I’m still vibrating with need for Clara when I return to my apartment with a bag of her shit on one shoulder and the stuff she needs for work on the other. I haven’t broached the subject yet, but there’s no way she’s going to the office on Monday. She’ll be working from home until such time as I’m sure of her safety and have a better understanding of her father’s motivations. Once I can work out what exactly he wants with his oldest daughter, the better I’ll be able to protect my woman.
I unlock the four dead bolts and shove the heavy door open, only to find Clara standing in the middle of the space with a gun pointing at me. Her hands shake violently beneath the weight of the pistol, and although most men would be afraid, my cock hardens in my jeans.
Fear isn’t an emotion I feel lightly, and for the longest time, I thought I was immune to it. But it turns out I just needed something I was afraid of losing. And that woman currently has tears streaming down her cheeks, and loud hiccups fill the space between us.
“Fawn,” I say carefully, shoving the door closed behind me.
The locks engage automatically, meaning she won’t be able to run from me, which is exactly what she’s going to do the first chance she gets if the gun pointed at my chest is anything to go by.
“Don’t call me that,” she chokes.
I nod, carefully placing her bags down by the door. I wouldn’t put it past her to shoot me, honestly. If the story she told Ace and me earlier is anything to go by, her fight instincts are strong, and although I’m not sure she’s ever handled a gun, I wouldn’t put it past her to at least try to take me down.
“Can we put the gun down and talk about whatever has upset you?”
“You’ve been watching me.”
It takes me long seconds to put the pieces together before my eyes dart to the computer screen behind her, the one that only shows the camera feed I have on her apartment.
“How long?” Her tears pierce through my cold black heart and make it ache to comfort her, even though I’m not sure that’s something I’m capable of. Can I hold her long enough to console her? Can I make the pain go away with my touch?
I swallow heavily and take a few small steps toward her. Clara is like a caged animal, and I have to approach her with care if I want to avoid a visit from Doc tonight. That motherfucker is all I need to deal with tonight. He may be the best medic the Saint James family has ever had on their staff, but he’s a real fucking pain in my ass, always whining and bitching about how often he has to patch me up. It’s his damn job.
“I asked how long, Tommy!” Her voice shakes, but she remains rooted in place. Her finger hovers over the trigger, and although I’d like to think we’ve made enough progress that she wouldn’t actually pull it, I don’t want to put all my eggs in that basket.
“I installed them not long after Russo took you hostage. Keeping you safe became a compulsion for me,” I admit.
She lets out a long, steadying breath before squaring her shoulders. Her hands still shake, but her grip on the gun is anything but unsteady. “That was nine months ago.”
I nod but make no attempt to justify my actions. I’ve already told her the truth, told her how her safety became my entire purpose in life. Whether she knew it or not was irrelevant. It still is.
“Does Wynter know?”
“I’m not sure. Everett does though, as does Storm.”
She closes her eyes for the briefest of seconds, just giving herself enough time to steady the panic rising in her tense body. “Of course they did.”
“This doesn’t change anything, Clara. I knew you were mine from that first day. I tried to give you a normal life. I tried to keep you safe from my darkness. But I couldn’t do it. I needed to be closer. I always needed to be closer.”
“The key to my apartment?”
“I’ve had it since the day I installed the cameras.”
“How many times did you use it?” She sobs out the question.
She’s starting to lose it. The tears are coming in harder the more time that passes and the more information I give her. I wish I could ease the pain, and if she hadn’t found it herself, I probably would have hidden how obsessed with her I truly am. It’s unnecessary for her to know I slept beside her some nights or that I have only spent a handful of nights in my own bed in the months since I became addicted to her.
For the first time since I walked in, I consider lying to her. Giving her a false truth that might help ease some of the anguish she’s feeling, but I don’t like lying to her, and I refuse to do it any more than absolutely necessary, so I tell her the truth. “A lot.”
