Page 28

Chapter 28

Fleur

M y eyes are gritty.

After I sat down with Mrs. Northgate to let her know I’m temporarily staying with Liam and won’t be at work for a while, I found myself sobbing on the phone with my parents. Of course they think it’s entirely because of the farmhouse fire that demolished all my possessions and hard work in a single night.

When they ask if I’m coming home, I tell them no. That I’m staying at a friend’s cabin and I’ll be there until I can figure out a more permanent solution. I don’t mention Liam, and I don’t tell them about Adam. Pretty sure the only information I was able to offer was that I lost my phone in the fire—which isn’t a lie.

To give myself credit, the tears didn’t start until my mother’s did. When she mentioned the trials I’m going through and how they break her heart—it made my own clench with an indescribable ache. Chris was the first major trial in recent months and now this.

I suppose when you’re a mother your heart hurts when your children suffer, so I can imagine her tears were for me, in solidarity. However, they triggered the floodgates, and I buried my face in my arms at Mrs. Northgate’s table while she massaged my head. I didn’t even have it in me to be embarrassed.

I’d gone to the bathroom to clear my mind. First with several snaps of my rubber bands and then with an entire box of tissues. The cubed box was decorated in a giddy watermelon print that made me want to crush it into a ball.

The cream puffs Mrs. Northgate made for an ill friend gave me an easy distraction. However, Liam’s lingering stare while we topped the last dozen with delicious cream quickly scrubbed away any moment of peace. His eyes tracked my every movement around the kitchen to the point I began to feel self-conscious. Maybe I had cream on my face or crumbs in the corner of my lips. But when I swiped at my face several times, my hand came away with nothing. Were it not for the ding of his phone, I’m sure I’d have never gotten relief from the intensity. His eyes dimmed as soon as he opened it and he rounded me up to go.

I didn’t want to leave. More tears flowed as Mrs. Northgate gave me a long, comforting hug and a pan of lasagna to reheat.

Those welled tears pooled, finally releasing when I got in the truck, and my head feels as though it’s been smothered in sand. A pricking sensation makes me want to pluck out my eyeballs.

“Were you able to speak with your parents?” Liam’s voice shatters the roar of the truck, and I nod, unable to look at him.

I count the houses as we pass the neighboring community before riding through town. A little boy runs around his front yard, a young chocolate lab chasing his heels with a stick in its mouth. I smile at the simplicity.

Another couple embraces in a hug, standing by a smoking grill in their driveway. Ribs? Chicken? What side dishes will they have? I play over the details of their dinner and imagine what it would’ve been like to cook a meal with the true love of my life instead of the imposter husband seated next to me or the fraud of a man I gave nine years to.

What if I was cherished? What if the man I was with would rather cut off his arms than wrap them around another woman? What if the man I was with demanded nothing from me instead of using me to make a statement? Then maybe I could have a life like the couple in the driveway.

We pass several familiar road signs, and I straighten from my slouch, turning to Liam. “Can we go down by the farmhouse?”

Liam winces, and I realize it’s bold of me to want to see the charred remains of the house. But I want to see it before I’m sequestered away amongst the woods and in a one-bedroom cabin.

“Is that really a good idea?”

I shrug, my eyes moving over his beard and past him to the fields outside his window. They’ve started harvesting the crops already.

He doesn’t press me anymore and I’m grateful. We make the left-hand turn down my road. Because it truly was mine as the farmhouse shared it only with hayfields and oak trees.

As we approach, the outline of blackened wood and a crumbling chimney inked in ashy soot stand out. The heap of the remaining farmhouse clashes against the pure blue sky without a cloud of white to offer a reprieve.

Liam slows at the base of my driveway and before he’s fully come to a stop, I yank open the door and hop out.

“Fleur!” Liam yells, but it gets lost in the breeze that whips behind my tangled hair. I run toward the house, slowing with each step I get closer.

It may be a trick on my mind, but I swear I inhale a pungent breath of burned wood. Memories of the raging flames assault me, and I run my toes into the front steps of the porch, the only portion that remains.

I close my eyes, chew my lip, and reach for my wrist to pluck away what I can’t control, but as I pull back Liam’s voice interrupts me.

“Fleur?” He murmurs my name as if he’s creeping slowly behind me, attempting not to scare a frightened animal. I release the bands without a snap.

The heat of Liam’s palm hangs just above my shoulder like he wants to set it there. But it drops away, the whoosh of air fluttering against my back and producing a shiver instead.

For a moment, I mourn the loss of the would-be touch, but it lasts a split second before it’s replaced with relief and the realization of where I’m standing—the charred dirt beneath my feet compliments of his people.

Continuing to scan the rubble, I’m half tempted to start digging for anything salvageable. It’s ridiculous. I wasn’t here that long. Only recently did I start to feel more at home in my newly renovated house and less like a guest. Still, it was my soft place to land after Chris and—I look around the empty fields surrounding us—it served as a peaceful place for the pain. I’d pictured myself here much longer than the time I had.

A snap of a twig near my side makes me jump. Liam’s thundering frame slides up to my right, arms crossed in front of him as he looks from the toppled mess to my fractured expression.

“It’s not all lost.” The warmth of his breath skirts along my cheek as he speaks those words to me. I, however, keep my face forward, willing him to turn away and do the same. His words sound like he’s mumbling something profound, when in reality all I hear is false hope.

“I doubt that’s in the cards for me.”

“And why’s that?” he asks.

“Because it takes time, money, and freedom I don’t currently have.”

Liam’s jaw works back and forth before his throat bobs and his fingers, rested on his muscles, flex. He dips his chin, leveling his eyes with mine, and I squirm under the intensity of them.

Unable to stay here any longer, I turn to go, but a calloused hand wraps around my wrist. He doesn’t pull. There’s only a slight tug that feathers out from the tips of his fingers, pressing into my skin. At first, I divert my gaze to the beautiful oak still standing untouched in my front yard before it snaps back to his. And, as if he noted my expression from his touch, he drops my hand like it singed his own.

I glance down at my wrist, looking for marks to go along with the sizzling burn emanating from my joint.

“We need to discuss tonight,” Liam says, his tone no longer soft. I’ve heard tonight mentioned several times. And I’ll admit my curiosity is piqued when worry, and perhaps shame, tightens Liam’s mouth into a thin line. He doesn’t strike me as a person to be bothered by much, yet he looks … bothered.

I kick at the gravel driveway, a pebble skipping across and into the lawn. “Discuss away.”

He blows out a breath and tells me about the branding.

When the wheels of Liam’s truck move from the smooth pavement of the Trace to the rutty dirt road leading to the compound, I recoil. Liam filled me in as we stood in front of my scorched home, and frankly, the irony almost made me laugh. Actually, I did laugh, from complete nervousness and the sheer horrifying act I’m about to endure.

They brand their people.

Their wives and members.

I’m—I’m to be branded.

Tonight.

I lean my face into the rays of sun slowly straining through the tall pines, wishing it were winter so the window would be cool under my cheek. I could use the chill to cope with the raging anger.

Liam explained all members who live on the compound, or have privileged access to it, receive this mark. Apparently, it started when Darrin first had problems with his dealers. With so many of them, and the high rate of turnover, it was becoming impossible to distinguish whose dealer belonged to what drug lord. Reports of shootouts over a deal gone bad would reach his ears and when he went to look at the scene, he didn’t know which men were his. Mutilated bodies or minor decomposition made identification difficult.

It grew from there.

He branded all his men with the Jackpot symbol of a horseshoe. It extends to his private gaming establishments as well, requiring guests to present an obsidian-colored card with a white horseshoe on it to get in.

I wonder if Adam has one of those cards.

Eventually, the brand extended to the women Darrin’s men claimed. Easy to identify, yet, also to mark them.

The two scones I devoured at the bed-and-breakfast threaten to make an appearance. Between the churning of my stomach in response to iron searing my flesh, and the constant dip, dip, bump of the road, I need to crank the window down.

As I stick my head out to let the warm air topple into my mouth and nose, Liam turns to me, eyes darting between me and the road.

“It will be over fast.”

His words don’t comfort me.

I huff out a humph and press my head against the back of the old truck’s stiff upholstery. Sun flickers above my closed eyelids as we pass between pines lining the road. Fiddling with my rubber bands, my heart pounds beneath my rib cage, creating an ache that won’t subside.

“Why do you wear those?” Liam asks.

My eyes pop open and I immediately cover my wrist. I roll my head along the headrest in his direction to briefly meet his glare before he turns back to the road. With his left hand, he grips the wheel while his right lies flat on his bulging thigh. His fingers twitch as if they notice I’m staring.

“Never know when I’ll need them,” I whisper.

Even though he doesn’t look back at me, he drags the lower corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. Pretty sure he’s sussed out my lie.

He mumbles a snarl and it’s the last sound made between us for the rest of the ride until we reach the compound.

While the towering gate was intimidating before, what’s even more disconcerting are the newly stationed guards with guns slung over their shoulders. These men don’t have uniforms or tactical gear. They’re in blue jeans and black leather coats like most of Darrin’s guys. The weapons look abnormal with their attire, and I swallow as Liam approaches.

“I-is this normal?” I ask.

“No.”

It’s all Liam says as he rolls to a stop before the glinting keypad and card reader. Liam lifts from his seat, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a black card, and he waves it in front of the small square box. As the gates open, he slowly creeps through, leaving his window rolled down.

One of the guards lifts his hand. “Hey, Liam.”

“Hey, Collin. New toys?” Liam’s voice booms, loud and different than he’s been all day. There’s a command there but also a sliver of seething disgust. Either way, it stills me and any solace I found with him today on our trip to town is stripped away.

I inch toward my door, the slightest of movements, but the slink over snags Liam’s attention and he breaks from his conversation to whip his head in my direction, noting the added distance.

He smirks.

“Darrin returned, and our shipment from New York arrived. Meeting tonight after the marking.” The man—Collin—grins at me, yellow teeth promising pain and depravity. I divert my eyes. “Blitz says he can’t wait to get his hands on Adam’s chick.”

I cringe and roll my eyes. Everyone assumes Adam and I were a thing and we?—

“She isn’t his anymore.” Liam’s voice is thick like syrup, but instead of sweet, it reeks of bitterness. He rolls up the window as Collin’s face pales, realizing his misstep with Liam, who I’m assuming has some authority over him.

We weave through the compound, and I note the several men entering the clubhouse and a few scattered out on their cabin porches. Most of the cabins have motorcycles parked in front of them, but a few have older cars like the one I saw on the Trace that evening.

Liam’s cabin sits farther back, in a more secluded area, and I’m already grateful to be kept more out of sight. Hopefully, that also means out of mind.

We park, and the truck door creaks as I open it. While I slide out, my asleep ass tingles, and I stretch my arms above my head, releasing the stiffness from the ride. The sun glides low behind the trees and the smell of campfire smoke pops any bubble of happiness I had to be out of the truck.

Liam helps me carry the bags into his cabin, and I toss mine onto the floor, surveying the cramped space. With a little time before tonight, the first thing I know I need is a shower. I’ve been stuck in Liam’s oversized, baggy clothes all day, and they’re stifling. A good scrub and detangler are long overdue.

I rummage through my things, grabbing my bathroom essentials and the small plastic pouch I keep close. After a quick look, I pick out a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. I might regret it later if the chill sets in, but right now, I’m burning up.

Liam plops on the couch and opens up his computer, but he ignores it, watching me dig in each of the bags, looking for the bras and underwear I desperately need.

With an “Aa!” I spin on my bare heels and take him in sitting there.

He’s leaned back, the silver laptop balanced on his right leg, while his left hand absentmindedly spins the ring on his pointer finger. His gaze lingers on me, steady and unreadable.

“I need a shower. If that’s okay.” I’m half asking, half not. He’d have to pry my body from the shower at this point because the next thing I’m doing is cleaning myself.

He doesn’t say anything. Only gestures to the bathroom and begins typing. Unable to move, my mind shifts to the sleeping situation, and I wonder if I’ll be sleeping where his ass is currently planted. I shake my head.

Make it through tonight.

I dart into the bathroom and spend way too long relishing the warm water. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. After putting on some makeup to feel somewhat put together, I’ve spent well over an hour in here.

When I’m dressed, my hair damp with water, I open the medicine cabinet. Nail clippers, hydrogen peroxide, shaving cream—I pore over the items while moving the toothpaste off the top shelf to make room for my stuff. There isn’t much to give him away, but I notice a small hole in the back of the cabinet. Is that?—

Three loud bangs on the door startle me, and I drop my face cream into the single-bowl sink. I snatch it up and toss the jar into the cabinet before I slam it shut and open the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s been over an hour, and this is the only bathroom in this cabin,” Liam says.

I raise my eyebrows at him and offer him a slight shrug, wondering what his point is. He lifts his chin over to the toilet and my eyes widen.

“Oh, right.” I gather my ball of laundry from the corner by the tub and bolt out, stubbing my toe on the doorjamb. I yelp and stumble forward, but a large hand seizes my elbow before I go down.

Liam glares at me, his eyes skirting over my scoop-necked top and moving down to my shorts. With a quick jerk, I yank my elbow out of his grasp and turn with my laundry, well, his laundry, and open my mouth to ask where to put it, but the door slams in my face.

Despite the one-bedroom cabin being only one bedroom, there’s a tiny stackable washer and dryer in a linen closet, and I spend the next couple of hours washing the new clothes I purchased in hopes of keeping my mind off being treated like a possession.

Liam offered me a drawer in his dresser. And while he reheats the lasagna Mrs. Northgate gave us, I stalk to his room with my freshly cleaned clothes and nearly melt at the oddly cozy space.

It’s simple. A queen-sized mattress atop a rustic log frame bed. It must be cedar, because the closer I got, the more charming the smell. A green and blue plaid comforter is made neatly on his bed while a matching cedar dresser sits across from the foot of it.

Going to my knees, I open the bottom drawer, although I’m baffled it’s still full after he said he cleared out a drawer. I try the next. Then another. Climbing the six-drawer dresser until I reach the top drawer that is, in fact, empty.

It’s slightly odd he’d give me the top drawer when bending down to the bottom one is probably harder on him than me due to his size. But I make quick work of putting my minimal clothes away. I spy a closet in the far corner of the room but leave my dresses folded in the drawer. I couldn’t care less about a few wrinkles, especially out here.

When I’m finished, I join Liam in the kitchen. We each have a plate of lasagna—him eating two helpings and me unable to stomach but a few bites. We don’t talk.

It’s night by the time Liam and I leave the cabin, and I follow close behind him as he leads me to this barbaric ritual. Still, he says nothing. The comfort he offered in the truck is nowhere to be found.

The air is warm, and it wraps around me but doesn’t help my shaking. Stars blink in the sky and there isn’t a cloud in the way to disturb them. Truth be told, it’d be a fantastic night for a bonfire. One with marshmallows and laughing friends, not drunk men fondling women and burning marks in people.

With my gaze squinting at the ground, I watch for roots from the massive oak trees. I’m so focused, I don’t notice Liam has stopped and I slam into his back.

He hisses but turns to address me. “Two other men are getting their mark tonight. It will be crowded.” Liam’s gaze struggles to keep mine because mine is pulled to the raging fire and swarms of people outside the clubhouse. “Fleur, listen to me. Stay close tonight.”

The terrorized part of me wants to bury my head in my hands and weep. Another part, the angry and annoyed this is happening side of me, wants to punch Liam in the face. Stay close to him? That’s not going to get me out of being stamped by that psychopath Blitz.

I’m sick of the whiplash with him.

We stalk around the clubhouse, not through it, and smack right into the noisy crowd. Music plays from outdoor speakers, and most of the men have a beer in one hand and a female clasped in the other. I look away, heat rising to my cheeks. This is insane.

The firepit is outlined in cinderblocks stacked four high and the sheer size of the fire roars and crackles over the music and loud voices. A drunk man stumbles into me, his warm beer sloshing up and over his open bottle and onto my periwinkle top. Thank goodness it’s not white.

“Well. I’m sorry, miss.” He hiccups and leans into my face. The stench of his beer-laced breath along with the vile body odor makes me take two steps back where I’m met with the front of Liam’s hard chest. I dart to his side, and when the drunk man tries to pursue me again, Liam grabs my hand and pulls me away. The man yells out a “hey, not fair” before spinning twice in a circle and making for another woman.

When we’ve moved away from the crowded area, I’m sure Liam is going to drop my hand. However, he doesn’t. His palm engulfs mine, holding fast and tight. The rough pads of his fingers rest on top of my hand and with each jolt of movement, they scratch and rub. I’m so focused on the sensation his hand over mine causes, I miss the fact we now stand in front of Darrin.

My stomach sours.

“Liam.” Darrin nods. “Meeting tonight after this. She’ll go first.”

It’s instinct that I tug away from where Liam’s hand is tightened over mine. I want to run.

He quickly releases me, but I don’t move. I can’t.

Oh God.

Ohgodohgod.

Blitz raises his hands and claps several times, garnering the attention of the crowd. Darrin steps forward and spews some utter nonsense about their tightly knit brotherhood and how special it is when someone claims a wife. It’s all crap, and I stop listening in favor of eyeballing the trees, wondering how far I’d make it.

I don’t want to do this. I thought I had this locked down, had my nerves controlled, but I’m afraid I don’t. I’m not brave. I’m terrified. Am I built for this sort of pain?

The words Darrin speaks next cause me to shiver.

“Now we offer the horseshoe mark to Liam’s new wife, Fleur.”

Blitz stalks toward me, a sneer curling his lip, but Liam slaps an arm over his chest, stealing the branding tool from his hand.

My knees wobble and I’m afraid I’m going to faint. I can’t do this.

Liam approaches with slow, steady steps. He’s so close I have to tilt my head to look into his eyes. He takes my elbow and I glare at him, icy and cold.

“Please,” I beg. The reality of the moment is finally setting in.

Liam’s eyes dart around to the surrounding men with the barest hint of concern before his nostrils flare. He leans down close to my ear, his warm breath skirting along the rim and raising the baby hairs on my neck.

“Breathe, Fleur.”

I can’t. My breaths aren’t calm or unwavering. They’re a hiccupped mess.

“Trust me,” he says, pushing the branding iron into the hottest of flames, the iron rod glowing orange with rage.

My breath catches and I divert my eyes to the nearby pine trees, swaying in the wind. I’m shaking wildly and want to scream. But what good would that do? Probably only give Blitz and the other men something to fantasize about later, so I pinch my lips shut.

Liam moves the iron toward my wrist, using his other hand to turn it up, the underside exposed. His eyes snag on the healing welts already there and he pauses. I don’t look at him. It’s already taking every bit of my composure to stand here.

Laughter fades in and out, washing over me. The crackling fire draws my attention and I stare unblinking as it licks the night sky. Tears well in my eyes, and one slips from the corner, but I won’t let them fall. I continue to gaze at the tip of blue, dancing in the wind.

A rough thumb grazes the underside of my wrist. It’s delicate and thoughtful, everything this moment isn’t.

Liam shifts the iron, and my eyes follow the rod, finally making out its shape—a curved horseshoe, like a U with tapered ends. I flinch, twisting my wrist, but he holds fast. I search his gaze, desperate for something to anchor me, but his irises are dark, almost black, as he spreads his massive hand beneath my wrist.

“Whatever you do, hold still.”

Agony.

Pure agony sears through my body as the hiss of the iron burns into my skin. I scream in pain but keep my focus on the fire. What should be five seconds feels like a lifetime. When the iron pulls away from my skin, I bite my tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. The pain. The pain is unbearable.

It takes even longer for me to look down at the new brand when he’s done. The new mark glows pink, smaller than a quarter, but placed carefully over the handful of welts.

Cheers, which at first sound like they are underwater, become clearer. Men hoot and holler, clinking glasses and offering smacks to Liam’s back. He gives them clipped nods and smirks in their direction.

Tears stream down my face. My wrist is on fire, but all I can think is that when it heals, I’ll be able to snap two new rubber bands right over this mark, and it hurts a bit less.