Page 54 of Possession

His wife scans over Ellie. “The debris in your hair is perfect, and the way the mud clings to your knees and clothes, and oh my gosh, you even went as far as getting it in your nails, it appears like you’ve been dragged through the woods.” She giggles.

Bren leans closer toward me, his broad, muscular shoulders stretch the shirt he wears, and I wince at imagining him busting out of it. Not something I want to see.

“Heard you’ve been having problems.”

I take a slow sip of my scotch and analyze my ally’s expression, not a flicker of distrust on his face, so I simply gift him with a nod.

“Let me know if you need a hand, I know a team I can trust.” His blue eyes bore into mine. “You can trust them too; you have my word.” I swirl my drink in my glass as I consider his proposal and what he will get from this.

“What’s in it for you?”

He throws his head back on a loud chuckle, causing Ellie to startle, and I want to pummel his face with my fist for causing her distress.

When he finally locks his gaze with mine, all humor is wiped from his face and he gives a shrug. “Never know when I might call on you for support.”

I muse over his response. “Send me the details.”

He digs his thick hand into his pants pocket and pulls out his phone. Within seconds, mine pings, alerting me to a message, and I glance down and the message reads, STORM.

“Rafael, we got a problem.” My brother’s panicked voice cuts through our conversation and has every muscle in my body coiling as I snap my attention toward him.

“What kind of problem?” I take a sip of my scotch, feigning nonchalance, when in reality I know he wouldn’t interrupt me without it being necessary.

He shuffles from foot to foot, and his gaze roams over Ellie, and my hold on her tightens. Poor little doll is still in a too much of a dazed state to notice.

Rocco bends to whisper in my ear, “The Nikita kind.”

The hairs on my neck prickle with awareness, my mouth dries, and as Ellie shuffles in my lap; my initial thought is she felt the change in me too.

“Ahhh, what do we have here?” A calculating voice I wished I would never hear again sends my stomach plummeting.

Rocco winces and mutters a “Fuck” as the distinct clicking of heels approach.

Ellie

Rafael’s body freezes at the sultry voice, and I turn to face the female I know he’s slept with, and I hate her for it. How he reacts to her has me wondering if he has feelings for her, and the thought has sickness rolling through my stomach.

She’s tall, so much taller than me I feel insignificant, and I shrink into Rafael’s chest as if needing protection from her. Her figure is amazing, with an hour-glass body and tits that spill over the top of her Catwoman bodysuit; it’s plastered to her, emphasizing her figure, and jealousy courses through me. Her long blonde hair doesn’t look like her natural shade, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s beautiful. Her face has such perfect sculpting that she seems handcrafted; she is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and when she looks at me, my mouth becomes impossibly dry.

“Rafael, darling. What’s this little plaything you have with you? Did nobody tell you to leave your toys at home?” She throws her head back on a condescending laugh, and I sit forward with irritation.

“Enough, Nikita. What the fuck are you doing here?” His deadly tone has a gritty edge to it, a promise of violence, and relief floods me at how obvious it is that he feels nothing for this woman. If at all, I’d say he feels hate.

She clucks her tongue. “I want to see Oliver.”

My heart races at the mention of the little boy I’m so fond of, but why the hell would she want to see him? Did Rafael have a relationship with her and let her bond with him too? Unbridled hurt lances through my chest, a betrayal I’ve no right to feel, yet it’s catastrophic.

In the blink of an eye, Rafael scoops me up and slides me onto his chair. He stands so quickly that it draws attention to him, and I watch in horror as his hand snaps out to grab hold of her arm. Then he marches her through the crowd, and her legs can barely keep up.

She attempts to pull away. “Get your hands off me. I’m still your fucking wife!”

My world tilts on an axis as pure devastation infiltrates my bloodstream and her words echo in my ears. “I’m still your fucking wife.”

He lied.

She’s not dead.

A sob catches in my throat, and I’m grateful to be seated, knowing my legs couldn’t possibly hold me.

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