The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(95)

“I know.” His voice broke. “I’m here to make amends. Let me? Please?”

He kissed my cheek hastily, worming into my apartment uninvited.

I closed the door, knowing I was going to blow the rooftop with screams in about half a second and not wanting to get evicted or causing Cillian any embarrassing headlines.

“Give me one good reason not to tell Byrne and Kaminski you’re back in town.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Paxton gave himself a tour around my living room, whistling as he drank in the expensive fixtures, gourmet kitchen, and quartz countertops. His neck craned as he studied the lighting, one hand brushing over a floor-to-ceiling art piece that cost more than the apartment we’d rented together while married.

“Wow. Okay. Nice digs.”

When he saw I was still standing by the door, fully ready to throw him out, he poked his lower lip out.

“C’mon, babe. It’s been a minute. We need to iron things out, but there’s a lot to talk about, don’t you think?”

No, my mind screamed.

Sam had told me I’d dodged a bullet the night of the storm, when I tried to accept Cillian’s proposal and found out he’d already withdrawn it. But the deadly bullet I’d escaped was the day Kill took me as a wife.

He made my problems disappear.

Put me out of harm’s way, no matter the price.

“I’m not buying your charade,” I said pointedly.

“Fine.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Then let’s get real. I’m glad your bouji ass is living the good life. Got yourself a sugar daddy and found your sass, huh?” Paxton winked, his charming, dimpled smile on full display. He jerked my fridge open, taking out a glass bottle of juice. The kitchen had been stocked thrice a week by Cillian’s people.

The thought of Paxton being here, drinking an organic pressed juice at Kill’s expense made me want to punch him into a wall.

I hadn’t been fair to my husband.

He fulfilled his end of the bargain, providing me with everything he’d promised and more. In return, I pushed him into giving me things he was incapable of providing. Love, sympathy, and tenderness.

Kill deserved to know everything.

About my plan to destroy Arrowsmith.

About Paxton being here.

“The word you are looking for is a husband. My husband does well for himself, yes,” I corrected. “But even more important than his deep pockets, he was kind enough to get me out of the trouble you got me into. Knowing Cillian, he won’t appreciate you being here, so I suggest you get out of here before he does the job Byrne couldn’t finish.”

Paxton snapped his head toward me mid-sip, his eyes bulging.

“Don’t tell me you fell in love with him. That’s such a sap move, Pers. Rich boys don’t have hearts.”

“Neither do poor ones from Southie, apparently.”

He collapsed onto a barstool, groaning as he scrubbed his face.

“Look, I know I haven’t been the man you deserve, babe. But I needed a way out. I knew you were going to get us out of trouble. I couldn’t keep in touch while you were working on getting us out of this, but I stood on the sidelines and watched, ready to pounce if they actually did something to you. I always had your back, Pers. I did this to protect you. Protect us.”

The lie was so half-assed, that I felt hysterical laughter bubbling in my throat. He continued, undeterred.

“Our goodbye was temporary. I always planned to come back. You were smart, resourceful, and responsible. I just needed you to do me this little solid. When I saw the article about your marriage to Cillian Fitzpatrick, I wanted to kiss you. I thought, ‘that’s my girl.’ I was beginning to worry Byrne would follow up on his threat to pimp you out. I was about to step in.”

He put a hand to his chest. He looked like a bad soap opera actor. The type to win a Razzie award every year and be arrogant enough to walk the red carpet to accept it.

My blood buzzed. I was on the brink of smashing his nose in with my fist, and I never hurt so much as a fly.

“You knew they were following me?” I gritted out.

He nodded. “I kept an eye on you the entire time. Made sure you were okay. I was worried sick, Pers.”

“I wasn’t okay.”

“You really need to give yourself more credit, babe. You did great.”

“How did you keep tabs on me?” I demanded.

“Friends.”

“Which friends?”

“C’mon.” He waved his hand around as though I was missing the entire point.

“Where were you, Paxton?” I pressed, taking a step toward him.

No part of me was unsure or ambivalent.

No disappointment.

No sorrow.

No pang of that wild heartbreak that tore at me each time Cillian left my bed at night.

All I felt was disgust.

“Here and there,” Paxton sulked, averting his eyes from me to his shoes.

The idiot thought he could waltz into my life and reclaim me.

He mistook my bleeding heart for a dumb brain.

“You either answer my questions or I’m calling security.” I raised my phone in the air.

He shot me a tired smile.

“How’d you think I ended up here? The security in this place is trash.”