Page 38 of Burned By Sin
“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you take the hint and fuck off already? She’s only being dragged into this bullshit because of you.” I spit back, refusing to acknowledge that he’s right. I can’t be blacking out with fury when Harper is under the same roof. My head hangs heavy as I’ve got a hangover without the sweet oblivion of the night before.
“I’m not the sole target of these taunts,” Clayton grits through clenched teeth, his eyes on the floor. Bending, he picks at the edge of a polaroid that’s peeking out from beneath the counter and returns to his full height, the tic in his jaw beating. A darkness has fallen over his face, his black eyes blazing with an emotion I know all too well.
I turn away, not ever wanting to see those photos again. Any images of Harper and I will be far more graphic and better yet,consensual.
“Someone has to be there to pick up the pieces when you toss her aside. That’s what you do to women when you’re finished with them,” Clayton jabs. He’s hurt me physically, now he’s hunting for my vulnerabilities. Luckily for me, I know what I bring to Harper’s life. I know how she looks at me, how she aches for me. It’s something I don’t need to explain to anyone.
“Maybe I want her as much as you do.” I challenge.
“Impossible.” Clayton’s eyes flash, the depth of his feelings starting to show at last. Before I can so much as smirk, never mind rib him the way I want to, a shoe slams into the side of my head. Spots burst behind my eyes on a groan as my other high-top hits Clayton’s back.
“If you’re both finished talking about me as if I’m not here,” she swans over, batting her lashes in that sugary sweet, I’m-about-to-fuck-you-up, kind of way. During our quarreling, she pulled her leather jacket over the T-shirt I’m apparently not getting back and tugged on her jeans. “I’ve had a text from Addy, we have some things to discuss.And before you get all macho,” Harper holds up a hand to silence Clayton, “she’s waiting outside and I will not be without an escort. Play nice you two. I’ll be back by seven.”
I groan, leaning my forehead on my palm. Harper is fully planning to go ahead with tonight’s study session, regardless of the looming aspect of being recorded. A kiss is placed on my cheek and she leaves. I spin, demanding to know what she thinks I’m going to do with Scum, but the rush of blood to my face floors me with another wave of agony. Where is that fucking doctor?
Pushing upright anyway, I stagger towards the window, checking Harper is in fact with company. The pink-haired imp who desecrated my toenails doesn’t seem as bubbly today. I still need to figure out how to get the offensive color off. Regardless, I track the pair until they are out of view. The house suddenly goes cold, or maybe that’s just my chest as I watch Harper leave. Clayton huffs, dropping onto the sofa as if he’s actually going to stick around.
“At least she didn’t take the laptop,” he grumbles, drumming his fingers on his thigh, staring at the coffee table. It’s a wonder I didn’t smash it alongside everything else. “Do you know anyone who can do anything with it? Get it scanned or wire tapped or some shit?” Resting against the windowsill, I run a hand through my hair.
“I tried a hacker last time but he couldn’t get a trace. Maybe if there’s new leads, he might find something to latch onto. I’ll hit him up again.”
“Could you, ah…can I ask a favor?” Clayton rubs the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. I wait for him to look back at my face and read the bored expression there. If he wants something, he’d better bloody say it. “Someone has been visiting my mom with a fake name, pretending to be related to me. Dekken H. Cornerstone. His name was in the visitor’s book and I found a beanie hat in her room. I think he’s…impersonating me?” Clay mutters. A bubble of fury rises within but I just about manage to keep it contained. Why the fuck didn’t he tell us this earlier?
Plucking the laptop from the coffee table, I head back to the kitchen island. The very same surface I had Harper laid across like a buffet and ate out like a man famished. I still am, and my appetite is only for her.
Taking a few photos of the model numbers, or whatever shit the hacker might want, I’m so invested in my phone screen that I didn’t notice Clayton let the doctor in. He might as well put on an outfit and become my official bellhop. I’m distracted by messages while my nose is reset, more so by the extortionate sum the hacker is demanding. I’m sure this is just some kid who lives in his bedroom, but he came recommended.
In the background, McClean is tackling the dry wall scattered all over the floor. I’m curious to see what he does with the broken railings before telling him I’ll call in a repair crew. My nose is taped in place, the deep ache of bruising seeping towards my eyes. It won’t be pretty, but I have bigger problems to deal with. One of which is throwing his weight around, huffing and pacing without any sense of direction. Waiting for the Doc to leave, Clayton leans his arms on the counter.
“We can’t keep sitting around, waiting for these threats to get worse.” I shudder at his use of the term, we. There is no we. There’s no, the boyfriend of my girl is also my boyfriend, type shit going on here. We’re enemies trapped in some ridiculous paradox where Clayton Michaels is in my kitchen, looking for some kind of camaraderie. “What about a private investigator?”
“I can’t risk hiring anyone officially and my father finding out. He’ll intervene, and trust me, you don’t want Harper in his sights.” The thought makes me shudder. We’ve got enough problems without adding my father into the mix. “Anyway, stop your fretting. I’ve been working on it,” I grunt, tensing my features to test out the extent of pain in the center of my face.
“You have?” Clayton frowns. “When?” Rolling my eyes, I nudge my stool over to put space between us.
“You don’t think I’ve actually been studying every evening, do you?I’ve been cataloguing.” Opening a locked folder on my phone, I bring up my spreadsheet and flash it at him. A smile grows across Clayton’s stupid face and I snatch my phone back with a grimace.
“You’ve made an actual spreadsheet? With an attendance list?” He’s almost laughing now and my fingers form into a fist.
“Stalkers always return to the scene of the crime,” I mutter bitterly. I don’t know why he’s mocking me, he’s the one that said we need to do something. Well, I’m doing something. He should be thankful I’m not twiddling my thumbs, only considering how to next pleasure Harper. I’m covering all bases here. “Whatever happens, we can’t let that recording get out.” This suddenly sobers him, the scowl I’m accustomed to returning in a flash.
“Worried about your reputation?” Clayton scoffs. I’m used to the accusation that my interests are only surface level, and up to a few months ago, they would have been right.
“I don’t give a shit about my reputation. I won’t let any harm come to Harper.” Rising from the stool, I wander to the far end of the island, needing the space to think this all through in the clear light of a new day. “There’s nothing we can do to take back the recording now. If it’s going to be leaked, then we will just have to own it. Unless…” I stop mid-stride, my left eye beginning to twitch. “It’s intended to be used for blackmail.”
“Blackmail for what?” Clayton cocks his head to the side. I throw my arms in the air.
“Oh, I don’t fucking know. I smashed my crystal ball last night,” I bite back sarcastically. “But blackmail is the best outcome. We can bend to demands, I can pay the fucker off, whatever it takes.” The atmosphere in the kitchen thickens, falling heavily between my declaration and Clayton’s scrutiny. His dark eyes are fixated on my face, hunting for the deceit he’s accustomed to.
“So what, we’re making some kind of truce?” he asks. If my head wasn’t already throbbing, I’d have thrown it back in disgust.
“No truce, just a basic understanding. Harper’s wellbeing isparamount. What we are to each other is insignificant. Agreed?” Being the voice of reason isn’t a skill in my wheelhouse, in fact, it tastes like acid on my tongue, but Clayton nods, dropping into my vacated stool. As far as making a pact, that’s as deep as I’m willing to go.
I stare at him for a few moments, watching this brain tick over as he makes absolutely no move to leave. Ugh, I don’t have the energy for this. I’m going back to bed. Passing McClean in the hallway, I tell him to call in a repairman and plumber. He gives me a solid thumbs up in response and I decide I might actually like him.
I make it halfway up the stairs before Clayton speaks again, following my ascent.
“Do you really care for Harper?” I stall, slowly turning back to glower at him. Clayton doesn’t falter or shrink back, and that’s how I know I’m losing my touch. “Do you really care for her safety, her hobbies and interests, her wellbeing and her happiness?”
