“I told you to pack your things. It’s already after nine.”
“Karie and I had some things to discuss at her house.”
He comes closer. I shift deeper into the dark.
He reaches out and takes hold of my chin. His eyes glitter dangerously in the dark, and I swallow as trepidation clenches around my gut.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is low, but as icily cold as I’ve ever heard.
“What?” I say shakily. He couldn’t possibly have seen my face…
“This bruise. Who did it?”
I push his hand away. “It’s none of your business.”
“We’re engaged. That means you’re mine now. And when somebody touches what’s mine, it becomes my business.” He pulls me closer to the streetlight.
I look away, unable to bear the judgment. His breathing roughens. He raises his hand, and I flinch. An expletive. My stomach twists.
His finger is oddly gentle as it brushes my throbbing cheek. Inexplicable tears spring to my eyes. I blink rapidly. It’d be too foolish to cry and show weakness. In my experience, showing weaknesses is begging for abuse. I’m not giving anybody that power over me.
“A woman wouldn’t be strong enough to hurt you this badly.” He narrows his eyes. He’s probably mentally going over all the people in my life he’s aware of. His gaze burns into mine. “So not Karie. Or Vivienne. Who was it?”
I keep mum, looking down at my hands. Why does he care so much about who did it? It isn’t like he can do anything to Nelson. The Huxleys’ and the Webbers’ business interests override everything.
“Fine,” he spits out between clenched teeth. “We’ll figure this out together.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Huxley
Rage churns and burns. I grip the steering wheel with more force than necessary, imagining it’s the neck of whoever touched Grace. She stares out the window as I drive to Nelson’s house. She feigns nonchalance, but tension radiates from her. Her acting like she’s afraid of me—that I’m just as bad as the man who hit her—stokes my fury further.
But could it really be her family? They’re giving her a generous monthly allowance. Why do that if they hate her? Or is the payment to get her to shut up about the abuse, assuming it’s an ongoing thing?
I consider the idea, but ultimately reject it. She has too much pride and sass to stay silent over money. And she has a job. It doesn’t pay twenty-five K a month, but it’s enough to maintain her dignity. Besides, wouldn’t somebody at her office have noticed bruises by now?
I want to ask, but doubt she’ll tell me anything. She didn’t tell me who did this to her. What does she think I’m going to do? Join them? She flinched when I tried to turn her face so I could examine the injury.
She’s my fiancée, my future wife. It’s my responsibility to teach anybody who dares to touch her a lesson they’ll never forget.
My plan to have her move in is pushed aside to deal with whoever had the nerve to mark her. It’s more important—and far more urgent.
I pull into the Webbers’ driveway. Nelson’s home is ostentatious and way above his means. But his family is like that in every respect. Big egos with nothing to back them up.
I climb out and the open the passenger-side door. “Let’s go.”
Grace looks away, her chin tight.
“I can stand here all night.”
Eventually she steps out, not meeting my gaze. She stays rooted to the spot. I put a hand on her elbow and bring her forward. I ring the doorbell, and Grace turns around, shifting until she’s standing behind me in the dark. Fine tremors rack her. I hate that someone put this fear into her, and that I wasn’t there to do anything about it.
Three beats later the door opens, revealing Karie, still in that ridiculous, overpriced dress that might look good if she were thirty years younger. Her eyebrows jump an inch—or try to, but her over-Botoxed forehead doesn’t allow much freedom of movement. The corners of her mouth turn down. No cosmetic surgery can hide the deep, unhappy ugliness she holds inside.
She quickly schools her expression. “Are you here to apologize for your shameful behavior?” she demands haughtily.
“No.”
