Buttons and Pain (Buttons 3)

His hand closed around mine and he kept sending worried glances my way even though I was perfectly fine. “Are you doing alright?”

“If I need help, I’ll tell you.”

“No, you won’t,” he snapped.

The corner of my lip rose in a smile. “You’re right. I probably won’t.”

Against his will, the amusement entered his eyes.

I stared at the hillsides up ahead and wondered what was on the other side. Perhaps it was just more acres of land until the next house came into view. “Who’s your closest neighbor?”

“A friend of mine lives right on the other side of this hill. It’s a vacation home when he comes to visit.”

“Where does he live normally?”

“America.”

“So…there was someone who could help me right next door?” In the early days of my imprisonment he told me there was nowhere for me to go. The nearest town was thirty miles away. Stupidly, I believed that story.

He smiled. “Yeah. But he’s not around often.”

“But there’s probably a phone inside his house.”

He shrugged. “I suppose. But I hope you’re happy with the way things turned out.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles. “Because if I had to lock you up all over again, I would.”

“I guess I would too.”

He snuck a glare at me.

I loved teasing him because it was so easy to get under his skin. “You know I’m kidding. Speaking of being locked up, are you ever going to remove this tracker from my ankle?”

“I’d rather not.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“No.” He didn’t change his pace as he walked beside me, and the overprotective maniac was still deep inside him.

“Since there’s no danger around me I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“There’s always danger, Pearl. The wealthy and powerful always have to look over their shoulders.”

“Well, I don’t want some electronic under my skin. It’s not I go off on my own anyway.”

He wasn’t going to budge. It was obvious in the way he carried himself. “It’s not going anywhere until it needs to be replaced.”

Hell no. “Then I want you wear a tracker at all times.” He wouldn’t like that one bit. Crow was a man who operated in the shadows. He didn’t want to be traced so easily.

“Okay.”

I did a double take when I heard what he said. “What?”

“I said okay.”

“No…I was just trying to prove a point.”

“Well, you did. If you have to wear one, I’ll wear one too. That way you can always see where I am if you’re ever worried about me. That’s a fair compromise.”

“But you’re missing the main point. I don’t want to wear anything.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked at me with a dictator gaze, daring me to defy him. “You don’t even notice it’s there, and thanks to that little tracker I was able to save you not once, but twice. I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience to you but it’s a life saver for me. I suggest you get used to it.”

I knew I lost the battle, and more importantly, I knew this was how the rest of our lives would be. Crow Barsetti was a man who couldn’t be refused, and when it came to his family he was ruthless and borderline insane.

He was right—I should get used to it.

“Now what?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What do we do now? Bones is gone and the world seems like a much simpler place.”

“Well, that’s entirely up to you. I was thinking we could live the rest of our lives quietly here at the estate. We’ll drink wine, make love, and grow old together. What do you say?”

I stared at him and felt my smile widen. “Sounds pretty boring.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s exactly what I want. A long, boring life with you.”

Epilogue

Pearl

I set the bowls of mac and cheese at the table. Vanessa was five years old with dark black hair like her father and green eyes like mine. She had a rumbustious spirit, telling me she would be a handful when she got older—like yours truly. “Hungry, sweetheart?”

“Yum.” She grabbed her fork and dug in.

I placed the bowl in front of Constantine. “Here you are, champ.”

Constantine was three years old and still in a high chair. The table was permanently stained with all the food he threw around as he got older. Instead of pushing away his food when he didn’t like it, he chose to throw it everywhere. Sometimes he was a pain in the ass—like his father. He picked up the spoon and slowly fed himself, still learning the process.

Julia looked into her bowl and raised an eyebrow. With a distinct Russian accent she said. “What is this?”

“It’s mac and cheese. It’s basically pasta with cheese sauce.”

She continued to eye it with dread, like it was the worst possible thing I could serve.

Why did everyone hate America food so much? “It’s really not bad. But if you don’t want to eat it I’ll make you something else.”