I lean in, tilting her head to the side and pressing a soft kiss to the prints. “I rather like the idea of you having a reminder of me on your skin.”
Her mouth parts as she sucks in a breath. I tip her chin and close her lips with my fingertips. “You can stay here if you like, or I can take you back to your car.”
“What time is it?”
“Late,” I reply.
Her fingers twist in her lap. “I think… I should probably head home. I have to work in the morning.”
I nod. “I understand, although I do wish you’d spoil me and stay.”
The car ride back to The Vanilla Bean is quiet, soft classical playing through the speakers while she gazes out the window. Again, I find myself appreciating all the ways she doesn’t push for conversation, instead choosing to find comfort in our silence. There are not many people who can do that, and it makes my respect for her grow.
I park next to her car, and this time, she doesn’t even attempt to open her door. Pleasure trickles through me, knowing she’s already doing as I ask. Once I open the door, she takes my hand and lifts herself out before resting her palms on my chest. “Thank you for a wonderful date,” she says.
“You can thank me again after our next one.” My arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer.
“You’re so sure there will be one?”
I grin, walking her back until she’s flush to the side of the car. My hand leaves her waist, gently wrapping around her neck, my fingertips ghosting on top of the bruises. I tip her head back. “I’ve told you once before that I want you for myself.” My lips brush against her jaw. “I think you’ll find I can be very persistent.”
Her breath stutters and a visceral want slams into me, my insides quaking with the need to dive inside of her. To feel her body mold around me as I destroy her from the inside out.
I force myself to pull back, my fingers squeezing slightly before releasing.
“What’s your last name?” she asks.
“Barrie,” I respond without thought. My heart kick-starts, lungs squeezing. I didn’t mean to tell her that. It’s too risky, our fathers worked together for years, and I can’t be sure she’s never heard it. Luckily, she doesn’t even flinch.
The reminder of who she is filters through my veins like poison, anger slicing through the fog of her presence, and I regain the control I felt slipping away.
Her hand rises to my face, fingers splaying under my eyes. “What was that?”
“What was what, darling?”
She shakes her head. “Something… your eyes… they changed.”
“Did they?” I rock back on my heels, ignoring the way my stomach is knotting up tight. “Just hoping you’ll put me out of my misery and agree to be mine.”
She glances at the ground before peering back at me. “If I’m yours, then what are you to me?”
Your worst nightmare. “I’m whatever you’ll allow me to be.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and my thumb reaches up to release it. “Tell me you’re mine Wendy, darling.”
“I’m yours,” she breathes.
Satisfaction races through my bloodstream and I smile, leaning in and pressing my lips to hers, then helping her into her car.
As soon as she turns the corner, my smile drops, cheeks aching from the show. But satisfaction flows freely through my veins, the taste of vengeance fresh on my tongue.
16
James
Giddiness flows through my veins like pixie dust flows through a junkie, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute. I’ve been waiting for years to see Peter Michaels face to face, and the moment is finally here. Sooner than I originally anticipated, but welcome, nonetheless.
I wonder if he’ll recognize me. I was often told growing up that I was the spitting image of my father, but I’m not sure how much truth there is to that statement anymore.
Right after my parents’ deaths, I remember sitting in our empty home, strangers attempting to comfort me as they asked what I’d like to pack. What I’d like to keep. As if my entire life could be summed up and shipped off with a few cases of clothing. I stayed silent, choosing to only take a small box of mementos. An old book of fables my mother read to me every night, and a single photo of the three of us; my mother, my father, and I. I kept them hidden underneath the bed at my uncle’s, and at night, when the grief would wind its way through my insides and wrap around my throat, making me feel as though I couldn’t breathe, I’d take them out. I’d grip their still faces in my hand as I cried into my pillow, imagining my mother’s voice reading me fairy tales with happy endings.
But one night, shortly after my arrival, my uncle found them. I begged and pleaded on my knees like a pathetic dog, willing to do anything to keep what small pieces of them I had. But he didn’t care about that. He didn’t care for much of anything other than obedience and pain. And that night, he made sure I learned the meaning of both. He kept me on my knees as he promised to give me back my things, his thin knife nicking along my torso, causing beads of blood to spill—the sight making fear clamp down on my soul. He told me how he hated my father, how my face made him sick. And after he stripped away any innocence I had left, he burned every single item and laughed as I cried, shame and agonizing grief mixing together with the aftertaste of his vile pleasure.
But my tears dried quick, and I vowed to never let them fall again.
Over the years, I tried to hold on to their faces, to the sound of their voices, and the smell of their hair. But like all things, memories fade. The mind is far too easy to manipulate, even by our own subconscious. Fact becomes fiction, or at the very least, a warped version of the truth. And the past grows distorted and blurred.
“We’re meeting him at Cannibal’s Cave.” Ru’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
My brows rise, surprised that’s where Peter is wanting to meet.
Cannibal’s Cave is an abandoned cavern deep in the forest about an hour and a half outside of the city. The rumor is that it was used by the government back in the fifties to hold military equipment, but it’s long since been abandoned. The random hiker goes by now and again, but for the most part, it’s an empty space, too hidden behind dense trees for even the homeless to seek shelter.
Ru grins, sitting back in his chair and lighting a cigar. “So, where were you last night? I had the twins collect the new shipment, thought you’d be there to inspect the product.”
My insides twist. “I was indisposed. The twins can handle it.”
“But they don’t know weapons like you.”
“Was there an issue?”
“Not that I know of.”
I nod. “Well, if there’s an issue, I’ll see to it.”
Ru scowls, lifting the back of his hand up like he’s ready to smack the air. “The amount of disrespect that comes outta your mouth, kid. I swear to God.”
“Oh, come now, Roofus. You’re one of the only people alive that I do respect.”
He puffs on his cigar. “Yeah, well… I didn’t say it the other day, but thank you for the gift.”
I cringe, my stomach twisting.
“Now don’t go getting all weird on me, kid,” he continues. “Just let me say what I need to say.”
Sighing, I stand, walking to the globe in the corner of his office that houses the brandy, pouring myself two fingers and spinning around. The ice clinks against the edges of the glass.
“You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a son,” he says.
My heart twists violently in my chest, my fingers gripping my drink so hard the ridges of the crystal imprint onto my skin.
“And I know you don’t like the sentimental garbage, so I’ll make it quick. We have a lotta enemies. And I’m just saying…” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you’ve got my six, kid.”
The tendons in my jaw tighten as I clench my teeth, pushing down the knot of emotion lodging itself in my throat. I tip my drink toward him. “Every night.”
“And straight on ‘til morning.” He winks.
The first and only time I met Peter was on a “family vacation,” which was actually code for my father, Arthur, having business in America. I never knew exactly what he did for a living other than he was powerful, and everyone in London seemed to know and revere him. I knew he had a business partner here in the States, one whom he visited often, usually without us. However, this time, it was my parents’ anniversary, and my mother insisted we come along for the trip.