Marry Screw Kill(40)

“Things between us changed after the first couple weeks. Once the funeral was over and the reality that she was gone sunk in, I was numb with the pills he gave me.”

“Pills? Do you know what they were?”

“Valium, I think,” she whispers. “I slowly quit taking them. They made me feel nothing at all. I didn’t even cry at my own mother’s funeral. It was like watching a movie of someone else’s life.”

“Fucker,” I curse under my breath in hopes I don’t frighten her more. He tried to keep her emotions buried. No wonder she’s in this place. Her will must be bent and broken. He captured her and held her captive by drugging her. It makes me sick knowing I’m related to this scum.

“Does he think you’re still taking the pills?”

“Yes, I think so. He keeps giving them to me, but I flush them down the toilet.”

“Don’t take another one, okay?” Harlow nods, but that’s not enough. “And don’t let him touch you anymore. He’s not worthy of you.”

“What can I do? I have nothing. I gave him control over my small bank account. I wanted to help him pay for my mother’s funeral. I walk out that door and I’m walking to where? I don’t have a job or place now. He’ll find me, and then what?”

Her eyes cloud with frustrated tears. My uncle has trapped her in his snare. No money. No future, other than being tied to him. I remember back to the clothes in the guestroom closet left from her “other” life. At least they were hers.

“He may be my uncle, but I can’t defend his treatment of you. You deserve more. You deserve your own future. Let me help you.” Bringing my hand to her cheek, I wipe away a falling tear and make tiny traces over her perfect pale skin. The softness against my fingers is close to heaven.

I have my entire future ahead of me. My life is planned out. Ivy League med school, then becoming a doctor and helping others find healing in this crazy world. But what a hypocrite I’d be if I didn’t help this hurting woman right in front of me.

“I’ll figure it out. Somehow.” Defeat sounds in her voice, and I don’t think she understands that I mean it. I’ll help her leave tonight if she can muster the courage to break James’ invisible chains.

Someone clears their throat behind us and Harlow and I jump at the sound. What the hell?

I turn to see my uncle leaning against the door to the media room. In a split second, I drop my hands from hers and Harlow and I stand to face him.

His tall frame consumes most of the door’s open space and his face is set in an angry snarl. The fury in his eyes hits us like a flame that could set the room, or even the house, on fire—or maybe just me, since I’m locked in his crosshairs.

I have no idea how much he heard of our conversation, if any. Our voices were quiet, barely above a whisper, but our position on the couch and me touching her cheek was intimate, combine the two and we likely appeared as lovers engaged in an illicit discussion. To him, the topic would be forbidden between us. I was trying to talk her into leaving him.

Shit!





Chapter Eighteen


Harlow



“James,” I cry out as soon as I see him looking at Sin and I. Angry would be about a hundred steps down from his mood right now. His eyes shine with a blaze, but not the kind from passion. He’s livid and ready to blow. “What are you doing home?”

James pushes off the door casing and takes two slow steps toward us like a tiger stalking his prey.

“Didn’t think I needed to announce I’d arrived home. This is my house, isn’t it?” James hisses into the tense air.

“Yes, of course.” I glance over at Sin. He’s running his fingers through his hair. He’s also moved a foot away from me, as if the distance will help. “I was just telling Sin about visiting my mother’s grave today.”

I turn to Sin and try to communicate with my eyes that he needs to play along with me, but his brows furrow in confusion. Hell, what a mess I’m in.

“Is that right?” James fires his question with the intent to harm. “So, what? You were comforting her, Sin?” Sarcasm laces his voice.

“She was upset, so yes. I was trying to be there for her,” Sin defends himself, and me, even though I broke down because of James treatment of me today, not visiting my mother’s grave.

We’re in a checkmate with James and getting us out of this mess falls to me. I am his fiancée, the one who is supposed to pledge my heart and life to him in four short weeks. My hands start to tremble as I decide to do the one thing that will bring the boiling point down in the room: touch him.

I force a smile as I walk forward and take his rigid hand in my own. He relaxes his hold as our fingers intertwine, then searches my eyes. He must find a false truth in them because the tightness in his jaw fades and the lines in his forehead change from straight to hardly there. My tense shoulders slump in relief as his rage subsides.

Summoning my courage, I lean into James and rest my head on his crisp white shirt. He wraps his free arm around me and I melt into him while wishing he were Sin. His comfort asks nothing from me in return. He gives it to me freely. Even now, when I tilt my head to steal a glance at him, I see his eyes filled with compassion for me. I swear they speak to me without saying an actual word.

“I told you it was too much for you to go to the grave without me. You’re not strong enough to handle a visit like that on your own,” James says, his voice soothing, like I’m a child being coaxed out of my worries, but his intense anger disappears into thin air.