Alone (4 page)

“Bleach!” I screeched as I dropped everything and raced through the kitchen, out the back door, and onto the patio, slamming the glass door behind me. I fell to the deck onto all fours, Conall darting out behind me moments later. “Close the door!”

He did and knelt next to me. “What’s wrong
now
?” he growled.

“I’m allergic to bleach,” I wheezed, rolling to my side and then laying on my back. “Anna knows not to use bleach and it’s not even her day to come.”

“I fired her. One kid cleaning every other week is not nearly enough for this house and she didn’t do a good enough job.”

“She did
fine
for a hundred bucks, Conall,” I argued, still panting a bit. “She needs that money and she’s my friend. She’s helped me out when I needed it and we’d talk while she’d work. I’d pay bills—”

“I gave her a very nice severance package and a referral letter,” he assured me, rubbing my shoulder. “I hired a better, reputable company that’s licensed and bonded. They signed confidentiality waivers and I told them to stay out of your office—” I looked away, that room was no longer my office to me.

“Fine, whatever you say,” I muttered, realizing that was how things were going to be from now on. I would just send Anna two hundred dollars a month from now on anyways.
I
made a commitment to her. She’d done nothing wrong. Just because Conall had come in and taken over my life, was controlling it now, didn’t mean she had to get screwed over too.

“Nina, please don’t make this a thing,” he sighed as he slid his hand under my shoulders.

“I’m not,” I lied as I hurried to sit up and pulled away.

“Are you feeling better today?”

“Fine before the bleach.” I walked down the back stairs and went into my garden, deciding to hide out there until the strangers in my house left again.

“Do you want to write?” he called down.

“Do you want me to lie?” I asked, knowing full well he could hear me just fine even if I didn’t raise my voice.

“No, Nina, not ever. Please don’t
ever
lie to me, my Nina.”

“No, Conall,” I whispered, staring at my zucchini plants so he couldn’t see the sadness I knew was in my eyes and he didn’t get upset with me. “No, I don’t feel like writing.”

“I’ll figure out a way to fix that.”

I waited until he was inside before muttering under my breath. “Good luck with
that
.”

The next day I found out he fired my website guy and he contracted some company to redo all my sites. It wasn’t like I’d
just
done that. He assured me he wouldn’t change my banners now that he knew I’d had input in them and they were very
me
and it would be something great that my fans would love and were better than before.

“But I loved what they were,” I whispered to myself when I was alone in the shower that morning.

I pretended to write downstairs in my family room on my overstuffed chair with my Ultrabook. I stared at a book that I’d written before Conall had come into my life, grateful I’d not announced to anyone that it and another had been done. I had a feeling I’d need the time while I came to terms with my new life.

Or figured out a way to escape. Or
something
.

“I thought you preferred to write in your office?” Conall asked around lunch time.

“I did,” I muttered, not looking at him.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Nina, please,” he sighed as he moved around behind me. I closed the computer and looked away. “I am trying so hard here. Can you
please
just give me an inch? You are so
ungrateful
for all I am doing and you are upsetting me. I’m trying not to be angry—”

“Maybe you should pick someone who will be more grateful,” I hedged, thinking that would be the way to go.

“Oh? Is that what
you
think I should do?” he asked darkly, moving back around the chair and love seat.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I shrugged, unsure of what he meant or where this conversation just headed.

Suddenly the computer was off my lap and he was leaning in my face, his hands on each arm of the chair, boxing me in, fangs out. “Or
maybe
you’re playing games with me? Wanting more always. More attention. More help. More compliments.”

“What? No!”
I gasped, floored that was where he’d gone with all of this. Shit, he
really
didn’t know or get me at all. He thought I was pouting like a drama queen fishing like
mommy didn’t love me
enough bull crap.

“No, that’s not it,” he agreed slowly, titling his head and studying me. “Then what is it? Do you truly not see how talented you are? Can you not see that you do deserve the attention and help I give you?”

I shrugged, thinking there wasn’t really a good way to say
I don’t want it in the
way
you give it
.

“Oh, my Nina, we will get through this,” he sighed, leaning in and kissing my cheek. “You
must
eat though. I know change is hard and you’ve talked about how you do not like it. Please don’t make me get the doctor back here and hook you to another IV. What do you want to eat? I will send Tim out for whatever you like.”

“Jimmy Johns would be nice,” I answered after a moment. He smiled at me and I saw some kindness there, understanding again like I had when we’d talked that first day and I took a chance. “Maybe it’s just too much too fast, Conall. This isn’t a sprint, is it? You’re not coming in for a season of
The Biggest Loser
, trying to change my life, and leaving again, right? We have time to pace ourselves, get to know each other better, and what the other likes before making all these changes that affect both of us.”

“No, I’m here forever,” he chuckled, giving me another kiss on my forehead. “And I only do what’s best for you. Don’t worry about me, my Nina. I know you already and I’m doing all of this for
you
.”

Translation—he hadn’t heard a fucking word I’d just said.

Which he showed me a week later when he fired my best friend and graphic designer. He replaced her with some
hideous
“stylish” obscenely priced person whose designs made me want to vomit. And instead of getting my car fixed as was on my list, he bought me an extremely overpriced sports car. Now that one wasn’t so bad to live with, except I hadn’t gotten a vote in that either and I would have liked to have at least picked the color.

I hated red. It was gaudy. And I had picked that other car out with my gram. It had been a
complete
lemon, but well, I’d gotten it with my gram. How many people could say that?

I couldn’t even get excited about my new sports car or that I was down fifty pounds in two weeks from his miracle blood. If I weren’t so fucking depressed from Conall, I would have said I was feeling the best I ever had in my life. I wasn’t at my high school weight yet, but I
felt
great. No migraines, no backaches or pain, or anything from being, oh, over eighteen.

The next week he furnished the front room out of what looked like the British museum catalog—if there was such a thing—nothing like I would ever have gotten, nor what I wanted to do with that room, and never asked me. I was down seventy pounds, Tim was starting to look at me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable, and Conall was getting impatient with me, asking to read what I’d been working on.

I finally handed over half of one of the books I’d written, worried if I didn’t… Honestly, I had no clue what would happen. Part of me hoped he would leave but I didn’t think I would be that lucky.

He loved it, more excited than
ever
to order more ugly ass promo shit I was mortified to put any of my pen names on.

The next week he redid the master bathroom, that was actually gorgeous and I told him so. Unfortunately that seemed to give him a gold star on
something
finally and he took that as a sign that we were moving our relationship in the right direction… Sexual.

“I was beginning to worry when you stopped
enjoying
my bites the past few weeks,” he murmured against my neck, his hand teasing the waistband of my shorts. I flinched away so fast I lost my balance and fell out of bed, hitting my head on the nightstand on the way down, the loud crack of bone breaking worrying me as wet stickiness ran against my head. “
Fuck
, Nina.”

“Don’t,” I whimpered, trying to scoot away when he touched me. “You never said that was part of the deal.”

“No, of course not,” he grumbled, his fingers parting my hair and checking my head. “I would never force myself on you. I apologize. I thought you were coming around to the idea.”

“I’m not,” I blurted. “I never invited you into my bed.
You
did.”

“Nina,” he whispered, his voice cold, dead, so much so it echoed in the room. “Are you saying I have not been welcome in your bed all this time?”

“My head hurts,” I replied instead.

“
Nina
?”

“Conall, I don’t feel well,” I slurred, lights flashing behind my eyes. “Something’s wrong.”

“You will be the death of me, woman.”

“I think the same thing of you,” I admitted to him, wincing at how much trouble that could get me in later.

A quick trip to the emergency room, and we found out I cracked my skull, minor concussion, and I had to stay there overnight… At least I found out I was down ninety pounds. Ninety pounds in a month, almost every stretch mark gone, no saggy skin, or anything. Wow.

“Lovely,” Conall sighed, shaking his head. “I have some calls to make. Will you be okay for a while or do you want me to send Tim to stay with you.”

“I’m fine. They’ll send someone in every hour to check in on me.” I gave him a weak smile that seemed to appease him. Fuck, I was grateful for the vacation away from the crazy. Part of me wished I’d had my own car because it would have been the perfect escape point. Then again, it wasn’t my own car anymore.

It was his car he’d given me. I bet it was LoJack’d out and shit. Damn, there wasn’t a single aspect of my life he hadn’t invaded.

Made that much more apparent when I got home the next day and found out he’d fired my editor the week before. Conall had “helped” me by sending the rest of that book to my
new
editor, some overpriced douche who didn’t allow slang or
cussing
and knew nothing about gay erotic romance. Good thing that book was under one of my gay erotic romance pen names. He’d already gotten the edits back. In a thirty-five thousand word book, there was over five hundred comments and two thousand corrections.

I didn’t bother to open my laptop after that. Just sat out on the deck and stared at my garden, not even caring enough to go down and tend to it.

“Nina, talk to me,” Conall begged. I couldn’t even look at him. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t drink. I wouldn’t do anything besides go to the bathroom and shower. By the second day of that, he was half frantic and half furious at me.

And I didn’t give a flying fuck.

“Your blood has slowly gotten more and more bitter since we met, now it’s
sour
. I don’t understand it. What is
wrong
? Please, my Nina. Just talk to me!” He touched me and I flinched, the only reaction he could get from me. “Is this about the work problems? If I fix those, will you come back to me? It’s California and overseas, right?”

I nodded, knowing that wasn’t what was wrong, but fuck, it was the only chance I would ever,
ever
get to run from him.

“I will handle it right away, I swear it to you. Please, just heal and eat while I am gone.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek before walking into the house, giving Tim some orders. I heard them walk around the house before they headed outside.

And then I sprang into action. I’d only have one shot at this.

I moved as quickly as I could for someone who hadn’t eaten in almost two days, shocked that it was still pretty fast. Conall’s blood really was a miracle substance. I grabbed my gun, knowing he’d long since unloaded it, and the clips.

But I knew where I hid the extra bullets. They were under my flannel Christmas pajama bottoms because who would
ever
look there for them? I mean,
really
? I tucked those under my arm and locked myself in the bathroom, loading both clips carefully.

Then I turned on the shower and the exhaust fan so I didn’t fuck up the gun, and waited for as long as I could reasonably get away with. I shut off the water, flipped the safety, stuck the extra clip in my bra, and stepped out of the bathroom. Sure enough, the snake was waiting right outside my bedroom.

“Get out of my house,” I ordered as I aimed at him.