Don’t stop, I think, don’t, he can’t, will he? Would he?
His hips jerk while my body presses painfully against the balcony, while my head lolls to the side as his lips tug my ear.
And that’s when I see it.
Roman.
Downstairs, looking out, only to look up and see my husband take what’s his to take.
And me as I enjoy it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Do not borrow tomorrow’s troubles today.”— King Arthur
Roman
My heart drops to my knees, my feet, it collapses onto the concrete and just lays there, dying while I watch them, and I can’t look away because I’m pissed—scratch that, livid that he would do that knowing full well I was on the perimeter.
His eyes meet mine.
Then hers.
She shoves him away. Good girl. And then he has her again in this weird angry sexual thing that should have me furious but has me watching instead like some sick pervert, as if he’s telling me, watch, it’s your job, right?
I don’t think I blink in all the time it takes for her to fall apart in his arms or for me to see the tears in her eyes because she knew the entire time I was there waiting, always waiting.
I look down at my phone and sigh, quite honestly this guy terrifies me, I shouldn’t even be this familiar with him, but here we are. Here we fucking are. He’s scary but he’s fair and he wants eyes and ears everywhere..
Godfather Tex, my own funny joke with him that clearly doesn’t go over well—ever—pops up on my screen.
Godfather Tex: Are they safe?
Me: Yes. We have enough men. Tiffany and I just arrived. He’s safe. She’s safe.
Godfather Tex: Anything suspicious? Anyone we should worry about?
I almost say yes, me, because I’m going through hell. Instead, I type back quickly.
Me: We’re in the all-clear. We’ll stay, I assume, until they come back from the honeymoon.
Godfather Tex: It might be sooner from the looks of things—it’s not good. It’s… worrisome.
I may want to throw King off a bridge, but even I don’t want him to die from something like this, where someone he loves and knows betrays him. I wouldn’t even betray him, and he’s currently naked with the woman I love.
Me: Any ideas who it is?
He takes time to type, then I can tell he deletes only to type again.
Godfather Tex: Does it really matter? I mean, does it? Someone wants what he has, so he will have to step up and keep what’s his. End of story.
I frown at my phone.
Me: He was born into it. He shouldn’t have to fight for it.
Godfather Tex: You always fight in the Families, no matter what, because at the end of the day, you have to fucking want it.
I have nothing to say to that other than the truth.
Me: He wants it.
Godfather Tex: Not so sure about that… keep an eye on him, keep them both safe, and we’ll see you soon.
Great! No pressure.
He doesn’t text anymore, so I shove my phone into my pocket, angry, confused as hell, and ready to walk away.
Because how do you come back from this? And how do you love someone who’s clearly being loved by someone else in a way that makes sense yet doesn’t?
An hour later, it’s dark. I see shadows in their windows, and I hear laughter, and I wonder if he’s that funny and pray at the same time it’s the TV.
I want to kill the man I’m supposed to protect, and yet there I stand, looking up, making sure they’re safe to… what? Fuck?
I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Thought you could use this.” Tiffany hands me a shot of tequila.
I scowl. “Could you at least do your job and stop drinking on it?”
“Oh no, this was from some prostitute that thought I’d be down.” She winks. “And I mean, for that kind of tequila…” She laughs. “Just take the shot. I’m completely sober, but you shouldn’t be, and that’s the damn truth.”
“Saw them too?”
She shrugs. “She loves you. She’s doing her job. To do anything else would be, what? Running away? Death? Can’t you see her point of view?”
“Hard to.” I throw the shot back. “When I know how she feels about him.”
Tiffany laughs at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I hesitate, then spill. “They were friends before. She used to watch him. I think it was more of a who is this guy sort of infatuation, but it still doesn’t make this hell easier, you know?”
“Man up!” She slaps me on the back and laughs, her dimples making me almost smile despite my need to choke her out. “This isn’t just life. This is business, and the sooner you realize it, accept it, the sooner your life begins.”
Yeah business, my brain says after seeing her head fall back, him kiss down her neck, her legs spread around his body.
Totally business.
I clench my fists because I never gave that to her. I never even tried because the minute I found out who she belonged to, I knew it wasn’t worth my life to mess with things.
But I wanted to.
And then when I found out she was his, I messed up, I slept with Tiffany in an effort to get back at her, not realizing she still loved me, needed me, wanted me, and now I feel fucked because I have no leg to stand on.
“It could be worse,” Tiffany finally says.
I shake my head. “How?”
“You could be dead.”
“Wow, encouraging, thank you.”
“Just try to stay calm,” she says.
God could have given me someone better, right? As a partner in crime?
I shake my head and watch as the lights turn down in their room. “Time to go to work and keep them alive.”
No matter what.
No. Matter. What.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I found Him in the shining of the stars, I marked Him in the flowering of His fields, But in His ways with men I find Him not. I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.”—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
King
She’s in the shower, and I don’t join her, and it bothers me that she didn’t ask even though I know why not. At the end of the day, I know this isn’t real, and I have enough shit to think about with my family, starting with, what the ever-loving hell?
I try to text them again.
And nothing.
No group texts.
It’s as if I’ve been kicked out of my own family, and now they’re hunting me. For one brief second, I was like, oh, that makes sense, they want me to have my privacy, but after what Roman said, it feels more like the calm before the storm.
Life before death.
The shower turns off.
I look away because I don’t think I have enough self-control to glance and not continue staring. I can hear her walking around the bathroom, picking up towels; I swear I can feel every single caress of that cloth, and then the bathroom door opens, and like, what the fuck am I supposed to do?
She’s wrapped in a plush white towel. My eyes focus on the weak tie across the front, and it occurs to me how easy it would be to pull it—how much I would enjoy it. Does she even know? Does she get it? What I would do for her? And what mountains I would move if I could? I’m not the type to stay up all night and think about things like this, but it’s hard not to be aggressive and violent and intense when the one woman you’ve always wanted was given to you only to be taken away. I hate that I keep focusing on it when it should be my own life and hers and possibly our future children, but is it so wrong to want just one thing?