The door to my home office opens and I sigh for the hundredth time in the span of ten minutes.
Caroline appears at the doorway carrying a plate and wearing her fuzzy pajamas and an expression that’s not apologetic in the least.
Lucifer and Cain peek from the door, following her around like clingy children.
I raise my eyes from my computer screen and stare at her, blank-faced. “Now what?”
She strolls inside as if she’s not interrupting me for the dozenth time—on purpose. “I just thought you’d want a cup of tea and some cake.”
“I don’t drink tea or eat cake.”
“You should.” She slides the cup in front of me. “It’s good for your health.”
“Thanks, doctor. Now, would you please let me work without finding an excuse to interrupt me?”
She hikes up a hand on her hip. “You know, the whole point behind being on a vacation is to actually relax.”
“Relaxing is for the dead.”
She gives me an “are you shitting me?” look, then leans on my desk right in the middle of my space and crosses her arms. “I can’t believe you’re working as usual after what happened to you.”
Caroline had lost her shit by the time I got home that night. Apparently, she’d been calling me all day long and couldn’t reach me. Kingsley answered her that morning, but he only confused her more and offered no explanations. Considering everything that had happened, I didn’t even think about checking my phone until after Kingsley dropped me off.
Anyway, when I came back into the apartment, Caroline was crying while fussing over me left and right. She was always the sensible one out of the two of us and often cried on behalf of both of us.
Ever since that moment, she’s been a pain in the ass, trying to stop me from doing my job, even from home—courtesy of my boss from hell.
On one hand, I don’t know how to feel about this. On the other, I’m glad I don’t have to cross paths with him at the firm. I really have no clue how I’ll ever be able to face him and not think about his tongue and fingers inside me.
Any semblance of the professional relationship we had is out the window—not that it was the best, since I secretly considered him a rival. But even that sense of work-related boundaries has vanished now. All I have left are chaotic emotions and hickeys.
Lots of them. Around my breasts, nipples, stomach, and thighs.
They’ve been healing with my bruises and I don’t know why the hell I touch them every night. Look at them in the mirror every morning.
It’s not to get the same adrenaline burst from when he left them on my skin.
Absolutely not.
“I’m alive and functioning, Callie. Stop turning this into a tragedy.”
“It is a tragedy, and why the hell did you use the word functioning about yourself? You’re not a machine, bitch.”
“Are you done?” I glare at her.
“No.” She glares right back. “We should do something to make whoever hurt you pay.”
“I already reported it to the police.”
“The police are useless.” She sucks on the insides of her cheeks. “I can ask Mateo to investigate this and provide you protection.”
“You would ask Mateo?”
She clears her throat and pulls on her pajamas in an adorable way. “I would for you.”
“Thanks, but there’s no need to, Callie. I’m already under Nicolo’s protection.”
She pokes me with the sternness of an angry grandmother. “Nicolo is a damn opportunist who wouldn’t hesitate to chew you up and spit you out the moment he’s done with you.”
“And Mateo won’t?”
“No.” She lifts her chin. “He’s loyal.”
“I thought he cheated.”
“Well…aside from that.” She winces and doesn’t even seem to believe her earlier convictions anymore.
At this point, she’s either playing an epic hard-to-get role or she really is too far into her head to see what Mateo is doing for her.
He’s a man with nothing in his sights but Caroline. The world seems to be a vessel to her existence.
And she’s blind to all of that.
The mob is for life and the only way out is death, which means no divorces are allowed. It’s the reason my mother killed herself to be able to leave. So at this point, Mateo is only humoring Callie. When push comes to shove, he’ll never allow the divorce. Not even if Nicolo gives him the green light to go against their customs for it.
“Anyway.” She starts to close my laptop. “Stop working or I’ll call Kingsley and report that you’re not taking your vacation seriously.”
My fingers twitch and I miss the chance to keep my laptop open. I can’t believe that the mere mention of the bastard’s name is enough to tilt my psyche off its axis.
This isn’t normal, ordinary, or acceptable, and yet, I can’t for the life of me control my reaction when it comes to that man.
It’s like he muddied my soul and has made a cozy place for himself in my chest.
Even now, images of him unapologetically owning me, taking whatever he wanted without an ounce of hesitation or questions, play in my head like a haunting movie.
I should be revolted by the idea of anyone controlling me, and part of me is, but that’s not the most prominent part.
That one is currently making my core throb in remembrance as I struggle to stay in the moment.
“Don’t you dare, Callie.”
The sweet smile that curves her lips nearly gives me diabetes. “I most definitely will if you keep being a stubborn hellion. The nickname isn’t so cute now that it’s in real life.”
“Cute is the last thing I want to be.”
“But you looked hella cute in that little white dress you wore that night. Bet you drove the poor man crazy.”
“Callie…for the thousandth time, nothing happened.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. I totally believe you.”
“Callie!”
“What? You smelled like cologne and had flushed cheeks and glittery eyes.”
“I was in pain.”
“Pain of desire, sure. But hey, you go for it, girl. At least one of us is getting some action.”
“Get out of here before I smack you.”
She blows me a kiss. “You know you love me and that I’m right.”
I physically have to chase her out of my office, to which she laughs and hugs her dogs, using them as armor.
Once I’m finally back at my desk, I release a harsh sigh, but I don’t open my laptop. Instead, I pull out my phone and stare at the text messages I received from Kingsley over the past few days.
We’ve had each other’s numbers for years, but we only contact each other on the rare occasion that we work on a case together. Which mainly happens when a client is both charged criminally and sued civilly.
All our exchanges have been dry, professional, with his usual dash of scathing sarcasm.
However, the texts he’s sent over the last few days were drastically different.
You seem to have the self-care mentality of a toddler, so this is your reminder to clean your wounds and take painkillers.
A few minutes later.
Another reminder to do as I just told you. This isn’t about you, sweetheart. I don’t want Gwen upset when she finds out you’re hurt.
Also, I still have your sweet taste on my tongue. Five-star meal. Highly recommend.
The following morning.
If you show your face at the firm, I’m going to have security throw you right out. Eat your breakfast.
Oh, and morning. Are you healed enough to take my dick between your lips? Or legs? Or ass cheeks? I’ll take what I can get.
During the day.
I’m in the middle of a meeting, but all I think about is how your greedy little cunt shattered around my fingers.
Do you still have my marks on that bruisable skin, sweetheart? Do you feel me on you with every move you make?
By the way, before those marks disappear, I’ll give you new ones.
Did you have lunch?
Dinner?
Are you touching yourself tonight or do you have a toy that does the job?
Just for the record, my dick is certified to give a much better performance. All you have to do is ask.
His texts continued to shift between mundane things to lust-filled ones in the span of seconds. To say I was getting whiplash would be an understatement.
But more than that, my thighs clenched when reading them. Even now, I can feel the heat rising up my neck and cheeks, then spreading over my body with the disturbing persistence of a hurricane.
The reason I haven’t replied to any of them isn’t bashfulness or lack of words. It’s the pure terror of my reaction to him. To this side of him that I didn’t know existed but am slowly but surely getting used to.
I don’t want to be used to Kingsley. Or his care. Or his dirty words.
As he so eloquently put it, he’ll go back to his escorts eventually.
That’s what men do when they’re bored. They leave.
And I refuse to be another stop on his route.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t get drunk reading and rereading his texts. I should’ve thought about the threat my father possibly poses on me more, but no.
Damn Kingsley has the destructive effect of a plane crash. A mass shooting. And a destructive war.
The door to my office opens, and even though working wasn’t part of my preoccupation, I sigh. “I swear to God, Callie. I’m going to throw you out the window.”
“Might have to wait until you meet your visitor.” There’s a rare sound of glee in Caroline’s voice and when I look up, I cease breathing.
The last person I expected to find standing in my apartment stares at me with puffy eyes, a downward expression, and silent awkwardness.
“Gwyneth,” I whisper, still not believing my eyes.
She tugs on her sweater, shifts her feet, and murmurs back, “Hi.”
Her voice is so much softer than mine, too feminine and small. She even looks like it now, broken, distressed, and the urge to destroy whoever caused her that boils in my blood with the harshness of a volcano.
“I’m going to bring some tea and cake,” Caroline announces with delight, shoving Gwen inside with a less than subtle push.
My phone nearly falls to the floor and I realize that I still have Kingsley’s dirty texts up. I quickly throw it in the drawer and stand, my spine straight. “What are you doing here? I mean, no, it’s not that I don’t want you here, but the fact that you came to my apartment brings up questions. Of course, I don’t mean to question you, but…”
Jesus. I trail off when her chin trembles. Damn it, me. I finally have my daughter visiting me and I go blurting like a flustered five-year-old.
Gwen fingers her sweater, staring at me from under her lashes. “Are you badly hurt?”
Oh, that’s why she came. She must’ve heard from Kingsley. It’s then I realize she must have noticed my bruises, too, and this isn’t a state I want to her to see me in.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“They’re just bruises. They’ll heal.”
Her chin trembles again and she hangs her head. “I’m so sorry.”
I slowly approach her, my heart beating louder with each step. I speak low, afraid a higher range will have her bolting. “What for?”
“For what Dad did. I dislike that side of him.”
“Wait…what?”
She lifts her head, a tear clinging to her lashes. “Dad hurt you because you didn’t leave like he told you to. He also did that to Nate, when he refused to let me go.”
“Gwen, no. Kingsley didn’t do this to me. In fact, he was the one who helped me and nursed me back to health. If he hadn’t, God knows what hole I’d be in right now.” I’m prideful, but that doesn’t mean I’d deny what he did for me. A part of me holds so much gratitude to him, I have no idea how to express it.
My daughter’s face gets frozen in an odd mixture of relief and horror, then she gasps. “He really did nothing?”
I shake my head, believing it myself. Kingsley is a lot of things, but subhuman is not one of them.
“Oh my God.” She starts shaking like a leaf, the tear finally sliding down her cheek. “I called him a monster and other names and lashed out at him for hurting my mother after I finally found her.”
My heart literally skips a beat. It doesn’t matter if she’s talking about me in the third person, but she indirectly admitted that I’m her mother.
Her. Mother.
“He was so mad, like worse than when he deals with Susan mad,” she whispers more to herself than to me. “What if he never forgives me?”
The obvious distress chatters her teeth and puts a halt to my celebratory dance.
She’s in pain, and while I’m immune to my own pain, hers hits differently.
Hers protrudes through my bones and nearly rips my heart open. It’s been the same since Aunt Sharon hit my belly. It wasn’t my pain that mattered, it was fear that Gwen would be hurt.
In a poor attempt to soften my voice, I say, “I’m sure if you apologize, he’ll forgive you.”
She stares up at me with colorful, hope-filled eyes. “What if he doesn’t?”
“He cares about you more than anything in the world, Gwen. He will definitely forgive you.”
She releases a shaky breath, then whispers, “Thank you for saying that and…and I’m still sorry about what happened to you. Do you know who did it?”
Your grandfather, who will be a threat to your life if I don’t do something about it.
However, I settle with a “No.”
“I’m sure the police will find them,” she says with pure determination, not trying to wipe her tears.
She’s the type who wears her emotions like a badge. Definitely unlike me and her father.
“I brought you something.” Gwen digs into the pocket of her sweater and produces a small keychain in the shape of a scale. “It’s nothing much. I just noticed you don’t have one and stumbled upon this and thought it looked cool and would suit you…and, yeah, I got it.”
My chest nearly bursts from the emotions coursing through it. I don’t think I was built to handle so many feelings at the same time.
When I don’t reach for the keychain, Gwen pales. “It’s fine if you don’t like it, I can—”
“No, I do.” I grab at it with both hands. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
She smiles, childlike, and finally wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “You’re…welcome.”
“I’m all tears.” Caroline appears from behind the corner, dabbing at her eyes, probably having listened to the whole exchange, then smiles at Gwen. “I’m Auntie Caroline and I’ve known your mother since before we both got our periods.”
Gwen’s mismatched eyes glint. “Really?”
“Totally.” Caroline grins. “Wanna have a cup of tea with me, eat some cake, and let me tell you stories about a younger, less stony version of her?”
“Callie, stop it,” I hiss, my neck heating.
“What? She wouldn’t mind. Right, Gwen?”
My daughter doesn’t look at me, but her face turns a deep shade of red as she murmurs, “I would love tea. Do you have vanilla-flavored cake?”
“Of course! I have all sorts of cake.” Caroline says, all too joyful, and drags Gwen with her to the living room.
I follow them, feeling lightheaded and partially not believing what’s happening.
Caroline tells Gwen one embarrassing story from our youth after the other, interrupted by my protests and my kicking her whenever I get the chance.
My daughter, however, doesn’t seem the least bit bored or embarrassed. She listens carefully, laughs, and even asks questions, fully invested in a part of me I have long since forgotten.
A part of me who wrote in journals, gazed at the stars, and made stupid wishes that would never come true.
A part of me who was so naïve that I had to murder it in order to survive.
By the time Gwen leaves, she has a smile on her face, has exchanged numbers with Caroline, and wishes me well.
I feel so high on cloud nine that even Caroline’s hyper energy doesn’t bother me anymore.
However, later as I lie in bed, a stupid nagging remains at the back of my mind. In fact, it’s been there since Gwen was here.
He was so mad.
Her words play in my head on a loop. I’ve seen Kingsley on the scale of anger a few times, and it was always bad.
The type of bad people stay away from.
And while I was one of those people in the past, it sits wrong with me now.
Inexplicably wrong.
I scan the texts he sent me over the past few days and decide to reply to the last one.
Kingsley: Breakfast?
Aspen: I’ve skipped most of my meals except for a slice of apple pie, because that’s the only thing Callie does right.
He doesn’t see the text. So I call him, my heartbeat picking up with every ring until it goes to voicemail.
I hang up and stare at the screen, then call him again.
Still no answer.
I’m about to go to sleep—or try to—when I recall something Nate told me once.
“Stay away from Kingsley when he’s angry. He becomes volatile, unpredictable, and has a thirst for blood. I’m surprised he hasn’t accidentally lost his life due to those factors.”
My fingers shake as a crazy idea forms in mind.
The worst part of all is that the crazy idea is slowly but surely turning into action.
