Dangerous:Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance)(11)

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.



 *





Chapter 9

Blaine



"I'm hungry."

The sound of Mira's voice ripped me out of my brooding with a start I  barely managed to camouflage with a flex of my shoulders and arms.  Seemed the bird was pretty stealthy. And clearly not used to knocking.

I rolled over on my bed to face the door, where my new wife was  standing, both arms wrapped around her midsection. I cocked an eyebrow  at her. Not that I'd studied the subject in depth at any point, but it  seemed like feeding her wouldn't fall under my husbandly duties.

" … And there's nothing in the fridge but beer and hot sauce. I'd order a  pizza, but who knows if it'll come with a complimentary hit man? Or  poisonous mushrooms?"

Oh. Right. Girl had a point, even if her sarcastic tone made her  feelings on the rules I'd laid out for her clear. At least she wasn't  shouting. "I'll order us something. And I'll get Rob to help you with  planning out the household shopping tomorrow."

Her hazel eyes narrowed a bit behind her glasses. "Who's Rob?"

"My righthand man. He's in charge of security. You'll have to go through  him when you set up everything you need to run the house. You can order  deliveries from the supermarkets, but you'll have to make sure you only  order from places where we have someone working. Rob will be able to  tell you more. If you need help with cleaning and all that, he should be  able to get you in contact with the woman who cleans for my father.  Anything you can't buy online you'll need to arrange for one of the guys  to go get." Would you look at that-Blaine Steel discussing household  crap like a responsible adult. I briefly wondered if this what what my  father had had in mind when he said married life would do me good.

"I'm sorry …  you seem to be under the illusion that I will be taking care of the household?"

There was something in Mira's voice that made me hesitate for just a  second. Her tone had shifted from pure sarcasm to holding some sort of  warning. Then I frowned and shook it off. If she wasn't happy, it wasn't  my problem.

"Yeah. What else would you do? Paint your toenails?"

She blinked. Twice. "My job. You may recall I have one of those."

Was she really that naïve, or was she just baiting me? "You don't  anymore. It'd be too dangerous, and we don't have the manpower to have  someone follow you around all day."

From the look on her face, she really had been that naive. A pained look  of shock crossed her pretty features, and her hands fisted by her sides  as her arms fell from their protective pose crossed over her  midsection.         

     



 

"You can't do that."

I frowned as the light from my bedside lamp caught the fresh shine in  her eyes. Were those …  tears? Based on our previous interactions, I'd  been unsurprised at anger and shouting, but tears?

"I'm sorry, it's not up for negotiation." The weird thing was that, as I  looked at her standing there in my doorway so shocked and upset, I was  actually sorry. Sorry that those tears were there because of me. Which  was mildly ironic, for a man who spread pain and misery for a living.

Then her expression darkened and her nostrils flared, the look of pain wiped away.

"I refuse to let you do that!"

Ah, there was the anger. I rubbed a hand across my face and pushed off the bed to sit up. "You don't have a choice, love."

Mira closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if to steel herself. "I've  worked very, very hard to be able to support myself. You can't just take  that away without even consulting me." She spoke through gritted teeth,  as if she was just barely hanging on to her composure. I was mildly  surprised that she bothered trying.

"Well, now you don't have to work hard anymore. At least you'll get  something good out of this deal." I swear, it was meant as a  silver-lining sort of point, but from the way her eyes flashed with  renewed anger, I took it I'd failed to get that across.

"You arrogant bastard," she hissed. By her sides, her knuckles were  turning white, she was clenching her fists that hard. "You have no idea  the lengths I've had to go to to be independent. Do you have any idea  how impossible it is to get out from a crime family? No, I bet you  don't-I bet the thought that there could be more to life than violence  has never even crossed your mind! Do you think I just waltzed into my  line of work? That I changed my name just because I felt like it? Just  try to imagine how your big mob father would react if you said you  wanted nothing to do with his business. Just for one second, picture it.  What would he do?"

I paused as her scathing words dug deep into my skull and anchored down.  What my father would do if I'd turned my back on the family business in  any way, shape, or form? He'd have me killed, simple as.

"Everything I've wanted, everything I've done, has been to be free from  it all. So no, you forcing me to quit working is not ‘something good' to  come out of this, Blaine. It was the last thing I had left!" She sent  me one final look of anger and resentment, and then she spun around on  her heel and left my room, slamming the door behind her.

I stared at the closed door while her voice echoed in my head. For the  first time in as far back as I could remember, my own temper hadn't  flared while someone shouted at me. I felt a lot of things, but anger  wasn't one of them. Frustration, sure, along with a highly unfamiliar  urge to apologize.

I shook my head in an attempt at clearing it of the odd sensation. It  wasn't like it was my fault-if I allowed her to go to work, she'd likely  get killed or kidnapped within two weeks. It wasn't happening.

Great. Why did I have to get married to the only woman I'd ever met who  wasn't interested in the lifestyle that came with being by my side? I'd  fucked countless girls who would have happily traded in their day job  for my MasterCard and playing lady of the house, or whatever the fuck  women did at home all day. And I'd damn sure get morning sex to boot.

Of course, none of those girls had clawed their way out from a family  like the Clerys, only to get dragged back in once they thought they were  free.

I grunted at the unwanted pang of empathy for my temperamental wife. It  couldn't be easy, seeing everything she'd worked for disappear  practically overnight. It would have taken a lot of guts to give her  family the slip, and realizing it'd all been for nothing had got to  sting.

I'd never wanted to be free from it all. Sure, my life was violent and bloody, but I liked it that way. Most of the time.

If I'd ever wanted something else, though …  would I have had the guts to  cross the family? Knowing what would likely happen if they found me  again? Probably not.

She was tough as nails, that bird. She didn't look it, but defying a  family like the Clerys took more balls than most grown men would be able  to muster. Including me.

I couldn't give her the freedom she wanted, but perhaps it didn't have to be like this, either.

Maybe we could figure something out, so we weren't both so goddamn miserable all the time. A truce, of sorts.







"Mira?" I gave the wooden door to the room she'd picked a cursory knock,  but didn't bother waiting for her to answer. She'd walked into my room  without so much as a knock, after all.         

     



 

She was sitting on the bed in a nest of ruffled sheets and blankets, and  the look she gave me was sullen. It softened notably when she spotted  the large pizza box in my hand.

"Hope you like Hawaiian." I walked over to her bed and sat down without being invited, plopping the box between us.

"I hate pineapple." She reached for the box as soon as it touched the blanket, her fingers wedging it open with skilled ease.

"If you'd stuck around, I'd have asked what toppings you like." I  grabbed a slice of the cheesy goodness and leaned back on one hand to  watch her while I ate.

Mira didn't look up, but I saw a small grimace pass over her face before  she began picking pineapple off a slice of pizza. "Sorry. I shouldn't  have done that."

I assumes by "that," she meant yelling at me and slamming the door. I shrugged. "It's a shitty situation. I get it."

She sighed and nodded, never taking her eyes off the pizza.

We ate in silence for a good twenty minutes, but I didn't mind the lack  of conversation. I spent the time looking at her, much like I would  usually evaluate an opponent before a fight. She looked so soft and  fragile, but there was clearly steel underneath it all. And she was  smart. I'd seen the fancy university degree hanging on her office wall,  and the way she held her own in every argument we'd been in was  something new to me. It was also half the reason I couldn't stop  thinking about shagging her. I had no idea what it was about being  bitched at that got me rock-hard, but clearly it did something for me,  since just the thought of her smart mouth made my cock stir.