“Home. And fucking get us there quick!” I ordered, and the driver skidded out onto the main road. I pushed back dark brown hair from Cheska’s face and studied her cuts and bruises. A strange, fucked-up kind of ache ripped at my chest as I saw her swelling lip and the wound at her side. My sternum ached like I was feeling something. Like I fucking cared. But I’d stopped caring about everything a long time ago. All I felt these days was rage and revenge and the need to tear down any fucker that got in my way.
I pressed my hand against her side to try and stop the bleeding. Her blood was hot against my hand, and her breathing was steady but hollow. Cheska didn’t wake up as I touched her. She was fucking out for the count.
I’d seen enough stab wounds in my time to know it wasn’t deep, but she was losing blood; that much was clear.
“Faster,” I said to the driver. I pressed down harder on her wound and felt something pull in my gut. My jaw clenched as it hit me again, like a fucking crowbar to my stomach.
Cheska. Bloody Cheska Harlow-Wright. She’d always been able to do this shit to me. Her stunning face, her body that I always fucking craved, and those dual-coloured eyes that drew me the fuck in.
“Princess, what the fuck?” I said against her cheek and held her tighter. Her tits were on show since I’d ripped her dress from her. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. I glanced at the driver. His attention was on the road, but a wave of possessiveness took me over. I didn’t want any fucker to see her like this. Only me. Only I ever looked at her tits and body this way.
I slipped off my jacket and wrapped it around her. A breath lodged in my throat at the sight of her in my jacket. She was slim, and my jacket bloody drowned her. But I liked the sight of her in it. Fuck, I could smell my cologne mixing with her perfume, and I held her fucking tighter.
Blood soaked into my shirt as she lay flush against me, but I didn’t fucking care. I tapped my foot on the floor. My bastard skin itched with the need to get her to safety.
I just needed to get her to my motherfucking house.
The minute we turned from the main road to the church grounds, I let myself breathe. When we stopped at the house, I launched the fuck out of the car and ran for the front door. The doctor was waiting. He knew not to fuck me about, and I paid him a fuck-ton of money to be at my beck and call.
“My bedroom,” I ordered and rushed her inside. I laid Cheska on my bed and reluctantly moved out of the doctor’s way. But I kept her fucking hand in mine. Kept my fingers wrapped around hers. I couldn’t fucking take my eyes off her, lying there on the bed.
My fucking bed.
Dark hair.
Green-brown eyes that always saw me and … “Arthur … I’ve found you … I’ve finally found you …”
Her voice. Her raspy posh voice as she staggered into my office, and the fucking state of her as she fell to the ground.
Cheska.
Cheska, who I had left in Oxford just over a year ago never to fucking see again. The doctor started cleaning her up, and I needed a drink. I needed a fucking large drink and a drag of my cig.
I released her hand and pushed out of the room. I stared at my hand as I walked down the hallway. It was still warm. Even losing blood, she’d warmed my fucking hand. I went straight to the bar and poured myself a huge whisky and downed half the glass. Memories fucking assaulted me. Memories that I both tried to forget and needed to fuel me.
I’d gone to her the day they’d all been killed. The day Dad got shot by the fucking Russians. My eyes drifted in the direction of my old man’s bedroom, where he still lay. Still in a fucking coma, body atrophied and paralysed. No sign of ever coming out of it.
Cheska.
Fucking Cheska Harlow-Wright.
I heard my front door open and knew who it would be. A few seconds later, Eric, Charlie, Vinnie and Freddie came inside. They were all looking at me, waiting for something.