Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

We lay on the manor roof one night and I pointed out the star constellations while she pointed out the myths and legends. Crazy stories. Stories that made me laugh and her along with me. The warmth of her body as she pressed in tight. How much I wanted her.

How much I loved her.

Because I had. I had loved Amelia George.

I cursed under my breath at the memory, then pushed the mouse further to the side and stared again at the notification.

Could I do this? Could I really fucking do this? Put everything on the line again?

I pictured Miss Emmerson’s eyes staring up at me from her kneeling position. Pictured how fragile she’d seemed in the alleyway when I’d rescued her from those cunts she was paying off for her sister.

How angry I’d been.

How worried I’d been.

I’d been in deep with Paige Emmerson from early on, I just hadn’t consciously accepted it. Hadn’t factored it in as part of my decision making process.

I should have factored my growing affections in everything, not left this bullshit to sweep her up and away as I was only just reaching my own truth on the beach with another idiot who wanted her.

Was she worth it?

Worth losing the life I’d been building up for years under the sleazy wing of Henry cunting Drake? The only life I’d gripped hold of and run with?

I couldn’t deny it any longer. Even the pang of embarrassment and regret at the Amelia George saga wasn’t enough to quell the wash of desire I felt for Paige.

It wasn’t ownership either. My dick and my ego weren’t the only things pounding with want for her.

This was more.

It was so much more.

Love.

Need.

Respect and compassion and soul.

Amelia George had fucked me over and walked out to leave me high and dry. There was no denying it. I’d be at risk again, but this time I’d take control over it.

I’d give Miss Emmerson the chance to do the same, as early on as possible. I’d risk the hurt with my chin up high, consequences be fucked. But to do that I’d need her with me. Need her well, and fine, and in a position to know her own mind.

And to do that I needed to destroy Henry Drake’s hold over this situation, and his hold over the business along with it.

To do that and survive the fallout, I needed to destroy Henry Drake.

My mobile pinged in my pocket as I was all set to take a breath and send that notification to my client base. It was from Eric, on an unrecognised phone number.

Got a message through. I’ve been told to head up to Preston and wait for a call. Driving up north now.

The relief was welcome. Drake did indeed seem to be keeping doors open for my younger brother. Either he foresaw Eric taking over from my exit and shaping into some replacement in my absence, or he was keen to keep the door open to our family name in general.

Neither option would matter.

Good, I replied. Keep me updated.

I couldn’t hold back the strange desire for some brotherly placed solidarity in my messages. My whole world was going fucking crazy.

Keep careful eyes on the road, I added.

And then, finally, I pressed that mouse button hard.Chapter NinePaigeWas I thankful for Mr Sinister sharing the gory details about the man I was convinced I loved enough to spend the rest of my life with? Was I grateful for the horror he’d spilled out like liquid filth right into my ear as I listened?

Did I believe him? Should I believe him? Was I really lucky to be here? The place I hated arriving at last night? Was I that lucky for an escape that seemed like a capture?

I pulled my knees tight to my chest as the daylight turned to darkness through the same window I’d been staring through when it did the opposite. I felt numb. Empty. Sad and defeated, even though there was a new strength burning in the pits of it all. I could feel it there. The same desire to be my own person, alone on my path to take care of me and my sister at the cost of anything else.

Maybe that’s how it would always be. Maybe the concept of romantic love of any kind really was thankless and false and stupid.

Maybe men as strong as Brandon Grant really did always abuse their power in ways that made them fit to burn in hell.

Maybe he was evil. Dangerous. Anything but the true soul underneath it all that I believed I’d seen in him when we were eye to eye in the stillness. Maybe Mr Sinister was right and I was just an idiot for seeing anything in Brandon Grant at all.

I hated how disappointed I felt at the thought. Hated everything, including how stupid I’d seemingly been about the whole sorry thing, even when he’d saved me in that alleyway and felt like a saviour in the dark. Because he had. He’d been my saviour in the dark.