Dorothy is flailing, her nails scratching at the back of my jacket as it slips off Eveline’s shoulders, and I rush toward them, grabbing Eveline around the waist and tearing her off.
Dorothy’s hand shoots to her throat. “Jesus, Evie. You need to be institutionalized.”
“Take off those shoes!” Eveline yells, her face blotchy and tears streaming down her cheeks. “How fucking dare you wear those here.”
My eyes drop to Dorothy’s feet, where bright-red, sparkly heels are gleaming in the moonlight.
Dorothy scoffs. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s not like they’d even fit you.”
Eveline’s head twitches and she turns to me, her gaze feral. “Do you have your gun on you?”
I do, but I’m extremely uncomfortable telling her that right now. She notices my hesitation.
“May I see it?” she asks sweetly.
Stepping back from her, I shake my head. “I’ll let you do anything you want with it once we leave.”
Dorothy sighs loudly, dusting off the front of her dress before toeing off the shoes and picking them up in her hand. “Fine, you want them so bad? They’re yours.”
She holds them out, and Eveline steps forward, reaching out to grab them. Then Dorothy flings them over the side of the boat. I can barely hear when they plop into the water.
“No!” Eveline cries, throwing her body into the railing. As soon as her eyes hit the water she freezes, and I’m after her, gripping her by the waist and pulling her into me, her body trembling as I sink us down to the deck floor.
“Maybe if you dive in after them, they’ll take you home to her,” Dorothy quips.
My eyes narrow as my head snaps up. “Dorothy, shut the fuck up before I shoot you myself.”
She laughs. “God, imagine I wanted to sleep with you. Pathetic.”
Her footsteps are loud even without her heels as she walks closer, and she crouches down in front of us. “I’ll tell you a secret though, Evie.”
Eveline looks up, mascara streaking down her face, her lips swollen and red. I’ve never seen her look so defeated, and my chest cracks at the sight. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t who she’s supposed to be.
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Dorothy whispers. “But I’m happy I did.”
She stands and saunters away, and my grip tightens until I’m sure it will bruise around Eveline’s waist, wanting to let her go so badly, but knowing if she harms her sister here, in front of all these people, even I won’t be able to save her.
31
NICHOLAS
We leave before the auction is over, and I don’t wait around to tell anyone we’ve gone. My insides are going wild, my brain trying to slot new pieces of the puzzle into appropriate places. Dorothy murdered Vanessa Westerly, and I had to keep Eveline from murdering her.
She doesn’t fight me when I carry her off the back deck of the boat, and as soon as we’re on solid land her body relaxes, the debilitating fear she was carrying washing away like memories drawn in sand.
“I’m still going to kill her,” she states calmly.
I grin, placing her in the passenger seat of my car and reaching over her front, buckling her in place. “I know.”
It doesn’t bother me the way it probably should.
Eveline has years of wounds that haven’t been healed, just bandaged with sarcasm and sadness, forming mutilated scar tissue that still oozes when pricked.
And maybe my morals are dulled when it comes to her. Because as long as she’s taken care of, it’s hard for me to give a damn what happens to anyone else. I lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead, breathing in her earthy, floral scent.
“Take me home,” she whispers.
I nod, sending a text to Zeke telling him to grab my stuff from the hotel room, and then I drive us back to Kinland. We don’t talk on the way, and I let us sit in silence because sometimes words can’t help. For two hours, I hold her hand and don’t let go, my thumb rubbing methodically over her knuckles, and it isn’t until we pull into the front gates of the Westerly estate that I loosen my grip.
I’m not sure how to handle this part of her. This vulnerable, sad girl who misses her sister and hates the people who took her away.
She doesn’t look at me as she exits the car, moving to walk up the front steps to the large double oak doors. I follow behind her, unsure if she wants me to stay or go.
“Eveline.”
She pauses, twisting around to look at me. Her hair is mussed, frizzy strands falling haphazardly around her face. Mascara streaks down her cheeks, black tears reflecting the stains marred on her soul.
And through everything, she’s still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
“Do you want me to go?” I move up the stairs until I’m standing in front of her.
She sighs, running the back of her hand over her mouth, smearing some of her already muddled red lipstick. “I don’t want you to leave.”
I thread my fingers through the roots of her hair and tilt her chin up with my thumb, my stomach flipping when I soak her in. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”
She’s on me in a flash, her mouth meeting mine. I press into her, grabbing her waist and taking everything she has to give.
She’s overwhelming.
Devastating.
She’s going to ruin my fucking life.
Breaking away, she reaches blindly behind her to open the door, dragging me in with her. My hands are wild, unable to stop touching her skin for a second, all of the possessiveness from before—when I saw another man think he could have her—roaring back.
We stumble in through the foyer, the mansion empty and dark other than the sparkle from the unlit chandelier hanging high above our heads. There’s a large round table in the center of the room, wedged between the split stairwell, and I throw her down on top of it, not caring that the vase of flowers falls off the edge and shatters on the floor.
I skim my teeth along her jaw, my lips already swollen and bruised from her assault, but I don’t care. I want her to brand every piece of me. My hand roams down her throat, and I press my mouth against hers.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I demand against her lips.
Her hand jumps up to my face, scratching the stubble as she stares into my eyes. “I’m yours.”
My fingers grab the front of her dress and pull until it tears, her perfect breasts on display just for me. I dip down and draw a nipple into my mouth, feeling it stiffen under my tongue.
She moans and I suck harder before releasing it when her fingers tug on my hair and pull me back up to her mouth.
We’ve already fucked countless times. I’ve taken her in every position, filled her with my cock in a thousand different ways.
But right now it all pales in comparison to the way kissing her feels.
It’s all-consuming, as if she’s ripped through my middle, and placed her heart inside my chest, forcing it to beat.
I move down her body, pressing my lips to every bare inch of skin I can find, and then I sink to my knees, sliding the green fabric up her legs until it’s bunched around her hips.
She’s not wearing any underwear, and my cock pulses when her dripping cunt is in my face, needy and demanding, begging me to devour her fucking whole. I waste no time dipping between her thighs. I stare up at her while I lick her out, her taste flooding my tongue and making desire tear through me.