Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 1)

“Fair enough.” He nods, then steps around to the other side of the kitchen counter and stands there with his hands on it as he leans in. “Now, ask your questions.”

“You’re having a baby?” I ask, confused.

He shakes his head, lifts his coffee, and drinks it before he answers, “Not yet.”

Oh, okay. Wow.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, she will one day be pregnant with my baby, just not yet.”

“Do you plan to have side pieces when that day comes? Because I think you need to check yourself if you do. She does not want to share you. At. All.” His hand lifts and scratches the back of his head. “For the record, I would never be yours or anyone else’s side piece.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would.” He smiles. I’m not sure how to take that, so I take another bite of my food. “Our spouses are picked by the families before us,” he says, which makes me eye him suspiciously.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It assures our children will take over our line.”

“Was your mother picked?” I ask.

“Yes. She was picked by my grandfather for my father.”

“You realize how fucked up that is, right?” He nods, and I continue, “I mean, does she even want to be with you?”

“It would be a great privilege for her to carry my child.”

“Why would you want to bring a child into your fucked-up world?”

His mouth shuts at my words and he sits for a moment mulling it over in silence before he finally states, “You think so low of me?”

“I would never choose to be with you or have children with you knowing full well who you are.”

“You have no idea who I am.” His voice raises just a fraction at the end of the sentence.

I place my hot chocolate down and lay my hands in my lap. “Why are you here?”

“Because we need to talk.”

“Then talk,” I offer.

Keir is great at keeping eye contact. I think it’s because no one intimidates him. He knows he’s the boss, that others do as he says, says as he does. I guess it’s his privilege with being who he is.

“I want to see you more.”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

I am certain I haven’t heard him right.

I couldn’t have, right?

“You and me. I want to see you more.” Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that. I haven’t seen him for a month, and before that, he only saw me when he wanted something from me. Yet here he is, standing in my kitchen, telling me he wants to see me more like he’s a normal man asking a normal woman out on a date.

I’m not sure I could ever date him.

I’m not sure I could ever be with someone like him.

I’ve been around men like him, not as powerful, but just as demanding. They think only about themselves and their actions support that frame of mind. I don’t want someone like that ever again. I want someone who puts me first. Is that too much to ask?

“Maybe you should be asking your future baby mama?”

“It’s not her I want.”

Whoa. I think she should definitely be someone he wants. Waving my hands in front of my face, I get off the seat and step backward, shaking my head at him. “Aren’t you meant to marry this woman?” I ask.

“Yes. When she’s pregnant,” he answers, as if it’s nothing.

It’s fucking not.

“And you want me to be what … a side piece?” I ask coldly.

“No.”

“Well, then what?” I ask, raising my hands. “Actually, scratch that. I don’t care because I am not entertaining this thought with you. Go away!” I walk back to the front door and pull it open. “You should leave.”

“Shut the door, Sailor, we aren’t done talking.”

“Ohhh, yes, we are,” I say, pointing to the open door. “This means you are not welcome here any longer.”

“Well, it’s not exactly your place, is it?” He smirks as if I’m the butt of some sort of joke. “It’s mine.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Keir

Her expression freezes, the front door shuts, and her face goes white.

“What did you just say?” she asks, stepping closer to me.

“You didn’t really think someone in New York City would be this generous, did you?” I ask.

Sailor’s face goes red, pure rage taking control, as she starts breathing heavily and her sweeping arm gestures have me concerned. “You’ve been trying to control me this whole time?” she seethes.

“No, not control.”

“Yes, it’s control, Keir. When you stalk and set up places for the other to live without their knowledge … it’s fucking control.” She shakes her head. “How could you do that to me?” she screams. She stomps into the kitchen, grabs the knife on the counter, and storms back to me. I stand still as stone as she raises it to my neck and leans in closer. I allow her to do whatever she needs to. She hasn’t been this close to me in too long and I like it.