12. Clara

CHAPTER 12

Clara

If someone put a gun to my head and ordered me to, I don't think I could bring myself to look at Thomas during the car ride back to the estate. My body is inhabiting another dimension right now, one that's warm and gravity-less. My mind feels like it's soaked in ice water, too awake and too aware.

Thomas and I just had sex in his car. Thomas killed three men, and then he picked me up, pulled me into his car, tore off my clothes, and fucked me until I wanted to cry with pleasure. And I let him. I helped him. I begged him to go harder. He came inside me, and something carnal and chemical and- god, spiritual - inside me screamed yes, yes , this is the experience you've been waiting your adult life for.

Only in my wildest and most secret teenage dreams did Thomas Warwick give me my very first time.

Oh my god. How am I supposed to look Raleigh in the face? She tried to help me escape, and not only am I back, but I- with her brother-

Focus Clara , I beg myself. This is the second time in two days that you've tried to escape and you've been caught. Did those men work for Uncle Morgan? How did they find me?

I let those chilling thoughts wash over me, desperately trying to drown out panting breaths and hot hands and the sensation of Thomas filling me up, up, up . It's… difficult.

Because if I'm being totally honest with myself, despite my chaotic thoughts, I feel safe in this car with Thomas. It's not just a chemical side effect of the sex. He killed three men to get to me. And while part of me should be- is- horrified by that, the part of me that grew up in two different mafia families understands that if he hadn't done it, something worse would have happened to me.

Thomas has saved my life twice in the last twenty-four hours, and one of those times he did it even while suspecting me of trying to burn down his sister's house.

And then he… we…

I feel a rush of relief and trepidation when I see the estate's gate come into view, and I squeeze the daypack in my lap a little harder. I'd meant to leave this place behind less than an hour ago. But the memory of three men grabbing me, trying to force me into a car, have quickly changed my perspective. It's now painfully obvious that I didn't make the clean break from my uncle that I hoped for. Something else is going on here. Until I find out what that is, being Thomas's captive is, shockingly, the safest thing for me to be.

A choked squeak escapes me, an aborted hysterical laugh that makes Thomas glance my way. His golden hair is still slightly mussed from the work of my own fingers. I refuse to meet his eyes, and he pulls into the garage without comment.

My legs feel like jelly when I climb out of the car. I'm still rumpled, my hair is still a mess, my cheeks are still cherry red. Oh my god, everyone who sees us will know that I was just fucked within an inch of my life. I can't wait to get back to my room- to my cell- so I can get my shit together .

Except Thomas doesn't lead us back to the residential wing of the house. Instead, he opens the door to an unfamiliar room on the first floor. It's his office, I realize when I see the neat desk dominating the back of the room. There are filing cabinets and bookshelves lining one wall, and on the other wall below the window is a display case.

I have to squint at first to realize what the tiny things are lined up on each shelf. Chess pieces. Each one looks like it's made of a different material, and carved in a different style. There are wood and glass and jade and marble ones, bone and obsidian and one that might be solid gold. Each one is a breathtaking piece of craftsmanship, and I wonder if they were collected from different sets or commissioned individually.

I don't even realize I've crossed the room to study them more closely until Thomas says, "The set isn't quite finished."

Over my shoulder, I see he's leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. He watches me with quiet intensity, and I feel my cheeks reignite. I quickly look away, studying the pieces with new context. Sure enough, there are two sets of pieces here, but a second queen is missing. I open my mouth to ask him the story behind this collection, but he cuts into my thoughts with a single word.

"Clara."

I whirl at the sound of my name from his mouth, but Thomas hasn't moved from the desk.

"I met with your uncle while you were making your ill-conceived escape attempt."

That douses the warmth lingering in my belly. My wobbly legs almost betray me, and I quickly lower myself into the chair set in front of the desk, even though it puts Thomas over me. "You did?" I breathe, though I don't think I want him to confirm it.

"He confirmed to me that you left without his knowledge, even if he didn't mean to. He wanted me to return you. Undamaged." Thomas's hazel eyes search my face. I think with miserable certainty that it'll be impossible to meet his gaze from now on without remembering how it felt for him to unbutton my shirt.

Focus Clara, oh my god . "U-Undamaged," I repeat.

Thomas's eyes leave my face and travel down the front of my body. He doesn't even touch me, but goosebumps break out over every inch of me that he studies.

"Undamaged," he repeats.

The silence that falls between us is full of promise as much as dread. As the second ticks by, my stomach sinks lower and lower. I remember the calculation in Thomas's sweet seduction this morning, in his intimidation at brunch. A horrible possibility pops into my head, and I try to crush it, but I'm not fast enough.

Would he fuck me in a car just to ruin my value in my uncle's eyes?

"I-I see," I say, my voice sounding miles away.

"That being considered," Thomas goes on, either oblivious to my horror or uninterested in it, "I think it's safe to say that you weren't the one to set the fire." I expect him to apologize for wrongfully imprisoning and threatening me over that, but he just continues, "I'm tempted to suspect your uncle is at fault. He only grudgingly accepted the truce, after all. Him directly attacking a member of my family is quite the escalation, but if he could have successfully pinned it on you and been rid of you in the process, he might have gotten away with destabilizing the Warwicks without breaking the truce too soon. But then, he told me he wanted you undamaged ."

His eyes pin me in place. I suddenly realize he isn't just monologuing. He expects me to confirm or deny his theories, to give him information about my uncle now that… what? Now that we've had sex in his car?

I realize I'm vibrating, and I grip the arms of my chair to steady myself. Thomas must see some of the rising anger in my eyes, because he suddenly switches tactics.

"What do you want, Clara?" he asks.

It's such a plain and forward question that I almost can't comprehend it. "What do I … want?"

He waits. He genuinely wants the answer. Am I playing into another game of his by answering, or is he actually interested in helping me?

Swallowing, I say what I couldn't in the darkness this morning. "I want to open an art gallery."

As soon as the words are out I want to take them back. The dream sounds so fragile when it's been said aloud. But Thomas doesn't mock me or tell me it's impossible. Instead, he studies the polished floor at his feet, thinking. Finally, he looks up at me.

"Here is my dilemma, Clara. This truce was never meant to last. It was a cover to stop your uncle from killing my people in skirmishes while I found a way to shut him down for good. I have certain political deals in the works that will give me the power to ruin the Speare family beyond recovery. Until those deals have been solidified, I need to maintain this truce, and the fact that you ran away and ended up in my territory is threatening to send your uncle into a frenzy."

That makes me shiver, and I was already feeling cold. "You think sending me back would keep my uncle from attacking you?"

Thomas's expression doesn't change, but somehow I can tell that upsets him. "You're not ever going back to him," he says with finality.

"I'm not helping you hurt my uncle," I return. "No matter how long you keep me here."

"Even if it was the key to getting what you want?"

My heart clenches a little. I shouldn't have told him my dream. I shouldn't have let him inside me. Every time he looks at me, speaks to me, touches me, it's nothing more than a game to him. "Just say what you mean," I say, and I can't quite keep my voice from shaking.

"Help me crush your uncle, and he won't be able to stop you from leaving and living whatever life you want. Do nothing, and you'll become a loose end to not one, but two mafia families. You know what happens to loose ends, don't you Clara?"