The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

I understood.

It was a power trip. Macalister wanted me to see her remorse.

Alice scratched a spot behind her neck as she thought about what to say, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was careless and selfish and”—emotion gathered in her like a storm—“all I could see was her lipstick smeared all over your face and I wish it had been mine. I love you, Macalister. I’ve given you everything you ever asked for. Why isn’t that enough?”

Tears slipped down her face, but she didn’t move to wipe them away. I doubted she even knew she was crying.

“I gave you everything,” she whispered, “while you give nothing.”

He was immovable stone. “Not everything.”

Was he talking about her submission? She’d told me she’d never surrendered full control to him.

She stiffened. “Well, now you have that too.” She swiped at her face, quickly shooing the tears away like they’d never existed. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

He considered her declaration critically. “All right,” he said finally. “In exchange for her silence, I promised Marist I would handle you appropriately.”

The temperature in the room dropped a million degrees, and my body froze to the chair when he reached for his belt and made quick work unsnapping his buckle. My eyes had to mirror Alice’s enormously wide ones as he grabbed one end of the black leather and pulled it free from his belt loops with a quiet vrrrip.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Nothing inside me—including my heart—worked right now, but Alice faired marginally better. She took an uneven step back. We watched in stunned silence as the belt was folded once to make a loop before he clenched it in his fist.

“Turn around and undo your pants,” he ordered.

And then Macalister stared down at me, his voice as cold as a graveyard in the dead of winter.

“Tell me what number you think an appropriate response would be.”

NINE

THERE WAS A SMALL ANTIQUE CLOCK ON THE MANTEL in the lounge, and its swinging pendulum had been quiet up until this moment. Now, every tick was a gunshot as I stared at the belt Macalister clutched. His makeshift whip he planned to use to flog his wife.

Alice had gone absolutely white and backed away from her husband but had not yet fled the room, although she looked like she was considering it. She’d given him her submission and told him she’d do whatever he wanted, but now she was much less sure.

My stomach filled with acid, and the sour taste quickly made its way into my mouth. He wanted to know what number an appropriate response was.

“Zero,” I spat. “Zero is the appropriate amount.” He had the audacity to look at me like I was the crazy one, and I couldn’t believe I had to say it out loud. “I’m not going to watch you beat your wife.”

A jolt shot down Macalister’s back. “Jesus, I’ll do no such thing.” He looked offended at the accusation. “I’ll deal with her the same way I handle any bad behavior that needed to be stopped—with punishment.”

I pressed my hand to my chest to try to stop my heart from cracking. Had Macalister done this to his sons while growing up when they’d needed to be punished?

Oh, God.

Had he done this to Royce when he’d refused to get out of the limo at his mother’s funeral?

“No,” I snarled. I balled my hands into fists so tightly, my fingernails were sure to leave crescent mark indentations on my palms.

His expression hung. “You don’t think she deserves to be punished?”

“Not like this.”

The clock continued its loud, persistent click. His eyes narrowed a degree, and his voice was incredulous. “After what she did, you find it acceptable she walks away free and clear?”

I was petty, and excellent at holding a grudge. “Well, no. But . . .” The belt remained in his hand, taunting me, right along with Alice’s panic-stricken face. I could barely look at her because it made me feel the same fear she was experiencing. “Macalister, please.” It bordered on begging from me. “Don’t.”

“You prefer I use a different method.”

Visible relief flooded her face, and I nodded. “Yes,” I said quickly. “Anything else.”

He cast the belt aside, dropping it so easily onto the floor with a loud thunk, it sparked suspicion in me. Had he really intended to use it, or had this been a test for her? Or a bluff for me? His half-smile all but confirmed it.

“I find it fascinating that, after everything, you have compassion for her,” he said.

I was still struggling to catch my breath and get my heartrate back down to a normal level. I wrinkled my forehead. “I don’t, I just—”

His eyes were all-knowing, all-seeing. “Then why are you holding that rook?”

What was he talking about?

I looked down to discover the white castle piece clasped in one of my hands. I didn’t respond, but we all knew why. He’d told her she couldn’t move unless I was touching a piece, and subconsciously, when the belt had come out, I’d wanted her to run.