Page 33 of It Will Always Be You
I’m not here when he cups my breasts, pinching my nipples to the point of pain.
Not here, when he touches between my legs, tutting at the lack of arousal that greets him.
I’m far away as he shoves himself inside my dry and unwilling channel. As he grunts and moans above me, I think of Jonathan instead. All we ever had were brief moments together, and even if I manage to crawl my way out of here, I doubt that will change, but still, my mind wanders to him. To my safe place. I picture him the way I knew him and wonder what time has done for him. Time might have been a bitch for me, but I bet he’s aged like a fine wine.
Is he living the life we always dreamed of? Has he moved on or does he still think about what was stolen from us? Does he miss his daughter? Will he have heard the news about my death? If so, is he helping her through her grief? Or is she alone? That thought is like a hot poker to my insides, a blow even worse than the sensation of my captor shuddering with his perverse enjoyment as he reaches his climax.
“I’ll be back soon. Be a dear and don’t go anywhere.” With that sarcastic remark, my tormenter leaves me chained to my cot, the sticky condom laid across my stomach as a reminder of what just happened. Sick fucker. The day I get to enact my revenge can’t come soon enough.
Chapter 30
Little surprises me these days. I’ve come to always expect the worst. Not that there’s much ‘worse’ left to experience after losing Helen so utterly, but when my office is flooded with blinding light, I flinch before glaring at the offender. I take another swig from the whiskey bottle clenched in my fist.
I’ve been sitting here alone, cloaked in a hatred and rage threatening to swallow me whole as day turned to night, the city lights below the only light penetrating the penthouse. Another day Helen’s not here to see. Another night our daughter is spending thinking she has no one in this world. If I could snuff them out and plunge the whole city into darkness, I would. With no answers or outlet in sight, the rage simmering in my veins has turned venomous, like a viper ready to lash out at the first unfortunate soul who stumbles across its path.
“What do you want?” I slur as Seamus stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. His stance screams defensive, but I can’t say I blame him. The last time he came here uninvited, he left with a broken nose and a shattered casserole dish. Given his obsessionwith Fiona’s cooking and reluctance to share in the first place, I’d bet my net worth on the fact I won’t be getting any more care packages anytime soon.
“It’s time to pull your head out of your ass and stop being a moody wanker. Drowning your sorrows isn’t going to change fuck all, and leaving your child to handle this on their own goes against everything we stand for. Family above all else, remember? What the bloody hell are you waiting for?” His words have me itching to lash out, to demand to know just how peachy he would be if it was his wife who had died, if he was the one having to grieve in secret because as far as the world knows, he has no reason to be anything short of normal. But one look at the pinched look on his face has the words freezing in my throat. His concern is like an ice-cold shower, waking me up from the fog I’ve been sleepwalking through.
“What I’m wating for is for you to get the fuck out of my office and back to work,” I snap, pointedly ignoring the less-than-impressed look on his face. His reaction to my words isn’t my problem.
My problem is Angus wanting to encroach on our territory.
My problem is keeping my daughter safe without her knowing me, because knowing me is a curse I wouldn’t wish on anyone right now.
Everything else can go fuck itself.
Days later, the guys have dragged me out to O'Neill's under the guise of needing to show me something. Turns out that something was the new hostess. Apparently, being chronically single is a red flag that they feel the need to rectify. They can go fuck right off. If it's not Helen, I don't want to know.
“Come on, man. Lighten up and go get some. She was definitely checking you out,” Jack grouses with a wag of his eyebrows.
“Maybe if you got your dick wet, you’d chill out,” Ciaran chimes in, leaning back in his seat, his eyes firmly glued to our waitress’ retreating ass.
“Pig.” I snort, chucking my napkin at him. “How about I tell your new missus you’re checking out our waitress’s ass?”
“Feel free. Jen said it herself; I can look without touching as long as I’m coming home to her. And cominginher.” He smirks, dodging Seamus as he reaches up to clip him around the ear for me. While some organisations might not give a fuck what their men do in their personal lives, Seamus is right. Family has always been the driving force behind everything we do, and Ciaran’s remarks toe the line a little too far south.
“If the only reason you fuckers dragged me out was to try and slip me the number of one of my staff, then I’ll be seeing myself out.” With an eyeroll, I start to stand, only for Jack to shove me back into my seat without even looking up from his phone.
“Sit your ass down. You’ve been icier than usual over the last few months, and if it wasn’t for Seamus, we’d have dragged your grumpy ass out sooner. Now, this is what’s going to happen: you’re gonna eat some food, shoot the shit, and relax for one fucking night, got it?” Bren drawls from across the table, pinning me under his challenging stare.
“Fine. But if you fuckers think I won’t get my own back on you for tricking me, you’ve another thing coming.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” Dec laughs before downing his drink and flagging down the waitress. She makes a valiant effort to ignore the heated looks from Ciaran and Brennan while she takes our orders, and I make a mental note to leave her a hefty tip. Trust the twins to be so stereotypical and have the same type.
Dinner passes in a blur of small talk and comparing war stories from their weeks. Jack swears he has the shortest straw: dealing with new recruits. But the guys are quick to interject with their own woes. I’m only half listening, most of my focus where it always is these days: on death and destruction, retaliation and vengeance.
As the food is cleared and the drinks continue to flow, I’m swirling my drink around my glass as I muse, “I’m telling you, this shit doesn’t add up, no matter which way we twist it.”
I’m met with groans and muttered curses, my obsession nothing new to them.
“Bren has checked everything he can hack into, and there’s nothing to write home about,” Jack counters, his brows a dark slash across his forehead at the change of topic.
“And we’ve been sniffing around as much as we can without being caught. Other than the fact their compound is like a prison and no one seems to have a mind of their own, there’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Declan summarises, not for the first time. It’s the same old story every time we discuss this, but I can’t shake the feeling we’re missing something.
“Well, clearly, we’re missing something.” Call me a dog with a bone, but there are too many red flags to ignore. I’ll be damned if I let him continue whatever bullshit he’s up to. He may not have been driving the truck that crashed into Helen, but he alone bears the weight of her death.
Because of him, she was fending for herself.
