“Exactly, you shitstain, now you get why you should be zipping it and listening to what we have to say.”
I raise my hands. “I’ll hold onto every word.”
Michael snorts, then trains those dark eyes on me. The menace emanating from him reminds me the ex-Mafia Don is not to be trifled with.
“Thank you for your help taking care of that bastard.”
He tilts his head. “He’s being kept alive until you get a chance to decide on his fate.”
Yeah, that scum-of-the-earth stalker is in the hospital, being guarded by cops who are on JJ’s payroll. Despite being bashed over the head with a skillet and thrown down the fire escape, the motherfucker survived. Not for long, though. Once I’m well enough, I plan to finish off the job. JJ also made sure the police wouldn’t bother Abby about it. It’s the least I could do for her, after all.
Sinclair, who headed to the kitchen when they arrived, comes back with a tray filled with mugs. Steam swirls from their contents.
I eye the mug of liquid he slides in front of me. It has what looks like a tea bag floating on the surface.
“It’s herbal tea,” he drawls at my unspoken question.
“Eh?” I blink as he walks around the room and the rest of the men, even Declan, take a cup. Then, Sinclair sits down on the other side of the couch from me.
“Drink,” he growls.
I take a sip, and gag. “The fuck is this?”
“Chamomile, it’s good for the nerves,” he says with a straight face.
“Nothing wrong with my nerves.”
“Not yet.” He smirks. Michael bares his teeth. JJ chuckles. Declan’s shoulders shake. He glances down into his cup—which I notice he’s not taken a sip from yet. Coward.
“What the fuck do you mean?” I narrow my gaze.
JJ leans back in his seat. “We’re here to teach you the art of groveling.”
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” I splutter.
“You heard me, boy.” His grin widens. “I assume you want to win back the love of your life?”
I nod slowly.
“Then I’m afraid groveling is a rite of passage you’ll have to, sadly, endure,” he declares.
“Boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands are only as good as the grovel they give,” Michael rumbles.
Sinclair nods. “It’s the only thing that stands between a life in which you have your soulmate by your side and one in which you take a fast train to becoming a sad, lonely and bitter man who let the one slip away.”
“On that note…” Declan places the mug on the side table, then rises to his feet. “Uh, I just remembered I have somewhere very urgent to be. Good luck, ol’ chap.” The fucker pivots and marches off.
“Your time will come. Just you wait, you cumwipe,” I yell after him.
“What are you, five?” JJ snickers.
“I might as well be, the way you guys are talking to me.”
“Just calling it as we see it, dick-canard,” Sinclair says in a genial voice.
I take another sip of the tea—because why not? My life is already in the toilet. Come to think of it, it isn’t as horrifying as the first mouthful was. Maybe, I’m getting used to it. Which is a more frightening thought, actually. “Is there a reason you chose this particular type of herb?” I scowl at Sinclair.
“Finally, he gets it,” Sinclair places his mug on the table next to him. JJ and Michael follow his lead.
“Personally, I never drink chamomile, but it serves its purpose,” JJ murmurs.
“Wha—?” I glance between the three men, then down at the mug of tea. I hesitate, then take another sip, and this one goes down smoothly, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. In fact, I dare say, a warm feeling envelops my stomach, then radiates out to my extremities. “Huh. It really does have a bracing effect.”
“No shit,” Sinclair’s smirk widens.
“And, as you finally guessed, there’s an allegory hidden in this entire chamomile tea business.”
“There is?” I frown, then because—what the fuck, I’m going for broke here—I drain the entire fucking mug like it’s the finest whiskey and place it with a thump on the table next to me.
“Care to take a guess?” Michael drawls.
“Something to do with how the more you swallow your pride, the easier it gets?” I wager.
"And?" JJ asks.
"And that the more you humble yourself for your woman, the more used to it you get?"
Sinclair makes a circular motion with his palm, indicating I should continue.
I rise to my feet and begin to pace, slowly. My still-healing wound protests. The various aches and pains I carry from my run in with that motherfucker make themselves known, but I push them aside. Nothing like a bit of pain to cleave clarity through the myriad of thoughts running through my head.
I know what they’re trying to tell me. In fact, I’m sure I spot a glimmer of the thought I need to pin down hiding just out of view in the corner of my mind. I stop, then turn to them. "So, what you’re trying to tell me, what I already know, but what you jokers have clarified further for me, is that I’m not getting out of this. It needs to be an epic kind of a grovel for me to win her back?"
JJ jerks his chin. "More than epic, a grovel as deep as the Grand Canyon—"
"—Followed by a grand gesture of Everest proportions," Michael interjects.
"A grand gesture?”
"The grandest of grand gestures." Sinclair nods.
"No pressure." I laugh nervously.
"It’s only your life at stake," JJ murmurs.
A life that already belongs to her. I took a knife for her. I’d do it all over again, given a choice. It’s my fault that bastard came for her a second time anyway, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get another chance.
I look between them. "I’m going to do everything in my power to make it up to her. I’m going to use every resource at my disposal to win her back. But first" —I turn to Michael— “take me to her scumbag stalker. We have unfinished business."
49
Abby
A thirty-five-year-old man in police custody succumbed to his injuries last night in Lambeth hospital. Drew Gockel, a south London resident, was arrested on charges of breaking and entry and assault, and…
The rest of the words on my phone screen blur in front of my eyes. I can’t take my gaze off the picture of the sullen face which resembles that of my stalker. In fact, it definitely is my stalker, though he’s at least ten years younger in the picture. Tension drains from my shoulders. I didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been about this situation, how much a part of me believed he’d come back for me again, until I saw the news piece. That guy? He won’t bother you again, Cade’s voice whispers in my ears.
Is it a coincidence that he’s dead? Did Cade get to him? Nope, Cade couldn’t do that. And, definitely not, when the guy was in prison. Likely, he took a good look at his situation and decided to take his life. I shouldn’t feel so thankful he’s gone. I shouldn’t feel so much more at ease, now that he’s not alive anymore… And yet, the fact that he’s definitely not going to reappear in my life pulses a tremor of relief through my veins. I click out of the screen and rise to my feet, before heading out of my room and toward the kitchen.