Atonement, p.4
Atonement, page 4
“I’m not hiding.” I step into the light, arms still crossed. “And you’re getting mouthy as fuck.”
“Getting?” she says with a sneer. “You knew when you kissed this mouth what you were getting into.”
It doesn’t really bother me that she’s impossible to break, impossible to understand, and headstrong as they come. I fucking love that about her.
She turns away from me as if to dismiss me, and heads to the singlesticks, otherwise known as cudgels. She lifts one and weighs it in her hands. A slender, round stick nearly three feet long, it’s thinner at one end and thicker at the other, a suitable weapon for someone of her slim stature.
“You’re better than this, Violet,” I say, heading toward her. I grab a cudgel myself and kick my shoes off.
I face her, stick in hand. I want to bend her over and smack her ass with the damn thing.
“Better than what?” she says, eyes narrowed. Behind us, the waves crash on the shore. Violet shivers with a sudden gust of wind, then shrugs it off with impatience, like she doesn’t have time for that bullshit.
“Running,” I tell her, just before I swish my stick through the air. She easily deflects the blow, then throws her weight into sending another one my way.
“I’m not running.”
“The hell you aren’t.” Thwack. My stick hits hers with a thud. “You lost your shit in there, then stormed off like a pouty teen.”
“You go to the target range, I come here. So shoot me.” She rolls her eyes, swivels, and strikes again. I deflect the cudgel.
“I just want to know why you ran.” I swing back at her.
She scowls at me, swings the bar, and nearly knocks me on my ass. “I. Did. Not!”
I deflect the blow, then toss her one of my own. She curses under her breath, stumbling with the effort of deflecting. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she growls when she falls to one knee. She’s down long enough for me to set her off balance with another whack of my stick on hers. She ducks, and seconds later I’ve got her pinned beneath me, the cudgels forgotten. Her wrists are in my grip, and her furious gaze is pinned on me.
“My, my, my,” I tease her. “You’re in an interesting situation, now, aren’t you? In fact… I do believe this is almost familiar. Do you feel déjà vu or is it just me?”
“Get fucking off me,” she says uselessly, still pinned in my grip. I’m so much heavier than she is, it’s almost unfair how easily I pin her.
“You promised, Violet.”
She wilts a little, the smallest flicker of fire dying down in her eyes. “I made several promises to you, Mr. Master,” she says through gritted teeth. “But you made promises as well.”
Ahh. So now we’re getting somewhere.
“So this is about promises.”
She holds my gaze, her jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“Tell me, Violet. Tell me the promises we’ve made each other.”
My heart feels like it’s been stabbed when her eyes water. Violet only cries when she’s angry, and now she’s fucking furious. I hate that it’s come to this. A part of me wants to hold her to me, kiss the tears away, and promise I’ll make it better. And another part of me wants to toss her over my lap and spank her until she cries real tears, for being so goddamned infuriating and stubborn.
“I… I promised I’d never try to fight you again,” she says, somewhat abashed. One could easily argue she was trying right now.
“Right. We work together. As a team,” I say pointedly. “What promise did I make you when we found Skylar together?”
Her eyes flit away from mine, but I grab her chin and force her gaze back to me.
She blinks, a steely note coming back to her voice. “You promised me you’d find my parents’ murderer.”
I knew it was only a matter of time before we had this discussion.
“I did.”
She pushes my wrists, but she can’t move me. I double down and hold her more firmly. “And what, Cain? Here we are, and it’s almost Christmastime, and what have we done along those lines?”
Ah. It makes sense to me now.
“Did we talk about a timeframe, Violet?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Stop being an asshole and get the fuck off of me.”
“Answer me.”
I hold her harder until she growls and reluctantly admits, “No.”
“And you forgot something else, sweetheart. Didn’t you?”
She tries to look away again, but my fingers on her chin yank her eyes back to mine. “Didn’t you?”
She inhales, then pushes her breath out and juts her chin. “I did.”
“Tell me, Violet.”
She clenches her jaw and doesn’t speak.
I lean in closer, my grip tighter. “You fucking tell me or I’ll make you, and you know exactly how.”
She shivers. She won’t admit it, but even angry she’s aroused when I threaten to dominate her.
“Fine. Fine. I… I promised you that…” she blinks, and her voice is a little choked. “I promised you that I was yours.”
I lean down closer and kiss her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, and a cool breeze stirs over us.
“We made a deal, Miss Price. And I won’t let you forget it.”
She opens her eyes. The look she gives me stabs my heart. “You won’t let me forget my promise to you, but what about your promise to me? Cain, I can’t stand it anymore.”
“Can’t stand what?”
Her eyes plead with me. “Let me up, and I’ll explain. You’re heavy.”
I let her go and sit on the ground beside her. She pouts, rubbing her wrists. “I’ve had it. Every fucking job we do that has nothing to do with why I came here. Fucking check the identity of a new hire. Done. Follow the cheating ex of your millionaire playboy’s bestie. Done. Vet the legitimacy of a potential business partner for some god-awful billionaire and his harem. Done. Find the arsonist responsible for a crime. Done. I half expected Fontaina to ask you to babysit her daughter on her next goddamn tour, and the worst of it? I would’ve expected you to accept!”
When I cringe at that, she nods. “Exactly.”
“My bad, then.”
She drags her knees to her chest and buries her head on them. “I remind you why I’m here, and all you’ve got is ‘my bad?’ No apology?”
“I don’t owe you an apology.”
She leaps to her feet, and I half expect her to smack me upside the head with the cudgel, but I’m quicker than she is. In one quick movement, I’ve swept her off her feet and I’m carrying her back up to the house.
“Put me down! Put me fucking down!”
“No. I have to show you something.”
“You can’t show me while I’m on my own two damn feet?”
I don’t say anything for long minutes while I carry her back to the house.
“Violet.”
Sometimes the sound of my voice when I call her name is enough for her to settle down. She sighs, a little of the fight draining out of her. “What?”
“I asked you if you trusted me.”
She nods, again trying to look away. Her face turns away from mine. “Yes.”
“And do you remember what you said to me?”
We’d sat in bed, her curled up on my lap after target practice, a week after we found Skylar. “Do you trust me?” I’d asked her.
She blows out a breath. “I said there’s no one in the world I trust more. But that was before.”
“Before what?” We’ve almost reached the top of the hill. The bright beam of yellow light from the kitchen casts a welcoming glow on the path before me.
“Before I… knew you would take so long.”
I almost laugh at that. I would, if she wasn’t so damn serious.
“Do you trust me now?”
She thinks before she speaks, but it doesn’t disappoint me. I like that she only speaks the truth. It gives strength and merit to her words.
“I do.”
I wasn’t ready to show her anything. I wanted more information before I let her in, because I don’t want to give her false hope. But it’s time.
We reach the back door. I settle her to the ground and take her by the hand.
“Then follow me.”
Chapter Five
Violet
* * *
Damn right he should’ve talked to me.
He’s got to go and play the damn trust card on me.
No fair.
Of course I trust him. There’s no one in the world I trust more than him, but I’m not a patient girl. I’ve never even pretended to be any different than I am.
I don’t trust people easily, but when you’ve been through what Cain and I have together… things are different.
I knew it the first time I looked into his eyes after he’d killed a man. There was a stark honesty and fearlessness I’d never seen in another human.
Ever.
And yes… I trust him.
But down in the living room, with the cinnamon-scented pinecones decorating the mantle, and pumpkin spice everything being cooked up in the kitchen… it reminds me that Christmas is coming.
My parents were killed at Christmas.
I feel as if the days are passing like sand through an hourglass, and I’m not sure where we’ll be when the last grain of sand falls.
After we secured Skylar, I made a promise to Cain, and I always keep my promises.
I remember the conversation well. He was sitting in his office when he beckoned to me. He explained how he would help me find my parents and what he’d ask from me in return.
* * *
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you.”
“Me?”
“You. All of you. Carte blanche to do whatever I want to you, whenever I want to. Anytime, anywhere.”
“I have the distinct feeling I’d… both hate and love every minute of what you’d do to me… yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, Cain. I accept your terms. I’m yours.”
* * *
And I’ve given him… me. All of me. Over, and over, and over again, and no, it hasn’t been painful. Ours is a unique relationship, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and it honestly goes far beyond mere sex.
There’s an intensity to Cain I crave. A fearlessness. One might label him an “alpha male,” but that only scrapes the very surface of who he really is.
What he really does.
Cain Master is a man in a camp of his own.
And I prided myself on understanding that. On understanding him.
At what cost?
Has he used me? Has he kept me here with him for companionship, never fully intending on helping me find my parents’ killer?
Or… has he found that there’s nothing but dead ends?
I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what to hope for.
I don’t even know if I’m ready to face my parents’ murderer, but I know it was what brought me here, right to his doorstep, ready to barter.
I didn’t have the money he charged for a job like this. All I had to offer him was me.
My skills. My talents.
My body.
I never planned on whoring myself out, but now that I’m here…
No. No, I won’t let my mind go there.
Cain’s huge, rambling mansion of a house overlooks the Salem waterfront north of Boston. This time of year, the leaves have mostly fallen, leaving stark branches that warn of cold winter days and impending snow and ice, but a few brilliant orange maple leaves still cling with tenacity to low-hanging limbs. Cain brushes past them, and a few more flutter to the ground.
He yanks open the back door, and the smell of roasting chicken, potatoes, and Alma’s homemade bread wafts through the door toward us.
I hate the thought of leaving here. I hate the thought of starting afresh when I had the promise of everything I wanted right here. I hate the thought of leaving Cain.
But I’m too independent to wait on a man. Even the huge, hulking, alpha of a man plowing his way to his office right now.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, Mr. Master,” Alma calls from the stove, where she’s stirring a large skillet of greens.
“Might not be down tonight, Alma.”
Interesting. How much does he have to show me?
She looks over her shoulder at me, and I shrug at her. “Would you like me to keep the food warm for you?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m not sure when we’ll be down.”
“I’ll send it up then.”
“Perfect.”
Well that’s promising. Maybe he’s got more to tell me than I expected he did.
We walk through the house, him a few paces ahead of me. My senses are assaulted by everything Skylar’s done to decorate. Scented pinecones on the mantle, rustic wooden orange pumpkins on the bookshelves, and a smattering of scented candles in yellows and browns on a little side table.
I should be happy she’s enjoying herself. The weeks following her abduction and assault were dark for Skylar. At first, she wouldn’t get out of bed or talk to anyone for days on end. I pushed through. I made her talk to me. I would bring her breakfast in her room and chatter away, even though she sometimes didn’t respond at all. It was days until she began to talk to me, and once she did, it seemed she had quite a bit to say.
Cain likes that we’ve befriended each other. He’s told me we’re the two women who mean more to him than anything in the world, and he likes that we’re here, under his roof. Can’t be that way forever, though, and we both know it.
Eventually, Skylar will have to be independent again. She’ll find a love interest, or a job that requires her to travel, or… something.
And me? I don’t belong here and never have.
I’m here to fulfill a mission. I’m here to fulfill my end of the bargain. And when that’s over… my heart hurts at the thought.
Henri’s in the living room, on his laptop, when we enter. Older than I am but a bit younger than Cain, Henri is pale, with a receding hairline, but wiry and strong. He lost eyesight in one eye during a fight overseas, and now swears off any formal office arrangement.
He nods in greeting to us, but never takes his eyes off the screen. He says he’s allergic to a desk. I think it has something to do with his poor eyesight and the bright lighting in here by the large picture windows.
Henri opens his mouth but, seeing that Cain’s on a mission, he slams it shut.
Joe’s gathering a few men in the hall for a training of some sort. They’re wearing camouflaged gear and boots, and standing at attention like soldiers in boot camp. When Cain passes, they all watch him with wide-eyed wonder and admiration.
He inspires that type of response no matter where we go. It’s got something to do with the way he carries himself, I think.
“Cain,” Skylar yells from her room on the third floor. “When can we get a Christmas tree?”
“Christ,” he mutters and rolls his eyes. I’m guessing that won’t be an after-Thanksgiving special for him then.
His phone beeps with a text, then again with a call. He glances at the screen with a scowl, then powers it off.
Oh. Oh, wow. I’ve never seen him shut his phone completely off.
He really is giving me his undivided attention.
I wonder if I’ve read him wrong all this time…
When we reach his office door, he drops all semblance of being Mr. Nice. I watch, with more than a little trepidation, as he yanks open his door, then gestures for me to go in. “Please,” he says with a frown. “You first.”
I walk ahead of him tentatively, as if waiting for him to pounce on me at any minute or at the very least smack my ass.
I have no idea why. I can’t really put my finger on it. I don’t know if it’s the predatory look in his eyes, or his take-no-prisoners tone of voice. I don’t know if it’s because he’s basically told everyone who works for him to leave us alone, or because I threw down the gauntlet by the training field. But he has plans for me, and I have no idea what those plans are.
The door shuts behind us, and I let out an audible gasp.
“Why so scared, Violet?” Cain asks, in a tone that tells me he’s fucking pleased with himself.
“You just have that look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
He stalks to his desktop like he’s about to wrestle it to the floor, and when I don’t respond at first, his narrowed gaze cuts to me. I open my mouth, and I’m about to respond, when there’s a sharp knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Cain practically fumes.
“Joe.”
“Come in.” He points to a chair for me to sit in, and I glare right back at him. No, you do not, Mr. Master. He shakes his head at me, his frown promising that we’re going to have a serious talk when Joe’s gone.
The tension in the air must be palpable because Joe freezes mid-step and looks from me to Cain. “Bad timing?”
“No. What is it?” Cain asks. He fires up the laptop.
“Got another call from Robbins.”
“Fucking hell,” Cain mutters to himself. “What now?”
“Wants an update?”
“I’ll give her a fucking update,” I volunteer, but Cain slices a hand in my direction as if telling me to knock it off. The goddamn nerve of him…
“She says it’s been three days, and she wants to know when you’ll have the information.”
“You can tell her, per our contract, that I need a week or more before I respond, but that I always try to respond within a week. It’s been three days.”
He grimaces, then nods. “She’s impatient.”
Cain’s eyes narrow. “So am I.”
He’s got that right.
The door finally shuts with a bang when Joe leaves. Cain stands, storms over to the door, then throws the deadbolt.
My heart beats faster.
I let my eyes rove over him for a few seconds, and I don’t breathe while I do. He’s wearing one of those long-sleeved faded tees in a dark gray that brings out the blue-gray storms in his eyes he gets from time to time. It’s tight across his chest and arms, like most clothes designed for normal humans typically are. He’s wearing faded jeans, frayed at the bottom. One might think they’re stylish, but if I know Cain, it’s because it’s one of only a handful of pairs he owns, and he’s owned them for decades.
