Page 66 of The Plus One Contract

His jaw works. “Fine,” he bites out. “But you stay in the car. Understand? I’ll handle my mother. You wait—”

“Okay,” I agree softly. Part of me bristles at the command, but the tension in his voice is too raw to fight. “I’ll wait.”

Not long later, when we turn into a wide, tree-lined street, I spot the house at the end. By all external appearances, it’s a lovely place, but that calm veneer cracks instantly when a man staggers out the front door, nearly tripping on the porch steps.

“Stay here,” Nathan orders, throwing the SUV into park. He’s out of the car before I can argue, slamming the door behind him.

I fumble to unbuckle my seat belt. My heart is hammering so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

The man who must be Simon spots Nathan striding up the driveway and sneers something inaudible. I can see fresh scratches across his face, dark streaks that might be blood.

Nathan’s posture coils. I crack open the passenger door.

“Your mother’s insane!” Simon slurs, stumbling sideways. “I can’t do this. She’s… she’s going to kill me at this rate.”

Nathan’s breathing is ragged, shoulders tense. “What did you do to her?”

“Me?” Simon scoffs, gesturing to the scratches on his arms. “I’m the one bleeding here. She went ballistic, started throwing shit. Threatened me with a damned bottle. I’m done.”

Nathan is close enough now that with one swift move, he grabs Simon by the collar and slams him into the side of the house.

I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth. This is not the careful, controlled man I’ve seen over the last number of days. This is raw and unfiltered.

Simon chokes out a strangled sound. “Get off me, man, what the hell—”

“Touch her again,” Nathan snarls, “and I’ll end you.”

My pulse spikes. I push the door fully open and step out onto the driveway. “Nathan,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t—”

He flicks his gaze toward me, just a flash of embarrassment and anger, but he doesn’t immediately let Simon go. The other man coughs, his eyes wide with some combination of drunken panic.

“She’s the one who went batshit, I swear!” Simon sputters. “I’m done with her. She’s crazy. You want to keep paying her bills? That’s your funeral.”

Nathan presses Simon to the wall a fraction harder, jaw clenched before he shoves him away. Simon stumbles, cursing under his breath.

“Get off this property,” Nathan growls. “Now.”

Simon rubs his neck, staggering down the steps. He shoots me a bewildered glance, mutters something about “fucking psychos,” and storms off down the sidewalk. I remain frozen, unsure if I should return to the car and stay there like he told me or run to Nathan’s side. My chest is tight, hands clammy.

He stands there for a beat, chest heaving, before dragging a hand over his face.

When he finally looks at me, his eyes are swirling with too many emotions to name.

“Stay behind me,” he says, voice rough. “I’ll handle my mother. Then I’ll take you home.”

But I find my feet carrying me closer. “Nathan—”

His gaze hardens. “Sienna, don’t.”

The front door is ajar. Even from here, I can smell the sour stench of alcohol.

A shrill voice calls, “Nathan? Baby, is that you?”

He curses softly, pushing the door open the rest of the way. I hesitate only for a second, then follow him in.

The interior is a nightmare. It’s dim, despite every light being turned on, thanks to heavy curtains blocking out the day’s sun. The smell of stale booze, sweat, and something rotten hits me like a wall. Empty bottles line the coffee table, and the couch cushions are overturned, revealing suspicious stains.

“Nathan,” a woman slurs, emerging from the hallway. She’s in a tattered robe, eyes bloodshot, hair an unwashed tangle. But there’s something in her face—under all that haze—that might have been pretty once.

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