Page 63 of Debt of My Soul

Rationally, I know I did what I could in the parameters of my job and position within this place. I can’t afford to compromise myself, but it doesn’t feel good. What’s another black spot on my soul?

Instead of answering her, I nod.

She frowns. “I don’t understand,” she says, her voice less raspy than earlier.

There isn’t anything that follows her statement. It’s implied, and I don’t know how to answer her questions.

“Essentially, I’ve claimed you. We use that term here with some of the women who marry into the group. Keeps most of the men and dealers from sniffing around a woman and offers protection.”

Her brows knit further together, and I know I’m not explaining it right.

“Men marry the women they want to stake a claim on.” I try again, but her expression moves into a frown. “It was the only way I could think of, in that moment, to get them to leave you alone. It’ll also piss Adam off, which considering his current issues with Darrin and the guys, will keep the guilt of anything happening to you off his conscience. He doesn’t need that.”

“I see,” she answers.

I didn’t realize I was squatting so close to her. One hand on the love seat arm, I move back, pull out a kitchen table chair, and slide into that.

“And if I don’t want to marry you?” she asks.

I snort. “You’ll marry me if you value your life. This works, Fleur. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” A sarcastic laugh trickles out of her mouth. “Trust a bunch of law-breaking druggies who kidnapped and almost killed me. Trustyou?”

Her voice cracks as she wipes her face. Being lumped in as a law-breaking woman-beater on drugs triggers me, and I snarl. Jumping up, I knock over the chair as I move to the kitchen for a cup of water.

Let her think what she wants. Let her.

I gulp down the water and steel my emotions, glaring at her. “Trust me, I’d rather not marry you, either. I did this for mybrother.” Disgust curls at the ends of my mouth, and I meet her icy stare and raise an eyebrow.

She breaks our stand-off first, sitting back on the couch and pulling her feet up. Part of me wants to tell her I’ll take the couch. That she’d sleep a hundred times better in my bed, but I doubt she’d agree. I’m sure a comment like that would scare her and she probably wouldn’t sleep anyway.

“I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.” I march down the short hallway to the linen closet outside the bathroom and pull out one of my grandmother’s quilts and an extra pillow. When I return, Fleur isn’t there. The faucet in the kitchen turns on, and she fills a glass of water. My chest tightens watching her in the kitchen, but I stomp it down, laying the blanket and pillow on the couch.

“I’m going to hit the shower and head to bed myself.” I turn to go, but her voice stops me.

“And in the morning?” she asks.

“In the morning, we get married.”

Chapter 26

Fleur

Last night is a nightmare I can’t shake.

Claimed. Like some sort of ritualistic bride being led to slaughter. I can’t argue that it’s better than dying, but the idea Liam stayed my execution like some sort of hero is disconcerting.

He was mad on the way back to his cabin last night. Fists gripped at his sides, and each time I’d fall or trip, he’d huff in anger.

Barbaric jerk.

He pitched this as a way to make Adam pay—taking what’s his. Blitz barely bought it, and I’m unsure Darrin is truly on board. Part of me worries when he returns, he’ll decide that all of it isn’t worth it and put a bullet in my head for causing too many issues. Because at this point, that’s what I am. Adam didn’t morph out of the shadowed trees last night, willing to pay up so they’d let me go. No, he’s nowhere to be found.

Pounding on the cabin’s door wakes me, although I can’t say I was sleeping too soundly. The couch is a thousand times more comfortable than the cell’s cot and I couldn’t be more grateful for the reprieve my back got, but every little sound made me flinch.Each rustle of leaves outside, the sound of footsteps striding through the gravel pathways to other cabins, or the slightly heavy breathing coming from the only bedroom in the cabin and the man behind it. They all caused my heart to jump into my throat.

This morning is no exception. I bolt upright at the pounding but quickly turn into the back of the couch, my back exposed to the living room, when I hear Liam stir. Pulling the quilt, which smells an awful lot like cinnamon rolls, up to cover half my face, I steady my breath as Liam lumbers out from his room. I listen as the door whips open and a man stutters before Liam pushes him back out.

While the cabin is warm and homey, it’s not soundproof and does not block out the noise of their camp.

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