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‘It’s just because you’ve not been touched for a while. A little kindness made you forget who he was for a moment,’ I told myself. ‘It doesn’t change who you both are.’
But he’d placed a kernel of doubt inside me.
I’d need to prise it out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CAMERON
What had I been thinking?
Sweat dripped down my back as my biceps screamed at me. I ignored them and pulled myself up on the wooden beam in the makeshift outdoor gym behind the beach house. I’d let my guard down and been nice to Maeve. Nice. My fucking dick must have fogged my brain again, and I needed to get it under control.
For two days since Maeve’s accident, I had barely spoken to her, avoiding her as best I could once she got back on her feet. The house wasn’t big enough for complete avoidance, so I’d spent my time running along the beach, swimming until my body ached and gruelling in the outdoor gym until I eventually crashed into the bed beside her, too exhausted to toss and turn all night.
She had been getting more annoyed as the hours went on, glaring at me every time I’d leave a room as she entered, or as I took off down the beach at a run while she was still too sore to chase me. Not that she would. She was too proud to chase. But tensions were simmering, and I only hoped we could get back to Scotland before one of us blew. The island was too small for the both of us.
I dropped to the floor and stretched out my arms; the muscles quivering in protest. Exercise had always been my best bet at battling demons. Whether it was from arguing with my father, drowning out my parents fighting, or trying to find a conduit to quieten the rage that would build in me. Katie had often described it as self harm, but it was the best option I had. My life was steeped in violence and so many of the men I knew resorted to the bottom of a bottle, drugs or lashing out to cope. The gym only hurt me at least, and in the long run benefited me. Strength had gotten me out of many a potentially fatal situation when I didn’t have a gun or someone took me by surprise. I never, ever intended on feeling weak again. I never intended on not being strong enough to stand up for my sister again. I’d never feel my father’s belt buckle across my back again.
I grunted as I heaved the heavy sandbag up onto my shoulders and lunged back and forth from the tree line to the back of the house. A shadow moved at the kitchen window to the rear, and Maeve’s pinched face met mine. I turned swiftly and headed in the other direction. Maybe she’d take the hint and leave me alone.
Her face was gone from behind the glass when I turned for my lunges back. I threw the sandbag down and leant against a tree to catch my breath, wiping my head and neck on a towel. I flicked on the rear outdoor shower - a lot less flash than the one out front, and nothing like the touch screen one in the bedroom - and figured I could probably fill another twenty minutes in there before dinner would be arriving. And then what? There were still two nights and one full day before we’d be picked back up. My muscles ached and my body craved rest. I didn’t have another avoidance run in me.
I let the water wash over me, soothing my pains as I closed my eyes and pretended that nothing else existed. No father, no criminal organisation, no McGowans, no wife. What would I do with myself if I could be free of it all? The truth hurt. There was nothing else to do. I didn’t have friends. I had acquaintances and business partners. The men who worked under me were there for their own reasons, and syndicate loyalty and fear didn’t make a solid base for friendships. I didn’t have any skills beyond using my fists, sway, or weapons. All I had was Katie and the world we inhabited, and how long until Father sold her off to someone who could offer him more money, or more connections? Then I’d be alone.
As I switched off the water, I heard a grunt and a crash coming from inside the house. I pulled on my trousers, belted them up, chucked on a shirt, and towelled off my hair as I made my way to the window. Nothing in the kitchen or through toward the sitting room. Another angry humph and a crash sounded to my left. She must be in the bedroom, but what the hell was she doing?
I let myself into the house and opened the bedroom door.
It was like a fucking tornado had blown through.
She’d torn my clothes from the wardrobe and thrown them around the room, leaving them hanging from furniture and lights and strewn across the floor. Coat hangers, toiletries and towels mingled in with my clothing in clumps all over the floor. The chair was upended and Maeve was busy hitting my suitcase furiously with a painting she’d taken off the wall.
Fucking pain in the ass.
A red wave washed up through me as I watched her all pink cheeked and narrow eyed as she laid into my suitcase. I hated my stuff being touched, never mind being thrown about and disrespected.
I’d helped her.
And this was the thanks I got.
Clearly, she still intended to go through with her little promise of wrecking my life.
After some deep breaths, I walked into the room, kicking the discarded duvet out of the way as I headed toward her. I hadn’t made my mind up what the hell I was going to do with her as I stormed over the piles of my stuff. Shout at her? Retaliate? Drown her in the fucking pool?
She glanced up through her messy, tangled hair and instead of looking remotely remorseful, she glared at me as if I were the problem. The fucking gall of the woman.
‘I’m not invisible now, then?’ she said, spitting the words at me as she dropped the wrecked painting. She stood up straight and raised her chin high, begging for an altercation. But I didn’t intend on giving her what she wanted. I needed to temper down my anger, like I always did, and be the cool, rock solid man I pretended to be. Letting people get under your skin was a weakness. Letting them drive you to rash words and actions was a weakness.
I scooped her up over my shoulder as she screeched at me, her hands pushing against me as she writhed to escape my grip. Where could I put her to cool down? Outside? In the closet? My eyes fell to the large glass shower with its long silver door handles. The perfect cell for Maeve to calm the hell down.
I opened my belt buckle with my free hand and wrenched it from the belt loops. Maeve stiffened on my shoulders at the distinct sound it made and I wondered whether she had the same horrific childhood memories of someone ripping their belt off in anger as I did.
I forced open the doors and unceremoniously dumped Maeve into the circular glass shower stall, closing the doors and using my belt to fix them together.
‘Let me out!’ Maeve tried to pull the doors apart, but the belt held steady.
I made my way around the room, taking my time to hang each shirt back in the wardrobe, fold up each pair of underpants and neatly store all of my toiletries back in their respective places. My sunglasses were wrecked beyond repair, and so was the painting. But mostly she’d just made a mess. All the while, Maeve banged on the glass and let a stream of profanities out toward me. I took my time putting the room back together, taking steadying breaths while I worked, studiously ignoring Maeve entirely.
