by Anna Zaires
Even though I gave Peter that list.
Even though whatever’s going to happen will be my fault once again.
“This is not your problem, Nora,” Rosa says, intuiting my concern. “Peter would’ve learned about those names one way or another. He was too determined for it not to happen. You’re not responsible for what he’s going to do to those people—Peter is.”
“Of course,” I murmur, attempting a smile. “Of course, I know that.”
And as Rosa resumes sorting through the laundry, I change the topic to our newest guard recruits.
Chapter 40
Julian
After wrapping up the conversation with my accountant, I get up and stretch, feeling the loosening of tension in my muscles. Immediately, my thoughts turn to Nora, and I pull up her location on my phone. I do that at least five times a day now, the habit as deeply ingrained as brushing my teeth in the morning.
She’s in the house, which is exactly where I expected her to be. Satisfied, I put the phone away and close my laptop, determined to be done for the evening. Between all the paperwork for a new shell corporation and the interviews I’ve been conducting with potential guard replacements, I’ve been working upward of twelve hours a day. Once, that wouldn’t have mattered—business was all I had to live for—but now work is an unwelcome distraction.
It prevents me from spending time with my beautiful, strangely distant wife.
I’m not sure when I first noticed it, the way Nora’s eyes constantly slide away from mine. The way she withholds something of herself even during sex. At first, I ascribed her withdrawn manner to grief and the aftermath of trauma, but as the days wore on, I realized there’s something more.
It’s subtle, barely discernible, this distance between us, but it’s there. She talks and acts as if things are normal, but I can tell they’re not. Whatever secret she’s keeping from me, it’s weighing on her, causing her to erect barriers between us. I could sense them during our training today, and it solidified my determination to get to the bottom of the matter.
According to the doctors, she’s finally fully healed from the miscarriage—and one way or another, tonight she’s going to tell me everything.
* * *
At dinner, I watch Nora as she interacts with her parents, hungrily taking in every minute movement of her hands, every flicker of her long eyelashes. I would’ve thought it impossible, but my obsession with her has reached a new peak since our return. It’s as if all the grief, rage, and pain inside me coalesced into one heart-ripping sensation, a feeling so intense it tears me from within.
A longing that’s entirely focused on her.
As we finish the main course, I realize I’ve hardly said a word, spending most of the meal absorbed in the sight of her and the sound of her voice. It’s probably just as well, given that it’s Nora’s parents’ last evening here. Although her father is no longer openly hostile toward me, I know both Lestons still wish they could free their daughter from my clutches. I would never let them take her from me, of course, but I don’t have a problem with the three of them spending some time on their own.
To that end, as soon as Ana brings out the dessert, I excuse myself by saying I’m full and go to the library, letting them finish the meal without me.
When I get there, I take a seat on a chaise by the window and spend a few minutes answering emails on my phone. Then the puzzle of Nora’s uncharacteristic distance creeps into my mind again. The way she’s been these past couple of weeks reminds me of when I first forced the trackers on her. It’s as if she’s upset with me—except this time, I have no idea why.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realize that it’s already been a half hour since I left the table. Hopefully, Nora’s already gone upstairs. When I check her location, however, I see she’s still in the dining room.
Mildly annoyed, I contemplate getting a book to read while I wait, but then I get a better idea.
Pulling up a different app on my phone, I activate the hidden audio feed from the dining room, put on my Bluetooth headset, and lean back in the chaise to listen.
A second later, Gabriela’s frustrated voice fills my ears.
“—people died,” she argues. “How can that not bother you? There were police officers among those criminals, good men who were just following orders—”
“And they would’ve killed us by following those orders.” Nora’s tone is unusually sharp, causing me to sit up and listen more intently. “Is it better to die by the bullet of a good man than to defend yourself and live? I’m sorry that I’m not showing the remorse you expect, Mom, but I’m not sorry that all of us are alive and well. It’s not Julian’s fault that any of that happened. If anything—”
“He’s the one who killed that gangster’s son,” Tony interrupts. “If he’d done the civilized thing, called nine-one-one instead of resorting to murder—”
“If he’d done the civilized thing, I would’ve been raped and Rosa would’ve suffered even more before the police got there.” There is a hard, brittle note in Nora’s voice. “You weren’t there, Dad. You don’t understand.”
“Your dad understands perfectly well, honey.” Gabriela’s voice is calmer now, edged with weariness. “And yes, maybe your husband couldn’t stand by and wait for the cops to arrive, but you know as well as I do that he could’ve abstained from killing that man.”
Abstained from killing the man who hurt and nearly raped Nora? My blood boils with sudden fury. The fucking bastard’s lucky I didn’t castrate him and stuff his balls into his bowels. The only reason he died so easily was because Nora was there, and my worry for her was greater than my rage.
“Maybe he could’ve.” Nora’s tone matches her mother’s. “But there’s every reason to believe the Sullivans would’ve walked free, given their connections. Is that what you want, Mom, for men like that to continue doing this to other women?”
“No, of course not,” Tony says. “But that doesn’t give Julian the right to set himself up as judge, jury, and executioner. When he killed that man, he didn’t know who he was, so you can’t use that excuse. Your husband killed because he wanted to and for no other reason.”
For a few tense seconds, there’s silence in my headset. The fury inside me grows, the anger coiling and tightening as I wait to hear what Nora has to say. I don’t give a fuck what Nora’s parents think about me, but I very much care that they’re trying to turn their daughter against me.
Finally, Nora speaks. “Yes, Dad, you’re right, he did.” Her voice is calm and steady. “He killed that man for hurting me without giving it a second thought. Do you want me to condemn him for that? Well, I can’t. I won’t. Because if I could’ve, I would’ve done the same thing.”
Another prolonged silence. Then: “Honey, when you left the plane and there were all those gunshots, was that you?” Gabriela asks quietly. “Did you shoot anyone?” A short pause, then an even softer, “Did you kill anyone?”
“Yes.” Nora’s tone doesn’t change. I can picture her sitting there, facing her parents without flinching. “Yes, Mom, I did.”
A sharply indrawn breath, then another few beats of silence.
“I told you, Gabs.” It’s Tony who speaks now, his voice weighed down by sadness. “I told you she must’ve. Our daughter’s changed—he’s changed her.”
There’s a scraping noise, like that of a chair moving across the floor, and then a shaky, “Oh, honey.” It’s followed by a choked sob and Nora’s voice murmuring, “Don’t cry, Mom. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. I’m so sorry . . .”
I can’t bear to listen anymore. Jumping off the chaise, I stride out of the library, determined to collect Nora and bring her upstairs. This guilt-tripping is the last thing she needs, and if I have to protect her from her own parents, so be it.
As I walk, I hear them speak again, and I slow down in the hallway, listening despite myself.
“You didn’t disappoint us, honey,” Nora’s fat
her says thickly. “It’s not that, not at all. It’s just that we see now that you’re no longer the same girl . . . that even if you came back to us, it wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, Dad,” Nora replies quietly. “It wouldn’t be.”
A couple more seconds pass, and then her mother speaks again. “We love you, honey,” she says in a low, strained voice. “Please, don’t ever doubt that we love you.”
“I know, Mom. And I love you, both of you.” Nora’s voice cracks for the first time. “I’m sorry that things have worked out this way, but I belong here now.”
“With him.” Curiously, Gabriela doesn’t sound bitter, just resigned. “Yes, we see that now. He loves you. I never would’ve thought I’d say that, but he does. The way the two of you are together, the way he looks at you . . .” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh, honey, we’d give an arm and a leg for it to be someone else for you. A good man, a kind man, someone who’d hold down a normal job and buy you a house near us—”
“Julian did buy me a house near you,” Nora says, and her mother laughs again, sounding a little hysterical.
“That’s true,” she says when she calms down. “He did, didn’t he?”
Now the two women laugh together, and I let out a relieved breath. Maybe Nora doesn’t need my interference after all.
Another sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and then Tony says gruffly, “We’re here for you, honey. No matter what, we’re always here for you. If anything ever changes, if you ever want to leave him and come home—”
“I won’t, Dad.” The quiet confidence in Nora’s voice warms me, chasing away the remnants of my anger. I’m so pleased that I nearly miss it when she adds softly, “Not unless he wants me to.”
“Oh, he won’t,” Nora’s father says, and he does sound bitter. “That much is obvious. If that man had his way, you’d never be more than ten feet away from him.”
I only half-listen to his words, mulling over Nora’s strange statement instead. Not unless he wants me to. She sounded almost as if she’s afraid that’s the case. Or is it that she wants it to be the case? An ugly suspicion snakes through me. Is that why she’s been so distant in recent days—because she wants me to let her go? Because she no longer wants to be with me and hopes that I’ll let her leave as a way to atone for what happened?
My chest tightens with sudden pain even as a new kind of anger kindles within me. Is that what my pet expects? Some sort of grand gesture where I give her freedom? Where I beg her for forgiveness and feign regret for having taken her in the first place?
Fuck that.
I tear the headset out of my ear, dark fury rolling through me as I turn and take the stairs two steps at a time.
If Nora thinks I’m that far gone, she couldn’t be more mistaken.
She’s mine, and she’ll stay that way for the rest of our lives.
Chapter 41
Nora
Tired yet hyper after talking to my parents, I walk up the stairs toward our bedroom. Though a part of me still wishes I could’ve shielded my family from my new life, I’m relieved that they now know the truth.
That they know the woman I’ve become and still love me.
Reaching the bedroom, I open the door and step inside. No lights are on in the room, and as I close the door behind me, I wonder where Julian might be. While I’m glad I got the chance to clear the air with my parents, the fact that he left dinner without a good explanation worries me. Did something happen, or did he simply get tired of us?
Did he get tired of me?
Just as the devastating thought crosses my mind, I notice a dark shadow standing by the window.
My pulse jumps, my skin prickling with primitive terror as I fumble for the light switch.
“Leave it.” Julian’s voice comes out of the darkness, and my knees almost buckle with relief.
“Oh, thank God. For a second, I didn’t realize it was—” I begin, and then his harsh tone registers. “You,” I finish uncertainly.
“Who else would it be?” My husband turns and crosses the room, approaching me with the silent gait of a predator. “It’s our bedroom. Or have you forgotten that?” He places his hands on both sides of the wall behind me, caging me in.
I draw in a startled breath, pressing my palms against the cold wall. Julian is clearly in a mood, and I have no idea what set him off. “No, of course not,” I say slowly, staring at his shadowed features. There’s so little light that all I can make out is the faint glitter of his eyes. “What do you—”
He steps closer, molding his lower body to mine, and I gasp as I feel his hard cock against my belly. He’s naked and already aroused, his hot male scent surrounding me as he holds me trapped in place. Even through the separating layer of my dress, I can feel the lust pulsing within him—lust and something much, much darker.
My body awakens with a jolt, my pulse quickening on a surge of fear. This must be it: the punishment I’ve been expecting. With the doctors having deemed me healed earlier today, my reprieve is over.
“Julian?” His name comes out on a choked breath as he grips the nape of my neck, his long fingers nearly encircling my throat. His huge body is all muscle, hard and uncompromising around me. One squeeze of those steely fingers, and he’d crush my throat. The thought chills me, yet a hollow ache coils in my core, my nipples peaking with harsh arousal. The anger coming off him is palpable, and it calls to something savage inside me, fueling the dark fire simmering within.
If he’s decided to finally punish me, I’m going to make damn sure I get what I deserve.
He leans into me, his breath warm on my face, and at that moment, I make my move. My right hand forms a fist at my side, and I swing upward with all my strength, striking the underside of his chin. At the same time, I twist to the right, breaking his grip on my neck, and duck under his extended arm, whirling around to hit him in the back.
Except he’s no longer there.
In the half-second it took me to turn, Julian moved, as quick and deadly as any assassin. Instead of connecting with his back, the sharp edge of my palm slams into his elbow, and I cry out as the impact sends a shock of pain through my arm.
“Fuck!” His furious hiss is accompanied by a blurringly fast movement. Before I can react, he’s got me encircled in his arms, my wrists crossed in front of my chest and his left leg wrapped around my knees to prevent me from kicking. With him holding me from behind, I can’t bite him, and my attempts to head-butt his chin fall woefully short as he keeps his face out of my reach.
All that training, and he subdued me in three seconds flat.
Frustration mingles with adrenaline, adding to the fury brewing inside me. Fury at him for taunting me with tenderness these two weeks, and most of all, fury at myself.
My fault, my fault, it’s all my fault. The words are a vicious drumbeat in my mind. Guilt, bitter and thick, rises in my throat, choking me as it mixes with the aching grief.
Rosa. Our baby. Dozens of men dead.
The sound that bursts out of my throat is something between a growl and a sob. Despite the futility of it, I begin to fight, bucking and twisting in Julian’s iron hold. I don’t have much leverage, but with one of his legs restraining mine, my frantic, jerky movements are enough to push him off-balance.
With a loud curse, he falls backward, still gripping me tightly. His back takes the brunt of the fall. I hardly feel the impact as he grunts and immediately rolls over, pinning me to the hard wooden floor. Disregarding his heavy weight on top of me, I continue fighting, struggling with all my strength. The cold wood presses into my face, but the discomfort barely registers.
My fault, my fault, all my fault.
Half-panting, half-sobbing, I try to kick back, to scratch him, to make him feel even a tiny fraction of the pain consuming me inside. My muscles scream with strain, but I don’t stop—not when Julian wrenches my wrists back and ties them at the small of my back with his belt, and not even when he drags me up by my elbow and hauls me
to the bed.
I fight as he tears off my dress and underwear, as he fists his hand in my hair and forces me up on my knees. I fight as though I’m fighting for my life, as though the man holding me is my worst enemy instead of my greatest love. I fight because he’s strong enough to take the fury inside me.
Because he’s strong enough to take it away from me.
As I writhe in his brutal hold, his knee forces apart my legs, and his cock presses against my entrance. In one savage thrust, he penetrates me from behind, and I cry out at the pain, at the unutterable relief of his possession. I’m wet, but not enough, not nearly enough, and each punishing thrust scrapes me raw, hurting me, healing me. My thoughts scatter, the chant inside my mind disappearing, and all that’s left is the feel of his body inside mine, the pain and the agonizing pleasure of our need.
I’m rushing toward orgasm when Julian begins talking to me, growling that he’ll always keep me, that I’ll never belong to anyone but him. There is a dark threat implicit in his words, a promise that he’ll stop at nothing. His ruthlessness should terrify me, yet as my body explodes in release, fear is the last thing on my mind.
All I’m cognizant of is sheer and utter bliss.
He flips me onto my back then, releasing my wrists, and I realize that at some point, I did stop fighting. The fury’s gone, and in its place is deep exhaustion and relief.
Relief that Julian still wants me. That he’ll punish me, but won’t send me away.
So when he grips my ankles and props them on his shoulders, I don’t resist. I don’t fight when he leans forward, nearly folding me in half, and I don’t struggle when he scoops the abundant moisture from my sex and smears it between my ass cheeks. It’s only when I feel his thickness poised at that other opening that I utter a wordless sound of protest, my sphincter tightening as my hands move to push against his hard chest. It’s a weak, mostly symbolic gesture—I can’t possibly move Julian off me that way—but even that slight hint of resistance seems to enrage him.