locking us hip to hip. I start to push off the bed but consent with a twisted mouth. Running is useless.
As if obliged, he pats my leg. “When ye’re ready, I’ll tell ya how I’m aware yer da and mam were murdered together. Unless ye want to refute it, say ya saw it? Like ye saw me cheating?”
Seconds pass. When I refuse to dispute either subject, Leith shares how he came home with a dead coworker, murdered a computer tech, and let Yates slip out of his grasp.
At the part where Yates manipulated Leith into believing we’d died, I lower my gaze.
“Then ye arrived at the auld house,” he concludes.
“Oh, you’re done? What happened to Yates is on his way here?” My gut clinches at the sad truth of just who we are. Big Brody created his sons for destruction, my husband included, and I’ve always been a toxic mistake waiting to implode. We’ve had our fair share of beautiful wars in the past. This one’s different. If I don’t yield, I sense this will be the very one that breaks us. Yet, I can’t shut myself up. Damn you, Lady, counseling instead of toys would’ve come in handy right now.
The flats of my palms shove against my husband’s chest challenging him. “So, Leith, someone from the clan went to wrangle Yates up like a damn hog and will drop him at your feet!” Then you’ll do something lawless. You will become that, and one day, I’ll lose you to jail or death—like my father.
“Aye!” Leith’s piercing blue eyes are a forewarning of the ruthless antics his enemy will come to know. He climbs on top of me. I’m strong, but I’m no match for my husband as his mouth devours mine.
“Stop.”
“Okay,” he groans, with his thick, Scottish accent. His mouth lands against my neck, marking me with gentle sucking bites. “My, sweet Crabbit Chevelle, ye may know how good yer pussy tastes after I drink ye down then kiss yer mouth. But ye dinna know how good revenge tastes.”
His mouth draws against mine. Our tongues pick up where we left off, fighting each other. I run my fingers through the crown of Leith’s hair, massage at his scalp, groaning and caressing. Seconds later, a heaviness weighs my chest. With a paranoid start, I yank at Leith’s hair. “Did that mafioso scene where Yates was taken unfold before or after your father . . .” Oh, gawd, Chevelle, shut up already. But we aren’t supposed to be this type of people. We’re good people. Only one thing separates us from my parents’ mistakes—not letting a single sin into our life.
“I’ve had it up to here with ye!” Leith levels a hard hand above his head. With a furious snarl, my husband settles back on the bed, locking us side by side again. A sympathetic chord elicits from my soul to that of my soul mate. Leith carried a heavy burden, all alone, when assuming Mia was dead. This is the nightmare Leith attempted to share when I sharpened the blade on his Audi. Then Big Brody lobbed his insults too. I offer a silent apology.
Leith regards me through the eyes he once had when we were kids. He made a mistake, and he wanted to make things right. Though I’ll love him for the rest of my life, he confided in Erika. That hurts. I need time to let that go.
Keeping my gaze low, I mumble, “I have a headache.”
Leith stands and leaves the room. Gripped by the story, I’m still seated at the edge of the bed a few minutes later. Leith hands me two Tylenol, then places the bottle before his open mouth to crunch on a few more of them. I almost ask what he needs them for, but thinking about the shoot-out and Big Brody’s hostility, it makes sense he has a headache, too. While he repositions the broken door, this time leaning it against the frame, I down my pills with the stale cup of water.
“I’m wabbit.” Leith yawns, settling on the edge of the bed beside me. His hand reaches for mine, but my palm isn’t to be found. I’ve slid it into my jean pocket. “Okay, that’s the game ye want to play?”
“I need a moment,” I grit out.
With a scoff, Leith repositions himself, lying down. His head plants in my lap, arm scooped around me, locking me in place.
Against the headboard, I grit out, “I’ll bite you again.”