Is your phone as dead as your mother?
I spent the night in your room, Claire, humping your pillows, envisioning you choking on my cock, eyes watering. Claire. Claire. Claire. I could write an epic fantasy on the sounds you made in my thoughts. You know you have to come through for me on this, on us. Because, Claire, I’ve had the night under your sheets to think about it, about you. About me. I think I want to know you, Claire. I think I want to share the Montgomery fortune with you. I have plans, Claire. Plans I think you will enjoy. Have you ever been to Mexico? Brazil? You’ve probably never left the country, have you? I think it would be good, for both of us. We will get to know one another holding pina coladas on a beach.
If you get the money.
I’m not some soft, unsophisticated motherfucker, though, Claire. I will hurt you. I will hunt you down and pull you apart piece by piece if you don’t come through for me. For us.
Do you know how lucky you are to have me on your side in all of this? You’re the luckiest girl on the face of the earth right now, Claire. I choose to share the wealth of those filthy pigs with you. I choose it, Claire, because it doesn’t seem like anyone in your miserable life ever chose you, did they? See how lucky you are to have me here protecting you?
Come back home, Claire. I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to be inside you, to fill you with every part of me. After we can sit on your bed, on the sheets we stained with our bodies, and make plans. We can go anywhere. Be anyone we want. But I need you to know I want you to be part of this with me, Claire. I want you here, with me. Now.
Come home to me.
Chapter 18
Claire
My sleep is restless. I’ve tossed and turned for hours. The fire is too hot, the cabin is too cold, and Vaughn is too real. He’s real enough to walk through my dreams and take hold of me like a vice on my heart, squeezing and squeezing.
Nightmares mix with memories—love, loss, the absolute loneliness of my life—all hazy around the edges, but in them all Vaughn is there. He haunts them all, he haunts me still, doesn’t he? Even after all the years that have passed, I can still feel the heartbeat of what we had. I can still taste him on my lips, feel his warm touch on my skin. I never stopped wanting him, needing him. I’ve never stopped being in love with him.
The fire crackles loudly, and I grasp at the blankets we’re wrapped in. God help me, I want to get back to us, I want to let him in. I’ll let him have all of me, everything—my love, my trust, my pain. My hands search for his skin, his warmth, but the place next to me where he slept is empty and cold.
Then a pounding on the door starts. A fist like iron banging away at the wood. I scrabble in the tangle of blankets until I’m sitting straight up. My head spins from the remnants of my strange dreams—my vision still a blur of sleep and some unseen doom.
“What’s going on?” My voice rasps and breaks, my throat burns like I’ve been held underwater for way too long. I try to cough and clear it out. That only makes it hurt more. I look for Vaughn, maybe he can get me a glass of water, but his back is to me and he’s walking toward the sounds of hammering fists at the front door.
I climb quickly to my feet and wrap the blanket tightly around me. It’s odd that Vaughn’s already dressed. When did that happen? How long ago did he slip away from me and begin his day without me? And who is at the door? Could it be the person who is trying to hurt me? Why would Vaughn just open the door to an axe-murdering, blackmailing psychopath?
I rush into the kitchen, away from the door. “What if that’s the psycho?” I croak, trying to grasp the handle of the sink’s faucet. All I can think about it dowsing the flames in my throat with water. And maybe arming myself with a steak knife from one of the drawers.
“It’s not the psycho,” Vaughn growls.
I spin on my heels. I shoved my face under the stream of water and now it’s dripping down my chin and neck as I face Vaughn. An uneasy feeling creeps along my skin as he opens the door.
The blast of icy wind and snow that explodes through the room chills me to the bone. A man, tall and slender, covered from head to toe with winter gear stomps in. He slams the door behind him and shakes the snow off his hat and shoulders.
My stomach flutters happily when I recognize the face, older now, more manly and mature.
“Matteo?” I whisper. I haven’t seen him since that horrible summer night. Unlike the small glimpses I got of Vaughn’s life through social media and tabloids, I haven’t even seen a picture of Matteo in all these years. I never thought to search for him online or look him up. Thinking back now, with him standing in the same room as me, I probably should have. He wasn’t a Montgomery, he had none of their money or fancy education, why had I never thought to find him?
Matteo’s eyes dart from Vaughn’s to mine and back to Vaughn’s. He only looks vaguely similar to the boy I once knew, maybe he’s having a hard time recognizing me as well. I pull the blankets tighter around me, suddenly feeling the bite of embarrassment chill every inch of my skin.
“Claire?” he asks, pulling his coat off his shoulders. “Claire Radcliffe?” Again, he looks from me to Vaughn. Back and forth, over and over. He’s stunned about seeing me here.
Vaughn, meanwhile, doesn’t seem able to look in my direction. What is that about? What happened to all those things he said to me? Did something change between the time we spoke and now?
Maybe he doesn’t want Matteo or anyone in his family to know why we were stuck here together. Of course, I’m so stupid. Why would he want anyone to know about our parents? That would cause more of an issue when we eventually tell his mother and sister we reconnected. I’m not particularly sure I want to keep their horrible sins a secret, though.
I’m not really sure how I feel about any of this.
“Claire, is that really you?” He comes over and hugs me in an awkward one-armed embrace. It’s almost as if he thinks I might be made of china—that I may somehow break.
Matteo eyes Vaughn curiously. “How? I mean,” he laughs nervously. “What’s going on? Why is she here? And what is this place?”
“We just met up here to fuck,” Vaughn gloats, with a sickening smirk.
Heat explodes across my cheeks, spreading across my skin and stinging the tips of my ears. My breath catches and I gasp, choking on the flood of saliva that fills my mouth. Why? Why would he say that? What is he thinking?
Vaughn’s attention turns to me and his smirk turns into an expression of pure and utter disgust. “You’re not going to call me in a month to say you’re pregnant, right?” His voice drops menacingly, and he laughs bitterly, “I’m surprised your mother never pulled that on my father.”
Matteo flinches back at Vaughn’s accusations.
My stomach drops.
What happened to last night? What happened to missing me? What about all the things he said—all the things he felt? What about—
No. I’m not doing this right now in front of them. Screw him.
“Don’t worry,” I say as steadily as I can, “after I get out of here you will never see or hear of me again.”
“Good,” he says, pulling on his coat. “I called Matteo to bring his truck to get us out of here. I’ll have him drop you under whatever rock you crawled out from, but you’ll have to deal with your car stuck up here on your own. That’s not my problem.”