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“Yeah, okay, because you’d want me teaching your little self-defence classes.”
“I can think of no better punishment than to force you to teach the object of your obsession how to protect herself against…you,” he replies with a stupid grin on his face.
He doesn’t know how close to home he’s hitting.
Walking out, I head to the car park where I wait in my Bentley for my busy little bee to exit the building before I start up the engine and follow her onto the main road. I’ll be back for that fuckwit. In fact, the more I think about it, the better Uncle Bray’s idea sounds. If I were her instructor, it’d give me an excuse to touch her. To get close to her. In a public setting. Where I have no choice but to control myself.
Do I want her to know of my existence yet? I’m not sure it’s even an option. Unless I resort to amputating every one of my uncle’s male staff members, so no one can touch her, I’m going to have to teach her myself.
I follow her back to her apartment, turning onto a side street as she drives into the undercover garage. Then I pick up my laptop and pull the camera feed. Watching her daily fear-driven routine amuses me. The terror I feel radiating off her from the screen makes my cock rock-fucking-hard.
True to form, she enters her apartment and heads left. She opens every door, every closet, every kitchen cabinet before she shakes her head. Unfortunately, I can’t hear what she’s saying. However, I do know that she hates being scared. That much is evident in her visible frustration. There’s the smallest twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach—at least I think it’s guilt. I’m not sure what else it could be, but I feel a little bad for scaring her. At the same time, I can’t fucking wait until the sounds of her screams fill my ears as I claim her.
Soon. Our time is coming soon. I can feel it in my bones.
I grab my phone from the centre console, find a florist, and order her a bunch of blue tulips. It’s the same flower I had tattooed on my chest when I first met her. A bleeding tulip that curves around my right pec.
My phone rings through the speakers of the car, pulling me from my thoughts as Ash’s name lights up the screen.
“Yeah?” I say in way of greeting.
“Where are you?” he asks me.
“Why?” My first thought is Bree. I swear to all that is holy, if this fucker let anything happen to her, it won’t be her parents he’ll have to worry about. Because I’ll beat my aunt and uncle to the fucking punch.
“I need you to stop by the club tonight. I have to fly back to Sydney, but your fucking cousin is being stubborn and won’t come home with me until she finishes whatever business she has here.”
“Which cousin? Because I only have one who’s not a complete asshole.” I smile.
“You know that puts me in a shitty fucking predicament, right? Because on one hand, I’m hoping it’s me. But on the other, if you’re calling Breanna an asshole, I’m gonna have to wring your dweeby little fucking neck, and that’d make Aunt Ella cry, and I really don’t want to upset her.”
“Like you could. I’ll be right there. On that note, why is Bree hanging out at Unhinged? Doesn’t she have better places to go?” In actuality, my cousin’s club is really high-end. But I take every opportunity I can to fuck with him.
“She says she likes spending her time at a place that was named in honour of her family,” he fires back.
“By the way, you do know you’re my least favourite cousin, out of all of 'em. You, I wouldn’t miss,” I tell him.
“Just get your ass here. I have a flight to catch in an hour and I’m not leaving her alone. This city is full of fucking creeps.” He sighs into the receiver.
Ash has always preferred Sydney over Melbourne. I came here for school because it’s where my mum went. She said she loved it, and I wanted to escape the family for a bit. That plan hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped it would, seeing as they all keep fucking showing up every other week anyway.
FOUR
When the doorman calls to say I have a delivery, I tell him I’ll be right there to get it. I wonder if my mum sent me something. She’s always sending me shoes, or bags and shit she sees and thinksI have to have. I’m not complaining. Because, honestly, my mum has great taste and nine times out of ten I use whatever she buys me.
The elevator opens up into the lobby and I walk over to the doorman. “Hey, Shawn, whatcha got for me?” I ask him.
“Ah, Miss Lucy, here.” He bends down and picks up a huge-ass fucking glass vase—no, it’s not glass. It’s crystal. I know Swarovski when I see it. And sticking out the top is a bouquet of tulips. Blue tulips. This is not from my mother. I have no idea who would send me blue tulips.
“Thanks.” I hold out my arms and take the vase. The flowers are bloody heavy.
“You want me to carry those up for you, Miss Lucy?” Shawn asks me.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. Thanks, Shawn.” I smile and make my way back to the lift while trying my best to keep my arms around the vase.
By the time I enter my apartment, my muscles are burning. Mostly from the workout this morning—that self-defence class was no joke—and partly from hefting this ridiculous bunch of flowers up here. I set the vase on the bench and pull out the card.
May you rest peacefully tonight and find tranquillity within yourself. XX
