Page 30 of The Souls We Claim
“You want me to stay?”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Arianne looks around the kitchen. “If I stay, I need to do more to help. I’m handy with a paintbrush. I can help you clear out your dad and Mercy’s things. I can do things here too.Cook and such. Grocery shopping. If you want me to. I can do anything you need, really.”
The thoughts that flood my mind about what she could do for me are downright dirty. They mostly involve that mouth of hers, some rope, and time we don’t have.
“I’d be happy to eat home-cooked food someone else made. And if I’m gonna look out for you, I can’t be finding out from a brother that you’re short on cash. Can’t be finding out that your husband stripped your account.”
Arianne blushes, and fuck, doesn’t that just crank up the chub I’m already sporting. “I didn’t know. We each have our own account. But he was able to transfer from mine to his to pay bills. I was expecting my salary today, but he got my boss to pay it in last night, and then he transferred it out two minutes later.”
“Cunt,” I mutter. I reach into the pocket of my cut and pull out the envelope King gave us at church. I pull out a thousand dollars and put it down on the table. “The daycare I was looking at wanted two grand a month. Five hundred a week. Another two-fifty a week for you for taking care of things around the house. Cleaning, laundry, some cooking. That’s your salary. Two-fifty for shit for the house. Groceries and things. Keep receipts. When it’s gone, tell me, and I’ll give you some more. I’ll be straight, the men who killed my father are trouble, and I don’t want you and Lola out in the world by yourselves just yet. Stay with me, save up some money, and we’ll figure out the rest later.”
Tears glisten in Arianne’s eyes, but they don’t fall. “This is so much more than I was hoping for.”
Fuck, she has a sweet rasp to her voice when she’s emotional. I bite back the urge to trail my thumbs beneath those long lashes.
“I’m also going to ask our club lawyer to get your money back. Logging in to someone else’s bank account has got to be a crime.”
“I’m not quite sure how to thank you.”
I nod, even as images of Arianne’s wrists tied in rope spring to mind.
Which is a sure sign this plan of mine isn’t going to work.
Because keeping my hands off Arianne Osborne is going to take a miracle.
10
ARIANNE
“It’s time for you to come home with me,” Patrick says, gripping hold of my wrist.
I try to snatch my arm away, but his grip is so tight that my skin burns as I try to pull. “Please, leave me alone, Patrick. I’m not going back with you.”
I glance over to where Halo leans against a wall, watching. His eyes are on me, filled with concern, but he doesn’t intervene. Tears well as panic envelops me in a cold mist. “Help me, Halo, please,” I cry.
But he doesn’t; he watches as I’m dragged to Patrick’s truck. I kick and fight and try to wriggle out of his hold as he forces me into the passenger seat.
“Halo, please!” I scream.
“You’re mine again,” Patrick whispers in my ear.
At the sensation of his breath against my cheek, I jolt upright in bed, tears stinging my cheeks.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
There is early-morning light pouring through the gaps in the blinds. I try to focus on that. I’m in Asbury Park. Patrick isn’t here. I’m safe in this moment.
I swipe beneath my eyes as I take a deep breath. Fighting the urge to break down and cry, I slip out of bed to the bathroom with the intention of washing my face. Cold water, maybe some coffee—anything to shake the dregs of the nightmare from my mind.
Memories of the way Patrick squeezed my wrist causes me to rub my skin gently. The dream held me in such a grip that even now, with the cool feel of Halo’s hardwood floors beneath my feet, I can’t bring myself fully into the moment.
In the millisecond it takes me to open the bathroom door, I notice three things. Steam swirls in the air, the shower is running, and Halo is leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, masturbating.
My eyes are drawn straight to his hand, which grips his eye-wateringly long cock. I try to look away but don’t get much farther than the muscles that form a V to where his hand is…
Jesus.
