LUNA.
Luna Butcher.
She pads around in the diamond gap of my legs, occasionally stopping to lick milk from my cereal bowl. The television flashes with the morning news, and I get my first glimpse of Clay since we fell asleep last night.
He was gone this morning.
But there he is, wearing his smooth, charismatic armour, fitted to perfection within a flawless charcoal suit. I know what is under that armour now. And it’s volatile. Deep. Vulnerable. Angry. So full of passion and possession it makes me want to weep with joy that a man so alive lives beneath that veil.
A familiar-looking red-headed woman interviews him in front of a burnt trunk and, behind them, in the far, far distance, a helicopter circles the glowing forest.
The orange headlining banner scrolling the bottom of the screen reads: Eight members of the outlaw Stockyard Motorcycle Group and well-known businessman Dustin Nerrock have died after becoming trapped in the bushfire due to taking a shortcut back to their motorcycle headquarters.
Clay goes on to say, ‘I flew back from Dubai the moment I received the regrettable news. The city and all its members send their condolences to the families of the fallen Stockyard Motorcycle community. It is truly a tragedy. We will be hosting a memorial ride through the District on Thursday.’
He’s a clever man.
‘Don’t let her eat from your bowl,’ HJ says, capturing my attention, appearing in the lounge room wearing his all-black suit and tie. ‘They have worms, Miss Harlow.’
I curl up my nose. ‘Luna does not have worms. They put the little drops on her fur to kill the worms.’
He stops staunchly in front of me, his hands hanging down by his sides.
Exhaling hard, I ready myself for another day of being followed, being politely responded to, being treated like a ward. It is what it is.
‘You know,’ he begins, ‘I’m lucky to still have a job. I’m lucky to still be alive. A month ago, Mr Butcher would have fired me for letting you slip away. Well, at least that would have been the story for why I wasn’t around.’
Gazing up at him, regret for him but not for my actions play across my face. ‘I’m so sorry. I had to.’
He nods stiffly. ‘I know.’ A rough sigh leaves him. ‘I need you to remember that it’s my job to keep you safe. At the very least, you should have requested I go with you.”
I laugh at him. ‘You wouldn’t have let me go.’
‘No,’ he admits, ‘because Mr Butcher is my boss. And… your safety is important to me as well.’
Luna crawls out from my diamond leg pen and stumbles over to his freshly polished black shoe, rubbing her face on the reflective surface, smearing it with her dribble. Then she tumbles to the side, her paws going up, swatting at the black laces.
‘So…’ I peer up at my henchman/butler/rat, who I am very fond of even though he is a pain in my arse. ‘I had no choice. I’m glad you’re not dead, by the way. Even though you’re a rat.’
He ignores Luna as she attacks his shoe. ‘Rats are the new cats. I read it in a Cosmopolitan.’
I laugh, surprised he managed a joke given our new less-friendly arrangement. ‘You know, I heard that people change on death row. I didn’t realise it would happen so quickly, so profoundly. Your sense of humour has finally returned.’
He looks lighter as he says, ‘Which leads me to the next thing I have to say to you, Miss Harlow—”
“Wait… Is this about your sense of humour or your epic experience on death row? I’m fragile, after all.”
“You are not fragile. I think that ship has sailed. No, this is about my job,” he advises, amusement in his voice. A sound I have missed. “Mr Butcher has changed my contract.”
I deadpan. No. I don’t want a new butler/rat. I like my butler/rat. “Oh. Is he taking you away from me?”
“No.” He smiles. “He’s giving me to you. I’m officially under your orders from now on.”
I squint at him. ‘Wait…” As I try to understand what that means, I pause and watch Luna try to crawl up his leg. “What does that mean?”
Looking down at the kitten as she makes her way towards his crotch, he tries to gently shake her off his leg. She doesn’t budge. So, he pries her from his thigh and sets her on the ground again. She makes a squeaky call of annoyance.
‘I’ll do what you ask of me,” he says, pulling my focus back to the knowing sparkle in his eyes.
Happiness plays along my mouth as the meaning behind that gesture registers. ‘He trusts you with me—’
‘He trusts you, Miss Harlow.’
My breath catches. “Woah.” A little flicker of control, of place, identity, and acceptance rolls around inside me. I beam. “I have an employee. Can I request that you call me Fawn?”
He grins. ‘Yes, Boss.”
I crack up laughing, finding the word ‘boss’ exciting as all hell, now understanding why Clay Butcher looks and smells like power… Because that’s what he is—walking, talking, smelling perfect power. And I have a little borrowed power of my own now, too.
I get an idea.
Now that the threat of my dad is… over, I take a big breath. “Can I leave the house?”
“You may.” He holds his hand out for me to take, and I do, standing with his assistance. “Where would you like to go?”
“To Max and Cassidy’s house. Then to see Xander,” I say immediately, brushing the short white hairs from my jeans and flowy pink crop top. I got a little head spin from jumping up fast but rattle the fuzz around until it releases its hold.
His brows draw in. “Of all the places you could go, you want to head straight towards drama again?”
“Yes. I want to make sure he’s okay. He took a bullet for me. And he’s pissed Clay off. And Cassidy must be so upset. Fuck, maybe with me…” I fumble on the unwelcome thought, remembering the last time I saw her and Shoshanna, I avoided them. Avoided the accusation in their sorrowful eyes. “Damn.” I cringe at the memory. “Yeah. I have to go. And I have to see Xander too. It’s my fault he was taken. And he’s… my friend.”
“And you should eat more before we go,” he insists. “Don’t think for a second I didn’t just see you nearly faint—’
“I didn’t nearly faint. Don’t be dramatic.” After putting Luna back in her pen, I walk towards the kitchen. He trails me, his dubious expression like a hand tapping me on the shoulder.
“You went whiter than you are naturally.”
“No, I didn’t,” I dismiss, grabbing a muffin from the basket of goods Maggie fills with freshly baked pastries and cakes. “See.” I wave the orange and poppyseed muffin at him.
Wandering towards the front door, I take a bite because he isn’t wrong. I’ve eaten. I had cereal. But when I stood up, I did get a little wave of dark coasting across my vision, a moment of weakness, heavy headiness, but I’m set on seeing Clay’s brothers and Cassidy.
My direction—towards the front doors— spikes my pulse as though any minute now I will get tackled to the ground for trying to escape.
I open the left one and slowly step out into the spacious air, utterly free, standing at the top of the stairs in the far-reaching daylight. It is a beautiful estate. The hedges roll into the distance towards those looming white fences.
At the foot of the front steps, shiny black vehicles line the side parking lot with one standing out like a sore thumb—it’s red. Henchman Jeeves is suddenly at my side, and the out of place car flashes ahead. The sound of it unlocking resonates like independence.
“That’s your vehicle, Fawn. And they”—he points to the four men now climbing into another car nearby— “will be following us. They work for Clay.”
Of course.
“I knew he couldn’t relinquish complete control.” I jog down the steps and rush over to the car, eager to touch it. I run my fingers across the metallic red paint—no, orange, no, gold… Depending on the angle, the car flashes with various analogous colours. I smile. “It’s a nice offer though. Isn’t it?”
“It is.” He rounds the vehicle and steps into the driver’s side with one foot, staring at me over the sparkling red/orange roof. “Jump in, and I’ll take you to see Mr Butcher.”
I grin over the roof, then wiggle my eyebrows with mischief dancing around on them. “Do you think he’ll teach me to drive it one day?”
“I doubt it. Anyway, you have me.”
“Hmm. I’ll work on him.”
IT TAKES twenty minutes to get to Max and Cassidy’s neighbourhood. The houses are mostly two storeys, a bit smaller than the ones in Connolly, but the appearance of wealth is still in the cleanliness, the perfect green lawns.
All those cultivated roses.
Being from the other side of Stormy River, I’ve only ever seen poverty. Rusty bikes and motor vehicles abandoned on lawns. Couches in strange outdoor positions. The kind I’d never sit on. Not for a million dollars. Then, a few months ago, I experienced the culture shock of Clay’s level of abundant prosperity.
We slow at the base of a small hill. There are no parking spots, so we leave the car on the street. Closely behind us, the car with Clay’s soldiers brakes and parks a few lengths away.
Henchman Jeeves opens the passenger door for me, and I make my way up the pretty pebbly walkway to the house.
Ahead of me now, standing on top of the hill, is a home with two levels and low white fencing around a veranda.
The beautiful construction looks like Cassidy and the absolute opposite of Max. It looks friendly. Charming. Not overly big but clearly built with wealth.
Butterflies awaken inside me.
I can do this.
Nodding to myself, I approach the door and knock, instantly met by barking and canine grumbles.
I beam and widen my legs to brace myself for the large Bernese Mountain dog’s attention. She can effortlessly bowl my feet out from under me.
Cassidy answers the door with Clara—the noisy canine—peering around her waist to get a good look at me.
“Hi,” I breathe the word, suddenly hit with nervousness that fills my chest, creating an airy kind of sensation. “You might not want to see me after everything. It was my fault that Max got hurt and—”
“Look,” she says straightaway, ushering Clara away with a little pat. “I am overprotective of my Max. I didn’t like what happened. I didn’t like not knowing. It really hurt. I care about no one as much as him. He’s mine. My Max.”
I suck a breath in. “I know. It was my fault—’
“But no, Fawn.” Opening the door and stepping to the side for me, she adds, “It was Dustin’s fault that Max got hurt. Not yours. It was Max’s fault that he did this without telling me. But from what I’ve heard, if you didn’t go with him, Xander might be dead.” Her eyes well up. “I’ll always be selfish when it comes to Max. I’ll always want to keep him safe above anything or anyone else. I don’t apologise for that. I can’t. But you were so brave, Fawn, to go to him and to think of Xander. You risked your life for Xander’s.”
I exhale with relief but shake my head at her praise. “I didn’t feel brave at all. It was what had to happen.”
“Honestly, I didn’t see that side of you before this,” she admits. “The protective side. The selfless side. Everything has been a little… “about Fawn-ish”. I’m sorry for that. It’s just how it has seemed from the outside. Clay put you on this pedestal. Don’t scare Fawn. Don’t upset her. Make sure she eats.
“And these boys are special. And I liked you. I like most people, but now that I look at our interactions, I can see that I didn’t really take the time to get to know you.” She sighs, a little regret tumbling down the sound. “I didn’t see you ever risking your life for one of the boys.”
I shrug. “It isn’t a big deal. You don’t owe me anything. I mean, I came the whole way here to avenge a boy who had no fucking respe— Oh. Shit.” I lower my voice, remembering her daughter, Kelly, could be close by. “Is Kels here? I probably shouldn’t swear around her, hey?”
“She’s at kindergarten. And it’s okay. Max still swears around her and she says, ‘say frick daddy.’” Cassidy giggles once, then says, “finish your story.”
I sigh. “Well, he didn’t give a shit about me, and I would have done anything to protect him. So, of course, I would do anything to protect Xander. He was my first friend here. He was the one out of everyone who treated me like an equal.”
“And that means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asks sadly. “For someone to just treat you with basic human kindness and interest? Enough for you to risk your life to save that person.” Her throat rolls with emotion. “I knew you had a hard past, but I can actually see it in your actions now.”
“The damage,” I joke, and she smiles a little.
Walking into her beautiful home, I take it all in. It’s large, open plan, and warm with oak-coloured flooring.
“You impressed Max,” she states as though that is the highest of regards. “And he is not an easy man to impress. I guess that means you’re a Butcher Girl now.” Then the curve of her mouth dances with amusement as she says, “You know, it’s a lot of responsibility being a Butcher Girl. We have a secret clubhouse, meetings, bake sales—’
I wrap my arms around her in the doorway, the gesture shocking her equally as much as it shocks me. I turn my face into her hair and say, “Thank you.”
She returns my hug. “Don’t thank me. Didn’t I just tell you about all the responsibilities?”
I laugh gently and step back from her. “I’ll do a bake sale any damn day.” Then I take a big breath in and say, “Can I see Max? Is he badly hurt?”
“Of course. He’s in pain, but he’s pretending he’s not. You know how that is… They’re all outside.” She waves a little, saying, “Follow me.”
We walk down the long corridor, well-lit by the windows and glass sliding door at the end. The natural light floods the space, highlighting the family photos lining the white walls. I gaze at pictures as I pass them.
Smiling, I see a lot of Kelly, and Max and Cassidy. Clara too. Then there are some of Bronson and Xander at parties. And finally, wedding photos with the entire family.
A whole collage of photos at a tropical location halts me. My feet unable to move. There is… Clay and Aurora, looking very married. Coupley. Her wedding dress is like nothing I have ever seen before.
Get over it, Fawn.
I am his everything.
I rub my chest. It still hurts to see another woman experience something with him that I never will. I want all his experiences, all of him. I may be selfish, needy, but the sting is real, and it flares in the face of their smiling images.
I stare it down. Wish it away. Focus on all the details like a detective might. Faces directed towards the camera. The position of their hands clasped together. The shape of their smiles. Wanting to see a message, a clue, that even then, on that wonderful day, they were only friends. I don’t see it.
I see love.
I find myself glaring at it.
“I had no idea it was an arranged marriage,” Cassidy says, stopping beside me, also looking at the picture, and I try for a smile, but I’ve never been particularly good at feigning them. “So, you can imagine I was shocked, well, by you. But Clay is like a robot. He’s hard to read, and he has this trained charm that he turns on for everyone around him. He is always… I dunno, performing, ya know? Shoshanna says he’s been like that for as long as she has known him.”
I scoff with derision.
She touches my shoulder with hers, a little bump of sorts. “And she told me of a time when she was in high school. Clay picked her up from her house. On the drive, he told her that he would not marry for love. That his love story with Aurora was not real. But he wanted love for his brothers, and he would protect them… He’s not in love with her, Fawn. And he never was, but he knew what it looked like. He saw it in Shoshanna and Bronson when they were just children. He knew it was worth having. Worth protecting. He just sacrificed his own chance at it for them. Until you.”
I sulk. “He looks in love.”
“Little deer.” His voice nearly throws me over with the deep power in the commanding tone.
I twist to see Clay stepping through Max and Cassidy’s front door. His body a formidable machine now sauntering towards me in an expertly tailored navy suit.
My pulse begins to race, just like it always does. My belly swarms with butterflies, vibrating and reminding me he’s still the master of my nerves. How is it that I am not used to this man yet?
He stops close, his essence radiating warmth towards me, and I peer up at him through my blonde lashes. Yep. Out of all the atoms in the world, in the universe, the ones that make up Clay Butcher are far more superior than any others.
“I’m staring at the camera, sweet girl,” he says pointedly. His finger touches my chin, lifting it. “Since the moment I laid my eyes on you, they have not wanted to be anywhere else. Remember?”
“Naww.” Cassidy swoons, gazing puppy-eyed at us, and Clay doesn’t even flinch, no visual disdain with her cooing over his statement. He is above it. Above embarrassment. “I’ll go,” she adds quietly. “See you two outside. Everyone is out there.”
She wanders away, and I melt into his attention. “I’m glad you’re here, Sir. But now you can go make up with your brother.”
He steps backward to rake his heated stare over my appearance, his eyes travelling over my flowy shirt and high-waisted jeans. There is a slither of skin between the denim and the shirt, and his eyes stop on it. “You look adorable. Young. You make me feel like a dirty old man, sweet girl.”
I smile, liking the way his eyes drag along my skin.
He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together, pressing his palm to mine so every part of his touches every part of mine. “Follow me, then I may take you outside.”
May take me? God, he’s bossy.
The heat between our bodies rises as we walk in the opposite direction to where Cassidy disappeared. My conditioned response to his intent stirs inside me, a ball of hot need swelling in my core, inducing wetness, igniting an animal instinct. Overly aroused, I try to ignore the pictures of sweet Cassidy dancing in her studio, ballet accolades, and a few of Max boxing that follow me down the corridor.
I am panting by the time we stop outside a closed door, my pulse having picked up pace, now a little trot in my throat. “Here? I’m not exactly quiet—’
“You nearly fainted, little deer.”
Unreadable, he reaches for the door and opens it, ushering me inside a—I bump into the ceramic bowl—a toilet?
He shuts the door, pressing his back to it. I turn to look up at his serious expression as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small plastic wrapped straw-shaped package. “I need you to remove the cap, urinate on the end of this—’
“Oh. My. God!” I exclaim, before spitting out, “That’s why you’re here! Dobber. Rat. Pain in my arse. I thought he worked for me now. I’m firing him.” I call out to the closed door, knowing HJ probably isn’t even inside the house, “Hear that? You’re fired, Henchman Jeeves—”
Clay takes a firm hold of my jaw, my voice muffled and then silenced completely. “Quiet, sweet girl. Your bratty side will get you fucked.” The intensity in his fingers as they dip into my skin snatches my breath; he’s deadly serious right now. His eyes change—large ominous pupils expand like black dye until the clear-blue within is merely a thin ring. “I won’t wait a moment on this.” His voice deepens. “I need to know why you nearly fainted. Now. Sit. Do as I say.”
He lowers his mouth to my ear, blanketing me in hot breath, danger, possessiveness, a warning in his radiating heat. “Then I’ll tend to that weeping little pussy with my fingers before we go outside.”
Releasing his hold on my jaw, his fingertips tend to the divots they left, massaging my cheeks a few times before falling away.
He straightens and nods to the bowl. “I won’t leave you needy, sweet girl. Don’t leave me concerned.”
My pulse upgrades from a trot to a full-blown gallop in my throat as I take the small plastic package from him. I know what this is. I’ve done this once before.
And it was positive.
I slide my jeans and knickers down my thighs, sit on the toilet, and hold the tube between my thighs in the bowl. I should be embarrassed with having his eyes so intently glued to me, but being alone in any capacity feels infinitely more uncomfortable than being in his company. I don’t know when that happened. When my skin became more perfectly moulded, more contently warm, just in the mere proximity of this powerful man.
I look down at the stick. Holding my breath, I pee on the end. It’s a bit mechanical. A bit dutiful, but… something else, too, like—Significant. I think. Aurora has his ring, his name, but I— I’ll share his children…
It’s still not real yet.
Just a possibility.
Does he really want this?
Oh God, don’t start panicking.
Swallowing, I place the cylinder on the floor with shaky hands. I don’t pull my underwear up in case I have to pee on it again, or it needs more pee, or—I can’t think. Can’t move.
I glare at the tube as though, by damn will alone, I can make that second strip appear. A pretty, positive test, that will make me significant, and him… a dad.
Don’t panic.
My eyes widen in my contemplations. He leans down and picks it up, and I follow it. The column is wet, a tiny bit of my pee is on the plastic. He doesn’t care.
Clay doesn’t stare at the cylinder. Instead, his intense blue eyes spear me, the silence stretching under his attention.
I can hear my breathing but not his. Can hear my heart beating in my ears. Feel it a pounding drum in my neck and face. Why aren’t we talking? Why aren’t I talking?
Will he be disappointed if I’m not pregnant?
Disappointed in my body?
I’ve lost a child before.
What if I lose this one?
I always thought I wasn’t made of the right stuff—
“You are better than those thoughts, sweet girl. No matter the result, I will love you. I will keep all my promises to you, and I will fuck you until you are.”
My throat tightens, tears rising.
I anchor myself in his eyes, fighting the pull of the column in his fist, fighting the need to drag my gaze to it. “What if I can’t anymore? That’s a thing, right? Sometimes the stuff inside just stops working, after trauma, after…’
He holds my stare effortlessly. “We will make it happen, little deer. I will fill you every night for the rest of your life.”
“What if I lose him, like I lost the last one.” Panic wins out, rising my voice, “You’ll hate me and find someone—”
“I will do no such thing.”
I fight the pull. “Will you find someone else?”
“I do not want children, little deer.”
My breath hitches. “What?”
“I want children with you.”
I can’t hold it anymore. I have to look at it, have to know the results. My eyes drop to the testing panel while his stay on mine, and there is— There is—
There are two lines.
I gasp, the choppy sound falling out as the waves of emotions rise like a flood, bursting out of my eyes under the pressure. I’m too full with—
With happiness.
Fear.
Happiness.
Fear.
Rivulets of tears clog my vision, but I can still see the moment Clay Butcher finally looks at the cylinder.
His brows pinch.
And I can’t. I cover my face, unable to handle the throes of what all this means, the gravity and responsibility, the excitement and belonging, of growing his—HIS—fucking Clay Butcher’s baby inside my womb.
I can’t.
What if I lose it.
Oh God.
I’m having his baby.
Clay Butcher’s baby—
Clay.
Butcher’s.
Baby.
He is on his knees in front of me now. Warm hands pull mine from smothering my face. “Do not cover your face for any man. Do not cover your face for anyone. You are my queen. Chin high, sweet girl.” Holding my trembling hands in his, he stares at me. Inches from me. On the floor of this toilet. His eyes are shiny, intense, reaching inside my gaze to find my soul and hold it with authority and care. “Thank you for giving me this gift, sweet girl,” he says in a meaningful, deep timbre that is raw with severity. “I am going to devote my life to the children you make for me.”
I slowly shake my head, staring at my small hands protected in his large ones. Blinking at them, the tears rolling out with each bat of my lashes, I remember the first time I saw his hands. Remember how I considered all the men he had probably killed with them… Now, today, I visualise the way they will look so big, gently cradling a little baby.
“What if they ruin your life, Sir?” I peer up from his hands and meet the most striking clear-blue eyes. “What if you hate being a dad?”
“Impossible.” He lifts my chin. “You are my air, little deer. So any part of you is the reason I breathe.”
And I have my second good thing.
Clay Butcher: number one.
His heir: number two.
