Page 1 of Clayton (Bourbon & Blood #2)

I know something is wrong. The house is dark.

The cartoons or music that Emma Grace loves aren’t blaring from her bedroom.

It’s just after eight in the evening. At the very least, I should hear Annalee arguing with her that it’s bedtime.

But there’s nothing. The house is so quiet that it feels unnatural.

I bypass the den and head straight to the kitchen where I can see light.

Annalee stands at the counter, her back to the door.

Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, but it bares the curve of her neck.

God, I want to taste that. I want to bury my face against her neck and inhale the scent of her.

But I haven’t laid hands on her in so long, I’m not sure I’d even be permitted.

My choice, I remind myself. I know I’ve made it for the right reasons, and a part of me still believes, deep down, that what I’m doing is for the best. Another part of me wants to tell her everything and wash my hands of it all.

By virtue of being a Darcy, I’m a good liar.

We’ve made our fortunes on that for generations, but I can’t lie to her, and I know it.

That would make me no better than him. So for months, I’ve just avoided her.

Coming home late. Leaving early. Locking myself in my office when I am at home.

I’ve put so much distance between us that I don’t know if it can ever be bridged.

“Where’s Emma Grace?” I ask. Our daughter is a safe topic at least.

Annalee turns back to look at me. She’s been crying, though she’s applied makeup and tried to camouflage it.

I did that. Every tear she sheds right now is my fault.

But I can’t change course. It’s too late for that now.

I have to stop Samuel no matter what it costs.

Too many people are counting on me, including Annalee, even though she doesn’t know it yet.

“She’s at a sleepover. I thought that was for the best…” She pauses, takes a deep breath, and then traps me with a cold, steady gaze. “We need to talk, Clayton.”

The most dreaded words in the English language. Fuck. “Do we have to do this tonight? It’s been a hell of a day, Ann,” I hedge .

“Yes,” she replies, arms crossed over her chest and her chin up like she’s daring me to take a swing at her. I never have. I never would. But I know with the way she grew up, part of her still expects it to happen.

I put my briefcase on the counter and grab a beer from the fridge.

I’m being a dick and I know it. If I could have just a little more time, I could get it all back to normal.

I could take her away somewhere for the weekend and make up for the last six months of isolation.

“You wanted to talk,” I say to her, my tone sharp. “So talk.”

“Tell me what you’re hiding,” she says.

I can’t do that. I could, but I need for her to be able to deny having any knowledge of what I’m up to if shit goes south.

It’s the only way to keep her and Emma Grace safe.

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just busy with work.

The distillery is in the fucking toilet thanks to my asshole of a father…

it’s not going to do a one-eighty and turn a profit by itself, Annalee. ”

Her glare tells me she’s not buying it. Not that I expected her to. She’s nobody’s fool.

“Tell me the truth, Clayton, or you’re moving out.”

I set the beer down on the counter. “You’re not kicking me out of my own house.”

She’s pacing the kitchen, her hands clenched at her sides. “You’re never here anyway,” she shoots back. “You’re gone when I get up in the morning and you don’t even come into our bedroom until you know I’m asleep. You haven’t touched me in months, Clayton…not since you went to Japan.”

How can I tell her that I can’t face her? That lying to her and hiding things from her is eating me up inside. So much that I can’t even stand for her to look at me? “Annalee, you’re overreacting. In a few months, things will go back to normal. The distillery will be on firmer footing and?—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts. “You and I both know this isn’t just about you being busy at Fire Creek. You’re hiding something, Clayton. You’re lying to me…and you either tell me what it is, or you get out.”

“Then I guess I should pack,” I reply, hoping she’s bluffing.

She makes a sound that cuts me to the quick. I’m reminded of a line from a Jason Isbell song, about the sound a woman makes as her heart begins to break. I always wondered what that sounded like. Now I know.

I can see the hurt in her eyes, in the slight tremble of her lip and the firming of her jaw.

Never one for theatrics or wasted emotion, the mask falls into place again immediately.

“Do you even care?” she asks. “Or is this what you wanted? Did you just grow progressively colder and more distant in the hopes that I’d give you the out you wanted without you having to be the bad guy? ”

I can’t answer that. I can’t answer anything. Telling her the truth is out of the question and adding to the bitter tasting lies I’ve already told, even if they were by omission, isn’t a line I’m willing to cross. “I’ll go. We don’t have to fight about it.”

She screams like a wounded animal. I duck as a glass comes flying at my head.

Other various pieces of cutlery and a few dishes follow.

Crossing the room, I grab her arms, holding them down to her sides.

I lock my arms around her and I know, in that second, that this might be the last time I ever hold her .

“Annalee, stop! Just stop!” I whisper against her ear. My voice sounds unfamiliar inside my own head. That broken and desperate plea sounds like it belongs to someone else.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you son of a bitch!” The words come out of her like the sounds of a hissing cat—low, angry, with a growl to them that conveys just how dangerous she is in the moment.

I’ve never seen her like this. Not once in the twelve years since I’ve known her has she lost it like this.

Another cross to bear, another crime to lay at my door.

We’ve fought in the past, but it was always stupid, and more often than not just an excuse to get to the makeup sex.

This is the first time we’ve ever really laid into one another this way.

All I want is to tell her the truth, to make the hurt go away, but I can’t. Not yet. Not until it’s all done.

I’ve broken more laws on a daily basis, every day for the last six months, than I had previously in all my life.

I’ve lied. I’ve stolen. I’ve broken into my father’s apartment more than once.

I’ve extorted information from his mistresses, every one of them.

I’ve threatened, coerced, bribed judges and cops.

I’ve tapped his phone and bugged his house.

And if those things don’t get me what I need, I’ve accepted that I might even have to kill the bastard.

I’m not as conflicted about any of that as I am about this, about letting her go to keep her safe from the consequences of my actions.

“I’m going to a lawyer,” she says on a broken sob. “I want a divorce.”

“I’ll give it to you,” I tell her. It feels like something was just cut out of me, without anesthesia, like I ought to be bleeding from the wound.

“Is it another woman?” she asks, her voice so low, so broken, that it’s hard to hear.

I shake my head. I won’t tell that lie. There’s never been another woman, not since the moment I laid eyes on her.

I won’t sully what we’ve had by saying otherwise.

“No, Ann. It’s not like that…we’re just not the same people we used to be.

” It’s the closest thing to the truth I can tell her.

I’m not the man she married. I’m not the do-gooder, upright, cross every T and dot every I, man who would do whatever it took not to be like his father.

In stead, I’m becoming just like him. It’s the only way to bring him down.

“Get out. Just get out.” She sounds defeated, but not broken. Annalee will never be broken, not by me or anyone else. It’s probably why I fell in love with her.

I let go of her. “I’ll come get my things tomorrow while you’re out.”

“They’ll be on the lawn. Leave your key,” she says coolly.

I don’t answer. I just turn and walk out while I have the strength to.

I’m going to burn for what I have to do to Samuel Darcy, one way or another.

Whether I ruin him financially or socially, whether I have to cross that line and end him like the diseased animal he is, there will be a reckoning for it…

a price to pay. If I’m out of her life, she’ll be safe from it and she’ll be there to keep our daughter safe.

It’s cold comfort, but it’s all I’ve got.