A FLUTTERING inside me steals my breath. It’s not butterflies. Unless they have managed to break from my stomach and into my uterus… I press my hand between my hipbones. My face stills, my eyes losing focus while my mind becomes attune to the whooshing—no, rolling sensation.
Then I realise what it is.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I home in on the feeling, forgetting about Clay for just a moment so I don’t miss this. I thought it was too early, but I’m small so maybe… I think, the baby is moving inside me. I can feel something strange.
‘What’s happening, Fawn?’ he orders, his voice finds me in my daze, pulling me from my focus.
I open my eyes to his full of a kind of stern interest—on anyone else’s face, it may be considered concern. I smile at him, training my eyes on his devilishly handsome face, ignoring the fact that he’s little more than a stranger, intimating, all that, and just eager to see if he feels it too. ‘I feel something.’
Without thinking, I throw the silky lapels of my gown open. Pulling his much bigger hand away from where it has a death grip on the counter, I press it firmly to my lower stomach. His hand almost flinches from me, stiff and defiant, but then he stills with my hand on top of his. Exhaling heavily, his long fingers span out to cradle my abdomen with a protective dominance that causes a rabble of butterflies to take flight inside me.
I stare into his eyes as the strange sensation happens again, but it’s too early to be movement… isn’t it? His eyes narrow to the sensation. Then meet mine. I smile wider, breathing with excitement and rapture, knowing he feels it as well.
He smiles too.
That. Is. Everything.
THE SOUND of knocking stabs through my unconscious state, throwing me back into the hotel room, into the empty bed with only my small frame curled into a sideways ball.
I slowly sit up, regaining my senses as the knocking continues. The phone rings. It is an obnoxious chiming that is surely to alert me of the other obnoxious sound coming from outside the room. All the noise slams within my skull, forcing a groan from me.
I grip my forehead. Cradle my brain as it shrivels under the dehydration my tears left. My eyes burn as I blink them open. Tracks from the streams of salty tears pinch my cheeks as I work my mouth open and shut.
The noise continues.
Then the dream leaks in…
HE SMILES TOO.
That. Is. Everything.
IMMEDIATELY, I cup between my abdomen to protect the hollow centre. A punch of anguish beats through me as I place myself in this moment with an empty womb.
An empty bed.
I gaze over at the far wall, seeing a stack of pillows. The image of me from this morning rips a sob from me. After he fucked me, he waited and then left the moment the waking world eluded me. But my sleep didn’t last long. Seconds. A minute, maybe, before I dragged myself back with dread being my guide. Dread that the click I heard in my half-conscious space was the door. That it was him leaving, that he was—I sat up in despair.
He was gone.
No. The memory alone hurts.
I flung the pillows around the room—needing to ruin the fabricated world he’d created for me—broke a vase potentially worth more than my foster mother’s house and then dutifully cleaned up the glass fragments knowing I’ll probably step on them if I don’t.
Then I stacked the pillows.
It felt ridiculous, needed. The entire scene ripped apart because it wasn’t real without him. The hotel floor. The perfect view. The concept of a holiday together. All bullshit.
‘Be my strong girl.’
I shake the memory. The knocking at the front door continues as I slump to my feet, wrap myself in a robe, and wander over to swing the double doors open.
I’m met by an emotional-looking Cassidy and a stiff, unreadable Shoshanna who is swaying, rocking her son, Stone, in a colourful clothe baby-holder wrapped around her torso. They stare at me from the hotel corridor, and none of us have a smile to exchange today.
Cassidy’s arms are around me before I can take a breath; this time I mimic her embrace. She’s close to Clay; his sister-in-law, so I hold her tightly with that knowledge.
Peering over her shoulder, I meet Shoshanna’s amber eyes that flare with red flames. Yet, beneath the deep amber pools of fire, her anger seems an overcompensation for gut-wrenching fear.
I recognise it immediately.
That was me last night.
Something touches my leg, so I peer down. Clinging to my thigh like a baby koala is Cassidy’s daughter Kelly, copying her mummy, cuddling me too.
It isn’t comfortable to be touched so much, but it doesn’t stir me any more than the realisation we are alone without the men we love. That connects us.
And they are in danger.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
A sob wants to break through my lips, but I clench my teeth to hold it at bay, an ache splaying through my gums instead.
‘Hey,’ I force out, patting the golden bundle of hair on Kelly’s crown. Appearing oblivious to the tension-thickened aura, she peers up, an endearing naivety set in her grey-coloured eyes. Just another day for the little girl—
How can that be?
Cassidy must lock her emotions up tight, keeping her reactions quiet and contained.
Unlike you, Fawn.
The image of the pillows being hurtled around the hotel floor, of the vase shattering, casts a sad reality in my mind.
Eccentric.
I sigh.
Fuck.
Maybe I won’t make a good mother at all. Is that what my mother would have done in my easily removable shoes? I remember the emotional breakdowns… So many of them.
Check out that apple by the tree, Fawn?
Looks a bit like you.
Irritated at my own inner monologue, I snap my eyes up from Kelly’s hair to the hallway. Lining the corridor walls are soldiers—that’s what they are to me today—including HJ and two other men who are dressed slightly different to the rest. They converse quietly.
I shudder, butterflies like goddamn bats beating their wings inside my stomach. I haven’t felt them this intense for weeks. This scene is plucked straight from a crime series. A hostage situation, maybe.
Don’t cry.
My hands set to tremors, so I pull Cassidy and Kelly into the room. Shoshanna follows with heavy footsteps.
I shut the door.
Immediately, Kelly rushes over to the pillow stack, claiming the debris of my emotional collapse as a stage for her to play on. She dives into it. Despite the sombre energy, the barking tears, my lips twitch with a smile for her.
‘Did you know?’ Cassidy asks, risking a glance at her daughter before continuing. ‘Did you know they were going to leave us here?’ Her voice is soft and defeated.
There was nothing provocative about her question. It was spoken with genuine, caring interest.
I walk over to the window, gazing down at Dubai, a sense of dissonance finding me as I reflect on the last few days. Think about the wound below his eyes. The way he seemed dead-set on using my body often the past few days. And… the last-minute holiday.
‘Be the blood of the Cosa Nostra.’
Glancing back at Clay’s sisters-in-law, I watch them move around the suite, positioning themselves on the sofa where they wait—
Are they waiting for me to do something, say something?
What brought them to this room?
To me?
At first thought, it was a babysitting mission. The whole ‘ensure I eat.’ Behave, even… but now I’m not so convinced that’s the whole picture. ‘Clay told me last night,’ I admit to them, wishing I had more information to offer as uncertainty thickens the air between them, as they look at me with intent.
Shoshanna sighs angrily, focusing now on cooing her son to sleep, a visual declaration to deter questions. So I turn to Cassidy, asking, ‘Did you two know that they were going to leave early this morning?’
‘Only last night,’ Cassidy confirms. ‘Max told me he was going to get revenge—’ She pauses, hesitation holding her tongue while pity softens her gaze on mine. ‘Are you okay with what is happening?’
I’m not sure what she means. About my dad’s involvement? I think. Like, am I entirely on their side? The urge to stand by Clay’s decisions seems to solidify inside my spine. Needing them to see my irrefutable loyalty, I simply say, ‘Yes.’
She swallows hard, uncertain. ‘Has Clay explained everything to you? About—’
‘About my dad? Yes.’
‘And what he did to me? The attack. How he tried to have my brother killed?’
‘I know all of it.’
She looks down at her fingernails as she peels a film of pink from the surface, saying, ‘Max apologised to me, ya know? For it taking so long. Like I care. Like it’s been on my mind all these years. That was him projecting his own guilt and regret on me. Not mine… God, he was in so much pain last night.’ Her voice wobbles, and she bounces her eyes to her daughter, who is now building a three-wall cubby with my ’emotional-support’ pillows. Cassidy looks back at me. ‘I don’t want them to kill your dad, Fawn. Of course I don’t—’
‘I don’t know him,’ I state straightaway, defensive, and wishing I wasn’t, but I need them to know who I stand beside. I’m not a victim here. Not collateral damage. I don’t want them to lump me in that camp. I’m the same as them.
‘When Max needs to do something…’ Cassidy trails off, muttering to herself through a small nod. ‘I need to let him do it.’ She peers her sad hazel eyes up at me. ‘He carries so much inside, so much weight. He just… he has all these contradictory pieces, ya know? He’s so sweet. So… gentle. My big gentle menace. And then he’s so… cold and hard. I don’t pretend to understand, but I support him and whatever he feels he needs to do. Stopping a man like Max Butcher from doing what he feels is right would be like wrapping his heart in chains. I could never do it. It’s part of him… And I love and accept all his parts.’ She suddenly gazes at Shoshanna, who has relaxed her shoulders, as if the anger is no longer twisting her muscles tight. ‘We don’t need to understand them, Shosh.’
Shoshanna seems pained as she says, ‘Bronson is too fragile to do this alone. He needs me. He knew I’d fight him on this. He knew I’d want to go. To help. I can help. I’m a doctor for God’s sake. What if they need me? What if he needs me—’ She looks down at Stone. Then inhales angrily and exhales hard, enforcing calm. She lowers her voice. ‘The crazy son of a bitch didn’t even tell me.’
My heart hurts. ‘He just left?’
Her expression softens, letting her guard slip. ‘I should have known. Last night when he got back, he had this look in his eyes. They were so green. And when they’re green… Well, crazy happens. I thought it was a moment. He has them sometimes.
‘After everything he’s seen, done, been through with that cunt Victoria, it’s like there are days that the darkness consumes him. Circles him. And he needs me to hold him for hours sometimes. Like a child. My six-foot-five tattooed, bearded man-child. God, I love him so much. I—’ She covers her mouth to smother a sob, then forces it away. ‘I was wrong. It was a lot more than a moment. Then I found a single rose and a note on the dresser this morning.’
‘What did the note say?’ Cassidy asks.
She smiles tightly and gazes down at her sleeping babe, her amber irises swimming in tears now. ‘It said ‘think about my boy.’’
Cassidy exhales hard. ‘That’s a good note.’
A tear drops from Shoshanna’s eye, her hand wiping at the unwelcome little bead as it trails down her cheek.
Clay’s words float back to me with her sorrow: ‘Let me finish this for my brothers. For you. For our son.’
Bronson and Shoshanna’s son, Stone, is the reason he left, and the reason she can’t. Just like Clay’s and mine. I get it. Immediately, my hand cups my lower abdomen, praying there is life beneath my palm. The heir to an empire. A prince. A little boy I will give sweetness and magic to—
Wait. What did she say?
‘—been through with that cunt Victoria.’
Their mum…
‘What has he been through with his mum?’ I breathe the question out, and both girls suddenly still. ‘You just said Victoria. That’s their mum, right? I’ve wondered for a while what her deal is.’
Shoshanna answers, ‘She’s a bitch.’
My brows pinch, and I think about the way she interacted with me. I didn’t understand it. Or her. ‘Neglectful or something else? She seemed super nice to Clay the one time I met her. And she was… I dunno, pleasant-ish to me.”
‘Pleasant-ish?’ Shoshanna drawls. ‘She wasn’t pleasant. Trust me. And she isn’t nice to Clay. She’s a sycophant with Clay because he’s the Don of the damn Cosa Nostra. Her perfect, fearless heir to this dynasty.’
I don’t know what sycophant means, but placed in context, I imagine it means she’s a brown-noser. I don’t argue with her. ‘She does seem cold.’
‘Believe us,’ Cassidy insists. ‘She’s not a good person.’
‘Dammit, Xander!’ A man barks, the words freezing us, our gazes now darting to the closed double doors as our answers lie beyond them.
Shoshanna leaps to her feet like a mother who heard her own son’s name screamed. She rushes over to the door and swings it open to reveal the soldiers darting through the corridors, throwing orders to one other.
Something is going down.
Is Clay injured?
Did the plane go down?
‘What happened, Carter?’ Shoshanna asks, gripping the arm of the biggest man I think I have ever seen. He twists to acknowledge her, unveiling his face from the shadows— I suck a breath in. His skin is curled and cavernous, his expression taut with the kind of anger only dread can provoke.
‘Damn that boy! I should have known,’ he says to Shoshanna. ‘He’s gone. He bloody slipped us.’
I move towards them. ‘What do you mean?’
Carter steps inside at my utterance, stopping before me as a soldier would his commanding officer, with a respectful and orderly manner. It throws me a little.
‘My queen.’
‘Miss Harlow,’ he looks reluctant as he says, ‘he slipped us. We don’t have eyes on him.’
He knows my name…
I’m not Clay’s dirty little secret.
‘Xander,’ Shoshanna breathes, the word choppy with concern. ‘What is he hoping to achieve? To go back?’
Cassidy gasps. ‘You have to find him, Carter.’
‘We’ll search the city, Mrs Butcher,’ he says over my shoulder to Cassidy, in a far more familiar way. Her ‘Henchman Jeeves’, I think.
‘Carter, I need a juice boxy,’ Kelly says to him from her pillow fort, either oblivious or immune to the commotion.
‘I’ll get you one in a minute,’ Cassidy says, her tone is effortlessly soothing and motherly.
I don’t know how she does that. My mum kept everything bubbling shallow—anger, delirium, despair. I experienced them all.
Carter trains his gaze to me, and where I usually experience the shift of the patronising stare from men like him, he’s different with me. He considers me as though I’m somehow taller than his seven-foot goon self.
‘This is on me,’ he offers. ‘I should have known. I’ve watched over that boy for his entire life. This is exactly like him. I should have—’
‘No.’ Craning my neck to see him better, I realise on a closer look that he isn’t as monstrous as I first thought. The skin on his face is smooth like melted wax, glistening and silvery like the moon. He is quite beautiful, really, in a tragic way. ‘It’s not your fault,’ I confirm. ‘Has Clay been contacted?’
He shakes his chin stiffly. ‘We only just realised he wasn’t in his suite seconds ago. I don’t know how long for. We had men outside the entire time.’
I nod. ‘Call Clay immediately.’
‘Yes, Miss Harlow.’
Their queen.
