Only for him, p.24
Only For Him, page 24
“Do my text messages matter with regards to … whatever you’re here for?”
He starts to push me for the name of who I messaged and I cut him off by asking, “What is all of this about?”
I’ll be damned if I’m giving them anything.
“What happened to your wrists?” Hart asks in a tone that’s much more concerned than prying. I can feel the blood drain from my face. I swallow thickly, staring at him as I think of an answer and do everything I can not to think of the water. The cage. The voices I can’t see. The fucking cold that I thought would kill me.
“Self-induced?” Barlowe presses when I don’t answer.
“If you must know, bondage is an especially favorite kink of mine,” my smart ass answers.
All of the pent-up anger and frustration spews out of me with disdain. The cops honestly don’t deserve this venom. They’re only doing their job and they didn’t do a damn thing to me. I could be polite or even silent. Instead, I don’t hold back. I’m all too aware it’s because I’m so damn careful with Declan. I’m fucking terrified of disappointing him. I’m petrified of something else happening. So all of that rage that stays buried deep down inside … I decide to unleash it.
“I think you should go,” I tell them and my voice is far stronger than I expect. Especially given how much my throat hurts. It doesn’t pain me much now; I suppose those drugs are worth the price.
“We have a few more questions first,” Hart says.
“Where were you the last two nights?” Barlowe asks.
“Your mother said she looked for you at your place of work and you weren’t there. You also weren’t at your apartment,” Hart adds.
“I’m sorry… what?” Disbelief washes through me, along with a chill from the fever. I feel sick. My poor mother. There’s no way.
“She called asking to file a missing persons report.”
My mother spoke to the cops? No fucking way. I don’t believe it. My heart thumps and that fucking monitor makes me close my eyes in absolute disdain. I can barely breathe and it takes everything in me not to grab the phone and text her right this minute. I have to keep recording.
Clenching my jaw, I tell them, “Just got a new phone. I’ll be sure to text her and let her know I’ve been under the weather.”
“Is there a reason you missed work, haven’t been to your residence in forty-eight hours and now you’re in the hospital with marks on your wrists and … what exactly are you here for?” Hart asks.
“None of your fucking business. If I had an orgy in the fucking tundra and got a cold, it’s none of your damn business.” I emphasize each word and quickly regret being such a bitch.
“I’m sorry, Officers—”
“Detectives,” Barlowe corrects and any semblance of niceties leaves me.
“I knew my mother was overprotective but damn, this seems a little much.”
“Declan Cross is a suspect in a number of crimes and you have been spotted with him numerous times in the last month,” Hart says.
He pauses and silence sits between us. Both of them stare at me and I’m forced to answer, “Is there a question there?”
“Do you have anything you’d like to tell us?” Barlowe asks.
“Your code name, perhaps?” Hart questions.
“Code name?” My voice practically squeaks. “If you mean my pet name, he calls me his little fuck toy and I rather like it.” The defensiveness raises my voice far too loud. If any hospital staff is outside the door, they undoubtedly hear me. “Please leave me the fuck alone. I don’t have anything to say.”
“If you have any knowledge of criminal activity pertaining to Declan Cross and you intentionally keep it from us, we’ll make sure that you’re convicted alongside him,” Barlowe says, attempting to intimidate me, but it’s useless. They will never get a word out of me.
The battering ram of my heart crashing against my chest is matched by the ridiculous beep, beep, beep and I’ve finally had enough, ripping the sticky electrodes the fuck off.
“I don’t consent to a search. I don’t consent to shit. And I’m not saying anything else other than, have a pleasant fucking day unless you’d like to detain me.”
A beat passes and then another. All the while, I stare at the wall rather than them. There’s no more beep, no sound at all other than the blood rushing in my ears.
It’s then that Declan comes in and I’ve never felt such relief.
“If that’s all, ma’am,” Barlowe says and they leave; Hart doesn’t say a word.
With a plastic bag in one hand, Declan watches them as they each pass, one on each side of him.
I’m so damn grateful I tore the monitors off, because if it was on right now, the beeps would give away how fast my heart is racing.
Declan continues toward me, a scowl on his face as he watches the men leave.
I swallow thickly and the moment the door closes I shove the phone into Declan’s chest.
“I recorded everything,” I tell him, my words rushed.
With his left hand, he holds his phone to his chest. With his right, he offers me the bag. “I got you soup.”
I’m hesitant to take it. He heard me, didn’t he? I have it all fucking recorded. They can’t say I said anything. I have it. I have it all on the phone he gave me. I stare at it, willing him to just look.
“They upset you?”
“They asked me questions and I didn’t tell them anything.”
“Calm down, my little pet.”
“I swear, they said my mom called them and that I was missing—”
“Hey, hey,” he says and runs a soothing hand down my hair, hushing me as I heave in a breath. “It’s okay, they’re gone.”
“I didn’t tell them anything,” I stress to him and the back of my eyes prick as I do. Tears threaten to spill out, it’s all so overwhelming. “Just listen.”
“I believe you,” he tells me, staring at me, seeming to see through me.
He kisses me, tenderly and then deeper. My lips mold to his and I want more. I need more, but he pulls away.
“I swear, whatever they tell you, I have it recorded.” I try to explain to him.
“I got your red flag text and came as soon as I could.”
“I didn’t know what to text you and I—”
“You did just fine, my little pet. Perfect even,” he tells me and I believe him, yet at the same time, I don’t. It can’t be that simple. He hasn’t even listened yet.
“I’m sorry, I should have had men outside of the room.”
“Watch it. I didn’t say anything,” I try to reassure him.
“I don’t have to watch it—”
“I want you to.” My voice is louder than I meant it to be. He needs to listen. He needs to know I didn’t say a damn thing. “I want you to know—”
“Okay, it’s okay,” he says in such a calming tone, like he’s trying to calm me down more than anything. He concedes, “I’ll watch it.”
“I don’t know that you can see anything, but you can hear it and you saw them.” I explain, feeling light-headed and unsure. I did record it. Didn’t I? I have to look down at my phone, which is still recording. I press end and watch the wheel spin until it’s done. It’s there. It’s right there. “I can prove I didn’t say anything,” I say and hold it up for him, my heart still racing.
“I believe you, Braelynn,” Declan tells me with such sincerity and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear him say it.
He believes me. “I know you wouldn’t say anything,” he adds. As I stare up at him, full of mixed emotion I can barely contain, he leans down and kisses me. My lips mold to his and my body relaxes instantly. Every inch of me giving into him, feeling safe with him, feeling comforted by his touch. He pulls away far too soon and when he does, he tells me again, “I believe you.”
I hold his hand, the one cupping my chin and I don’t want to let go of him.
“That’s all I needed.”
“Let’s check with the doctor and see if I can take you home.”
“Yes. Please,” I tell him and stop myself short of saying I want to go home. I nearly say it, but I don’t want him to think I mean my home. I need to go back with him. Right now, I can’t be alone and all I want is to be right next to Declan Cross.
DECLAN
“Better?” I question and then kiss her inner thigh. Her legs tremble around my shoulders as I prop myself up, the taste of her cunt still on my tongue. I love how she shivers with the lingering effects of her orgasm.
“Yes, Declan,” she murmurs, her dark eyes half-lidded with the potent mixture of lust and satisfaction stirring down her body. Her body arches as I toy with her, bringing the tips of my fingers up and down her slit before bending down to suck her clit again. If for no other reason than to hear that low feminine moan and to feel her fingers splaying in my hair, her nails gently scratching my scalp.
I’ve already fucked her and gotten her off four times. She’s sensitized and maybe it’s not fair to play with my fuck toy when she’s sated beyond reason. When she can barely lift her head.
But it’s been three days of her recovering and yesterday was the first time she left this room since I took her to see the doctor. She’s mostly slept, and I’ve either watched her or slept with her … although it’s proven difficult. It’s been years since I’ve taken Sweets to force myself to sleep. We’ve taken it both nights and I don’t think we’ll need it tonight. If we do, if she lies awake, tossing and turning with all of those thoughts refusing to be quiet and leave her alone, I’ll do what I did the last two nights. I’ll kiss her with the drops on my tongue, I’ll fuck her into the mattress until she’s screaming my name and then I’ll sleep beside her, my arm around her waist, her back to my front.
She’ll have peaceful, restful, dreamless sleep. Unlike me, she hasn’t had a single dream.
I sleep for hours and hours, unable to wake, but reliving nightmares, killing anyone and everyone who tries to touch her. Hooded men, all in black and outnumbering me try to take her from me. Claiming it’s necessary, claiming she shouldn’t be here. It’s a bloodbath in my terrors, but it’s heaven to wake up to Braelynn, safe and warm in my bed, kissable, fuckable, and all mine. I wake up with my heart racing and a cold sweat lining every inch of my skin. She’s in my arms, though, peacefully sleeping, unaware. As she should be.
That’s partly why I’ve stayed with her, hardly leaving my room. This past week fucked her up, I know it did. It fucked me up too. The difference is I deserved it.
I want nothing more than for my cock to be hard again and buried inside of her, reminding her of just how fucking good I am to her.
Just as I’m about to slip three fingers into her, curve my fingers and strum her G-spot, my phone buzzes again on my nightstand.
Annoyance threatens to take over as I sit up enough to see that it’s Carter. Lying beside me, Braelynn’s dark pebbled nipples beg me to give them attention too as her hand rises up her body. Her hand gently passes her breasts and she lifts her head slightly, to push her hair back, away from her face. Her eyes closed, her movements slow and her legs clenching with the heated need for release.
I’ve oversensitized my sweet naïve girl. Rising up on my knees I make a move to reach for my phone, but Braelynn mistakes my effort for something far more enjoyable.
A low groan leaves me as her eyes open and she finds mine while turning to position herself so her lips can wrap around my hardening dick.
Gripping the nape of her neck, I keep her just shy of reaching her goal.
Fuck-me eyes peek up at me. “Not yet,” I tell her and then release her, opting to cover her with the covers. “Go run the bath for us,” I tell her before turning my attention to the phone.
Braelynn is slow and careful to move, but does as commanded, careful as she slips off the edge, a murmur of sweet pleasure leaving her.
I’ll bathe her, feed her, and then fuck her again.
Checking the messages on my phone, I’m resolute in my decision to not force her to come with me to the kitchen. Carter isn’t convinced and he’s not the only one.
It hasn’t escaped me that the terrors are likely because I know the whispers going around. That she’s a rat. The very thought that men who do my bidding could possibly think she’s the enemy stirs a heat inside of me that’s uncontainable. It’s a rage like I’ve never felt in my entire life. She didn’t fucking do it. I know it in my goddamn bones.
Efforts have been made to pin it on Hale. With my throat tight I read Nate’s messages that people are questioning if Hale set her up. Some sympathize with her. Nate and Carter have said they all need to sympathize with her, but I disagree. They all need to fear saying her fucking name at all. She doesn’t exist for them. She is only mine.
Gritting my teeth, I reread the prior messages from Carter and his prying questions.
I’d texted him yesterday: I told you. Something happened, but I don’t think she knows exactly what. I don’t think she has a clue.
He responded: I’m not entirely convinced she wasn’t expecting something like the hospital scene.
The disappointment that came over me, the feeling of failure even, was unexpected. It runs through me just the same as I read the messages again.
Declan: Do you have another test for her, then?
Carter: Not at the moment. I’ll think of something.
His next question, the one that just came in, earns not just annoyance, but an anger that I’m becoming more and more familiar with. What did she do that left her with a bruised ass if it’s not related to this?
I respond to him without thinking twice: Nothing that’s any of your business.
It’s then that there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Gentle and in an easy pattern of three: knock, knock, knock.
I’d be surprised if it was Carter behind the door. I’m quick to find my boxers under the pile of clothes left in a puddle on the floor. With a quick glance to the bathroom door that’s open, and with the sound of running water, I decide to only open the door just enough as necessary.
With a slight groan of the hinges it opens and I find Jase in a dark gray suit. With a clean-shaven jaw and a charming smile, no one would ever suspect my brother to be as ruthless and cutthroat as he is. I’ve seen him kill a man for uttering his wife’s name. He’s fast with a knife, even faster with his temper.
Anyone would fear Carter from a single glance, but Jase could fool the best of them. I know that all too well. It’s never made me feel uneasy until this very moment to know that.
“Hey,” I greet him and he offers me a stack of boxes.
“These came for you?”
“It’s about damn time,” I say and accept the boxes, opening the door wider. Jase’s first instinct is to look into the room.
“She sleeping?” he questions as he glances to the bed before thinking better of it. I’m almost sure the moment he saw the sheets disturbed he realized she might be less than decent.
“How’s she feeling?” He’s careful to keep his eyes averted when he asks.
“Better. Much better,” I answer and a bit of the unease wanes. It’s unmistakable, this shift inside of me. As much as I will never forgive myself for letting her go through that, I find myself shifting the blame to my brothers.
Scratching the back of his head, Jase stares at the door until I tell him she’s not there.
“She’s in the bath, it’s fine.” With that, he relaxes somewhat, but as I pile the boxes on the bed, he stays outside of the door.
“I’m guessing these are for her too?”
“Yeah,” I answer him, checking the labels. All three of these are from Saks Fifth Avenue. I’m not sure if it’s the heels, lingerie, or the clothing that have come in for her. “As much as I love her in my T-shirts, I decided she should wear a bit more around the house.”
“You two ever going to come out of there?”
“I thought I was supposed to take off this week and next?” I remind him. “Or do you need me back.”
“You don’t need to work … just … haven’t seen you.”
“Wouldn’t you spend your vacation in bed?” I say lightly, like there isn’t another reason that I’ve avoided them and stayed with her.
“I’d like to get to know her.” His statement brings a prick at the back of my neck and a chill to flow down my shoulders. Again I’m struck by the fact that I’ve felt this before, but never toward my brothers. Never toward my family. Jase adds in my silence, “Because she means something to you … right?”
“Yeah, she does,” I answer him and shove down whatever the fuck it is that’s come over me.
“No rush,” he says and shrugs. “We should do dinner this week, though, I think? She could meet Bethany and Aria … or is it too soon for that?” he questions.
I don’t have any answer for him. All I can offer is, “Maybe, I’ll let you know.”
His expression drops slightly, but he nods and clears his throat. “There are a couple of other boxes in the kitchen too,” he tells me although his brow is pinched and his gaze shifts from me to the bathroom where the water has stopped running.
Her bath must be full.
“Thanks for bringing these down,” I start and prepare to shut the door, but his hand comes out, stopping it abruptly.
“How are you doing?” Jase asks me.
“I could be better.” The honest answer comes from me without my conscious consent.
“I can tell,” he answers and then asks, “You need anything?”
With an anxiousness in the pit of my stomach, I lie and tell him, “No, I’m good.” With that, he tells me all right and that he’ll leave me alone. Shutting the door, regret and even fear both linger.
Adrenaline flows through my veins, pumping my heart harder as I head numbly toward the bathroom. I’m not prepared for the gruesome image that flashes to mind. A bath filled with blood, the deep red line a stark contrast against the pristine white porcelain. Her throat slit just like the man who dared insult Jase’s wife. Her black hair floating like a halo along her tan skin and her eyes closed.
“I feel so much better,” she murmurs as she shifts in the milky bathwater. In a single blink the vision is gone, my beautiful Braelynn very much alive although sleepy. Steam rises gently from the heated surface of the water.
