Hush (Black Lotus #3) (4 page)

“Not as much as losing you,” he responds, wrapping his hand around my wrist while I continue to run my fingers along my betrayal that’s now branded on him for eternity.

“I manipulated you. I lied.”

“You did. And I hate you for that. I hate you for what your lies turned me into.”

“But you missed me?”

“I couldn’t unlove you.”

Pressing my hand flat against his chest, I feel his heart pumping, and I decide to rip a piece of my own heart off to give to him, exposing a tiny part of what I know I must protect in the fortress of my soul. Declan has always had a way of cutting right through to the core of me. So, I hand over my offering in the form of truth, letting him know, “You scare me.”

His heartbeat grows in force, exposing his frustration to my words.

“What about me scares you?”

“The way you break my walls so easily.”

“Why do you want walls between us?”

“Because I’m afraid to feel right now. There’s so much inside me that I’m fighting off. I’m scared it’ll be too much.”

He lets go of a hard breath, upset with what I just admitted to him. He drops his head for a moment, and then, with controlled force, he grabs my other wrist and pushes me down onto the bed. I don’t resist him when he straddles my legs and sits on top of my thighs. Green eyes scream for obedience, and I give him just that when he rips my top open, tearing the fabric and breaking the buttons to expose my breasts.

The chill of the air hardens my nipples instantly, but it isn’t my tits he’s after. He quickly gathers both my wrists into his one hand, restraining me, and then takes his other and presses it firmly to the center of my chest.

“This is mine,” he professes. “You want me?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“You want to be with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then this little heart of yours is mine. It beats for me, and I’ll provide its protection. You hear me?”

I nod.

“You need to trust me enough to take care of you. I won’t ever let you break.”

The rise and fall of my chest hits hard as I take hold of his words, needing them to calm my fears.

“Do you trust me?”

I nod again.

“Tell me.”

“I trust you.”

Another lie.

I LEFT ELIZABETH
reading in the library. It’s been a few days since I found her, and even though bruises are fading and swelling is dissipating, she continues to be distant. I’ve yet to fuck her, not that I haven’t tried, but I also haven’t pushed. Taming the beast inside me isn’t something I enjoy while I wait impatiently for her fragility to wane.

Having Lachlan here has helped though. Whatever friendship they forged while she was staying at The Water Lily has dulcified the awkwardness for all of us, leaving just minor remnants. Knowing what Lachlan and I saw that night, the state we found Elizabeth in, doesn’t seem to bother her as much as one would presume, as much as it bothers me. I figure her lack of shame stems from her childhood and what she was forced to endure. It was just the other day she admitted that she saw herself as nothing more than rot.

“McKinnon,” Lachlan announces, redirecting my thoughts when I walk through the door of the guesthouse he’s staying in. “Sorry I bailed on breakfast this morning, I hope Elizabeth wasn’t offended.”

“Not at all. Important call?”

“Yes, actually.”

I walk farther into the house and take a seat in the living area.

“I got information about Steve from my contact.”

“And?”

He sits in the chair adjacent to me and drops a few papers onto the coffee table. “And . . . he’s a dead man.”

“What?”

“Everything checks out. Take a look for yourself. All the documents, the funeral information with plot and burial. Even the death certificate is there. It’s a dead end from that point on. Steve Archer doesn’t exist; he’s been dead for sixteen years.”

I pick up the papers and flip through them, examining the trail of proof that he is indeed dead.

“What’s he hiding from?” I ask aloud, not expecting Lachlan to have an answer for me.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

I set the papers down, knowing damn well they’re nothing but bullshit propaganda to support the prevarication of death, and inquire, “What about the passenger manifest?”

“I’m working on it, but we’re talking about breaking some strict federal laws. I have a friend putting in a few calls for me, but it might be a long shot. I don’t know if anyone is going to be willing to risk their job or compromise their values.”

“Values can be bought for the right price, but we need more people on this,” I stress with growing intensity. “I want everything my money can buy. Private investigators, hackers,
everything
we can think of.”

“I know, and trust me when I tell you, I’m on it.” He takes a pause as I let go of a frustrated breath. “On another note, I got everything lined up at One Hyde Park, so the apartment will be ready by the time you arrive.”

“I’ve never been more thankful for buying that property than I am now.”

“You should have no worries with Elizabeth’s safety there,” Lachlan says about the building that I own an apartment in.

It’s one of the most secure properties in the world, if not
the
securest. The moment I started considering building in London, I went ahead a snagged up a dual-floor apartment in One Hyde Park. The privacy measures go above and beyond from bulletproof windows to x-rayed mail.

After being shot in Chicago, I not only transferred Brunswickhill into a private trust, but also moved the London property into one as well. No one will know where Elizabeth and I are except for the people I choose to inform.

“I need to go take care of a few things.”

“I’ll check in with you as soon as I get an update on the Archer case,” he says as I make my way to the front door.

“Don’t drag your ass on this one, Lachlan. I need this handled yesterday.”

“I’m on it.”

On my way into the main house, I peek in the library, but Elizabeth is no longer there. Just the book she was reading, facedown on the sofa.

“Elizabeth,” I call out with no answer in return.

I walk down to the atrium where I know she likes to lie on the chaise and enjoy the sun’s heat through the glass. The room is empty though. I stand for a moment, looking out the glass, and eventually movement catches my eye. I watch Elizabeth as she walks aimlessly. She loves taking long strolls outside to explore the grounds.

I make my way out to where she is. “What are you doing?”

“I never knew there was a stream over here.”

“There’s a lot you haven’t been able to see because of the snow,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms and pressing my lips to hers.

She quietly moans, slipping her hands under my coat and around my waist.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay,” she responds as I bring her in even closer, strengthening my arms firmly around her body. “What are you doing out here?”

“I want to talk to you, but you weren’t inside where I left you.”

“Where you left me?” she teases, tilting her head back to look up at me. “What am I? A little trinket of yours that you can place wherever you choose?”

“Something like that.” I shoot her an amorous wink and watch her beautiful smile creep in. “Come. Sit with me.”

We walk over to a bench perched aside the stream coated in ice.

“I just spoke with Lachlan and wanted to let you know where we are in regards to finding your father.”

Blithe ease fades into yearning hope rimmed in years of pain.

“Do you want to talk about this right now?” I ask as her body language takes on a sudden shift.

“Yes.” Her voice is full of anxiety, eager for answers. “What did you find?”

“Evidence of his death.”

“But he isn’t dead.” Her voice pitches with even more anxiety.

“I know that. Lachlan is doing what he can to get a copy of the list of passengers. When we get that, we can go from there.”

“Well, how long is that going to take?”

“He’s working as fast as he can, but he doesn’t have any straight connections with the airline.”

Frustration marks her face as I watch her body tense up and fight back against the puddle of tears in her eyes. She’s unmoving, and it’s taking all her strength to not lose her composure. I wish I could give her the answers she’s so eager for. It’s a painful sight to see the one I love ache so badly.

I reach my arm around her shoulders, and coax, “It’s okay to cry. It won’t hurt as bad if you let go of some of the pain.”

“I spent my life crying for my father, and it’s never lessened the pain,” she says, refusing my words.

“Look at me,” I demand, and when she does, I continue, “This is not fine. You holding everything in is not fine.”

“Why do you want to see me break so badly?”

“You’re breaking right now,” I rebut. “You, forcing yourself not to feel the hurt. You, pushing me away. You present a stone exterior, but it’s just a façade of all your brokenness inside. You’re a fool’s paradise, but I’m no fool. I see right through you.”

“You’re an asshole,” she bites, pissed that I’m calling her out on her charade, but I won’t back down.

“What are you afraid of? My seeing you in a light you’re embarrassed of? I’ve seen you at your worst. Or are you still worried about feeling too much that you’ll break apart and be unable to put the pieces back together? What is it?”

“Why are you pushing so hard?”

“If you can’t put yourself back together then I’ll do it for you.”

“Stop!”

“Is that why you won’t let me touch you?”

At that, she jerks away from me, but I grip her arms tightly.

“Let go!”

“Why won’t you let me fuck you?” I hiss, losing my control and letting frustration and rejection spew out of me. “Answer me, for Christ’s sake!”

My voice strains in temper as she fights against my hold, and I eventually loosen my grip and allow her to break away from me. She stands and stumbles back, fuming in pure anger.

“Is that the problem?” she spits. “Your ego is hurt because you can’t get in my pants?”

I stand and walk right up to her, chest to chest. “You know damn well that if I wanted what was in your pants, I’d take it.”

“Then take it. I don’t give a shit. If that’s all you want, then have it.” Her words taunt, but they infuriate me even more.

“You’re so fucking blind. It’s not your pussy I want. It’s so much more than just that. I want all of you. Every piece. I want to be inside of you because that’s the one place you’ll be so weak you’ll have no choice but to hand all of yourself over to me.”

With a slight shake of her head, she looks deep into my eyes, confessing on a whisper, “I just can’t.”

My hands clutch her face and I speak with fervency, “You can. I need you to try.”

“But you have me,” she cries out. “I’m here. I’m not running away.”

“Stop avoiding.”

“I’m n—”

“You’re here,” I break in, cutting her off. “But you’re not really here. You may lie next to me every night, but you’re not really there. You’re somewhere else entirely. Somewhere deep inside that body of yours, you’re hiding away.”

There’s no response on her part, only glaring eyes that expose just how furious she is.

“How many times do I have to tell you to convince you that you’re safe here? That you’re safe with me?”

“Let go of me, please,” she requests in an even tone.

I drop my hands from her face, and she immediately turns and walks away from me without another word, without ever looking back. I don’t say anything to stop her, I just let her go. And before I allow my aggravation grow any further, I too find my way back to the house and up to the third level where my office is.

Needing to relieve my mind of the stress, I busy myself with work. Between phone calls to the office and checking in on my Chicago property, time passes quickly. Lotus is thriving financially and is proving to be one of the most sought after hotels in the city. Exclusivity is key, and that notion is proving itself.

But I can’t think about Chicago without thinking about my father. I haven’t spoken to him since Elizabeth told me about his arrest. Honestly, I haven’t even delved into his involvement with Richard, Bennett, or even Elizabeth’s father for fear of what it might stir up inside me. Elizabeth would deem me a hypocrite, and she’d be right, which is why I haven’t broached the topic with her yet.

So for that reason alone, I call Elizabeth up to my office, and it takes her only a few minutes to appear in the doorway.

“What’s so urgent?” she asks with a hint of agitation that’s leftover from our earlier quarrel.

“Come in.”

She does, finding a seat in front of my desk. I get up from my chair and walk around to take the seat next to her.

“First, I won’t apologize for earlier, except for one thing—I accused you of being afraid of facing your fears when I’ve been doing the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been avoiding my father out of trepidation,” I admit to her. “But I’m putting that aside, hoping you’ll do the same for me.”

Her eyes soften.

“So, can you help me?” I ask and she nods, saying, “Okay.”