Page 76 of Scream For Me
I can’t let him go.Not yet.
No matter how much my brain screams at me, my heart is running into this with open fucking arms.
I slip on one of Elias’s shirts and make my way downstairs. The shirt is long but somewhat fitted, the sleeves falling over my hands and the hem brushing the tops of my thighs. I might as well be naked, but I feel completely comfortable.
Elias is at the stove, trying desperately to keep Freddie out of the pan of bacon. The little ball of fluff chirps and jumps onto his shoulder. I guess I’m the spare human now.
“Morning, beautiful,” Elias says, placing a small stack of pancakes onto two plates.
“Morning, handsome,” I mirror, giving him a small kiss.
Freddie nudges my face, and I oblige with scratches.
Sitting down at the island, I take a bite of my pancakes. The salty and sweet taste makes me let out a soft groan. I fucking love pancakes, and I’m sure Elias knows that. I’m sure he doesn’t eat pancakes every morning with a body like that.
Which means he made them for me.
Warmth blooms in my chest at the thought, and I realize I’m staring at him. A quick dash of something passes over his face, too quick to understand.
“I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my clothes.” A small noise rumbles in his throat as he pulls my chair closer to him.
“As comfy as they are, I should really bring some clothes over here if this is going to be a regular thing.” I pop another bite into my mouth and rest my head on his shoulder. This has become a regular thing since Freddie came home.
The soft rise and fall of Elias’s chest beneath my ear grounds me in a way I didn’t even know I needed. His heartbeat is steady, and I close my eyes, letting the rhythm anchor me.
“I have one of my men bringing you new clothes later today.”
My men.
Something inside of me stills, and a feeling I’ve been trying to push down for a while rises. The men, the cars, the money, the house. I’ve been living in fucking denial, and now is the time to face the music. The words are out before I know what’s happening.
“What happened to Kirk?” I ask, my eyes dropping to the floor as I struggle to finally put a voice to my fears. I’ll never know why the words chose to come out at this moment, but I guess they had to. No more denial.
Elias goes preternaturally still. He looks as if someone has just turned him to stone. “Why do you ask?” He quirks a brow, but his face is otherwise unreadable.
“Just answer the question, Elias. Please.” My heart is thumping against my ribs, and my hands begin to shake. I don’t know which answer I’m more afraid of.
“He won’t be bothering you again,” he says, his tone clipped.
A bucket of ice might as well have been poured over me. My brain switches into overdrive as I scramble to read between the lines of what he just said to me, but I can’t. I need to know exactly. I take a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “Is… is he alive?”
The air in the room shifts to an eerie stillness, like the calm before a storm. And I can’t help but brace for impact. Time seems to slow, I don’t know if it’s five seconds or five minutes before he answers.
“No,” he answers after the pause, his eyes never leaving mine.
The single word sends my heart tumbling down into the aether, dragging my stomach with it. A cold panic grips my chest, my hand instinctively rising to clutch it. My shoulders tighten, my spine stiffens, and every nerve is suddenly alert. I know where this is going, yet I can’t get a fucking word out. My fork clatters against the plate as I let it fall, the sharp piercing the otherwise silent kitchen.
The conversation with Ryland weeks ago begins playing in my mind. I knew it all along, but denial is strong. Ryland’s voice echoes in my head, making my stomach harden as nausea rolls up inside me. Everything I’ve been burying slams into me with such a force that my breath whooshes out of me. I’m transported back as Elias’s kitchen fades away.
“Katherine, Princess!” he calls out to me from the Church room. “Why don’t you come and meet some new friends of mine?”
My gaze drops to the floor as I walk over to where he’s sitting. I’ve been here for so long now that I can walk this place blindfolded. The hem of my white dress drags along the shit-brown carpet of the clubhouse. I know every creaky floorboard, every cigarette burn in the walls.
My scalp prickles as I enter the Church room. This is where he does all of his business, it’s usually restricted to club members or business partners. I’ve only been allowed in here twice, and both times were…
I push the thought down. Now is not the time to make a scene. Not now, not in front of him.
I round the mahogany table and stand at his side, my eyes still focused on the floor. The wood of the table is polished to within an inch of its life, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, Everything else in this clubhouse is filthy.
