DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) Page 41

  I’d been rested and gloriously pain free then and in a good enough mood to turn on my side and attempt an apology. It went something like this.

  “Chase.”

  He turns to me, his eyes taking in my sprawl and the way the sheet rides up my leg where the cast sticks out and I swear I see not only desire there but a flicker of affection.

  “What?”

  So cold again that I feel a measure of uncertainty but forge ahead anyway, needing to explain to him that I’m not against his…hobby. I was just so stunned that a man I’d debated Utopian Ideals with had the capacity to not only beat a man so badly, but one of his best friends.

  “I just wanted to say—”

  “Save it. You don’t have to say anything. Or you don’t have anything to say that I want to hear. I’m going to work. Hensley will be here, and I’ve hired a nurse to see to your needs.”

  Nothing more is said and I watch him walk out as if he doesn’t give a shit. His behavior is at odds with the sensitive man who held me and rocked me as the sedative—not pain pill—took me under.

  That’s how it’s been all week. Hensley comes over and watches me while a nurse bustles around. She’s a complete waste since Hen carries me to the bathroom and back. Chase won’t listen so I stopped saying anything.

  In fact we don’t speak. At all. He comes home and we eat a silent dinner before he takes me upstairs and gets me ready for bed. Then he forces me to take a pill and goes to shower. I’m usually knocked out by the time he comes to bed.

  Each day is an excruciating repeat of the day before.

  Well, besides today when I remembered what he'd said about my job and called the center.

  So yeah, today is different because I am so mad I’m vibrating. According to the receptionist, I sent a letter of resignation. On top of that, the mayor decided that with budget cuts, the staff needed to be ‘reviewed.’

  I am officially unemployed and without any options. All I have is Chase. He runs my life, even calling the nurse to ensure that I eat and that I’ve taken the shot the doctor prescribed since she still can’t get me to take the pills.

  I only accept the shot because Hensley has no problem pinning me down and forcing the thing into my arm.

  So yeah, today I’m angry, but more than that, I feel guilty. Brick made an appearance and after a long talk, I know that I made a huge mistake.

  I saw Chase fighting and attributed it to him being a violent person. Brick explained that his fighting is as much a discipline as a rush for him, and that for someone with his skills, Chase is capable of doing a lot more damage.

  That made me think, and I am ashamed to admit that his strength freaked me out not because of him, but because it reminded me of the helplessness I’d felt when I’d been hurt in high school.

  When he’d pinned Brick and kept him immobile, forcing him to tap out, I didn’t see a man who was taking care to secure a victory without hurting his friend. I saw those dark shadows and felt their arms subduing me, making me helpless.

  I have a choice to make now. I can either save my pride from further let downs—since every time I try to talk to Chase he reminds me my opinions don’t matter—or I can just go ahead and give him my apology and try to tell him why I reacted the way I did, not that it’s any excuse or justifies my judgmental attitude.

  I’m going to try the latter I decide—not because I’m expecting anything because at this point I don’t expect a thing—but because he deserves to know that he’s not the one I find lacking.

  It’s me.

  Chapter 22

  Chase

  “So after this comes off everything is fine?”

  The doctor smiles at me ruefully and goes on with examining Remy, his gray beard not effective enough at hiding his amusement. I twist my lips and incline my head, acknowledging my behavior but helpless to stop it.

  It seems that no matter how angry or disappointed I am with Remy, I can’t stop caring about her. I hold her at night when she takes her medicine and whimpers in her sleep, the nightmares a nasty reminder that—while I feel hurt and let down—I had failed her at one point too.

  “Yes. The cast is off and I’ve examined the new scans and X-rays. The break healed well and with the pins your leg should be good. Not as good as new, as we've before, it can and probably will cause some pain at some point, but it has healed well.”

  Remy nods and smiles at the doctor, thanking him and his team for doing a fantastic job.

  I thank him too, though I let him know that I am not pleased with the thin scar that now graces her shin or the tiny red scar on her knee.

  “Oh hush, Chase. It’s perfectly fine. One little scar won’t kill me.”

  No, but I fully remember what almost did and the fact that that scar will always be there is a reminder of that harrowing ordeal. Not only for her and Liv, but also for those hours of fear and self-loathing that Gabe and I endured.

  Now we’re in the car and driving home and I have the intense urge to talk to her, anything to erase that sad, beaten down look off her face. I know why it’s there. I feel like shit about what I did, but every time I consider rectifying it, I think what if she goes back to work and finds a way to leave me?

  What if somehow I lose her because I know Remy, and even being alone—as I pointed out to her—she’ll come up swinging and just forge her own path.

  And she will leave me.

  I can’t have that. As fucked up as it sounds, even being this angry doesn’t make me want her any less and I’d rather live a lifetime with her, unhappy and sniping at each other, than live a day knowing that she’s not mine.

  That, of course, is all due to my messed up mind having already staked a claim there and, well, I’m not the kind of guy to just give up and let something go. No, I fight and find a way to change things and make them what I want.

  So I’ve decided to make Remy into my perfect ideal.

  I just hope she’s capable of being what I want after she showed me her true colors.

  I hear her sigh in the passenger seat and feel her turn.

  “Okay, so I’ve been trying to talk to you for a couple of days and you won’t let me.”

  “So you think now that I’m driving you can ambush me,” I muse, feeling a grin tug at my lips.

  For whatever reason, Remy and I will never be the perfect match. But I still find it terribly amusing that she and I are so alike in so many ways. The woman is stubborn and strong and so crafty in the way she handles things.

  She’s got the right idea about biding her time and waiting to ambush me, unfortunately I’m not new to this game and I’m most certainly not ready to hear what it is she wants to say. I’m afraid she’ll say something I won’t like—something that I can’t forget and no amount of effort on our parts will repair it—and I’m not willing to risk it.

  “You should know that I am not interested in what you have to say to me. I told you, Rem. You and I are going the distance. Do I love you? No. Do I think we will ever be that married couple who can’t live without each other?”

  I laugh scornfully and keep my eyes on the road, feeling secure when I see Brick’s SUV pull in behind us.

  “Chase, I—”

  “But we can make what we have work. We’re great in bed together and we have the same goals. We both want a family.” I cut in, hating the hitch in her breath. “You will be a good mother and what’s more, you will be an asset as my wife. With your breeding, my image will be perfect.”

  She gasps at that and I feel like ten kinds of foolish at having said it. I know that a lot of her need to get out of her marriage stemmed from being considered window dressing instead of an individual.

  I can no longer afford to see her that way. I’m going to forge ahead and make her understand her role. I need her to or I’m afraid I’ll lose the objectivity I’ve found and say and do things that I’ll regret.

  “Chase, this is not—”

  “You know you want me, Remy,” I say, gripping the wheel
tighter.

  “Yes. I can’t deny that. I wanted you from the moment you opened your front door, even knowing that it was wrong. I fought it all the time, waited for my divorce decree and I can honestly say, even then, I knew I was in way over my head,” she whispers softly, her body turning away from me as she settles her gaze out the window and stares at nothing.

  “Then we have something to build on,” I insist quietly, taking a deep breath when she doesn’t immediately deny it. “You know we can find some measure of happiness together.”

  “You took everything I had. So slowly I didn’t see it until it was too late,” she whispers forlornly, her shoulders slouched and defeated when I look over at her. “You know how much my job means to me.”

  Yes I do. But at this point I need to have everything to settle the roiling in my gut, and if that means taking her only means of escape, I will do it and keep breathing, albeit not that easily.

  “I have something to keep you occupied.”

  She stiffens and I thank God we’re pulling into the drive. I’m pretty sure that saying anything more to her while I’m operating a vehicle—and she’s free to attack me—won’t be in anyone's best interest.

  I pull into the garage and turn the car off, sitting quietly.

  “What would that be Chase? Would you like me to lick your boots? Be your disposable sex slave? Oh! How about just storing me away in the cupboard till you have need of my services,” she hisses, releasing her seat belt with a thwack.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re overwrought. Now just listen. I would like you to take over one specific charity, something that I usually do myself but can’t manage with all the work that needs doing on the new housing projects.”

  She flounces out of the car and I almost grin at her mulish expression.

  “You— Why won’t you just listen to me!” she yells, throwing the door open, storms in and makes her way to the kitchen.

  I follow, enjoying the view of her snit from behind as her ass jiggles in the designer jeans I personally picked out for her. Indeed, there is no lessening of my libido where she is concerned. I’ve reasoned that our marriage should work splendidly in that department.

  “Remy.”

  “No! I have something really important to say to you and you just need to listen, Chase. Please,” she begs, spinning at the table and gazing at me with longing and a need I refuse to meet.

  She had me lock, stock and fucking barrel and she discarded me like garbage. I will never give her that opportunity again. Ever.

  “What is it, Rem? Would you like to reiterate how hard you had it growing up? I heard that one already, and I have to say, I feel not one ounce of pity for the poor-little-rich-girl routine. Is it that you want more because you lived a decade in a farce of a marriage and can’t do it again? Not my problem. You chose the life that you had every step of the way. I gave you more and you were all too eager to throw it back at me so now you take what I am willing to give you,” I snarl, feeling some small satisfaction when her eyes cloud and go glassy.

  “You don’t understand,” she whispers. “And because you don’t, and won’t even bother trying, I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to leave. I’ll brave the streets and whatever is in store for me.”

  Okay, I have to admit I did not see that coming.

  Thank God I’ve planned for many contingencies that I hadn’t even thought of, or I’m afraid I might lose this battle. The woman’s chin is up, her shoulders squared and I get the impression that she really would walk out of here, penniless and without options just to prove a point.

  “You can’t leave.”

  I sound so calm but inside I’m raging. Just as before, I’m offering myself to her and she’s declining. Once again it’s as if the work and effort I put in means nothing to her. Well fuck that.

  “Yes, I am and you can’t stop me.”

  “Well, actually I can, Rem, and you want to know why? Because, as my wife, you are bound to me.”

  She laughs, the sound a hoarse crack that seems ripped from somewhere deep. The sound echoes off the kitchen walls and hits me with its derision and I harden myself against her next words.

  “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the planet! You’re immovable and mean. You won’t get off your fucking high horse and listen to me for even a minute. I can’t live my life with someone who couldn’t give a shit about me. I won’t marry you.”

  I feel a smile curve my lips a second before I leap across the room and drag her close to me with my hand behind her neck, my lips an inch away from her trembling mouth.

  “We’re already married, babe.”

  Chapter 23

  Remy

  I was shocked by those words. I’m ashamed to admit that after gasping and staring at him in slack-jawed astonishment that I’d barked out a laugh—cackled really—and shoved at him to lessen the feel of his body so close to mine.

  What I’d felt at that moment wasn’t rage or fear or any of the gamut of emotions that I would expect. I’d felt a little pity for his delusions.

  And I’d said so, reaffirming the fact that I would never even consider it.

  And then he’d dropped a whammy on me by taking my hand and dragging me to his office. Once there, he shoved a drink at me and opened his wall safe, his movements as determined and assured as always, his lips tipped in a smile that should have told me that I was screwed and screwed royally.

  I’m pretty sure I looked like a fish out of water when he calmly and arrogantly handed me a piece of paper and leaned a hip into his desk, his expression fierce and radiating a calm victory.

  Gosh, I hadn’t even known we were engaged in this battle, so color me shocked when I looked down and took in my defeat before I could take my next breath.

  A marriage certificate.

  Signed.

  Dated.

  Totally legit.

  “How?”

  He’d smirked and shrugged one shoulder, looking for all the world as carefree and relaxed as is possible, and then he’d taken it and slotted it into an empty frame already gracing his wall, the horrid thing taunting me.

  “You signed a few things in the hospital that you didn’t read.”

  “Hospital discharge papers!”

  “And this.”

  “But, but it needs witnesses and—”

  “Brick, Hensley and Dec were there, along with that very nice judge who just happened to pop in to see how we were doing.”

  I may have lost my temper at that point and stormed out like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. It pissed me off even more when I heard him chuckle and shuffle along behind me, all the way to the bedroom. I flung a suitcase on the bed.

  Let me just tell you that I am more pissed at the fact that he watched me shove my clothes and toiletries in that bag. Let me zip it up and grab it by the handle. Let me storm out of there like a whirlwind.

  It was all useless because when I got to the garage, my car was not there in its usual spot and my wallet, when I finally whipped it out of my purse, was emptier than my heart.

  It hit me then, really hit me, that I have nothing. That everything I have now is what Chase is willing to give me. No job. No money. And as he'd told me, I’m married to him.

  If he can manipulate circumstances to the point that I’m married without even knowing it…well, let’s just say he made it clear that he would not take too kindly to his wife running around unattended.

  So back to the present.

  It’s been a week, give or take a few miserable hours, and I’m now married, employed by my own husband and effectively trapped on the grounds of the sprawling estate that he calls a home because I can’t get out unless I’m with him.

  I’m so surrounded by men that I can’t see where I’m walking.

  Oh, and I had an epiphany that led me to my new state of mind. After I got hurt in school, my grandma got me this kickass psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Yamota.

  She helped me unravel the big ball of seethi
ng turmoil that was enveloping me at that stage. I got enough perspective on the situation to move forward instead of becoming a psych patient.

  So yeah, love that woman. I finally realized that if I can’t unravel the tangle of emotions I feel after the abduction and the monumental mess I made of my relationship with Chase, I need an objective third party with more intelligence and emotional stability than I have.

  So I’d called her and she’d graciously agreed to do phone sessions with me. I charged the shit out of Chase’s credit card to pay the extra fee a phone convo costs.

  I’ve spoken to her three times now for an hour every time, and we’ve come to the crux of things:

  1. I purposefully attributed shit to Chase that was not his liability.

  2. I royally fucked up something good, purposefully, due to fear and my unresolved trust issues with Brian. Again—not Chase’s burden to bear.

  3. I’m head over heels in love with the guy and that’s why I’m fighting shit tooth and nail.

  4. I need to fix the relationship, but since he won’t allow me to talk about things, I have to prove to him that I’m worth another chance through actions.

  There are a couple more things on the list, but right now I’m focusing on the most important: proving my loyalty. If I can’t tell him I love him, I need to show it.

  I have no plan of action as yet, but after I get through tonight, I swear I’ll come up with something totally cool. I hope.

  “You look amazing.”

  I turn from staring at my reflection to see him standing in the doorway, a large square box hanging from his fingertips. Does it make me totally vain to be happy when he looks at me and his eyes go all hot?

  I don’t care. I’ve purposefully chosen a long, off-the-shoulder jade sheath that hugs some of my curves and falls to my toes in a graceful sweep. The dress is clingy at my butt and chest but loose enough over other parts to flutter a little when I walk.

  Paired with an up do that leaves my shoulders and neck bare, and a pair of amazing nude heels that give me height, I am slamming tonight.