Dangerous:Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance)(18)

"She okay?" I couldn't stop the question from bubbling out. Fuck it,  despite spending most of the car ride here reassuring myself, I needed  to know. If not, that human trafficker wouldn't be the last person I'd  kill tonight.         

     



 

"Yes." Marcus stepped aside, and I walked into his well-lit flat with  the view of London that would normally have made me take a few seconds  to appreciate the grandness of it all. Today though, I looked around for  Mira with no interest in anything else.

She was sitting by the kitchen island with an empty wine glass next to  her and a stubborn, yet somewhat unsettled, expression on her pretty  face.

A knot I hadn't been aware of until then loosened in my stomach, and I drew in a quiet sigh of relief.

"Mira, go into the bedroom. Blaine and I need to talk."

I frowned at the way my brother seemed to think it was okay to order my  wife around, but Mira slid off her seat without protest and pattered out  of the kitchen, disappearing around a corner. Shortly after, a door  clicked shut.

Huh. Seemed even my obstinate wife found it best to obey Marcus without a  fight. He tended to have that effect on people, but I could have sworn  Mira got off on arguing just for the sake of it.

"What?" I was aware my tone was snappy, but I didn't care. Tonight had  been one long headache, and the way Marcus was eying me, I had a feeling  it wasn't going to get any better anytime soon.

"She says you chased her through the house and threw her down on the floor. Is that true?"

I gaped at him for a moment, completely taken aback.

"Is that true?"

"Why the hell is she telling you about our business? Did you two exchange dirty details of our wedding night, as well?"

"If you ever scare her like that again, or hurt her, you and I are going  to have a problem. Mum would roll over in her grave if she knew you  were treating a defenseless woman like this." He hadn't raised his  voice, but there was an unmistakable note of warning in it.

"Scare her? That little tart doesn't get scared, Marcus. I don't know  what the fuck she's been telling you, but that is not what went down.  And why the hell do you care, anyway? Last I checked, she was my  unwanted bride, not yours. If you wanted in on this shit show, you  really should have stepped up earlier-saved me the headache."

"I picked her up a mile from your house. Dad's put a tap on her phone to  make sure the Clerys don't fuck us over from the inside, and lucky for  her, I'm the one who monitors it. She was apparently scared enough to  risk the fallout of running off after your little encounter."

"Run off?" I stared at him, partly shocked that she would be that  stupid, and partly impressed that she'd somehow managed to get past the  security. And pretty pissed with the night team for letting her outsmart  them like that. "She ran off?"

"Yes."

"That little … " I stopped myself from finishing that sentence at the look  of warning in Marcus' eyes. "Look, I appreciate you not letting Dad  find her, but you can spare me the lecture. She's fine. Now, if you'll  excuse me, I have a pain in the arse of a wife to deal with."

I stepped past him, not waiting for his acknowledgment, and yelled,  "Mira!" loud enough to resonate through the flat and into the bedroom  where she was currently hiding. I set my jaw at the burst of annoyance  that rolled through me at the knowledge that she was hiding from me  behind the supposed shield of my brother's protection. She wasn't his to  protect. Even if I resented the hell out of the job, it was mine, and  my muscles itched with an instinctive urge to challenge Marcus for  stepping in.

If I'd been drunk I might have given in, but my brain was clear enough  to know that I wasn't guaranteed a win in a fight against Marcus. He'd  always been completely unpredictable, and I wasn't in the mood to lose  another showdown tonight. Bad enough my pint-sized spitfire of a wife  had slapped me around a few hours ago, even if it was only verbally.

The door to Marcus' bedroom creaked open, and Mira came round the  corner, her face drawn with tension. She stopped before she got to the  kitchen area and balled her fists up beside her hips. "What?"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her challenging  tone. If we were going to have another domestic, it wasn't happening in  front of my crazy brother. "We're going home. Now."

To my mild surprise, she didn't argue. Instead, she went over to the  counter where she'd left her coat and purse, picked both up, folded the  coat over her arm, and then walked over to Marcus.

"Thank you," she said softly, and then she raised up on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek. "For your kindness."

I wasn't prepared for the wave of scalding jealousy that rushed through  my veins and ended up in my chest in a molten pool of anger. Marcus. Of  all people, Marcus was the one she thanked-for his kindness. If it had  been one of the twins I could have accepted it, but Marcus? If I had a  bad reputation, then he was the fucking anti-Christ, and yet here she  was, seemingly completely at ease in his presence. And with his  protection. While me …  me, she treated like a bloody fiend.         

     



 

I pushed the sensation down. I didn't want her, I just wanted to fuck  her. Once I'd had my fill of her, this unbearable yearning that  scratched at my insides like a thousand ants would pass, and I'd move on  to greener pastures like I always did once a bird started to bore me.  What did I care if she preferred my brother over me?

I held the door open for her, pretending like every cell in my body  wasn't seething, and when she walked through without a word, I closed it  behind us, not bothering to say goodbye to Marcus.

I'd never had any beef with my brothers before, but as I drove out of  the parking lot underneath Marcus' fancy high-rise, dark resentment  churned in my gut.



 *





Chapter 14

Mira



We didn't speak for nearly a week after that.

I'd expected Blaine to yell at me for breaking his precious rules, but he didn't. Instead, he avoided me.

I saw him a few times in the kitchen or on the stairs, and once or twice  I caught sight of him headed for the shed in the backyard, but we never  exchanged as much as a word.

For the first few days, I saw it as a blessing. What had gone down  between us had been way too intense, and I was happy to pretend like  it'd never happened. Between Blaine's anger, my own body's treacherous  reactions to his closeness and the run-in with his disturbing brother,  playing make-believe was just fine by me. As much as I wanted to get  Blaine to respect-and ultimately trust-me, I sorely needed a few days  off from all the drama.

But by day four, the peace and quiet had lost its novelty, especially  because neither Rob nor Greg, nor any of the other guards, set foot in  the house unless it was to carry in my groceries. When I asked if they  wanted tea or a sandwich, they always politely declined and then exited  the house as if I'd offered them arsenic. It didn't take a rocket  scientist to figure out that Blaine had had words with his men since I'd  managed to sneak out without alerting any of them.

As a result, I was completely isolated, and I was beginning to go more  than a little stir crazy. When I woke up on day six after The Incident  so nauseous I had to sprint to my en-suite bathroom to throw up, I was  done suffering in silence.

I leaned weakly against the toilet after the heaving was finally over,  unable to muster enough energy to get off up from the tiled floor.

Great. Just what I needed-a stomach bug.

I stayed on the floor for a good half an hour, until I was reasonably  certain I wouldn't hurl from moving. When I got up, my stomach lurched  again, but at least the dry heaves didn't return. I quickly cleaned my  teeth and then pattered downstairs to the front door.

Rob and Greg were back on watch. They both looked mildly surprised at my  disheveled appearance when I opened the door, probably thanks to my  checkered pajamas bottoms, silk camisole, and sleep-messy hair.

"I need crackers," I croaked. "And ginger ale." A pang from my empty  stomach made me add, "And gherkins, please," before I shut the door  again, not waiting for a reply. Sure, it wasn't their fault that they  seemingly weren't allowed to talk to me anymore, but right then, I felt  so completely alone in the world that I didn't have it in me to care  whether or not it was their choice to treat me like a leper.

I felt like crap, and no one cared. Heck, if I'd somehow contracted  something lethal and died, my so-called husband would likely throw a  party to celebrate it.

When Rob popped in to drop off my requested goods approximately twenty  minutes later, he found me hunched over the breakfast bar, crying  miserably with self-pity.

"Hey now, what's the matter, love?" He sounded halfway concerned,  halfway like he'd rather be anywhere else than trapped with a weeping  woman, but instead of fleeing like I would have expected, he put the  groceries on the counter and placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.