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“I don’t give a damn about Keely or your family or Boston. Portland is my home. I’m not leaving.”
“Alisa—”
“No, no, don’t you dare do this right now. We finally have a good day and I start thinking that maybe you can be a normal guy for a little while, that maybe we can have something good, and now you’re saying I have to go back to Boston? Where will you be?”
“Here, finishing this ugly business.”
“Great, good for you, that must be so nice having some agency in your own life.”
“Alisa. This is for your protection. You have to understand that the war is reaching a fever pitch. Rustik will come after you again. You’ll be perfectly safe in Boston.”
“And you have to understand that you can’t make unilateral decisions for me about where I live. I’m a person, Liam.”
“This isn’t a discussion.” His expression hardens back into the husband I’ve known these last few weeks. “You will go to Boston. Don’t give Keely trouble.”
I stare at him, feeling so hurt, so damn betrayed, and unable to put it into words. He made today perfect—he pampered me, treated me like his princess, like his actual wife—he made me start to accept that it’s okay to feel something for him.
Not perfect, not exactly ideal, but still good.
Then he dropped this.
It was all some act to get me to do his bidding.
“You’re right. We’re not equals and we never will be. I won’t forget it.”
I turn and head inside before he can answer.
Chapter 32
Alisa
For one blissful afternoon, I wasn’t thinking about escape.
Now I can’t get it out of my head.
There are a thousand ways out of this house, but none of them would work, and I’m pretty sure Liam would chain me up in a bedroom if I made more noise.
But more than that, I keep thinking about the truck running into our SUV, about the gunshots, the bodies, the blood. I keep seeing the death all around me, and I’m terrified of what will happen if I let Rustik get anywhere near me.
Liam throws himself back into work the next day.
I mope around the house, feeling sorry for myself. Even Orin gives me space.
At least until Keely arrives.
She breezes into the house, looking glorious, dirty-blonde hair in thick ringlets, wearing designer everything from ears to toes. “Hello, hello,” she says, kissing my cheek. “How are you, new sister?”
“Fine,” I say, trying to be polite, but I can’t let myself forget why she’s here. “Liam sent you, huh?”
“Liam requested my help,” she says, sounding cautious. She frowns at me, tilting her sunglasses down. “You don’t want to go back to Boston, do you?”
“No,” I admit.
She groans. “He told me you were entirely on board. I don’t know why I’m freaking surprised, that asshole.”
“Seriously? He’s unbelievable.”
“They all are.” She shakes her head as she drops her stuff in the kitchen. “Nolan’s not much better. They think they own the world because their last name is Crowley.” She pauses, leaning up against the island. “They sort of do, and I actually find it very attractive, but still.”
I laugh and she grins at me. I like Keely—she’s got great energy, and she seems genuinely kind and so unlike all the other Crowley boys. But I have to remember that she’s the enemy.
“I’m sorry, I know this is going to be awkward, but I really don’t want to go to Boston.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me to the couch. “I hear you, I really do. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. But can we talk about it?”
“I really don’t want to. No offense, you’re very nice, but we’re total strangers.”
“True.” Her lips press together. “That’s the thing with this family. We all started as strangers. Well, I guess Ash and I didn’t, but you get what I’m saying. Once you’re in, you’re in for life.”
“That wasn’t supposed to be my deal with Liam.” I look away from her, feeling like I’m betraying something by admitting this. “We promised it wasn’t forever.”
She laughs loudly, leaning back against the pillows. “Oh, god, that’s hilarious.”
“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?”
“You really thought you weren’t signing up for life? That a Crowley man would marry you then let you go? That’s not how it works!”
I glare at her. “Is there an instruction manual on how to marry a Crowley man? Preferably one that doesn’t end with me killing him in his sleep.”
“No, but that’d be a fantastic idea. Look, okay, this is so weird, but we all pretty much have some version of your story. I think it might be an extremely specific fetish with these guys.”
“What is a fetish?”
“Marriage! I mean, making a contract marriage. Then turning it real through sheer force of sexy will.”
I hesitate, some of my anger disappearing. “That happened to you?”
