?”

His soft gaze darkened. “Are you foreshadowing events?”

I barely shook my head. “Slaking inquisitiveness.”

“You can’t escape me, Alexa.” He breathed his unsubtle threat. “Not now. Not ever.”

Easing back in the chair, I crossed my leg over one knee. “I don’t want to escape you.”

Our main courses landed on the table, but unbreakable eye contact sustained. Even when sipping wine, Liam watched me intently. Espying the fork next to my glass, he licked flavoursome red from his upper lip.

It’s an unvoiced order for me to eat.

I curled my fingers around the silver fork, stabbed a cherry tomato and popped it into my mouth. Rich essences danced on my tongue. I polished it down with a mouthful of wine.

Liam forked spaghetti.

My nosiness heightened.

Peering around the scenic room to see other couples interact, I listened to the instrumental jazz music segue in the background and watched the skilful mixologist prepare colourless cocktails at the bar. He loves his job. You can sense his fulfilment from across the room.

“It’s a traditional menu,” Liam elucidated, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “Has he piqued an interest?”

“Depends.” I looked at him. “Will I like anything he has to offer?”

Setting his cutlery, Liam soared to his full imperial height and clicked for my hand. Ingesting the last drop of wine, I stood, collected my bag and slid my palm onto his. Wrapping a protective arm around me, he walked us through the busy tables of conversationalists to the bar and briefly examined the cocktail menu. “Go ahead.”

I didn’t need to look. “I’ll sample Manhattan.”

Liam gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I placed my hands on the bar top. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“Suit yourself.” Waving down the mixologist, he ordered two Manhattan’s and the guy added it to our tab. “Why?”

My eyebrows drew closer. “It sounds delicious.”

His lips thinned. “It’s a whiskey-based drink.”

Vibrant red cherries decorate our tall glasses. “You taste like whiskey,” I said, bringing the glass to my nose for a quick inhale. “I’m used to it.” Feigning insouciance, I put the rim to my lips and swallowed. The warm, heady flavours set my chest on fire. “Holy, shit.” My eyes instantly watering, I coughed against the back of my hand. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

Humoured by the pitifulness, Liam sucked the glazed cherry from its delicate stem. “As I said, it’s whiskey-based. You may want to sample the cosmopolitan next time.” His phone vibrated on occasion, but he ignored everything and everyone. Tonight’s about us—only us. It’s not often I get him to myself, so I appreciated the effort.

Liam suggested another cocktail. I opted for a safer choice, cosmopolitan, just like the doctor ordered. We talked for minutes, hours, laughing and smiling, the sound of Frank Sinatra sounding from the main stage. As alcohol slowly laced my body, I had an urge to dance, but he’s far too comfortable. Relaxed, calm and uncharacteristically ebullient. I didn’t want to pester him.

His backside perched on a bar stool, Liam tugged me closer, between his parted thighs, and grappled the material of my jumper dress. Immersed in his manly scent, I curled my arms around his shoulders. Our foreheads touched. He mouthed Sinatra’s lyrics under his breath, the intenseness of his gaze uncaging butterflies in my chest. “Those days and nights, they went flying by,” he sings in a rough voice, his fingers writing something indecipherable on my back. “I lost you to the summer wind.”

I giggled into the groove of his neck. “If the life of crime doesn’t work out for you, you should seriously consider singing.”

Against my cheek, I felt his humoured smile. He threaded our fingers and stood, slowly spinning me in his arms. Lost in each other’s hold, we danced by the bar, not caring for shortness of space or curious stares from bystanders. “Baby,” he whispered, his heart rate beating faster beneath my palm.

Frowning at the severity of his erratic heartbeat, I craned my neck to look up at him. “What’s wrong, Liam?”

His Adam’s apple jived in his throat. “Nothing,” he lied, clicking his fingers to the mixologist.

The guy wiped his hands clean in a tea towel. “Another round?”

Liam set the price list aside. “What do you fancy?”

“Tequila?” All my weight rested on his chest. “Lots of lemons.”

Setting two shot glasses onto the beer mat, the guy uncapped a tequila bottle to splash lethal substance, slid a salt cellar across and sliced a couple of lemons.

“What can I lick first?” Humming suggestively, I ran the pads of my fingers on the underside of Liam’s hand. “You wear too many layers.”

Cracking a boyish smirk, Liam slipped out of his suit jacket. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves, rolling them up casually to the elbows. “Where do you want me?”

“Where do I want you?” Tapping my chin, I feigned deliberation. “It’s too naughty for such a wholesome establishment.” He laughed a short yet loud laugh. I smiled at his unrestrained mirth. There’s something peculiarly different about him tonight. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. His unusual calmness and carefree demeanour enthralled me. I gripped his wrist, flattened my tongue to his pulse and licked a slow mark along his forearm.

His heated glare fixated on the movement.

Pouring salt onto the damp line, I licked once more, the sharpness irritating my tastebuds, knocked back a tequila shot and wedged a slice of lemon in my mouth. I sucked, the citrus flavours bursting zest. “Shit.”

His fingers smoothed across my collar bone. “Can I have you here?” he asked, dropping his head to kiss and suckle my skin. His hand on my backside tightened, keeping me locked within his parted legs. Excluding the salt and lemon, he downed a shot in one mouthful, grappled hair at the nape of my neck and slanted his mouth across mine. He didn’t wait for permission. His tongue lazily sweeps into my mouth, drinking me in.

“You defy the rules, Liam.” My lips swollen, I turned my head to inhale a refuelling breath, to collect scattered thoughts of lust and a night of impending passion. “You didn’t suck on a lemon.”

“I have better things to do with my mouth,” he rasped, and my cheeks tinged to an impossible shade of red. “Another?”

I combed hair from off my brow. “Only if you promise to follow the rules.”

He ordered a tequila bottle for refills. “I don’t make promises.”

Keep telling yourself that, Mr Warren.

Two hours later, I stumbled out of the Italian restaurant, laughing like a madwoman. The heels of my shoes dragged and scraped along the floor as I struggled to keep myself upright. Wild winds blew through my hair, intensifying light-headedness. “Shit.” Giggling foolishly to myself, I slapped two palms onto the restaurant’s bricked wall, losing grip of my clutch bag. It nosedived to my feet, scattering miscellaneous items and cosmetics across the path. “I broke the perfume.”

Studying shattered glass and perfume leakage by my shoes, Liam, deliriously intoxicated, suit jacket slung across one shoulder, swayed beside me. “I’ll buy you more,” he slurred, and I smiled like a lovesick idiot. “Why are you smiling?”

I crouched to collect makeup. “I just am, Liam.”

“Don’t do that.” His arms wrapped around me. “Stand.”

On my feet, I staggered into his chest, the glass crunching beneath our unbalanced movements. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he lied, short and sharp. “Are you hungry?”

“Unless you offer to feed me your cock?” I burped, loud and unladylike. His eyes rounded. “Quit trying to fatten me up. I ate already.”

He mustered a response. “Speechless.”

I melted into his side as we promenade toward the South Bank. The London Dungeon soon comes into my peripheral, but Liam spurned a macabre historical tour before I even uttered a word. His hand holding mine, he dodged amassed crowds, sightseers and entertainment seekers. The brightly lit Ferris wheel on the bank of the River Thames grows in size. It’s a magnificent contrast against the dark, starless skies. People cue in line to get a higher glance at the city. I, however, couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Come,” Liam ordered, leading me to the very place I rebuffed.

I came to an abrupt stop. “I am not going on that.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Have you seen the size of that thing?” I waved an aimless hand heavenwards. “I’d rather keep my feet on terra firma. It’s dangerous, Liam. What if something goes wrong? We fall two-hundred feet to our premature deaths.”

“Four-hundred and forty-three,” the smartass corrected. “Besides, I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” His arm snaked across my shoulders. “Come on, baby. It’ll be worth it.”

“Liam,” I groaned, unable to withstand his imploring gaze. “Why must you torture me?”

His smile warmed my chest. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now,” he asked, kissing the corner of my lips, “where would it be?”

“Seriously?” My heart thudded from soaring anxiety. “Somewhere away from precarious heights.” He tugged my hair by the root, and I winced. “For crying out loud, Liam! Quit being a caveman all your life!”

“Just answer the goddamn question, Alexa.”

I sighed into nothingness. “Dubai.”

He stayed quiet for a moment. “Why?”

“To ride a camel.”

His expression turned grave.

“I’m kidding.” I wasn’t. Not really. “I don’t know. It looks beautiful over there—another world.” He calculatedly moved me closer to the London Eye. “I haven’t lost my wits. You are trying to distract me!”

Ascending the metal steps to the younger male collecting tickets, Liam extracted his leather wallet, rudely ignoring the cue of sullen faces. “Are you interested in historical sights and futuristic architecture?”

I rubbed the shiver from my arms. “I am interested in their picturesque beaches and their active nightlife.”

“Warren,” the young lad stuttered, losing the frayed ball cap from his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Do you want to jump on?” He gestured to the wheel, and people murmured complaints behind us. “I love your suit. Is that a fresh haircut?”

Irritably nonchalant, Liam paid the man no regard, so I spoke up. “Do you want his autograph?”

“Alexa,” Liam scolds, his iron grip to my elbow, tearing a humoured giggle from me. “Quit fucking about.”

“I mean, well, if you want to…?” The boy hedged, shifting on the weight of his feet. “If—”

“No.” Liam slapped two fifty-pound notes on the boy’s hand. “Stop talking.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” He stepped back in time for an available pod to approach. “Enjoy, Mr Warren—and you, lady.”

“Alexa.” We shook hands, and he left a layer of sticky sweat in his frantic grip. “I—”

“Baby.” Disconnecting me from the friendly chap, Liam forced me to the pod, and that’s when I had a meltdown. “Don’t start.”

“I can’t go up there, Liam.” Preparing my exit plan, I spun on my heel to bolt when his inexorable hold caged me. “Please—I can’t breathe. It’s too high. It’s too high…”

“Stop prattling.” Liam’s hand covered my eyes as he dragged me into the pod. I heard the door seal behind us and a slight jitter underneath my feet. “Breathe.”

“Are we moving?” The wheel groaned. “Oh, God. It’s moving, Liam. I can’t do this. I don’t want to—”

His mouth slanted over mine, silencing my wayward tongue. His calming tactic failed to reduce the painful thumping of my heart, though. I was burning up from the inside out—borderline hyperventilating. “Baby, breathe,” he groaned between kisses, entrapping me in the thrall of his muscular arms. “That’s it.”

I fisted the front of his shirt. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His hand cupped the back of my head. “You love me.”

“Debatable,” I groused, inhaling deep breaths through my nose, releasing it in intervals. “Please tell me it is almost over.”

Liam twisted me in his arms until my chest pressed up against the window. “Open your eyes.”

“No.” I stubbornly persisted. “I prefer darkness.”

“Let me see your eyes, baby?” Brushing a strand of hair off my eyebrow, he took me by the chin, tilting my lips to his liking. “Must I beg?”

My erratic breathing lessened, but the lodged lump in my throat hurt. “I’m scared.”

“Alexa, look at me,” he said hoarsely, and my eyelashes fluttered open. Our eyes locked. “There she is.”

I refused to let my gaze astray. “Why do you push my limits?”

“To challenge your capabilities.” Holding the bar in front of us, Liam rested his chin on my shoulder and gazed out of the all-encompassing glass. “I see two of everything.”

Nervous laughter vibrated in my chest. “I thought drunkenness wasn’t your style?”

“Speak of such mindlessness to no one.” He rubbed his jaw. “Specifically, Brad. I can’t handle his smart mouth.”

To occupy one’s frenetic mind, I unbuttoned the top of his shirt to reveal a slither of his chest. Liam took my hand and kissed my inner wrist, his eyes closing on a deep exhale. “Will you look for me?”

My shoulders drooped despondently. Reining in unspoken concerns, I side-eyed the glass, ready to look away, but the iconic views left me breathless. As the eye revolves at a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree angle, I can see the vast expanse of the city unfold, the famous landmarks: River Thames, Big Ben, The House of Parliament. “It is beautiful.” Stiffness uncoiled from my body in small doses. “Liam?”

His eyes were on me. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being a caveman.”

Burying his head on my shoulder, he tautens his arm around my waist. “Baby?”

I lifted off my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Yes?”

Our eyes aligned. “I wanted to—” The pod jerked, and I recoiled on instinct, my heart dropping to the pits of my stomach. “Fuck’s sake.”

I was too scared to look down. “What happened?”

Liam strode to the other side of the pod to glance below. “Nothing. It has stopped to let people on.”

Oh, thank God. “Liam?”

Suddenly irritable, Liam speared a hand through his hair and snapped, “What?”

I wanted to ask what bothered him. Instead, I faked a smile. “Nothing.”

***

Liam texted one of his men to drive to his old studio apartment. Accompanied by a member of the syndicate, the designated Suit collected our belongings from the room whilst his associate returned the Aston Martin to the Manor.

Liam’s too paracletic to climb behind the wheel. He fell into the backseat of a black cab, which stunned me into sobriety, and rolled onto his back. His hand on his stomach, he chortled into the nook of his elbow, looking far too big, jocund and vulnerable on the filthy, sticky floor of the taxi’s tight space.

And then, as if matters couldn’t get any worse, the debonair yet obstinate asshole, imprudent and opprobrious, debased our groused driver for verbalising exasperation. In a sharp movement, unaided, Liam repositioned onto his knees, his hands clutched to the driver’s headrest, to continue his drunken, ribald slurs and idle threats until I diffused their unnecessary argument.

I had to kiss him—I had to shut him.

For the rest of our journey, I coaxed Liam into untalkative acquiesce. I managed to get him on the backseat, straddled his lap and turned his truculence into sheer lust. Not once did he pull away from me, break us apart. I had never felt passion like it. He owned me in every kiss, every touch, every guttural whisper. If it weren’t for the nosy driver up front, I’d have yielded on my knees.

Without too much fuss, Liam paid the driver upon entering the Manor. Wrought-iron gates parted on our arrival. It’s the first time we had walked through the garden, to our front door, hand-in-hand, three sheets to the wind, nudging each other’s shoulders.

Liam’s fingers grazed mine as I stepped onto the water fountain’s ledge. Misted sprays and interment solar lights prettified our ambience. The sound of cascading water levelled us with tranquillity.

Carefully bordering the concrete ridge, being sure not to slip, I reached out to feel a sprinkle of water on my fingers. “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” Dishevelled yet strikingly handsome, Liam met me on the other side. “Are you?”

Biting my bottom lip, I dropped into his awaiting arms and kissed the tip of his nose. “Very.”

His serious expression made my heart palpitate. I have waited all night for him to open up, to unburden himself. Stubbornness conquers all, though. He doesn’t speak or express worries.

Not tonight, anyway.

I almost paused inside the foyer to unpack Harrods’ Christmas delivery.

Liam forbade such travesties. “Tomorrow.” Hurling me over his shoulder, he carried me upstairs, a rush of dizziness going straight to my head. “I love your ass, Miss Haines.”

“Liam!” Wiggling in his arms, I belted a hand across his glorious backside. “Put me down.”

His teeth sank into the swell of my ass cheek. “Never.”

“You incorrigible human.” I didn’t see any Suits on our short trip throughout the Manor, but I most certainly felt the weight of Liam’s strapping body atop mine the second we landed on the bed of our master bedroom. “Hi,” I whispered sheepishly, peering up at him.

His arms positioned on either side of my head, he lowered his mouth, bruising my lips with a kiss that set my soul alight. “I’m in love with you.”

Not coming up for air, we devoured each other with raw kisses. His skilful hands stripped the layers of clothes between us. My head fell back as he thrust into me in one, measured stroke, stretching me unbearably for his liking.

I lost my voice.

Hell, at this point, I don’t remember my own name.

Sliding an arm underneath my anchoring spine, Liam lifted me higher up the bed, keeping us connected, and settled between my parted thighs. Each thrust was meaningful and slow. Unhurried and passionate. His soft lips ravished the bare skin of my shoulder.

He made love to me.

I didn’t think I could love this man anymore, but with each passing minute, each passing second, I fell harder, deeper, entwined. Pulling in a shuddered breath, I wrapped myself around him, possessively seeking more.

“Look at me.” My hair wrapped around his fist, he craned my neck and forced me to meet his penetrating blue eyes. “You look at me when I fuck you.”

In a daze, I subtly nodded.

“Good girl,” he whispered against my lips, bracing a hand above my head. “You look beautiful.”

His other hand slides down my leg, cupping the back of my knee. He sank deeper, an erotic groan escaping his lips.

I captured his lips for a passionate kiss, swallowed his throaty approval as our tongues stroked and danced.

His unyielding grip on my throat tourniquets blood flow, intensifies the pressure spreading through my body. He pushed forward, and I grappled the sheets with knuckle-white urgency, drew in a deep breath, held it, adjusted to our angle.

When Liam quickened the pace, it was hardly punishing or unmerciful. His movements were desperate and fervent. His mouth insatiably welded to mine. His folded arms under my neck, he rotated his hips, accentuating his thickness, prolonging the torment.

My fingers tousled in his hair as I clung to him. Arching my spine, meeting him thrust for thrust, I cried out in his ear, combusted in his arms.

He stole my pleasure-filled moans with a searing kiss. “I am nowhere near finished,” he promised, the sound of our bodies slapping together, imitating around the room.

I was in for a long night.

***

At some point throughout our intermittent lovemaking, I fell asleep. Extending an arm to find Liam, I cracked one eye open. My fingers traced the cold, ruffled sheet where he once laid. The room’s eerily quiet and dark. It’s still late, or it’s early, depending on how you perceive it.

Rolling onto my back, dragging the sheet with me, I knuckled tiredness from my eyes, noticing a shadow by the window. Liam surveyed security outside. His slouch pants hung low on his waist, one arm across his toned middle section. A curled-up fist pressed to his lips.

“Liam?” I croaked, and his crystal-like blue eyes peered across one shoulder at me. “Come back to bed.” He uncurled his fist, and I caught a glimmer. “What’s that?”

He thumbed the object. “You look like her.”

“I look like who?” I asked warily. “Are you okay?”

Clearing his throat, Liam moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Not taking his eyes off me, he dipped his finger under the chain on my neck to expose the military tags. I see it then—the mystifying item of jewellery in his hand. Encrusted sapphire stones curbed the engraved rose petal. “Here.” His shoulder touching mine, he inched closer to clasp the vintage-looking locket to the necklace draped from my neck. “This belongs to you.”

My frown held firmly in place. I examined the locket, weighed it in my hand, unclasped the small bracket and felt the blood drain from my body. Her beautiful face. Her affectionate smile and captivating eyes. Impossible heartache caving my chest, I suddenly lost clear vision. “It belonged to my mother,” I said throatily, quickly wiping a loan tear from my cheek.

Liam brushed his knuckles along my jaw. “The night I overturned Flamur’s hideout,” he explained, “I uncovered the unspeakable in his basement.” His eyes blackened at the memory. “It’s where I found Adaline’s locket.”

“He kept my mother’s jewellery?” It hurt to swallow. “For what purpose?”

“His reasoning is irrelevant.” His thumb circled my cheek. “It’s yours now. That’s what matters.”

I know he’s right. “Thank you.”

Liam stood from the bed. “Don’t move,” he ordered, disappearing into our walk-in wardrobe.

“Where would I go?” I heard echoing clatters and wrinkled my nose. “What are you doing, Liam?”

Minutes later, Liam returned, holding one of my handbags.

I arched an eyebrow. “Well, this is new.”

“Alexa…” He rubbed his eyes. “Can you be quiet for me, baby?”

The bag landed on the bed. My mother’s letters. “What are you doing with those?”

“Have you read them all?” he asked, and I shook my head. “Not the one addressed to you?”

“What?” Inert with confusion, I snagged the handbag and fossicked stained envelopes. “What letter, Liam? I didn’t see any…” He holds up a sealed envelope. “Did you read it?”

Guilt gleamed in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, what did she say?” A lump formed in my throat. “Is there one for Kathy, too?” At the mention of my sister’s name, his lip twisted in disgust. “It’s only a question, Liam.”

He came to my side, the envelope between us. “May I?”

Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I nodded eagerly.

Peeling the tampered seal, he slid out the letter and unfolded it. His shoulders squared on a deep inhalation. “My baby girl—”

“Oh, God,” I cried, hiding behind my hands. “Liam, I changed my mind. I am not ready to hear this.”

“Yes,” he insisted, his fingers adhered to my wrist, prying my rigid fingers from my eyes. “I need you to listen, baby. It’s important.”

Tears were unpreventable. I snivelled, nodding for him to proceed.

“If you are reading this, it means I am gone, and for that, I am so sorry. I wanted to be there for you, to protect you and your sister, to watch you both learn and grow into the beautiful women I know you will become, and as I write this, it pains me to consider I may not be around to witness, or that he may be the person to ruin and tarnish our memories with lies.

“There is so much I wish to say, but Alexa, some truths are better left untold. Some truths, I shall take to my grave as I will not encumbrance the shoulders or drain the souls of my innocent daughters.

“As a replacement for ineffable veracity, I selfishly seek peace-of-mind and one’s last wish,” Liam said in a low, rough voice. “You feel my absence every day, yet I never left you. If you cry, I cry, too, and if you hurt, I feel your pain. When you smile, I watch in fulfilment, and when you laugh, I laugh along with you.

“You cannot see me. You cannot hear me. But surely, you can feel me.” He turned over the letter. “It is my job as a mother to pick you up when you are down, to hold you in my arms when in need of a shoulder to cry on, to encourage you, to steer you in the right direction, to tell you to make mistakes just as long as you learn from them and to be the best version of yourself.

“It is not my job to tell you how to live your life, or how proud I am or how beautiful you are. No, I tell you this because I simply want to. It is not a motherly obligation; instead, how I genuinely feel as I write this letter.

“Be happy and strong. Move onto bigger and better. Meet the man of your dreams and let him whisk you away into the sunset.” Liam smiled at that. “Do not settle for less. I love you. Forever, your mother, Adaline.”

Tears coated my cheeks. I expelled an exhausted breath as I had no words. My mother knew she’d die at the hands of my father someday, and she lived with this fear in silence.

“Jonathan,” Liam said, removing something shiny from my mother’s envelope. “He was the quintessential playboy and business tycoon due to marry Lucy Millan, yet he spent more time in gentleman bars, entertaining other women. According to Lucy’s grandfather, Gregory Millan, a man I hold in high regards, Jonathan’s infidelities were the least of his granddaughter’s worries. He had an aptitude for violence. Beat his finance on many occasions, which ensued the miscarriage of her unborn child.”

Listening intently, I hugged myself.

“Against Lucy’s wishes, Gregory wanted Jonathan out of the picture. He came to me one afternoon and offered an extortionate amount of money to ‘rid him of the problem’. And I delivered. Put a bullet in Jonathan’s head right after I killed his mistress.”

I felt nothing for a man who beat his lover, killed their unborn child and whored around with other women. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t accept payments from anyone. Rather, I demand favour-for-favour.” He moved in to breath me in, to linger his lips to my cheek. “He’s a goldsmith. The foolish old bastard made me something instead.” He revealed an old, rhinestone hair comb. “I all but lunged it back at him.”

“Liam,” I whispered, more confused than ever. “What’s that? And where are you going with this story?”

“Gregory branded a ring with my name on it; a small token of gratitude for my services.” He slid the hairpiece from my mother’s letter behind my ear whilst his other hand righted my twisted chain. “Something old,” he rasped, his thumb outlining the locket’s scintillating sapphires. “Something blue.” He cupped the nape of my neck, and our lips met. “Something borrowed.” He pushed a ring onto my finger. I felt it, but curiosity could wait. I am too lost in the intenseness of his determined gaze. “Something new.”

My heart almost burst out of my chest. Assured I was dreaming, I gripped his hand. “Liam?”

“You, being here with me, in our bed. It felt right.” He lifted our joint hands to his lips to trace my knuckles with a promising kiss. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

Shoving the handbag aside, I crawled onto his lap. My knees on the bed on either side of his thighs, I enveloped my arms around his bare shoulders, fisting his hair as our lips fused. His arms tight around me, locking me in. “Always, ” I said, all smiles as I stared into his eyes, the same blue eyes that stole my heat the very first moment he looked at me. “I will love you, always.”

Unparalleled adoration etched across his sharp, handsome features. Liam curled a strand of hair behind my ear, looking at me in a way that ached my chest. “Alexa, I am everything you shouldn’t want. I’m an asshole. I’m as corrupt as they come and there is no doubt in my mind that I don’t deserve a woman like you,” he said huskily, and I stared at him with bated breath. “But there is no man alive that’ll love you the way I do. Baby, will you make me the happiest man alive by becoming my wife?”