A proliferation of Bentley Flying Spurs and debonair men in sharply tailored three-piece suits besieged the tenant building like a mob of elite marksmen specialised in high-risk tasks.
With a lump the size of a hot-air balloon stuck in my windpipe, I watched the scene unfold behind the obscurity of the bedroom window. Dread penetrated every cell in my body. I had to meet and greet, but limbs had malfunctioned.
A recognisable face emerged from the final vehicle. Big Guy slammed the driver's side door and had an in-depth conversation with the immaculately besuited males by the communal gate. Then, with the top of his shirt left unbuttoned in a physique-flattering strategy, he walked with precision to the entrance hall.
Paralysed with unexplainable nervousness, I adopted dauntless bravery, forced myself to move to the wooden dresser and selected cosy loungewear. I did well to keep the dress and shoes on all night, but now I am eager to strip it all back and get comfortable. My feet are blistered like something chronic.
A series of footsteps reverberated as people raced up the stairs. The neighbours must be scared out of their wits by the noisy disturbance. It's not often that armed men, renowned for unscrupulous acts, walk the same paths as ordinary people.
Stripping down into my underwear, I placed discarded clothes on the bed and shimmied into elasticated high-waisted trousers, an ankle-length cardigan and a cropped tank top.
"I want a dossier on him." Brad's stentorian tone of voice echoed in the foyer before I got to see him in the flesh. "I don't care how you do it. Just have a file in my hand by tomorrow morning."
I sympathised with Liam Warren's men. Brad had good intentions but made unreasonable demands. He will achieve nothing with unrealistic expectations of instant success. Surely, that being said, it is impossible to identify the man in the hole overnight.
Peering at the ajar bedroom door, where dark shadows danced along the walls in the hallway, I speared a hand through my hair and gravitated toward the upheaval of syndicate matters.
Stern-faced security, with no time for chit-chat with a preliminary investigation underway, took long, decisive steps toward my son's bedroom, which is cordoned off by inexorable watchmen. I recognised one or two males from previous encounters and offered tight smiles when they brushed past, but I never uttered a single word and vice versa. Work mode is set in motion.
In a temporary blur of mental derangement, I let the disruptiveness of heavy-footed workers, vociferous mirth and overturned furniture strike home as if the harrowing ordeal was a typical day at the office for them.
I have dealt with some crazy shit in my life. The travellers' wreaked vengeance on me in honour of Killian O'Shea. My parents kicked me out of my childhood home and disowned me for having a child out of wedlock. But creepy phrogging? Someone sneaking through walls and crawling spaces to secretly observe whilst I went about my daily or nightly business? Yes, that is unprecedented and downright terrifying.
Bereft of speech, I tugged on the cardigan sleeves and meandered through the muscle and strength of withdrawn, uncommunicative men until I reached Hugo by the living room door frame. His fine-boned face had whitened drastically since the detective had arrived.
"Are you okay?" He gave my hand a weak squeeze. "I thought you fell asleep. You were gone for ages."
"No, I just needed five minutes to collect myself." Back to the wall, I thumbed the vintage-style rings on my fingers with unswallowable dread in my throat. "It feels surreal."
Hugo nodded half-heartedly. "It's not every day that you discover other occupants living in your home." His cold stare fixated on something at the end of the hall, and when I followed his line of vision to determine the cause of expeditious distractedness, I locked eyes with Big Guy and horripilated with uneasiness. "Your friend loathes the sight of me."
"I will pick you up in the morning." Brad, with a phone to his ear, one hand tucked in a trouser pocket, strode toward me and only stopped when our bodies were inches apart. Angry eyes settled on my face. "It's no issue, Sugar Tits."
Big Guy's appearance caused consternation. To avoid eye contact, I slowly averted my attention to the floor, where the men had previously misshaped the rug with chaotic footsteps. I had not seen the man since the night he entered the flat and found me asleep in the living room. If truth be told, I am embarrassed and genuinely regretful.
Frowning with displeasure, Hugo scrubbed a hand down his face. "Maybe we should check the pizzas."
"You do that," Brad advised, ending the call and stuffing the phone inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Your piss poor service is unrequired, Hughie. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
"Brad," I whispered, and he shrugged with unapologetic contemptuousness. "Be nice."
Big Guy stared frostily at me. "A chaperoned party?" He eyed the men as they sauntered past. "I guess my invite got lost in the post."
My lips tightened.
"Fun night?" Brad's question was for Hugo. "I was in the process of ordering a round of Jameson. But duty calls," he added with a sarcastic undertone. "Obligation and all that malarkey."
"You are not obligated to be present." His bitterness rubbed me up the wrong way. "Your team is doing a good job without you."
"Sweetheart, without me, there is no team at your disposal." He stood before me, hands on his hips, the hard eyes of a wounded man. "By all means, if you want me to leave, I will close the case and let Hughie take it from here. I am sure he can afford an incompetent private investigator."
Listening to our strained conversation from my son's bedroom doorway, Donny decided to intervene before fists collided. "Jones." He tapped the top of Brad's back. "Vincent called. I hear congratulations are in order."
"Save congratulatory messages for Mrs Warren." Brad's glare went over one shoulder to level with the detective. "What do you have for me, Don?"
"Perhaps I can show you and Miss Hughes what I have found so far." Donny motioned to the bedroom of madness. "Hugo, I advise you to wait in another room."
My friend choked on air. "But she needs me for consolation."
"Kill me." Big Guy's eyes toured the entirety of the ceiling. "Go and make yourself busy, Hughie, or I will remove body parts and organs and feed them to stray dogs." His calmness made the promise far more threatening. "Good boy."
Hugo blinked rapidly as if to clear the cobwebs from his head. "Why do you insist on hurting my feelings?"
"Hurt your feelings. Christ, how old are you?" Brad is disgusted by the atrocious debate. "Is there such a thing as a brain transplant? If so, he fucking needs one."
"You are such an entitled prick." Hugo's jaw muscles clenched. "I don't know what she sees in you."
I died on the spot.
"What's got your knickers all bunched up around that sorry excuse of a pecker between your legs?" Big Guy's shoulders squared as he thrust himself into Hugo's visible horizon. "It will take more than an insult from you to put a cinch in my armour. You," he flicked the nasion width of the man's nose in a mortifying show of derision, "can spit vitriol all you want, but you are not welcome next door now that sole proprietorship is mine." His head tilted with an accusatory click of the tongue. "Understand?"
Hugo glared silently, ashen-faced and stunned into slack-jawed immovability. "Why did that sound like an accusation?"
Big Guy's stare swept over Hugo with evident disapproval. He all but scoffed at him. "Make of it what you will."
"Fuck you." Hugo's chest puffed out as he strenuously denied all allegations. "I am not a suspect. I am a friend. A good friend, too. Not that you would understand."
"Why do you stress?" Donny, with eyes flashing with mischievous exaggeration, hummed lowly. "The intruder will do anything to forestall discoverability. If you have nothing to hide, walk away and let me do my job. A crime scene is no place for civilians."
"Em..." Hugo tapped my elbow. "I will go home if that's what you want. But please do not fall for this bullshit. I swear to you on everything I have that I am not connected to whatever is happening next door. I am just as clueless as you." He looked soul-destroyed. "You have to believe me."
Of course, I believed him. Brad is punishing him because he is angry at me. "I do," I assured him, and he blew out a relieved sigh. "But Donny is right. You should go home whilst he investigates. I can call you tomorrow with updates."
"Sure." Hugo proactively agreed to leave. Before I could say goodnight, he sealed the departure with a soft kiss on my cheek, something he often did when parting ways, but this time, with Big Guy at my side, furrowing his brows, I really wish he hadn't poked the bear. "I will see myself out—"
"Obviously!" Brad jumped down the man's throat. With a hostile glare and flared nostrils, he motioned violently at the front door. "Go on. Bounce along before I throw you out by the bastard ear."
Hugo embarked on the moral high ground. He did not seize the opportunity to respond to critical remarks or unfair treatment. Instead, with a slight shake of the head, he swung the front door open and stormed out of the flat.
"You are impossible." To diffuse the situation, I pushed myself away from the wall and headed to the closet in Carter's bedroom, knowing Brad and Donny would follow me. "What is your problem? Hugo is a nice guy." I felt the intensity of the man's scowl at the back of my head. "He has only ever been polite to you, yet you cannot find it in yourself to reciprocate. You treat him so unfairly. You hyper-competitive asshole."
"I have no issue with the addlebrained tosser." Brad is too angry to look at me. "You have really tested my patience tonight, sweetheart. I hope you are satisfied."
I will not lower myself to such foolery.
Men with biohazard bags and secured boxes parted to allow us to enter the closet without obstruction or delay. I glowered at the incandescent outline at the end of the hole. It chilled me to the bone, the thought of what lies beneath.
"Put these on your feet." Donny handed over two sets of white disposable microporous overshoes. "Do not touch anything." Then, without further ado, he stepped over uneven bricks one foot at a time and vanished through the hole. "Hurry up."
Plastic overshoes strapped to my feet, I held onto a precariously hung shelf for support and climbed into the wall. Instantly, I am faced with stomach-churning darkness and throat-contracting claustrophobia. I took one clumsy step forward, tripped on pieces of debris and almost fell face-first into threads of gossamer when a strong arm captured my waistline and held me upright.
"Careful," Big Guy whispered in my ear, his breath warm to my skin, his chest firm to my back. "You, without teeth, might be a turn-off."
"Well, it's a good job that I am not trying to impress anyone." My hands clung to his form arm as my neck tilted to look at him. In the dark, I could barely make out the lines of what I know is a beautiful face. "Right?"
Brad made a low, raspy sound in the back of his throat. He wanted to reply, to murmur a smart remark and knock me down a peg, but something about our nearness prevented him from talking.
I smirked in the dark. "I never thought I'd see the day where the infamous Brad Jones had nothing to say."
"Oh, I have plenty to say." His chin rested on my shoulder. "But what goes on up here is more than you can handle."
Tempted to ask what was on his mind, I stood stock still in his arms. "You are right," I breathed against his lips. "My tolerance is stretched too thin these days."
"Jones?" Donny flashed a torch once he reached the finish line. "Are you both lost? It's only a small hole, so what's taking you so long?"
Although I could not see Big Guy's eyes, as hushed dimness stole the light, I knew, beyond doubt, I was the cynosure of this man's attention. The tip of his nose grazed my jawline in a slow, tortuous sweep before he buried his face in the groove of my neck. I became totally transfixed and almost hypnotised by the feel of his irregular heartbeat against my back, the way his breath came in sharp and short and how his fingers wrote something incomprehensible on the exposed part of my lower stomach. Then, grasping my hip with a gentle pinch of encouragement, he released me to pursue Donny's voice in the other apartment.
My throat dried.
Holding my breath, I wiped my clammy hands in the cardigan and powered forward until Big Guy's upward-facing palm came into view. He helped me climb into the neighbour's bedroom, or rather, the makeshift room, with cardboard sheets in the window, fabric-covered lamps, uncarpeted floorboards, a dirty, threadbare sofa and a filthy, unmade mattress.
Big Guy and Donny held a caucus by the cluttered desk whilst I dodged household rubbish and mildew-stained dishes on the floor to locate the kitchen.
The neighbour's flat had the same layout as mine, except he lived in squalid conditions, with appliances fallen into a terrible state of disrepair and once beautifully decorated walls encased in powdery mildew.
"It's not very homely." Hugging myself, I spurned the mould-infested saucepan on the stove. "And it is a sanctuary for vermin."
Donny is by the doorway, marking my every move like a true bloodhound. "He does not live here."
"No?" My nose twitched at the stench of decay. "It looks occupied to me."
"Den of iniquity. A secret hideout." His finger captured a layer of dust on the side of the kitchen counter bestrewed with unclean baking dishes."Whichever you prefer." He glimpsed into the hallway. "Did you see it?"
A confused pause.
"Yes," Big Guy replied. "I want every photo incinerated."
I left the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. I had to physically squeeze past Brad to enter the living room (he did not want me to see whatever the intruder hoarded). I came face to face with an exhibition of photos. In a sickening display of obsession, my everyday life paraded for inspection.
Wiping my face, I swallowed tears and snapped an image off the make-do washing line. I am at work, clearing tables and delivering entrées. In the next photo, I am in the park, on the pavement for an early morning jog with headphones over my ears. Then, the third shot is of me at the supermarket, where I bought my son's National Geographic magazines and his most favourite sweets. A corner store is dangling in front of me, a time where I pondered about which brand of milk to buy and what type of fruit I'd like to eat on the way to the bus stop.
My friends.
My family.
My co-workers.
Big Guy is meditative and quiet, focusing on the photo of my bedroom. I am in bed, sound asleep, and the secret photographer must have been near the window because the bedside table is clearly visible.
I had chills.
My insides screamed when I clapped my eyes on the motif-patterned shower curtain. You cannot see me in the photo, the warm palette concealed silhouettes, but there is fresh steam in the air and condensation on the wall-mounted mirror.
It is okay, is what I had written on the misted glass with my finger.
He watched me in the shower.
He studied me whilst I slept.
He followed me around London.
"I feel sick to my stomach." This man, whoever he may be, not only broke into my home and invaded my privacy, he shadowed every step I had made for months. "I have a stalker."
Big Guy rubbed the scruff of his jaw. "I want the evidence conveyed to Club 11." His demand was for Donny. "You will attend a closed-door conclave next week."
"Yes." Donny took the photo out of my hand and slipped it into a clear bag. "Are you alright, Miss Hughes? Do you need a moment alone?"
"Emma is fine." Brad's hand closed around the washing line. In a very brusque and impatient manner, he broke the twine and watched as photos fluttered to the ground. "You will not stay in the flat tonight."
Yes, I figured as much. I did not want to be anywhere near the unidentified squatter, anyway. God knows what he is prone to do if left to his own devices. "I can check into a hotel for the night." Terrence is a gift. If it were not for him, I bet the intruder would have done far worse than document my life. "I will pack an overnight bag."
"No, I want you with me until I figure this out." Big Guy seized my elbow, dragging me out of the room with brute force. "My anger is not meant for you, but if you argue the matter, I will not be held accountable for my actions as I have warned you." We got through the shambolic flat without killing each other. "Get in," he ordered, shoving me toward the hole in the wall. "Move it, Emma."
I huffed in annoyance, but arguing with him was an interminable waste of time—and I am not keen on airing our dirty laundry in front of the syndicate.
Practising self-control, I crept into the dark, dank hole and returned to my side of the tenant building. Not a trace of activity remained in the closet or my son's bedroom. Most of the men had absquatulated to the foyer for a cigarette break.
Not waiting for Big Guy, I ventured to the kitchen to check the pizza damage. Josh sits at the table with a bottle of water on the coaster and Hugo's pizza on a plate. "I was starving," he told me. "It would be a shame to let them go to waste. With abs like mine, I can afford to overindulge."
The other pizza is still on the oven tray, left on the kitchen counter, crisp, cooked but not cremated.
"Thank you." Although, I am no longer hungry. "You can eat the other one, too. I have gone past it."
He winked. "Thank you, love."
Turning on my heel, ready to beeline to the bedroom and lock the door behind me, I collided with Brad's chest. "I must pack a bag."
Big Guy harrumphed. "That's not necessary."
"A bag of belongings is necessary." My eyes zeroed in on the array of gold chains around the man's neck. "And Brad, I really appreciate the offer, but I will not be spending one minute at the estate. You could not pay me to do so." My breathing was steady for a woman veering towards a mental breakdown. "I will not be awkward. I agree to leave. A hotel room for one night will suffice."
"No." He never batted an eyelid. "You are coming with me whether you like it or not." Going down on one knee, he ripped the plastic overshoes off my feet. "You do not require an overnight bag. Anything you need will be provided at the estate."
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
The man's implacable amber-coloured eyes bore into me. Then, with the tips of our feet touching, he leaned in and rasped, "It's a goddamn order."
When Big Guy threatened to throw me over his shoulder if I complained, I knew not to cause a scene. I walked out of the flat willingly, with only the clothes on my back and the fluffy socks on my feet.
The long drive to Brad's estate had quite a somniferous effect on me. I nearly fell asleep until the man grew tired of my silence and blasted the car radio.
Still, I chose muteness to detach myself from the reality of the dire situation. I did not want to stay at the estate because of the pregnant ex-employee by the name of Alice. I was chagrined at the probability of her in close proximity.
Big Guy steered the Bentley toward the wrought-iron gates festooned with gold accents. He lowered the driver's side window, swiped a metal card on the card detector and waited for someone to grant access.
"Hughie is a petulant plonker." He was so random at times. "I don't know how you stomach it."
Yet again, he is reduced to angriness. You'd think he'd have gotten over the little spat with Hugo by now. "Your standpoint is as misconstrued as it is unnecessary. Hugo is just a friend. I don't know how many times I have to say it before people believe it."
"Friend. Right." His unreasonable choler had me at the end of my tether. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."
I did not wish to fight with him. "You are upset."
"No? Really?" With an icy glare, he shifted into first gear and accelerated onto the long-winding driveway of lined trees. Then, with a slam of the foot, he sped down the gravelled road until the estate lit up in the distance. "Whatever gave you that impression? It's not like our friendship is fraught. You have not given me the cold shoulder for months or anything like that. No, I get to be in your life alongside that crackhead cunt."
My eyes closed briefly.
He slammed a foot down on the brake, the tyres shrieking across the asphalt, and then he turned off the engine and just sat there, furious and primed for an argument. "Get out."
I flinched at his coldness. "Do not speak to me like I am a piece of shit. I deserve better."
"I need to shower," he snarled, but I would not climb out of the car and go anywhere with him until he calmed down. "Emma, I swear on everything bastard Holy, I will lose my fucking shit."
"That makes two of us." Oh, he wanted a heated exchange. I will damn well give him one. "Your actions tonight are completely uncalled for. I have done nothing wrong..." There was only repulsion etched across his face. "Your behaviour is that of a controlling psychopath!"
He glared at me with murderous intent. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
"You heard what I said!" Pushing the passenger side door open with my shoulder, I practically fell out of the car and, dusting off my hands, stalked in the opposite direction of the estate. That's when, with barely any steps forward, I detected approaching footsteps. "If you so much as—" My feet lifted off the ground simultaneously with my face crashing into the man's ass. "Brad! I swear to God!" To my disgruntlement, he headed toward the house. "You better put me down right now!"
"Be quiet." He ascended the steps to the front door with my body draped over his shoulder. "My son is in bed."
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Yes, I had much to say, but I would not bring trouble to his home and upset Little Guy. "Please, I ask you kindly to put me down."
Big Guy ignored my polite plea to land on solid ground.
Another set of stairs later, with a real marble shine, the blood dropping to my head is the focal point of upside-down dizziness. I succumbed to defeat by the time he reached the master bedroom. I had lost the battle, and we both knew it.
Once he unlocked the door, the motion sensor lights detected movement and brightened the room. Not that I had the chance to look at anything other than the floor.
A huge, ridiculously sized bed sheathed in expensive fabrics captured my fall when he threw me onto the mattress. The drop knocked the air out of my lungs. "You are crazy!" I spat, scuttling across the sheets until my back was glued to the headboard. "Why would I want to stay here with you after that caveman performance, huh?"
Brad is unfazed. If anything, he revelled in my protestations. He doffed the suit jacket in one fluent movement and draped it on the back of the chair, then stationed the unlaced shoes on one of the shelves in what appeared to be a very spacious and luxurious walk-in wardrobe.
"This is wrong," I said despairingly, and when he caught the sibilant tremor in my voice, he paused on the third button of his shirt to look at me. "Alice is here. She is pregnant with your child."
Not taking his eyes off me, he peeled out of the shirt like one of those godforsaken male strippers in Magic Mike. It took everything inside me not to marvel at the bare chest of chiselled muscle and the washboard abs. "Do you think of me heartless?" The intenseness of the man's heated gaze dispersed butterflies in my chest. I hated how much of an effect he had on me. "My boss once told me that honesty is the best policy. So, do your worst. I can handle it."
"Where Alice is concerned? Yes." My knees tucked to my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my shins. "I think you are heartless, bringing another woman in the house whilst she is out there, somewhere, with your child baking in the oven." I glimpsed at the door as if to anticipate the crazy lady's arrival. "She won't come in here, will she?"
Brad stripped down into tight-fitted boxer briefs emblazoned with Versace. "Why would she come to my bedroom?" Towel in hand, he unlocked the door to the all-marble en suite and studied his reflection in the mirror. "She does not share my bed."
I had more questions, but when the man tugged the bobble out of his hair and stepped out of the boxer briefs, the world around me stopped revolving. I watched, fascinated, as he entered the glass cubicle and turned on the overhead shower, immersing himself in warm water, steam and suds. He knew I could see him, all naked and beautiful, a work of art, and that's more than likely why he left the door open. But it felt wrong, invading his privacy, so I pushed myself off the bed and relocated to the leather corner sofa.
Waiting impatiently for his return, I took in the vastness of the man's bedroom with absolute adoration in my wide eyes. Not an item of jewellery is out of place or chucked haphazardly onto unit space. Everything had a home: clothes, shoes, cologne, gold, diamonds and a phone. He was, for lack of better words, obsessed with cleanliness. A neat freak. A bloody inspiration. I had the urge to go home and rearrange my drawers and wardrobe space. He put my tidying skills to shame.
Much later, Big Guy came back to the bedroom with a towel knotted around his waist. "Go for a shower," he instructed, and it felt like an insult. I almost raised an arm to check for sweat. "No, Emma. You do not smell. But you went out tonight. I want all that shit off your face before you get into bed."
"Excuse me?" Right, I know I promised to behave for Little Guy, but this man is seriously getting under my skin. "What is wrong with you tonight? If you insult me one more time, I will pick up the nearest object and beat the crap out of you."
"I can't see you," he said, and I frowned in confusion. "The eyeshadow? The extra long eyelashes? It's not you. I don't like it. In fact, I hate it." He hurled a clean towel at me. "Scrub it off. Then we can talk."
Tugging the eyelashes off my lids—the ones Mary had a job and a half to assemble—I slapped them onto the dresser and witnessed the moment sheer horror blazed in his bulbous eyes. I mean, in his defence, they looked like two dead spiders. "Happy?"
I never hung around to watch him throw a gasket. I undressed whilst walking to the ensuite cubicle—leaving a trail of clothes behind me—and stepped directly under the warm spray. Oh, shit. He was right to demand clean and fresh. I felt better with each lash of hot water as I scrubbed toxins out of my skin and dragged shampoo through my hair.
Smelling like a million dollars, I killed the hot water, wrapped a towel across my body, and pitter-pattered into the bedroom.
Big Guy sported stark white boxer briefs now—Emporio Armani on the waistband. He proffered an oversized T-shirt for me to wear alongside the underwear I had left here the night I turned up on his doorstep in the rain.
"Thank you," I whispered, and he turned to face the wall, giving me his back to stare at. "Big Guy?"
"Get changed." His arms folded, stretching the cords of muscle in his shoulders. "Unless you want me to watch. The decision is yours."
Not bothering to dry, I dropped the towel on the floor and changed into the clothes and underwear provided. I loved wearing the man's T-shirt. It would be even better if it smelt like his cologne instead of clean laundry.
As I had already pushed boundaries tonight, I ensured the wet towel went into the laundry basket with the clothes he had picked up off the floor whilst I showered.
"Alice resides in the annexe building." He pulled back the blanket for us to get into bed. "She is not permitted to enter the main house. She is not allowed around my son or anywhere near me. For an emergency or a midwife appointment, I will be available to her." He mulled over at length. "I do not recall the last time I saw her."
It might be selfish, but I am relieved to hear she is not wandering freely throughout the main house.
"I do pay for essentials, though. Whatever she needs for the baby..." Once the sheet was exposed, he inspected the space that would grace our bodies in a few minutes. "She has twenty-four access to food, entertainment and chauffeur driven vehicles. I promised to attend hospital appointments, too." He could not look at me. "I will be there for the birth."
I felt a twinge in my chest.
"What Chloe did with Dominic was unjustified and unforgivable." He stacked display cushions on the sofa. "You understand. I have told you, on more than one occasion, how much her decision to keep me away from my son affected me. I missed everything."
I did understand.
"I won't go through that again." His eyes met mine from across the room. "I cannot turn back the hands of time. But I can rectify past mistakes by being present. It's the least I can do for years of poor decision-making. I had to grow up eventually, right?"
I attempted a smile.
His lips pursed somewhat cheekily. He wanted to lighten the mood but did not know how to go about it.
"What?" I asked, unable to mask my amusement. "Those bedroom eyes will not work on me, Big Guy. I am immune to your advances."
"I am Midas incarnate." He jumped onto the bed, tapping the space beside him. "Anything I touch turns to gold."
I bit my lower lip. "Not me."
"Especially you," he half-joked, and I moved onto the bed without fuss or fight. "Give me five minutes. You will be putty in my hands, and all will be forgiven."
"Oh, give it a rest." I collapsed onto the world's most comfortable pillows. "Your ego is boundless."
"I know. And I love it..." His arms folded behind his head. "You won't wait until I fall asleep and leave posthaste, will you?"
No, I will not. Even if I tried to flee the estate, I doubt the guards would let me get past the gate."You worry too much."
"With you, I will always worry. It cannot be helped nor prevented." He propped onto one elbow to look down at me. "Would you change me?"
My breath trembled into a yawn. "No."
"You are tired." His thumb and forefinger touched the end of my hair. "Why? It's still early."
"I think hypersomnolence is quite normal at four o'clock in the morning." God, I wanted to reach out and touch his chest, run my fingers through his hair and kiss him breathlessly, but I abstained from leading him on. I have played with his emotions too much. I can be a friend, though, which is the most I can offer. "Wouldn't you agree?"
As if the man possessed the ability to read minds, he dipped his head and stole a gentle kiss. I was not prepared. "Happiness can ease the sombreness of most mood disorders." His thumb swept over my lips. "But you do not smile anymore. And sweetheart, I love your smile."
"Fakeness is misleading." My hand touched his chest before I could think better of it. "It gives people the wrong impression. I smile when appropriate, but we are two passing ships in the night. We catch each other at the wrong times." His heart pounded against the palm of my hand. "Tonight, the state of being happy is unquestionably inappropriate. I am not sad, though. I am angry. A stalker has driven me out of my home."
He lifted my hand to his lips, alternately kissed my fingertips and threaded our fingers together.
"I never considered myself murderous before, but if I ever get my hands on that man," I said quietly, "I will not hesitate to hurt him."
"You will have to go through me first, for I plan the ultimate penance, slow, painful and torturous. He will be thoroughly defeated and moribund in the midst of absolution." His arm slid behind my back, tugging me close, skin on skin, with no breathing space between us. "And then, when death feels like the only option and life fades from his eyes, I will nurse him back to health and start the process all over again. This man," he said in a low yet furious voice, "has hurt you in more ways than one. You do not need to say it. I know what you are thinking. Is he responsible for Carter's disappearance? If so, why is he hellbent on torturing you? Why does he want you to suffer any more than you have?"
A single tear travelled down my cheek and landed on the sheet before I could stop it. Head resting on his outstretched arm, I rolled onto my back and studied the ceiling. I had to look elsewhere. If I hold his gaze for a second longer, I will dissolve into tears and sob my heart out.
"You are right to wonder about him. He is the syndicate's prime suspect as of now." His forehead touched my temple as he cuddled up against me. "I apologise for doubting you." He reached up to grab my jaw and dragged my eyes to him. "I should have believed you."
"Yes," I croaked out a sad laugh. "But I will not hold it over you. I, too, thought I had lost my marbles." A floorboard creaked in the hallway, putting me in a jittery jumpiness. "Oh, shit. Who is outside the bedroom?"
"No one is outside the bedroom." His thumb circled my navel. "Mabel has insomnia. I doubt she sleeps much, if at all. I reckon she is on the hunt for a cup of Horlicks. The old bird loves malted milk powder." He sensed that I was not easily convinced. "Emma, I promise you, Alice is not in the house. The guards have strict orders to keep her at arm's length. But, for argument's sake, let's say she did outsmart security. Do you honestly believe I would let her within ten miles of you? I'd strangle her first."
My stomach sank to uneasy depths.
"Now, where was I?" Twisting at the waist, somewhat disjointedly, he extended an arm to switch off the lamp on the bedside table. "A hug with a friend before I fall asleep." He locked our legs together, the duvet tangled by our feet. "I won't nod off until you are settled."
I did not ask why because I already knew the answer. Big Guy would roll to the furthest side of the bed once I surrendered to tiredness and searched for dreams. He is convinced that he will hurt me if I startle him.
"You can hold me." Facing him in the dark, I draped an arm over his shoulders and pressed my cheek to his chest."I trust you, Big Guy."
"For now." He hummed, low and throaty. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
Against my better judgement, I went out like a lightbulb in less than five minutes. However, when Mabel returned to her bedroom much later, a cup of Horlicks on standby, I imagine, I woke up and found myself in the same position.
In Big Guy's strong arms.
And he was dead to the world.
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I will be back for typos (this part makes me sound like a broken record!💀).
Okay, thoughts on the update?
—Emma?
—Hugo?
—Terrence?
—Brad?
—Donny?
—Sugar Tits?
—The Intruder?
—Josh?
—Carter?
—Dominic?
—Alice?
—Mabel?
—Chloe?
—The Pregnancy?
—Any mentions I forgot?
Thank you for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️