Page 58 of Coercion

For a moment I think of my own parents. Of that day. Of standing over my father’s body, gun in my hand, staring down at him. My mother had rushed from the house, had fled while I’d stayed motionless, as if waiting for the bastard to spring back up.

And then Nico’s father had appeared. He’d taken the gun from my hand, ordered his men to clear up the mess and welcomed me in as another son.

I’d been lucky that he believed me, lucky that the Morelli’s had my back.

But Ruby, she’d had everything stolen from her and no one was there to help pick up the pieces. No one was there to save her.

“I’m here.” I say, “I’ve got you.”

And I’m never letting you go.

Preston

Ishouldn’t do it. I should walk out the door, go to work like normal, but after last night, I don’t want to just leave Ruby on her own.

So I send Jace in my place, I bark out my orders then clear the house out entirely. I want it to be just us, me and her, no Sidney, no staff, no eyes watching any of this.

She’s still tucked up in bed as I bring the tray of food in and she shifts, her eyes widening in that familiar flash of fear before they settle on what’s in my hands.

“Breakfast in bed?” She says, half in confusion, half in tease. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“I wanted to do something for you.” I murmur, feeling awkward, stupid, vulnerable too.

I’m not this person, I’m not soft, I don’t give a shit about anyone and yet, for Ruby, apparently I’m becoming a lap dog.

She sits up, pulling the covers back and I get a glimpse at her perfect body as she waits for me to clamber in.

God, if my men could see me now, if Nico could see me now.

I know most of them would feel derision at such behaviour but I let her snuggle up beside me as I fork some eggs and for a moment, I wonder if this is it, this is what all those books and movies and poems and bullshit– all of it talking of love and romance, this is what it feels like. This is what living is.

“Preston?”

Even the way she says my name, it’s pathetic and yet my heart reacts to that as if she’s gasping it out in the throes of ecstasy.

I give her a smile, then tell her to open her mouth and begin feeding her. She takes each bite without comment but her eyes are questioning me all the same.

“I’m just taking care of my wife.” I state like it’s that simple. Like that’s all this is. Duty. Obligation.

“Are you not going to have some too?”

The hint of concern in her voice makes my stupid heart flip. I take a few mouthfuls before focusing back on her. She’s the one that needs fattening up, she’s the one who needs taking care of. But as my eyes study her, I can see she is looking healthier, that tinge to her skin has gone, that bruise on her cheek has faded.

Give her a few more weeks of care and attention and I don’t doubt she’ll be completely transformed.

I finish feeding her then take the tray away. When I come back, she’s there, still in bed, waiting for me and it feels so perfectly normal to slide back in, to wrap my arm around her, to feel her body pressed against mine.

She takes my hands, studying them for a moment with a serious look on her face. “How many men have you killed?” She asks.

The question catches me off guard. It’s not like I’m ashamed of answering, I’m just not sure why she wants to hear it.

“More than I can count.” I state honestly.

She chews her lip, “Was it easy?”

“To kill?”

She nods.

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