Page 18 of Unwilling Bride
I watch Clayton finish stripping down with a heavy sensation of being completely disconnected from him. Just a few hours ago, I believed he was a good person. That he had good intentions. That he might be someone I could fall for.
And now…?
“I see the thoughts going on in your head. It’s all over your face.” Clayton stands there in the shower, not turning the water on yet, but I don’t look at him. I can barely tolerate the memory of seeing his features covered in blood. “Just let me get cleaned up and we’ll go back to bed, okay? It’ll be all right, Charlie.”
He must know that my dad’s hands are dirty—because he’s acting too relaxed about this, as if I’ve already been desensitized to the goings-on of mobsters. Have I? How many times have I forced myself to turn a blind eye to my dad’s dealings in order to protect myself and my sisters? But at least he doesn’t lie about things being rosy after he does something shady. Clayton’s little Jekyll and Hyde act is giving me whiplash.
Dammit. Why do I have to like him so much? There’s a familiar ache in my chest. Like I’ve just lost something—or someone—terribly important. Or am about to.
“Okay,” is all I can manage to say.
He kicks his clothes to the corner of the shower, pulls the curtain, and turns the water on. Am I really supposed to just crawl back into bed and wait for him? I want to crawl out of my skin. Rubbing my eyes, I try to mentally shake off the lingering dread and discomfort, but it won’t stop. Everything has turned on its head so fast.
A part of me thought maybe I’d found Prince Charming in my arranged fiancé, but now all I can see is his blood-soaked face. Instead of fantasizing about hot sex, I’m wondering what he’s going to do with the bloody clothes to make sure they disappear. How stupid of me to think my life could be different, that Clayton could help me escape my past.
I can’t stay here.
Closing the bathroom door, I head back down the hall, grab my bag, and walk out the front door. The crawling feeling on my skin stops the minute fresh air hits my face. I hurry down the block to the well-lit street sign at the corner and then dial an Uber on my phone.
The muscles in my back go tense as I wait, fully expecting Clayton to come bursting from the house to track me down before my ride gets here. Thankfully, the car arrives minutes later, and I get in with a torn sense of safety.
Which is stupid. I’m safer now that I’m leaving Clayton—for good. Yet I get the sense that I’m losing something profound as we drive away. And that’s when I realize that the first time I’ve felt safe in longer than I can remember was in his arms.
My intuition knows he’s capable of warding off any enemy, any threat, and that I’m about as safe as I can be as long as he’s around. I’ve never felt that way, certainly not under my father’s roof.
Yet that’s exactly where I’m having the driver take me. Home, where my sisters are sleeping.
When I get home, I find Frankie and Livvie curled up in Livvie’s bed. They probably fell asleep watching movies again. I wish I could join them, but I’m too wound up and I don’t want to wake them. So I gently shut the door and pad down the hall to our shared bathroom, where I take a long, hot shower that doesn’t make me feel any better. Sleep won’t come, and I lay awake in my bed until the sun starts to come up.
My phone buzzes just as the first streaks of faint orange light spill into my room.
I’m not the man you think I am. C’mere to me. Let me show you the truth.
Pulse kicking, I read Clayton’s text a few more times and then throw my phone into the laundry pile in the corner. I believed he was a good one. Abetterone. Someone I could…love. Maybe.
But now I know he’s just like the rest, and I’m not signing up for that. There has to be a way out of this arrangement. I’ll run away with my sisters if I have to, but I’m not marrying a man like Clayton. I refuse to be immersed in this bullshit for the rest of my life.
I won’t. I just won’t. It’s not what I want for my future, or the kind of family I want to cultivate for my sisters.
So why do I still want him so badly?
8
CLAYTON
Charlie won’t answermy text messages. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit and I’d just move on and put it behind me—but there’s something different about her.
I can’t get the way she looked at me out of my head. Both when I was making her come and especially when she saw me covered in blood. Fucking work. Of all the nights to get called out to take care of a contract. Of all nights to have things go to bits.
It’s not like I went out intending to kill anyone, but when shit hit the fan I had to defend myself. It happens. It’s just part of the job, since what I do is so unpredictable and fluid.
I didn’t start out as a killer, but I’ve sure as hell ended up as one. Because I’m good at it. I’m usually efficient, usually clean, usually in and out in the blink of an eye. On my best days, the mere sight of me is enough to get someone to do what my boss wants—no dealing of blows or use of weapons necessary. On my worst days, well…best not to talk of it. But none of that matters. It’s nothing I can explain to Charlie anyway.
It’s not safe for her to know anything about what I do.
I want her. But it’s not enough that she was given to me—I don’t want to force myself on her. No, I want her to come to me of her own free will, because shewantsto. I’m still getting used to the idea of having a wife at all, but now that I’ve met her, had her, taken her completely, I’m finding myself more attached to the idea than I ever thought possible. I want Charlie Abbott.
We just need to clear the air about a few things first, and see what happens from there. Considering she won’t answer my texts, though, it’s going to take some finesse on my part.
