38

38

KADE

My skin prickles with discomfort as Ewan and my mum follow behind me and Stacey with a few of my men in tow. Each step feels like I’m walking to my death, even though I’m just going outside to welcome my best friend and speak to detectives.

There’s a riot in my head, and I have no idea how to make it stop.

Anxiety has always been an annoying factor in my life. Right now, my heart is racing, and I feel like I can’t take a proper breath. I feel sick. My vision is hazy, and I’m certain I’m crushing Stacey’s hand in mine. I want nothing more than to drag her to the bedroom and hide there. We could fuck and sleep then fuck some more. I might even cry into her lap just to get this fucking weird feeling out of my system.

It feels like Bernadette is sitting on my chest, laughing in my face as she crushes me, and no matter how much I silently scream at her to get off, she doesn’t.

She’s driving a knife into my heart and twisting. Any moment, she might appear and ruin my life even more. My therapist says that the fear of losing what I have is my trauma response, and instead of fighting my attacks, I need to breathe through them – not focus on my heartbeat or how harshly I’m breathing.

I count my steps instead. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. I even count Stacey’s – hers are quicker as she tries to match my pace.

She’s probably sore – all we’ve been doing is fucking recently. I have years to make up for, and making love to my girl, lying with her in my arms or even just having her look at me keeps me grounded.

My body’s still alive from her interrupting my workout. I might even drag her into a room now and beg her to take my mind off the way I’m feeling by letting me drop to my knees and eat her pussy.

I make a mental note to smash Base in the balls for pulling me away from my safe place with Stacey, shut off from the world, and having me stand at the entrance of the manor while his red Aston Martin takes fucking years to drive up the cobbled path, followed by his army of Russian soldiers.

The dogs are waiting patiently too, sitting by my side.

I try not to look at the police car trailing behind. What if they’re lying and the only reason there’s no charges and nothing in my file is because this is all a ruse? They could easily put me in handcuffs and take me away from my unit.

How the fuck do I protect what’s left of my family if they take me away? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I watch as the detectives climb out of the patrol car first in fitted suits, standing aside so the packed coaches and SUVs can park up. I knew Base had a lot of backup, but this many people? Where the fuck is my mother going to have them sleep?

The crowds are cheering, chanting my name in the distance as they all notice me, hand in hand with my girlfriend. As much as I appreciate the support, they need to leave. If anyone comes for me, they’ll all be in danger.

There are teenagers out there, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you okay?” Stacey whispers against my ear as she rises onto her tiptoes.

I’m guessing my worries are written all over my face. She can probably feel how sweaty my palm is. Even the dogs are fussing around me, nudging me with their noses.

I attempt a nod when Stacey stares at me, and she squeezes my hand. “I’m here.”

“I know,” I reply quietly, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles, and the crowd squeals so loud Stacey blushes.

Someone wolf-whistles from afar, and I rein in my fierce possessiveness. I want them to stop looking at my girl. As beautiful and amazing as she is, she’s mine – I’m the one she loves.

Fuck, my heart is hammering in my chest, and all I can think about is hiding, smoking a joint to take the edge off the pending panic attack clawing at my insides.

I can’t control them. The frequency. The intensity. Sometimes I’ll be sitting doing nothing and I’m hit with a wave of worry about something that shouldn’t even concern me. It’s fucking annoying. Stacey is asleep most of the time it happens. I’ll sit on the balcony with my head between my legs and count down from fifty. Then I’ll pace, smoke, punch something, and when it starts to fade, I’ll wrap myself around Stacey and pray we make it out of all of this.

I’ve only had one seizure in the last few days.

I have a shot of happiness with Stacey. If I can survive the underworld’s backlash, then I could have a happy ending with my girl, our dogs and any children I’ve already knocked her up with.

Feeling like I’m in control of my body now that I’m free from Bernadette’s clutches is what I want. What I need. But all I have are a fuck tonne of unwanted thoughts and an impulsive need to hurt someone.

“You’re shaking,” Stacey says, stroking her thumb over my hand. Her voice is low enough that only I can hear, and as everyone starts to get out of the cars, she adds, “Name three of your favourite things.”

My eyes flicker to her; I know what she’s doing. My therapist gets me to do the exact same thing. I made Stacey do it after Crawley’s warehouse. My dad even got me to name things once when I was freaking out on the phone about kissing Stacey.

My heart twists at the memory. I was such a dick to him instead of being a good son. Even when I told him to basically die, he still loved me. He escaped a highly secured institution to save me, to save Stacey when she failed to show up for her visitation.

And now I have no idea where the fuck he is or if he’s still breathing.

“Three,” Stacey pushes as Russians flood the driveway.

I gulp. “You.”

She’s smiling in my peripheral vision. “Two more?”

I look down at Hopper and Milo, both watching me with their tongues out, lightly panting. “The dogs,” I say, picturing her dancing around the room with them, cuddling them in bed, her screaming as she was dragged across the wet, muddy grass when Milo ran for a rabbit.

“And my family.” I glance at my mother and Ewan. My sister’s probably hiding in the manor.

By not focusing on my breathing or my heartbeat, I realise they’ve calmed somewhat, and I don’t feel like I’m slowly drowning. I sigh so deeply, my stepdad glances at me with a flat-lipped expression – a silent, Are you okay?

I nod.

Someone blows out a puff of air beside me. “Shit, that’s a lot of people.”

I turn to see Dez – Tylar holds on to his arm. My shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. “He always needs to make a dramatic entrance, doesn’t he?”

Dez snorts. “I’m surprised there aren’t any fireworks.”

I guess Base marrying a mafia princess has some positives, considering he’s pulling up to the manor with hundreds of Russian soldiers who look like they could rip your soul from your body with one glance. Units surround the manor’s grounds, some outside in jeeps; others patrolling the crowd.

Bodyguards rush to the car as Base shoves open the door with more force than necessary. He’s suited up and wearing sunglasses for some idiotic reason, but he immediately flips them off his face and grins at me. “Kade Mitchell,” he says, slamming his door. “Who knew you’d ever be more famous than your fucking dad, right?”

I shake my head but fight a smile, some of the panic already easing off at the sight of him. Out of everyone, even Stacey, he understands what I went through the most. He was present. Took part. Affected. We kept each other semi-sane every time Bernadette summoned us to her room.

He grins at us. “I brought the party to you, oh famous one. Who the fuck are we killing?”

Even in the middle of a war, Base tries to lighten the mood. He can never be taken seriously.

“Fuckface,” he greets Dez, patting his shoulder. “Been a while. You look shorter.”

My mum places her hands on her hips at his bad language. She’s probably gearing up to slap the back of his head and tell him she’s going to wash his mouth out with a bar of soap. He winks at her, which makes her roll her eyes, but she’s battling a laugh.

Good. She’s been mired in grief since we returned to the manor, and I was starting to get really worried about her.

Luciella runs out of the front door and stops dead in her tracks, her wide eyes fixed on Base, who also freezes as he goes to walk around the front of the car.

His cheeks go bright red as he clears his throat. “Hi, princess.”

She crosses her arms and chews her lip. “Hi,” she replies softly, moving forward until she stops beside me. “Are you staying for a while?” she asks him, her tone full of hope.

A tall man comes up beside Base and speaks in quiet Russian. I faintly hear him give Base a warning, something about an introduction being more important, and I narrow my eyes.

Base stares at Luciella for a long second then swears under his breath and opens the passenger-side door.

I know who it is before the curly blonde hair comes into view, and I wish I could take my sister inside the house so she doesn’t need to see this. The way her small hand clasps Base’s, her stiletto-clad foot pressing into the cobbled path as she steps out of the car, seems comfortable, as if she’s had plenty of practice touching him. But the mafia princess is far too dressed up to be here, her earrings alone probably worth more than the manor.

Yeah, our house is huge and flashy, but can she not see we’re in the middle of a shitstorm and not throwing a damn ball? If someone attacks, she’s not going to get far with a long dress and heels on.

The impracticality of her even being here has me internally groaning. I bet her father forced Base to bring her – to show her off to the family he should have married into. I can’t believe my best friend is fucking married.

Dez leans into me. “Who’s the kid?”

Base holds his arm out for her, and she hooks hers into it.

“Fuck no. Tell me this is a joke. She’s young.”

Base plasters on a fake smile. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Nikita.” His voice is strained, his brown eyes flicking to the man who warned him. “My wife.”

“What the fuck?” Dez mutters under his breath. “Luciella is a million times better.”

I look at my sister – at the blood draining from her face and the way her lips are flattening to stop her tears from flowing – then back at my friend. “He didn’t have a choice. He had to marry her.”

I understand why he took the deal. I would do anything for Stacey. I’d even cut my own dick off to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any way.

Despite the pain written all over her face, my twin steps forward. “Hi, I’m Luciella. Kade’s sister.”

Nikita glances at Base. “Oh.” She takes Luciella’s outstretched hand. “N-Nice to meet you. May I call you Ella? Your name. It is hard to… to pronounce.”

The girl sounds nervous. Does she know about the deal? As far as I was aware, she just thought it was an arranged marriage.

Luciella blanches but nods and steps away, her eyes on Base for a split second. “You can call me whatever is easiest. I’ll show you to your room. We have fresh bedding and robes set out. I assume you’ll be staying together?”

“Of course,” she replies then slips her arm from Base’s and greets my mother, Ewan, Dez and Tylar. Then she stops in front of me, ignoring the dogs coming between us. “My father is very fond of you, Mr Mitchell. He wishes to work with you one day.”

My eye twitches. “No thanks. Tell your father to stick his offer—”

Stacey grips my hand and smiles at Base’s new wife. “I’m Stacey. You must be tired from your travels.”

“I am. Kade is lucky man. You are more beautiful in real life.” Her English isn’t the best; her Russian accent is strong but understandable. “You could be model.”

“You should sleep,” Base says, raising his eyebrows at her and pushing his hands into his suit pockets. “You were falling asleep on me the entire drive.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Then she looks at me as if I give a fuck. “We were up all night consummating our marriage.” She tuts and looks at my mother. “Newlyweds. Can you blame us?”

I grimace. Stacey looks at Luciella. Nikita giggles. The bodyguard beside Base nods, but I can see the twitch in his eye – the comment annoyed him. No one else makes a sound, but Luciella looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

Milo and Hopper are growing uncomfortable. They’re protective of my family and all these people have them agitated.

The detectives are waiting patiently, and I just want this day over with already.

Base coughs and asks one of his bodyguards in Russian to take their bags. Then he asks what I assume is the main guard if he can take Nikita, so he can catch up with his friends. The man’s reply is whispered, his teeth gritted, his brows furrowing in annoyance.

I might sneak into his room tonight and put a bullet in his head for being a dick to my friend.

Luciella is temporarily frozen, so my mum and Ewan lead Nikita and her bodyguards inside, but when she rouses herself and makes to follow them, Base rushes for her and takes her arm.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he says quietly so the other Russians don’t hear. “I swear I didn’t. I told you I wouldn’t touch her.”

She doesn’t look at him. Her lip trembles. “Please let me go.”

“Not until you tell me you believe me. I didn’t fuck her. Please.”

“She’s your wife. You can do what you want,” Luciella replies, her eyes glassy. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. I’m not mad, I promise. I know all of this is out of your control.”

He releases her arm and shakes his head. “I tried to call the wedding off.”

“I know.”

He goes to take a step forward again but stops himself. “Please tell me you believe I didn’t go near her.”

“What I think doesn’t change things, Sebastian. I’m not angry with you. I just… I need to go.” Luciella glances at all of us, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’m going to go to my room.”

Stacey and Tylar let go of me and Dez, and for once, I’m okay with the temporary separation. Both walk with her into the manor, and Base watches my sister until she’s out of view.

He turns to me and Dez. “I didn’t fuck her.”

Dez tilts his head. “Since when were you a cradle-robbing bastard? She looks fresh out of the womb.”

“She’s eighteen, you dickhead.” Base groans and stares at his shoes.

The last of the guards are filtering into the manor, the detectives still standing beside their car, but I’m in no hurry. They can wait.

“She asked me to lie and say we slept together, and I obviously agreed.”

Dez makes a sound of acknowledgment and pulls Base in for a hug, patting his back, and Base snakes his arms around him, looking like he really needs one as he buries his face in his shoulder.

“Shit, man,” Base blurts. “Can we go back five years?”

“Why five?” I ask.

“You both had girlfriends and normal lives, and all I had to worry about was getting Luciella’s attention for more than two minutes.” He’s still holding on to Dez. “Now we’re all fucked.”

“I’m pretty sound, in all honesty,” Dez says. “I just have fucked-up brothers.”

Brothers– meaning me and Base.

I stand and watch them, unsure if I should join or keep staring. I mean, I want to – at the same time, there are crowds pointing cameras at us, and I’m not really a hugger. Unless the person involved is a dancer with dark hair and freckles, with my initials tattooed on her.

Base doesn’t give me a chance to decide; he grabs my shirt and yanks me to them, and the three of us hug it out. Dez says we’re insane, Base says he’s a boring pussy, and I shake my head at them and tell them I love them.

We became best friends in school. I was annoyingly popular because of who my dad was, and Base was cocky, even at the age of seven, while Dez was our sporty sidekick. I had no need for friends – or so I thought at the time. I could never have imagined how important they’d become. Our trio. The ones who got me into trouble with the law and gave me my first drag of a joint; who got me drunk and egged windows with me. Who crashed Base’s car and left that heap of shit wrapped around a tree after attempting to teach me how to drive.

In the end, it was my brother who taught me. My friends were terrible teachers.

I pull away first and straighten my top then frown at Base. “Why the fuck are you crying?”

“I’m not,” he says in a gruff voice and wipes his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“You missed us, didn’t you?” Dez teases, and Base shoves him and puts him in a headlock.

I glance at the detectives and huff, telling my friends I’ll get them at the pool house before I walk towards them.

“Coming at the same time as the Russians wasn’t a good idea. Sorry that took so long.”

I’m not sorry at all.

The main one, an older woman with grey hair and a form-fitting suit, lifts her chin. “This is urgent, Mr Mitchell. It can’t wait.”