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“Yes!” I don’t know if it’s a scream or a sob. All I know is that it scalds. It’s an entirely different pain to the one I was already in.
My heart isn’t being ripped out of me. I’m voluntarily burning it to cinders.
After parking Georgie’s car at the bottom of the street, I jump out as I pull myself from my thoughts, grabbing my overnight bag from the passenger seat. My bulky jumper is warm enough that I don’t need my coat for the short walk to the house.
Most of the Whitestone townhouses have the curtains drawn, the window boxes all uniform with winter foliage even though it’s only late October and autumn is still refusing to say goodbye.
I walk as fast as I can to the only house that looks battered and bruised. Our house is a shell of its previous glory. We were going to fix her up and make her perfect all over again. We were going to make it a home with our children and spend years filling each room with memories.
The builders have left, and as I’m about to let myself in, I spot Murphy again. He’s been tailing me for the last two and a half weeks. He doesn’t even try to be discreet, but then I don’t think that was part of Christopher’s instructions.
Walking towards him, I keep an eye around me. Still nights don’t hold the same peace anymore. All I can do is search every shadow around me and brace myself for whatever jumps out.
Straightening as I approach him, he tucks his phone into his pocket.
“Mrs. Sinclair.” He nods his greeting.
“Ryan.” I put emphasis on my use of his first name so he knows his formalities aren’t needed with me. “You know I prefer it when you call me Arabella.”
“I do, Mrs. Sinclair.” Rolling his lips between his teeth, he tries to conceal his chuckle.
“Is Mr. Sinclair paying you a bonus to annoy me?”
“I’m not at ease to discuss my contract with your husband. All I can say is that I’m your detail until he terminates said contract.”
“Don’t you work for the state?”
“Not anymore. I’m solely employed by your husband.” He chuckles lightly again.
“You know, you don’t need to remind me…I’m well aware I’m married and to whom.”
Nodding, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his black wool coat when I turn to walk away. But then a thought strikes me.
“Are you going to stand there all night?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ll be here until you leave in the morning.” Stepping back into the shadow of the dead end, he perches on the bonnet of his Range.
I don’t need a fucking babysitter. But I know that he won’t go against Christopher’s orders. Especially not after the attack. His twisted sense of loyalty isn’t to me, it’s to my husband.
“Have you had dinner?” I might as well get something out of this. Maybe he can go tell his boss that I’m playing along nicely. He can reassure Christopher that no other person is touching me.
“No, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“I seem to remember you used to eat.”
“I do, Mrs. Si—”
Stepping closer to him, I stand as tall as my five-foot-nothing frame will allow. “Call me Mrs. Sinclair again and I promise you, Ryan, I’ll make sure you need reminding of your own name.”
He laughs at my threat. Maybe he thinks it’s empty, but quite frankly if he doesn’t stop, I will bat him over the head with one of the hammers the builders like to leave lying around.
“I’m going to order some pizza. If you’d like some, you’re welcome to join me.” Turning on my heels, I don’t wait for his response to my offer.
I’m hoping he takes it. This revenge business is lonely when you have to walk away from your strength and go at it alone.
