Page 223 of His Pretty Little Duet

He finds another.

Then another.

Another.

And as he breaks the room apart, he breaks apart with it. Glass shards everywhere. His body shakes. Exploding bottles. He growls through clenched teeth.

But I’d walk through glass and fire and smoke for him. Through debris and ash. I have. I will again. I take a step towards him.

He freezes for a moment. The destruction stops. He clenches his fist so tight his shoulder muscles bunch and bulge. Grow. Demonically. The strength in them protrudes from his suit. “Fuck!”

It hurts. God.“Clay,” I reach forward, but he raises his hand to stop me. It hurts to see him so volatile and yet— I can handle his evil. I said I could. Tears find their ways into my eyes for him—not her—always for him.

And I know I should keep my distance, but I’m not afraid of my everything even as his evil spills across the room.

I walk towards him. He stays in one place, holding himself together, eyeing me from the side, panting like an animal barely restrained from a carnal urge.

I reach for him, dragging his thick defiant arm down so he can’t block me with it. He twitches when I place my hand softly on his chest, his eyes snapping to me, pinning me in place with a warning. I gasp on a breath but stay close to him.

I can be what he needs. “I can handle your evil, Sir.”

His jaw works. “No. I don’t want that. Leave.”

“I can share it with you.”

“Stop.”

“You don’t have to make the tough calls alone anymore.” On my tippytoes now, I lean up and touch his jaw. The muscles beneath pulse angrily, pressing back at my palm, pushing me away. “You are not alone.”

“Stop it,” he growls, staring sideways at me. “I did this. I planned Jimmy’s execution. I ordered Dustin’s. I may not always thrust the knife, but I damn well make the call. I’m— I’m fucking… losing it.” His neck is tight, ridged down the column.

I stay slow and tender, contradictory to his stiff and burning hot. “You’re not alone,Clay.” I use his name, articulate it, make sure he hears me.Clay.

He smiles bitterly, shaking his head. “A leader is always alone, Fawn.”

My name…I try to smile at him because he’s so beautiful and I am so proud of the man he is for his family. He is breathtaking even when he’s breaking down the centre, even as he loses all his classic control. And just like the rose needs the thorns—pretty things need ugly defences. The thorns need the rose to reproduce, to keep existing, to spread their roots and ground them. “We can lead together.”

He closes his eyes on a sigh. “Impossible.”

“Why?” I ask, and his gaze finds mine, settling in deep. “The thorns need the rose too. I can raise your children,” I state. “I can love them. I can love you too. And your brothers. I’ll be here for them, and we can heal this family together. Don’t you believe in me, Sir?”

As I stroke upward towards his chiselled jaw, he snatches my wrist. I gasp but refuse to break eye contact with him, even as he bands the small limb.

He glares at me through his lashes, his chin high, his lips a straight cut across his face. “I killed my mother.”

I nod—small. “I know.”

“I drugged her. Suffocated her,” he bites out, provoking. “Que will find her in the morning. Stage everything. Clean this room. It’ll be an overdose. I’ll get away with it. Like all the hundreds of others.Hundredsof deaths.” He squeezes my wrist. “At my hands. And my brothers can never know the truth. This is my evil. Do you understand?Mine.Do you understand what this life is with me, sweet girl?”

My lungs strain. “Mylife.”

He frowns. “You think you can handle that?”

I look at his hand cuffing my wrist. “I can.”

“Don’t be what I need right now,” he says, releasing my wrist as though I burn his palms, scorch through his muscles with my resilience, overpowering his brutal hold. “Not after what I just did?—"

“I’m not hurt by that anymore,” I admit, understanding him and the moment, understanding his bite, his need to taunt me with the evil inside him. He was taunting himself.

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