Page 50 of Bound Bride
He wasn't so much into raping me like the others; he preferred to torment me because it made him laugh.
The thought of that happening to Beatie kills my momentum toward telling Calvin the truth.
"Exactly." Mathew sighs darkly and throws the test back at me. "Negative. You're fucking useless at the one thing you werefucking born for." His steps grow heavy as he approaches, and with nowhere to go, all I can do is shrink back against the counter.
"You have one more chance," he snarls. "Just one. And that's fucking generous considering my baby brother is dead because of you. If you're not pregnant by the next time I see you?" His chin lifts, and he smiles coldly. "The deal's off. And I'll kill Beatie first."
16
KONSTANTIN
A scorching sun rests in a cloudless sky, warming the papers that scatter across the table around me.
Countless names inked on the booklet in front of me merge together and blur, so I close my eyes and press my fingers against the bridge of my nose.
It's hot. I have too much to do, and this war with the Italians is growing more troublesome by the day.
My fingertips tighten against my nose and I take a few deep breaths, then I open my eyes and gaze back down at the lists before me. One column is a list of names.
The second lists their families and loved ones, and the third lists the compensation amount I'm giving to them.
Every man and woman I've lost in this battle pains me. All of these families trust me to keep their loved ones safe, and while they know the dangers of working for me, it doesn't make the loss any easier.
How do I put a price on their lives?
There's a fine line between decent compensation and money that looks like a payoff.
Every single person left behind when one of my men dies is a family member who could give in to their anger and turn to revenge in a few years if I don't soothe them properly now.
Money isn't enough to compensate for the loss of an important life, but it's all I can do.
Words mean nothing when standing over a coffin.
I pull the next check toward me and scribble down the amount.
Beyond the table, the patio doors slide over and Calvin steps out with a hand at his brow to protect from the sun.
He walks the length of the pool toward me and stops a foot away, hesitating so as not to interrupt me.
"What is it?" I don't look up.
"Boss. You need anything?"
"More ice." I tap my empty glass with the end of my pen. "And envelopes."
"On it."
With that, he turns and heads back into the house. Calvin returns less than two minutes later with a fresh pitcher of orange juice and a stack of envelopes. He sets both down on the table and pours me a glass. Ice clatters and clinks, then settles as he places it on the coaster next to me.
I sign the check and finally glance up at him. I may have only known him a little over a year, but Calvin is one of the bestadditions to my team. Without him, I'd be dead, and that's a debt I can't ever repay.
"What is wrong?"
Calvin meets my eyes. "What makes you think something is wrong?"
I lean back in my seat and stretch my arms to the side and past the shade of the umbrella protecting me.
Sunlight warms my bare arms up to where my shirt rests at my elbows, and I clear my throat softly.
