Page 43 of Married to the Enemy

“Raffe, what does this mean?” she asked, lacing her fingers through his.

“I don’t know,” he replied, kissing her shoulder. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

He knew the moment she accepted that answer, felt her relax into his arms. She didn’t sleep. Not for a long time. He was aware of her soft breaths and the gentle beat of her heart. He knew she was still thinking, trying to figure out what would happen with their relationship. But what they’d just shared felt so good. And after being with her for too long with no sex or intimacy, trying to resist the temptation that was Mia, he couldn’t stop sleep and contentment from creeping in.

However, right before he fell asleep, he heard her whisper, “My father will kill you.”

Chapter 29

Barry stretched his legs in the cramped treehouse, cursing as the boards creaked worryingly under his weight. His ribs still ached slightly but every day, the pain eased. He pressed a hand to his side, muttering under his breath, then squinted through the gaps in the wood.

There was movement in the house!

His pulse spiked. At first, he thought it was the kid—Freddy, or whatever his name was—hobbling down the driveway. But no, that didn’t make sense. The kid was in a wheelchair.

This figure was taller. Not nearly as hulking as the man-mountain, but no scrawny cripple either.

Barry shuffled to the far side of the platform, zipping down his pants and peeing off the edge in a different direction, as though the stream of urine would somehow camouflage him. He kept his eyes on the figure below, his bladder forgotten halfway through.

Moonlight caught on the stranger’s shoulders, glancing off something metallic as the figure pulled something from a pocket. A key? A knife? Barry couldn’t tell. The stranger moved toward the cars parked in the driveway, glancing warily over his shoulder, like he knew he didn’t belong in this upscale, wealthy neighborhood.

Barry fumbled for his phone, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it. He lifted it, found the camera app, then zoomed in and started snapping pictures. The images were dark, blurry—worthless maybe. But maybe not. They showed something. Someone.

Another player on the board.

Was this one of Vito’s men? Barry couldn’t be sure and had no idea how many people worked for the cruel bastard. Bile crawled up his throat as he contemplated what Vito would do to Barry if the bastard ever found him. The idea of being found, even though he could argue that Barry was doing Vito’s bidding, was terrifying.

But who else would be sniffing around the Calvino house at midnight? Through the cracks in the treehouse, Barry snapped photo after photo, the mechanical click of the shutter sounding like gunfire in the silence of the night.

And then—

The man froze. His head turned.

Barry’s stomach plummeted. He scrambled further behind the rough wall, scraping his shoulder against the splintering wood. His heart hammered so loudly he was sure the stranger could hear it.

Had he been seen? Was Vito onto him? Was this it—was someone about to set fire to the treehouse, or wait him out until he starved?

He pressed his forehead against the wood, sweat dripping down his temple. He’d lost track of his time up here. The days bled together. He only left when absolutely necessary, sprinting to the corner store for snacks, water, whatever he could carry. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go to work. He hoped he was still getting paid, even though he wasn’t showing up, but it was possible that someone had taken him off of the payroll when he hadn’t shown up at work for this long.

But Barry couldn’t care about that now. If Vito found him before he figured out a way to get Evangeline back under his thumb, Barry was a dead man.

The treehouse felt smaller than ever. Suffocatingly so. But Barry didn’t dare move.

He had to have patience. Patience was survival.

Still, he clutched the phone to his chest, whispering to himself like a prayer. Please, let these pictures be worth something.

Chapter 30

The morning had barely shaken off the fog when Mia’s sharp voice rang out from the driveway.

“Raffe!”

He was halfway down the stairs, his thoughts still on the night before, the way she’d snuggled up against him this morning before slipping out of bed before Evangeline or Freddy woke up. So, it startled him to hear Mia’s scream, the terrified edge in her tone, the kind that made his gut clench. He shoved open the front door and found her standing stiffly beside her sedan, tote bag hanging off one shoulder like she’d forgotten it was even there.

He didn’t need her to point. He saw the look of shock in her eyes as his gaze moved over her before scanning the area for danger, all the while cursing himself for not grabbing his weapon before coming downstairs. However, his weapon was upstairs, tucked safely in the back of his temporary closet with the finger lock protecting it from curious eyes.

After a moment to reassure himself that she wasn’t hurt or in imminent danger, he looked where she was pointing. All four tires had been slashed, the wheels practically resting on the stone driveway.