AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Claire
I do a great job maintaining my composure in front of Rhea, even managing a laugh. “ What a small world.”
My voice sounds fragile, like it’s about to collapse in a cloud of dust. It’s how I feel when she tells me she invited him to dinner, it’s how I feel the whole way back to Remy’s house the next morning after staying for observation, how I feel as I turn the lock and glance around the small space that I’ve come to claim. It’s how I feel until I sink down on the edge of the freshly made bed and force myself to breathe through my nose.
When I close my eyes, it’s to see Wes smirking at me with that cocky grin, dripping with condescension. He’s not a good guy—no good guy would let himself be wrapped up in what he did. No good guy would tell a woman she doesn’t belong to herself anymore, ask her to bare herself to strangers on the internet, demand her to tell her captors who they own.
Whatever Wes is, it’s not good.
It’s not redeemable.
I assume Remy kept him alive for a purpose, and I highly doubt that purpose is to convince Rhea that he’s a good guy. So why isn’t he dead yet, disposed of in the same trash haul as Eric Giante? Given the way he unilaterally saved me, the way he killed my captors and Jovich, I don’t think Remy has it in him to forgive Wes for what he did. If he’s alive, I trust there’s a reason for it.
Whatever that reason is, it’s not to victimize me. I know that well enough, even if I don’t have any concept of where I stand with Remington Boudreaux. He doesn’t trust me, but he wants me. Or, at least, he wanted me. Maybe it’s out of his system now. Maybe he worked through his lust for me after we committed murder together, and now we’re just going to awkwardly orbit one another.
It doesn’t matter, I tell myself.
I almost believe it, too.
We haven’t seen each other since we killed together. That was days ago. I don’t know how many, exactly, since I was out of consciousness for a while. The one night I do recall spending in the hospital – where Rhea slept in the chair beside me as I laid awake all night—had dragged on long enough to feel like multiple days. Despite not sleeping, I’ve been restless since leaving the hospital with the doctor’s phone number tucked in my pocket… just in case.
I made sure to eat before I left so I can skip dinner and I doubt anyone will question it. Remy will know I want to avoid Wes, Elaine will assume I need the rest, and Rhea would think I simply wasn’t feeling up to dinner with everyone. But Wes would know why I’m not there—he’d know that I’m scared of him, that I can’t stomach the idea of facing him after what he did to me. He would know that he won, whether because I’m too weak mentally or physically to drag myself to dinner in his presence.
If there’s one thing that I’ve learned about myself since leaving the states and getting swept into this chaotic world, it’s that I am not weak. If I was weak, I never would have made it out of Eric’s house. If I was weak, I never would have let someone pull me into the light so that I could heal. If I was weak, I’d still be in my head in that dirty warehouse, a prisoner of my own traumatized mind. And if I was weak, I wouldn’t have found the mental or physical strength I needed to end another person’s life.
Maybe that’s not an achievement I should be proud of, but it’s not something that the weak can claim to do. It took a lot of strength to drive that blade past flesh, through organs, and back out. It takes even more mental strength to look in the mirror every time I pass it with the realization that a killer is looking back at me.
I’m not weak, and I won’t let Wes believe that I am.
Whatever cocktail they gave me at the hospital has given me new energy. Either it’s a miracle drug or I just felt so horrible for so long that, by comparison, I feel like a new woman. I’m able to shower by myself, and while it takes a little while to gingerly avoid my stitches, that just offers me longer to relax under the gentle spray of hot water.
When I step out and brush the wet hair from my face, I smile at the girl in the mirror.
She may be a murderer, but she’s also a badass.
Chapter fourteen
Remy
I’ve tried to come up with every excuse in the world to keep Wes from coming for dinner, but Rhea is insistent. She all but told me to leave if I wouldn’t let her entertain a friend in my home, and that’s when I let my objections die. There is not a chance in hell I’m leaving him anywhere alone, let alone with my sister or Claire.
When we got home from the funeral and Claire was gone, I was ready to kill again. I think Rhea’s heart stopped, too, before Elaine came to tell us that she’d had her taken to the hospital. A fucking phone call would have been nice, but I suppose Elaine is still punishing me for whatever the hell is going on between us. She is the one who didn’t want to take Claire to the hospital to begin with. Maybe that’s why she waited to tell us. More likely, she was trying to be respectful of my father’s funeral. The funeral she planned but didn’t attend because she stayed back with Claire. And thank fuck she did.
We went to the hospital immediately, and I let Rhea have the time with her best friend while I waited on the other side of the door all night to ensure no one paid them a visit. Carmen assured me that the IV antibiotics were working like a charm and there was nothing to be worried about. She’s been on my payroll long enough to know that discretion was of the utmost importance, and so she assured me everything was off the books. As far as anyone is concerned, Claire Monroe was never a patient. But still, I don’t leave them.
I also don’t go in. The last I saw her, she was running from me. I’m not sure we are at a point of visiting her in the hospital… or even if she would want me to. It’s not like I’m going to take her flowers and sit there with her and Rhea trying to make small talk. Hell, she might kill me if I tried.
She intentionally avoided my eyes when we took her home this morning, so I let her have her space. But giving her space is killing me. I try knocking on her door one last time before I go downstairs, to let her know that I completely understand if she wants to hang out in her room and let her know that I’ll have Elaine bring her a plate. She doesn’t answer, which confirms my suspicion that she’s still avoiding me. I can’t really blame her, maddening though it is.
Dimitri and Michael are on red alert, and we’ve brought in a few extra bodies to secure the perimeter of the house tonight, making it impossible for Wes to slink away as I’m sure he’s planning. I’ve locked every door on the ground floor and instructed Elaine to set the table in the formal dining room rather than on the patio as we usually do. She does as I ask without question, though her eyes are still distrustful every time they glance over me. I wonder whether I’ll ever gain back her trust, if she’ll ever believe that I didn’t do anything to hurt Claire.
“Everything looks great.” I tell her when I step into the dining room and take it all in. She’s arranged the table almost intimately—the way my parents arranged their table when they had guests—with candlesticks in the center and deep red linens crisply folded at every setting. Two forks, two spoons, a steak knife. I didn’t bother asking what we were eating tonight, though I did consider sprinkling some rat poison overtop of Wes’ plate. I decided against it only because I don’t want the girls to witness such a brutal death. I think Claire could stomach it, given everything else she’s dealt with, but poor Rhea would probably have a stroke. Not to mention, the questions she would have in the wake of such a sudden, violent death would be hard to dismiss.
“You sound surprised.” Elaine says.
If the suspicious glances weren’t enough of an indicator of her irritation with me, her hard, flat tone is.
“Elaine,” I sigh.
