Page 74 of Hush Darling
Three meant he wouldn’t sit comfortably for days.
She was a villain cloaked in hero’s clothes. Saint Mercy’s Home For Orphaned Boys was nothing more than a prison for lost souls.
Glancing down at his hand, he stretched his fingers as a reminder that any damage she’d done had long ago healed. It was the internal scars that lingered the longest.
Back then, his sole focus had been protecting Peter. He had a plan—a perfect plan—but everything fell through the moment James let emotion override his gut instincts. Had he proceeded with single-minded determination, they would have escaped.
He and Peter would have stuck together. They would have stayed as close as brothers could possibly be. Instead, his plan went to hell the moment he allowed softer feelings to get involved.
Peter had fallen ill with the flu. As he waited for his brother to heal, the weather turned and they were trapped by one blizzard after another. Then came the outbreak of chicken pox that spring. By the time that first summer came around, it was too late. Peter was gone.
Adopted by a family that only needed one boy and taken away before James ever got the chance to say goodbye. James waited for his brother to call, write, or visit, but he never did.
Nagina, the crocodile, mocked his pain, taunting him for being an unwanted, unlovable soul. Then, as the other boys disappeared, her focus tightened on James. She became an inescapable tyrant he survived day after miserable day.
Seasons turned without any word. And with every passing year, it became more certain James would never get an adopted family of his own.
He didn’t know where to find his brother or what Peter’s new name might be. And his worry for Peter’s safety haunted him. But in the end, the abuse became too much and he had to leave.
Fuck that orphanage. And Fuck Peter.
James learned to rely only on himself. He appreciated his crew but needed no one, including some inexperienced woman who hoped to get past his boundaries with tenderness when he knew perfectly well it was impossible not to hate him after all he’d done to her.
That prissy act of hers might fool others, but he knew firsthand how much depravity loved to hide under polished surfaces. The upper class was the most twisted of all.
Two fingers, and he had her writhing for more. Why? Because some part of her knew she couldn’t get away with such whorish behavior anywhere else. She was using him as much as he was using her.
What an act she put on, pretending she could possibly care about him. She might think she could match his darkness, but she had no idea how dark he could go. They didn’t call him Black Jack for nothing.
Meeting his cruelty with tenderness was a tactic. A smart one. One that could have crushed him had he stayed a second longer in her presence.
No one had ever tried to nurture or hold him. Not his mother. Not the whores at port. And certainly not the men on his crew.
Those soft lips and the way she caressed his cheek. Did she have no self-preservation? He was a goddamn bastard, purposely showing her how rough and uncaring he could be. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she hate him? He needed her to hate him or he would never gladly let her go. And she needed to go. Women like Wendy had no place on his ship.
He recalled how she looked up at him like some sort of protector, and his jaw tightened. He’d threatened to degrade her because he wanted to taunt her. He never expected her to accept her fate so easily.
His grip tightened on the rail as he breathed in the briny sea air. This was the church he prayed to. The wide-open isolation always had a way of bringing clarity, and he slowly came to realize everything he needed to do.
It was time to finish what he’d started. He was determined to see this through before the black sky fully faded with the encroaching dawn. He needed to be done. With all of them.
Attachment was dangerous. The sooner he cut ties, the better.
He lived only for himself because that was the surest way to survive.
She didn’t belong here. She had a life and a family, a home, and a function in society. Any impression she gave that he could possibly fit into her world was a lie, a taunt to punish him the way he threatened to punish her.
He’d underestimated her. Now that he’d cleared his head, it was apparent she was only trying to use her body to manipulate him and gain the upper hand. It was a psychological game for sure, but he at least had the common sense to realize he was being played.
She thought she could outwit him by using his name? He would punish her every time it crossed her lips until she learned.
James… Never before had his name sounded like such a whispered caress.
James… He’d warned her not to use it, but she went ahead and disobeyed him anyway.
James… He wanted her to breathe it against his ear, over and over again, as he buried himself in the sanctuary of her body.
“Fuck!” She was not his fucking sanctuary! What was wrong with him?
