Page 50 of Tide of Treason
Across the space, Kayla’s brow flicked up. She hadn’t known I’d planned to actually participate. Neither had I, if we were being honest. But misery loved company and I intended to drag her straight to hell with me. Ever since she’d taken me down her throat, we hadn’t found neutral. She’d wrecked the gearbox. Everything between us ran hot, ground metal, friction sparks. Then I’d told her to sit on my face, because subtlety was for men without bipolar mood swings and cartel baggage.
“Page seventy-three,” Marilyn prompted, settling into her throne of tasseled cushions. “Right where Captain LeBlanc—such a rogue—catches Lady Gwyneth on the railing.”
The ladies of the literary society leaned forward.
Feeling oddly pressured, I read.
“Captain LeBlanc’s palm hit the balustrade with the crack of a pistol shot, pinning Lady Gwyneth between wrought iron and raw intent. He leaned in—close enough that the night sea curled around his breath—and promised, “Surrender, dove, or I’ll have to take what you refuse to give.”
I stopped there, thumb marking the page, because the collective sigh that floated off Marilyn’s geriatric covencould’ve fogged every window in the tri-state area. Hello? Was threatening rape normal around here? Rubbing a hand across my mouth, I turned the page. Lady Gwyneth didn’t take the threat to heart, because after a few chapters of a chase sequence, the heroine was now locked in a castle with the captain and his pirate crew. Captain LeBlanc, with his “steel-eyed gaze” and “muscled chest”, let a group of men take turns with her, but let’s put it into nicer words in front of the child and say she had quite a time being used like a Christmas cracker.
“I can’t believe you got that book out of the children’s section!” a woman with a cat sweater and a necklace of tiny bells tittered. “It must have been lost there during a restock.” She glanced at me again and let out another dreamy shudder. “He’s exactly how I pictured Captain LeBlanc.”
My blood chilled like a bottle of champagne dunked in ice water and forgotten at some mobster’s third wedding—fizz dying slow, label peeling back in strips. I licked my teeth and decided to pretend I wasn’t just casted as a fictional rapist. “Lady Gwyneth, now quite thoroughly . . . entertained, found herself—”
“Wait.” Mrs. Gerhardt folded her arms across her rhinestone tracksuit. “Don’t censor the language, dear. We’re all adults.” She pinched a corner of lace at her throat. “Well, most of us.” A pointed look at the sleeper drooling on my collar.
Kayla’s brow arched higher. “You heard her. Give the people what they want.”
Right. It was either that or set the pink paperback on fire, and even that wouldn’t be enough to wipe the mentalimage from my head. My ring—new ring—flashed as I turned the page. Her gaze flicked to it, lingered. The muscle in her jaw ticked. Yeah,chica, choke on that symbol.
“Captain LeBlanc braced a boot between her shoulders and told his men to—”
A tiny fist latched onto my necklace, yanking hard enough to choke.
“—ah, no dice, ladies. Reader’s asleep.” I tapped the paperback closed with one finger and lifted Lieve, settling her more securely against my chest. Instinct had me rocking her, barely, the motion protective and ridiculous given I’d loaded a crate of 7.62 rounds less than twelve hours ago.
Susan adjusted her hearing aid and pinned me with a look. “We’ve had a lot of men move in over the years. Not one has read to us yet. Quite frankly, most of them are too boring.” She sniffed. “That’s what you get in this city—investment bankers and lawyers with no sense of imagination. Too focused on money,” she sniffed a second time, “and it’s so gauche, don’t you think? If they’re making more than three quarters of a million annually, why would I care?”
“I haven’t taken my mood stabilisers in four days,” I said, as if that explained anything.
Aside from Kayla, their expressions now ranged from concern to pity, though none moved for an exit. The ladies of 17A seemed determined to stick by my side, like one of those parasitic isopods that attaches itself to a fish’s tongue and sucks on capillary blood.
“What does it feel like, dear? The bipolar.”
Sticky palms.
Strobe-light thoughts.
Ecstatic agony.
“Like being on fire. All. The. Goddamn. Time.”
The silence that followed was heavy and still. Salvation arrived in the crisp knock at the door, the soft creak swinging open to reveal Marisol, her expression bemused but gentle as she took in the child sprawled limply against my chest.
“She’s been an angel,” murmured Cat-Sweater, a tearful edge to her voice. “You make such a beautiful couple.”
An uncomfortable heat crawled up my neck. I untangled Lieve’s grip from my shirt as gently as I could. “She’s not my woman. She’s my best friend’s widow.”
Marisol gave a small smile at that, but it didn’t touch her eyes. Grief lived there now, an occupant that hadn’t moved out since Abel’s heart stopped beating.You’re all she’s got now, pannekoek.She stepped forward to peel her sleepy daughter from me. Lieve protested, a soft kitten-like whine, fingers grasping futilely at my collar. Swallowing thickly, I gently brushed a damp curl from her forehead, whispering nonsense to soothe her back into her mothers arms.
Marisol’s gaze went soft. “I’d better get her tucked in. Say goodnight,lieveke.”
Half-asleep, the little girl sighed dreamily, tiny fingers stretching for me one last time. “Night, Lu.”
She left a smear of apple juice on my soul.
That was the only way I could explain the sudden ache behind my ribs when the door shut behind them—this fuckingphantom pressure, like someone had stuck their hand inside and given my heart a slow, considerate squeeze. I settled back into my chair, thumb tracing circles around the rim of my glass, feeling distinctly exposed in a room filled with approving matrons who knew nothing of the darkness staining my soul.
