3. Clara

CHAPTER 3

Clara

Despite the heat of Thomas's body, despite the weight of him pinning me against the wall and the puffs of his warm breath in my ear and the way his hands on my sides are making me want to burst into flames- I go ice cold. His lips are close enough to kiss my skin, but now it feels like he's a predator poised for the kill. His hands tighten, and it's no longer delicious pressure. He's made his body into a cage, and with a few words convinced me to step right into it.

His face pulls away from my hair, but it's not a relief. Now his eyes are pinned on mine, and I've never seen a face more forbidding.

I can't breathe, not without pressing my chest into his or smelling the cologne on his suit. And if I can't breathe, how can I speak?

Still, I try. "Thomas- I-I had nothing to do with-"

One of Thomas's hands grips my chin, the other gripping one of my wrists and trapping it against the wall above my head. "I suggest you don't lie," he says calmly. "Trying to take my sister's life is an act of war I will not forgive. Your best option now is to make yourself useful to me as a hostage. So, did Morgan decide he was bored after three months of truce between our families?"

I try to pull away, but there's nowhere to go. Thomas isn't loosening his grip, and his body is as immovable an obstacle in front of me as the wall at my back. His leg is still pressed between mine, and I'm terrified he can feel the aching pulse pounding there.

"That's not it!" I gasp. "This has nothing to do with the truce, I swear!"

It horrifies me to even think of jeopardizing such a tentative peace. After my uncle used his status as the boss's right hand to convince half the Warwick family to leave with him, claiming a vast swathe of the city's opportunities for himself and setting his old home ablaze in their wake- after ten years of bloodshed between two gangs that used to be one- the truce was the first sign that things could get better.

I couldn't believe my ears when I learned that Thomas Warwick had actually convinced my uncle to lay down arms for the sake of more lives not being lost. But now that I've met him–now that he's trapped me against a wall–I understand better how he might've manipulated his father's former friend to see reason. How long the truce will last depends entirely on my uncle's reason holding, which isn't likely.

Still, I won't be the reason the truce fails. I can't be responsible for our family's feud starting again.

"No?" Thomas asks. "So it's personal. What exactly did my sister do to you?"

"I would never hurt Raleigh. She was my best friend and I've never stopped missing her-"

"Then what were you doing there? Did you think a ten-year reunion sleepover would be appropriate?"

I can't believe that thirty seconds ago I thought he missed me. Worse, I can't believe I admitted to missing him . And that I was melting under every one of his touches .

My face must be scarlet. All I want to do is drop my eyes, but Thomas is holding me so I have no choice but to look at him. I try to squirm, but he only presses me more firmly against the wall.

"Answer. My. Questions," he orders.

He has to feel my pulse pounding between us. "I wasn't going to be there long-"

"Of course not. Starting a house fire doesn't take much time at all."

"I didn't do it!"

Thomas's leg grinds between mine, and I choke on a gasp. He's using my own body against me during this interrogation, and it's humiliating that I can't even help but respond.

"I've been kind until now," he warns. "This has been pleasurable, hasn't it? That ends the next time you lie to me."

"It's the truth!" I cry. "I'm running away from my uncle! I needed a place to rest- just for a few days until- until I figured out where to go…" I had no idea the first night would go so spectacularly wrong. If I had, maybe I would have given up on my ridiculous dreams of freedom.

But if I'd stayed one more day, my spirit would have died, and then I would have broken the promise I made to my mother in the last moments of her life.

Thomas is quiet for a moment while he reads my face, immovable as a marble column. I force myself to hold his gaze, willing him with my eyes and the tremble of my lips to believe me.

"What purpose would you have to leave the safety of Morgan's estate?" he finally asks, but not as though he believes me. He's poking at the edges of my story, testing what he's already decided is a lie.

"Because I don't want to live like him!" I burst out. "I don't want every decision I make to be based on who I have to hurt and who I have to kill to get what I want. I don't want every day to be about business meetings and intimidation tactics and trying to decide whether another turf war would be good or bad for profits-" I cut myself off, trying to control my dangerously shallow breaths. "I… I don't know where I'm going to go, I just know I can't stay with him. I won't."

For the first time, there's a glimmer of interest in Thomas's eyes. Does he hear my conviction? Or does he just sense a weakness that I've exposed?

"You've lived your whole life in a mafia family," he says. "What would you do besides this?"

I lick my lips, but suddenly, my desperation to be believed can't force the words out of my mouth. The dream is so dear to my heart. I've never told anyone what I want, not since my mother died.

Thomas's eyes go flat again. He looks down at me with that impenetrable expression, his hand still holding my chin firm.

"And how exactly did you find out that Raleigh was living outside of the estate?" he asks.

My throat goes dry. If I tell him my uncle had that intel, not only will Thomas not believe that I broke into my uncle's files and found it myself, but he'll immediately assume my uncle really is planning to end the truce. I've never been at peace in my uncle's house, but I can't wish death on him. And the wrong words out of my mouth won't be the reason another war is started.

"There it is," Thomas says. "The edge of your lie. I would have thought ten years of training from Morgan would have made you better at telling stories."

"But-"

"Here's what's going to happen," he bowls over me. "You failed to kill my sister when you were under her roof, and now you're under mine. If Morgan wants to restart this fucking war so badly, I'll oblige, but only when I'm sure I can crush him in one move. You're going to tell me everything you can about his plans, his connections, his resources. And after I've destroyed him and everything he owns, I'll spare your life. I'll keep you where I can see you, but as long as you don't do anything stupid, you'll be able to live peacefully."

Horror roils in my stomach. I betray my uncle to his death and live the rest of my life as a prisoner, or I refuse to cooperate and die? It won't even save me to admit that I'm almost sure my uncle set fire to Raleigh's house in an attempt to get me back. It wouldn't matter to Thomas whose idea it was. The only thing that matters to him is that my last name is Speare, and that's the name of the family that tried to destroy his.

Thomas finally releases my chin, and when he turns, I realize he's going to leave me here alone to consider his threats. "Wait, no-" I stammer, searching for anything to get his attention, to make him stay. My mind catches on Raleigh, on the myriad ways she bends the people around her to her will, and blurt out, "Tommy, wait!"

The reaction is instantaneous and terrible. Thomas's whole body freezes, like a cursed man turning to stone. His jaw flexes, but the rest of his face is empty of all feeling. Even his eyes are hollow. "Only Warwick people- my people- can call me that," he says, his voice perfectly controlled- too controlled, like he's holding the leash on his fury with white-knuckled hands. "You aren't a Warwick, and you haven't been for a long time. Pretend again, and there will be consequences."

I swallow, but my mouth is so dry my words come out as a croak. "Please listen to me, Thomas. I want nothing to do with my uncle, I swear it. I swear it on my mother's grave!"

Thomas doesn't seem to hear me. He releases me and turns toward the door, and my whole body floods with cold. I have to fight to keep my feet under me. He's already made up his mind.

"I'll give you a night to consider your options. For old time's sake," he says, a hint of poison in his voice. "Please, make yourself at home. Or would ‘welcome home' be more appropriate?"

That sends pain through me, and for the first time, anger sparks in my chest. He wasn't the only one who lost a home ten years ago. I was happy here, happier than I've ever been in the Speare family since. The building may be a different one, but the same people walk through it. And he wants to use it against me?

"Don't do this!" I beg, my hands clenching into helpless fists.

Thomas only turns back to face me once he's reached the door. "Start talking to me about your uncle, and I won't need to do anything."

"That's not what I'm talking about," I press. "Don't make me a prisoner! Don't make me a pawn in a game I'm trying to quit!"

Thomas's eyebrows furrow, just the tiniest crack in his facade. But he only says, "Be certain of your answer tomorrow." Then he lets himself out and closes the door behind him.

I don't bother testing the knob once he's gone. It's locked, which hasn't always stopped me. But if there's one thing I've learned growing up in the mafia, it's that there are other ways of opening doors.