Chapter 8
Mira
- Don’t leave the house without an escort
- Don’t go into the shed
- Don’t invite anyone over
- Don’t ask questions about visitors
- Don’t speak to visitors unless spoken to
- Don’t open the door without permission
- Stop sulking
I glared at Blaine from behind the kitchen counter, where I’d been watching him write down the “house rules” in big, black letters on the fridge. My ire had grown for every line, but the final one pushed me over the edge, my irritation finally overwhelming whatever fear was left from the drive here. Being surrounded by goons was such a sharp reminder of exactly what sort of family I’d gotten married into, and Blaine had been quiet and broody ever since our confrontation in the morning. On top of how the morning had started out, I’d been too shaken to feel anything but the return of my anxiety.
That is, until the arsehole started making The List.
“Maybe I’d stop ‘sulking’ if you stopped acting like I’m your prisoner. What’s number eight going to be? That I have to ask before going to the bathroom?”
Blaine rubbed at his neck as if he was trying to work out a particularly bothersome knot, but he didn’t turn around to look at me. In fact, he hadn’t looked at me all day, since he left our bedroom in a huff. “I don’t give a fuck about what you do when we’re alone, as long as you do it inside the house. These rules are as much for your sake as they are mine.”
“Go on. I can’t wait to hear how it’s for my own sake that I can’t have visitors.” I was pretty pleased with my dry tone.
He finally turned around then, and looked at me with one eyebrow cocked. “It’s been a while since you’ve lived in this world, hasn’t it?”
“You mean, since I’ve had to live among criminals? Yeah, it has.”
Blaine capped the black marker he’d been using to write on the American-style fridge, crossed both arms over his chest so his muscles bulged against the strain of his T-shirt, and leaned a shoulder against the appliance. “My family has a lot of enemies, and you’re a soft and squishy target. I can guarantee you that every single one of those enemies is trying to find a way to get to you as we speak. So say you invite a friend over, and someone watched them walk in the door here. You think many of the men who are out to get me would hesitate to snatch them off the street to find out anything they might know about us?”
I paled at that implication. No, I knew that sort of men all too well. They wouldn’t hesitate to use torture if they thought they could gain an advantage.
“Want to order a pizza? If it’s not checked by one of our guys, you have no guarantee it’s not delivered by a hitman in disguise. Feel like taking a wander around the neighborhood? Those same men who would snatch up your friends in a second would do much, much worse to you. So you might think of yourself as a prisoner if that floats your boat, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a lot better than the alternative.”
I bit my lip at his challenging stare, more than a little annoyed at his excellent use of logic. I wasn’t in the mood to back down. “And the shed? What horrors will befall me if I dare venture into the backyard? You keeping a magical rose in a glass jar or something?”
Blaine grunted and shoved off the fridge so he could make his way toward the French doors between the kitchen and the hallway. “You say you’ve not been involved in this world for a while. Let’s keep it that way.”
I stared after him as he sauntered out of the room, but quickly averted my gaze when he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his tattooed and perfectly muscled back. There was absolutely no need to see anymore of Blaine naked. Not after what had happened in that blasted hotel room.
“I’m grabbing a shower. My room’s the big one on the first floor. Pick any of the others for yourself, and do whatever the fuck you want to the rest of the house,” he called as he disappeared around the corner. The sound of his steps made it obvious that he was headed up the large staircase I’d seen when we came in through the front door.
Great. I looked around the large kitchen while pointedly ignoring the offensive list on the fridge. The house seemed about as warm and inviting as my new husband—no decorative touches lit up the bare surfaces and stainless steel appliances.
Not that I really wanted Blaine to be “warm and inviting,” no siree. My cheeks flushed hotly at the memories I’d been doing my best to suppress all day. Thanks to the hefty amounts of alcohol in my system, I didn’t have a fully intact recollection of what exactly had happened between us, but my brain didn’t spare me many details from the actual sex. The hot, sweaty, and ridiculously good sex.
Not that I’d been able to live in ignorance, even if my brain wasn’t such a dick. Every muscle in my body hurt, like I’d been worked over good and thorough, leaving a lazy sort of ache not only in my limbs but also in the kind of places whiskey just didn’t get you sore.
It had taken all I had not to limp in front of Blaine or his “men.” It was bad enough I’d had the biggest lapse in judgment of all time—I wasn’t about to boost the jerk’s ego any further by acknowledging how stupidly well-endowed he was.
Not that he didn’t already know. Logging around a cock the size of a damn water bottle was not something a man as arrogant as Blaine would be ignorant about.
God dammit! And here I was, obsessing about the damn thing when I should be busy either having a nervous breakdown or figuring out a plan as to how to get out of this nightmare of an arranged marriage. Just great!
I spent most of the afternoon exploring my new home, partly to keep my mind off any further unsavory thoughts of Blaine.
I had thought this was Blaine’s house, but when I walked around, I saw that every room was only sparsely decorated with the necessities, and a few of them had unopened moving boxes scattered around. Seemed like we were both new occupants.
The house itself turned out to be gorgeous and absolutely huge. It was an Edwardian-style townhouse located off a quiet street, but during my initial explorations I counted six bedrooms, five living rooms, a library, and a couple of smaller, empty rooms that would likely make good offices or playrooms. I didn’t count that many bathrooms, but most of the bedrooms seemed to be en-suite.
Crime had to be paying more than well for the Steels, because this house would have been so expensive it could have fed an African village for a decade.
I picked one of the smaller bedrooms located on the top floor. It wasn’t the grandest of spaces, but it was plenty big enough for me, and it had a window bench with a great view over the lush back yard. Whoever had lived here before, they’d hired a superb landscaper.
After dragging my suitcase upstairs, I collapsed on the already made bed for a power nap, too physically and emotionally drained to even get undressed.
* * *
When I woke up again it was dark outside, and my hangover seemed more or less on the retreat.
I lay in the darkness for a bit and let my mind settle in for the first time since my family found me.
And as I did, I felt myself finally start to relax a bit. Yes, the worst had happened, but I was still alive. They hadn’t killed me, and as I’d realized last night in my drunken stupor, my new marriage meant that I was free of them. I might have been dragged back into the criminal underworld, but I wasn’t a teenager anymore. And, dangerous as he might be, Blaine didn’t seem like he would physically harm me. In fact, I’d kicked at him and he hadn’t raised his hand in retaliation. Not really, anyway.
I flushed at the hazy memory of his hand smacking down between my legs. I probably should be outraged, now that alcohol wasn’t fogging over my brain, but all I could muster was embarrassment—and a hot stab of desire.
No, the only physical danger I was in from Blaine was my own body’s mutiny every time he got near me. Pure, carnal attraction I should be able to ignore.
Which meant it was time to face my fears and realize that I wasn’t helpless anymore. I had been for the last week, locked up like a sacrificial lamb, but that was over now.
I hugged myself close and breathed deeply, repeating that phrase in my head again and again until an inkling of belief took root in my mind.
I was a grown woman now, not an abused child, and I had years of training in dealing with the human psyche. If I could help my patients, then I could help myself.
I can’t say that calmness took over me as I lay there, but more a certain sense of determination that allowed me to focus like I hadn’t been able to since my family found me. If I wanted out of this, then I could find my way with calm planning.
Blaine would no doubt stop me from leaving. Now that we were legally married, it would be an insult to his honor if his wife up and abandoned him. His reputation would suffer, and I knew all too well that honor was everything to men like him.
I briefly touched a hand to my midsection on top of my shirt. I couldn’t feel the scars through the fabric, but I knew they were there. Ugly reminders of just how important honor was to men in this business.
But would he chase me down if I got away? I highly doubted it. Once I was out of London, the damage would have already been done, and I was under no illusion that he would grieve my departure. He and his family would be in their full right to cancel any business arrangements they’d made with my father, and likely also demand compensation, so as long as I figured out a way out of the city, Blaine wouldn’t be a problem.
But my own family would.
Just the thought of my father’s anger made me clench my hands in the blankets to stop them from shaking. If they found me after I’d cost them money and reputation, they would kill me. End of story.
When I ran away the first time, I’d been nothing more than a useless daughter, and I was pretty sure no one had spent much time looking for me. I’d like to think that maybe my mother had at least called around to my classmates, but who knew? It was always about the business, and I’d… I’d not been of any help there.
I bit down on my quivering lip until I tasted blood, reducing those memories to nothing more than a dark space in my consciousness. My gut twisted and I focused on breathing deeply again until the bout of anxiety passed.
Sure, talking about past trauma is good for the soul—no one knows that better than a psychologist. But I’d always known, with every bone in my body, that once I punctured that abscess, what would come pouring out would be dark and hideous. Right now, I needed to focus on forming and executing a plan to get out of my forced marriage—not digging in painful memories.
If I wanted to avoid my family, then I’d need to get further away than their network could reach, which would mean getting out of Great Britain. Getting a visa would be hard without Blaine noticing, but with the right to free travel within Europe, that didn’t have to be a problem.
Which just left me with the issue of getting out of London and away from the Steels.
Right now, Blaine had zero reason to trust me, which the set of rules on the fridge so clearly displayed. He would undoubtedly have some measures ready to keep me in the house, and I had no way of knowing what or where they were—apart from the two goons who had followed us from the hotel, and who I’d seen take up a stance on each side of our front door. As efficient at keeping enemies out as they were at keeping me in.
But if Blaine maybe trusted me, at least a little…
My heart thumped uneasily and I pressed a hand to my chest and frowned. Scary as the thought was, perhaps getting closer to my new husband wasn’t the worst of ideas.
So far, the way I’d acted around him had been more resemblant of a teenager than a grown woman. A horny teenager.
Sure, I hadn’t exactly been in the best state of mind, but if I wanted him to trust me enough to afford me some slack on the rules, I’d likely need him to respect me. Yelling at him and blaming him for everything that had gone wrong was not going to get me far.
So that was it—I had a plan, even if it was still a bit rough around the edges. And the first step was to gain Blaine’s respect. Get closer to him.
Might have been a lot easier if he wasn’t such a dick.
* * * *