Page 45

JAMES

L ying in bed awake at night is pointless.

Work. Plotting. Late-night meetings. There’s always something to do instead of lying in my bed, looking around the dark room. Doing nothing.

Only tonight I’m not by myself. I’m not really doing anything.

I have my bandaged arm wrapped around my woman. The one who cut through my skin. Who applied skin glue to patch me up.

I feel the weight of her leg across mine, her breath on my chest.

She gives meaning to my life that has nothing to do with work.

There’s a purpose to this moment.

Hugging her. Comforting her in her sleep. Keeping the world at bay while she’s dreaming. While she’s at her most vulnerable.

Who the hell is this person I’ve turned into?

Rain pelts against the windows. Harsh and unforgiving.

Nothing wakes her up. She doesn’t so much as stir while I protect her.

While I’m back to plotting.

Camden is the least of my worries. He’s less known than his father. Less connected.

Everyone welcomed him at the auction and in our firm because of Oliver. If he were to vanish off the face of the earth once Oliver is gone, no one would care.

His disappearance would be a news item for a week or two.

There and gone.

Oliver, on the other hand, they’ll hunt him down. They’ll be terrified of my reaction. Even more scared of his retribution, in case he resurfaces.

I stroke Ophelia’s soft hair. Her tresses part between my fingers. She snuggles closer to me, mumbling in that sweet voice of hers. She’s no longer scared of me. Nightmares about her big, bad captor have ended.

I welcome it, tightening my grip on her. I no longer need her constant fear.

When I’m balls deep inside her, yes. When we’re awake and need to be on the lookout for our enemies, yes again.

She can rest now.

I’ve got her.

While she sleeps, I run through the mental notes in my head. The list of people who most likely won’t overlook Oliver’s disappearance.

The NYPD officials and the police chief. The district attorney. A few FBI agents. Anyone who might pose a threat and take Oliver’s side.

Their photos are in the thick file Ophelia went through today. They wait there patiently. Just until Oliver isn’t on high alert anymore. Until I decide it’s the right moment to strike.

Soon. Any day now.

I’m tired of waiting. Being a sitting duck is sickening.

Cowards wait.

“Hmm.”

Ophelia.

Her breasts are warm against my body. Her nipples peaked. Her fingers roam over my chest.

She’s up.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

My body goes on high alert. I sit up, my eyes narrowing. My ears perk up to listen.

Someone’s at the door, knocking on it. No, slamming their fists on it.

That leaves me with only one person. Only one man can get past the gates and materialize on my doorstep.

My staff isn’t allowed to come back for the rest of the week. They wouldn’t dare be here against my orders. Even if they had come, they would’ve buzzed the doorbell. Called me to let them in.

They wouldn’t have banged on the door like entitled pricks.

My son would.

He grew up here, after all.

But this isn’t his home anymore. I changed the locks and alarm codes everywhere except at the gates once he left. He can park outside, but getting inside? Fuck that.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

My phone flashes. A call from him. Of course it’s him.

It gets on my fucking nerves too that he’s shown up here unannounced.

I get out of bed, pulling on my sweats and T-shirt from the armchair. Go over to my closet to get what I need to keep her safe.

“James?” Ophelia is beautiful.

The pale glow of the phone highlights her arresting features. Her eyelashes flutter as she focuses on me.

On the roll of duct tape I hold in one hand, then on the two ropes in the other. I brought it up here last week to play with her. Our sex games will have to wait.

This isn’t a game.

“You can’t be serious.”

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The banging is louder than before. Louder than the rain and the wind.

She scrambles to sit, jerking the covers up and over her breasts. “Who’s out there?”

“Topher.” Ignoring the other questions in her eyes, I climb on the bed and toss the ropes next to her.

“Stop.”

The duct tape tastes bitter in my mouth when I tear it. Once done, I throw the roll to the floor.

“Stop it.” Ophelia presses herself closer to the headboard, as far away from me as she can. “I’ll be quiet. I swear. We’re a team, right?”

“We are.” I grab her by the throat, keeping her in place so I can press the tape over the corner of her mouth.

I need to talk to her before I’m off to confront him.

“It’s just a precaution. I leave nothing to chance, and that includes you.

I can’t afford to have you trying to be a hero when you’re not ready. ”

“I am.” She slaps me.

I growl because I’m turned on, and because Topher won’t stop trying to tear my door down.

Her fingers claw at my bandaged arm, digging into my fresh wound. She doesn’t do actual damage. My blood doesn’t spill out on my clothes. My shirt remains dry.

“You’re the worst.” Accusations flare in her eyes before I slam the duct tape onto her mouth.

I have to tie her up. Otherwise, I’d fuck her.

Topher would realize something was up, and I’d either have to kill him or wait for him to collude with my enemies.

The tape goes over the rest of her mouth.

“You’re being a brat.” I flip her on her stomach, making a work of tying her wrists. “I’m doing my best to protect you, even from yourself.” My hand lands on her ass after her wrists are bound. Once. That’s all the time I have to spank her. “And that’s the thanks I get?”

She screams through the tape, growls at me with her face pressed to the pillow.

She’s going to suffocate.

This isn’t how she dies. If I have any say in it, she’ll never die. I stop trying to tie her up and grab her hair, twisting her head so she’s resting on her cheek.

I move on to bind her ankles.

“I’m going to see what he came here for and get rid of him.” Once done, I brush her hair off her face. “You’re going to be quiet. Be a good girl for me. Stay where you are. You’ll be rewarded for it.”

She flips me off behind her back. Thrusts her feet back—an adorable attempt to kick me.

I kiss her forehead anyway, then close the bedroom door behind me while the incessant banging continues.

When I open the door, a cold burst of wind and my drenched-to-the-bone son welcome me.

My crying son.

I’m a horrible man. Have done horrible things. But even I’m not so cruel to turn him away when he’s like…

This.

“Topher.” With a hand on his soaked black wool pea coat, I yank him into the house. I shut the door once he’s inside and face him, arms crossed over my chest.

“Dad,” he says between sobs.

The men in our family don’t cry. They certainly don’t sob. I take a better look at him. His blue eyes are red. He’s unbalanced, swaying on his feet. Reaching out to me, leaning in.

He reeks of alcohol.

Goddamn it. I lectured him about losing control a thousand times over the years. Secrets slip out when you’re intoxicated. Drinking during his initiation was one thing. I was there to look after him. In Ibiza, he was practically unknown.

Here? What the fuck?

“You’re drunk.” Fuck his tears. His weakness is an embarrassment. “A disgrace.”

“Hey, no. N-no, not drunk. Not reallyyy.” He wipes his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I had whiskey at the office. A little. Alone. No one’s there now. I didn’t—No secrets are out, Dad.”

Protecting Ophelia is my number one priority. I need him to leave.

My temples throb. Anger bubbles in my chest.

I can’t kick him out. He’s drunk.

I don’t remember seeing the firm’s driver outside, which could only mean that he drove under the influence.

For the slim chance he called a taxi or an Uber, I ask, “How did you get here?”

“Car?” He grips an invisible wheel, spinning it to the left and right.

“Jesus Christ.” I scoff, helping him out of his coat. “Did you hit anyone?”

“Nooo.” His breath hitches. I’ll have my investigator on it first thing tomorrow morning. “Dad.” He brushes his dark blond hair off his forehead. “I’m fucking crying. Why do you care about what happened to other people?”

My blood pressure skyrockets. The warmth from holding Ophelia is no more.

Why?

Why?

First and foremost, because a hit-and-run is wrong. For fuck’s sake, of course it is.

But my moral compass isn’t what gets me riled up.

Cleaning up this mess means having attention drawn to our family. It means threatening and bribing people.

These are the same people who’ll need to be threatened and bribed once I set my plan into motion.

This is one scandal I can’t have on my hands. It infuriates me to have to deal with it.

I’m in Topher’s face in two seconds flat, hand on the collar of his wet shirt. His mouth gapes when his back hits the wall.

“Crying is useless. Whatever the reason is.” He’s about to say something. I stop him. “Now think. Did you hurt anyone?”

“Only myself.” His eyes darken. “I hurt myself, Dad.”

My eyes search his face for injuries. I take a step back, giving the rest of his body a once-over. No blood.

“Ophelia.” Some of his strength is back. He shoves my chest, stares at me. His drunk glare focuses a little. “If anyone deserves to ruin her, it’s me.”

The blood in my veins runs cold for one long beat. Then it boils. Then it’s at an inferno-level hot.

“I remember specifically ordering you to forget about her.” Watching my tone is a struggle.

I move to create a barrier between him and the stairs. Between him and her.

“I was an idiot.” He sniffs. Pushes himself off the wall. Swaying as he battles to stay upright. “I thought it’d be fun. Playing with her. Throwing her away after that. Fuck, even auctioning her and her fear. So fucking ent-ente-entertaining.”

He’s drunk , I remind myself. He might not mean it. He could still be spared.

I’m itching to kill him and end this, regardless.

No one talks about what’s mine.

Then I remember his poor mother, and I try, damn it, I try to forgive him. Just this once.