I’m in front of the mirror, adjusting the ill-fitting clothes Moira bought since what I was wearing is now shredded on the floor—something I’ve noticed James loves to do. My eyes flicker to him through the mirror as he stands behind his desk. He’s finally washed the blood off his arms and is now buttoning up his shirt, covering the scars that mar every inch of his torso. My heart twists, wondering how they got there, and feeling a heavy sense of purpose, knowing that he let me see.
He opens a drawer and pulls out a gun, slipping it behind his back in the waistband of his pants, before grabbing his suit jacket and sliding it up his arms, buttoning it in the front.
My abs tense at the sight.
“You’re really too attractive for your own good,” I say.
His head snaps up, a grin sneaking on his face as he saunters over, stepping behind me and pressing kisses to my neck.
“James?” My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
I’m not sure where we stand, part of me feeling as if I’m balancing in the middle of a teeter-totter, unsure which way it’s going to shift.
“Hmm?” He hums against me.
“Can I…” I spin around, my hands resting on his chest. “I want to see my brother.”
He nods. “Alright.”
Relief pours through me. “And…” I bite my lip. “I’d like my phone back.”
“Done.” His brow lifts. “Anything else?”
“And I want you to tell me you weren’t with Moira,” I rush out, heat singeing my cheeks.
He pauses. “Ever?”
I cringe. “Well, obviously not now. I know you’d be lying.”
His fingers tilt my chin up until I’m staring into his eyes. “I haven’t been with Moira, or any other woman, since the moment I touched you.”
I blow out a deep breath, my stomach slowly unraveling from where it’s tied itself into knots. “Okay.”
His lips twitch. “Alright.”
“Okay,” I say again.
“And just so we’re clear.” He presses his thumb into my chin. “If someone else touches you, I’ll cut off their hands so they can never touch anything again.”
My chest spasms. “You’re so violent.”
He grins. “It’s just who I am, darling.”
“Am I? Are we… I’m not still being held…”
“Wendy, you’re free to do as you wish. Your father, he—”
“No, I know,” I cut him off, not wanting to talk about my dad, the wounds still too fresh.
“You don’t.” He touches his side, where the jagged scar mars his skin. “This plane crash?” His nostrils flare. “It was on one of your father’s flights.”
I gasp. “What?”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t the place to talk about this, darling.”
Irritation flares in my gut, not wanting to be brushed off, the way I always have been when I’ve wanted to know what was going on.
I open my mouth, but his finger covers my lips. “I’ll tell you whatever you wish, just not here.”
A heavy feeling sinks through my insides. “Are you going to kill him?” I whisper.
He sighs. “You need to understand, your father, he’s taken almost everything from me.” His thumb brushes across my lip. “And while I would do anything you asked, please, don’t ask me for this.”
My heart pinches, desolation running through my veins. “But I…” Tears well behind my eyes. “He’s my father.”
“Yes, well.” His head cocks to the side. “He’s the one who killed mine.”
I’m back on James’s boat, sitting on the sundeck in the exact same spot he brought me for our first date. It’s been two days since he fucked me on the desk at his strip club, and then shredded my mind to pieces when he opened up about his past. About my father.
Bile burns on the back of my tongue when I think of James, a child, going through what he did at the hands of his uncle. Living through the pain of losing his parents and watching the person responsible for that loss smile on magazine covers for years without any repercussions.
My soul is sick from the thought of the torment that has scarred up his heart.
Still, I can’t reconcile him killing my father, and me just accepting it. But how can I ask him not to after what I know he’s done?
And I don’t understand why. Why would he kill his business partner? Why would he kill Ru?
It just doesn’t make sense.
That being said, knowing the root of the issue does lessen the sting of James having done what he did to me. It doesn’t make me forget, but I do understand his anger, at least a little bit.
And maybe that makes me stupid. Maybe I’m still naive, but James is the only one who has ever trusted me enough to tell me the truth. To let me in on what the hell is going on so I can gain some understanding. He’s taken a risk by telling me. And so I can take the risk by trusting when he says he cares.
I’ve had my phone back for over forty-eight hours. I’ve gone through the messages and calls from Angie, and from The Vanilla Bean firing me for being a no-show. But there wasn’t a single missed call from my father.
Not a single one.
Nothing from Jon either, although I texted him and asked how everything was.
The sliding door opens, Smee walking onto the deck with a tray of sliced veggies and a smile on his face. He sets them down and sits. “Boss man said to make sure you eat while he’s gone.”
“I could have gotten something for myself.” I grin at him.
Smee waves me off. “It’s no big deal. This is my job, remember?”
He pushes the tray toward me on the table, and I reach out, grabbing a green pepper and popping it in my mouth as he cracks open a beer, taking a long pull.
“Where are you from, Smee? How’d you end up working for James?”
He picks up a carrot and takes a bite, relaxing against his chair. “Oh, it’s really not all that interesting. I came up on some tough times years ago, and he helped me out.”
My heart swells. “He did?”
He nods. “Got me off the streets. Put me up in this place, and told me I could stay, as long as I learned everything there was to know about yacht maintenance.”
“And did you grow up here in Bloomsburg?”
I’m not sure why I’m asking him so many questions. Maybe it’s because if I’m planning to stay on the boat, I’ll feel more comfortable if I get to know its inhabitants, or maybe it’s because I’m desperate for a distraction from the upheaval James’s recent revelations have caused.
He takes another sip of his beer. “I sure did. Been here my whole life.”
“That’s nice,” I hum. “Any family?”
Something dark coasts across his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I cringe, my stomach souring at the look on his face. “I’m being nosy.”
He chuckles, adjusting the red beanie on his head. “No, it’s fine. My mom’s probably still around somewhere, looking for her next fix.”
Guilt for prying trickles through me. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He waves me off. “I came to terms with who she was a long time ago. My father was a good dude, though. Although I didn’t know who he was until a few years before he passed.”
“My mom passed, too,” I say, my heart aching. “The pain of lost time never really gets easier, does it?”
His lips turn down, his fingers tightening on the neck of his beer. “It sure doesn’t, Miss Wendy.”
Footsteps draw my attention away, James stepping onto the deck, looking impeccable as always in his three-piece suit.
Smee stands up, dusting off the front of his shorts. “I should get back to it. Thank you for the company.”
I grin. “Thanks for the snacks.”
They pass by each other, James barely giving him a second glance.
“Don’t you get hot in that?” I ask.
He ignores my question, swooping down and meeting my lips for a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth and my eyes flutter closed, losing myself in his taste.
“Mmm.” He breaks away, resting his forehead on mine, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Unfortunately, I have business that needs my attention. Will you be alright here?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I was thinking about stopping by The Vanilla Bean, anyway.”
His mouth twists.
“James, you told me I was free to go, and now you’re—”
“Darling, please.” He sighs, pressing another peck on my lips. “You are. Forgive me for wanting to keep you to myself. I’ll leave the keys to the Aston if you want to use it.”
The knot in my chest loosens. “Thank you.”
“Do me a favor? Don’t take off that necklace.”
My brows furrow. “Still?”
“Humor me.” He grins. “I like knowing jewels are decorating your skin.” His fingers brush along the diamonds. “Make it back home by dinner? I have a surprise.”
“Okay.” I smile, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Home.
He says it effortlessly, as if this place is mine and it’s where I belong. But I’m still teetering on the edge, unsure if this is all too good to be true—if maybe he’s still using me for some master plan.
I push the thoughts aside and head inside, choosing to ignore the whispers of doubt.
