Page 55 of His Pretty Little Duet

She leans down, peering at the price tag.

She blanches.

I smile.

Her eyes train to a small clothing display, her feet taking her towards it hesitantly as though drawn to the unknown. She stops beside the small table, shuffling her feet coyly. Then she lifts a baby onesie from the pile of folded clothing. Across the white cotton vest is a blue and green print of some native American-looking symbol, a web with feathers, a hanging ornament of sorts.

A dreamcatcher, I think.

I straighten, watching her. Then I'm on my feet. I stop beside her because I need to know what about this item has her attention, has her hands trembling.

Barely noticing my presence, Fawn circles the print with her fingertip, careful not to touch it too much. When her eyes mist over and her throat rolls, I frown at the piece of cotton, ready to shred the thing to pieces for that response.

Her lips try to smile. "My mum would have loved this."

"Get it for him then."

"We shouldn't be buying him anything. I'm not keeping him. I'm not made of the right stuff to be a mother. I don't even know how to cook."

"You learn on the job, little deer," I state, my words forcing a shaky breath through her lips. "You have the luxury of time before you give birth. Use your time. Think hard about whether you want to give him up."

I know I'm going to set her up and send her on her way.Hell,I'll give her enough money to never work, to never just survive. I consider it her payment for my brother's revenge. I'll trim the wage straight from Dustin's cut of the diamonds. I'm not worried about her—financially—and yet... there is thisfucking burn in my chest that surges every time I remind myself that her presence is temporary, that she may give that boy up for adoption, limiting my access to him. Not that it'd stop me—Fucksake.What am I thinking? "We should buy it for him," I say, gritting my teeth as I do, her short inhales finding their fragile way into my chest.

We?

Madonna Mia.

She looks up at me, her dual-coloured eyes glossy with tears, her green eye so bright beneath the rising pool. "I like the sound of that. You said to take the opportunities; however, they arise. I think I can do that today."

She is far more compliant, sweeter, after a good spanking.Eager to please me now, are we?

I touch her jaw and look down at her wide-eyed hope. "Then get it."

My thumb moves over her mouth as she parts her lips. I want to lick the length of that pretty soft flesh, so I release her. Strolling slowly over to the large white ottoman, I make myself comfortable.

I nod at her, drawing the service girls into action. Leaning back on the couch, I observe them sycophantic to her needs. Her inexperience against their enthusiasm to please is just so damn entertaining. Women approach me, one after the other, displaying clothes, and I nod at a few, shake my head at more, but offer Fawn most of my attention.

They flash her my approved pieces. Her smile lights up the darkest crevices of my stone soul. But even a rock can be worn down when affected the right way. By persistence. By determination. By another rock.

She ducks into the dressing room to try them on.

Below the curtain, I see her shorts drop to the floor, followed by her panties and her bra. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I sigh, frustration tumbling down my breath.

Retrieving it, I prepare to fire someone until I see it's a text message from my mother. My forehead tightens as I read the message. She is another person who relies entirely on me, as there is nothing but dislike and distrust for her in her own household.

She was never a good mother.

But she is, still, our mother.

Victoria: Did I just see you in town? Come share a drink with me, darling. We haven't had a drink in weeks.

Butcher: We discussed your sobriety last time I saw you.

Victoria: Clay, I am out with the girls. They want to meet you. I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I want to show you off.

Butcher: Another time.

I pocket my cell as Fawn walks from the dressing room in jeans worth more than all her collective belongings. They're tight and purposely faded around the curviest part of her legs, adding accentuation to her perfect pins. It would be wrong to leave teeth marks on them, and yet... I rub my jawline.

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