Alone (5 page)

“Bitch, please. You’re just Conall’s author pet and whore. Come on, you can be my whore while he’s gone. You don’t have the stones to shoot—”

I shot the floor at his feet. “I was in the reserves, I’m a cop’s kid, I’m a born and bred Chicagoan, and while I might be frightened of the thousand-year-old
vampire
, a thug like you doesn’t scare me at
all
. Now don’t even
think
about reaching for the gun you keep tucked in the back of your jeans you don’t think I know you have in the holster there, but I do because it’s poorly fitted. Take out your phone, set it on the ledge, and leave.”

“You can’t just shoot me. That’s murder,” he argued, his voice less than sturdy.

“
Bitch
, you are in
my
house, uninvited by
me
, armed, with no relation, correlation, or tie to me. There is not a cop, DA, judge, or jury in this
world
that won’t believe a single woman shot an armed man in self-defense in her house. What’s the alternative? I somehow dragged your ass in here, armed you, and then shot you for kicks?”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, you fuckers
made
me go nuts. Now do it and go. Leave the phone.”

He nodded, slowly pulling his cell out of his front jeans pocket with two fingers and leaving it on the ledge by the stairs before slowly walking down the half flight to the front door, unlocking it, and walking out. I quickly flipped the lock, knowing he didn’t have a key, before racing up the other few stairs to the garage and checking that was closed too.

It was. He didn’t have the opener either. Next I raced to the other doors and windows, checking those as well. All locked up. I heard his truck peel out, realizing he was leaving. I quickly changed, grabbed my purse, stuffed a change of clothes, my emergency cash, passport, my laptop, and other essentials in my overnight bag.

I was out the front door and in the driveway, practically
giddy
that I was going to make it. It was thirty minutes to the airport, and after that, I could get anywhere from there. Halfway around the world before Conall could trace me and then what? Track me down and deport me back?

Kill me? Yeah, because this wasn’t killing me anyway? He wouldn’t want me if I wasn’t writing and I couldn’t write like this. There was no happy ending to this story and at least this way I had a
chance
.

I froze as I
felt
him. I don’t know why but I looked up at the sky as if he were Superman and I could have seen him coming from a distance. But I did see a blur and I felt cold. I raced back into the house, not knowing what else to do. He could get into the vents of the car. At least I could lock him out of the house.

Right?

Or shoot him there?

Fuck, I was too scared to think. I just reacted and retreated.

I made it inside and locked the door. Then I locked myself in my room. Going the next step and locking myself in the master bathroom, because
yes,
that was the door that would end up keeping him out.

Idiot.

I started sobbing when I heard footstep coming up the foyer.

“Nina!”
he bellowed. The bedroom door shattered so loudly that I screamed, falling into the shower and aiming the gun. Seconds later, he banged on the bathroom door hard enough that one of the hinges popped off.
“Nina, open this door!”

“Just go!” I pleaded, barely able to see through my tears. “Please, just leave me alone, Conall. Or let me go.”

“What?” he whispered. He broke the handle and slowly opened the door, his eyes wide when he saw the gun pointed at him. “What are you doing, Nina? Why did you threaten to shoot Tim?”

“I’m not your pet author!” I screamed, beyond hysterical. “I’m not your whore or toy to be passed to him while you’re gone.”

“Of course not, my Nina”

“I’m not yours!”
I screeched, hurting my own ears with an octave I’d never heard come out of my own mouth. “I’m
mine
. You don’t own me. You came here, broke into my house, took over my life, my home, my work. I haven’t written a word since you got here.”

“But your new book—”

“I wrote it before you showed up! I was too scared to tell you it was done before. You get so angry! I can’t disagree with you. You don’t listen to me. You don’t care—”

“Nina, put down the gun,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You can’t hurt me with it anyways.”

“Fine,” I whispered, turning it so it was under my chin. “Will you listen to my
now
? I would rather die than keep living like this.
Do you hear me now?
”

“You’re serious,” Conall whispered as he went pale. “You’re really serious, not just lashing out or throwing an artistic fit.”

“I don’t
throw
artistic fits,” I giggled hysterically. “I’m a logical, rational, pretty easygoing woman. You have pushed me this far and broken me. The only thing I want to do is kill off all my characters and end all my series so you’ll leave me alone or kill myself because you scare me and Tim’s a snake who looks at me like he’s going to rape me the first time you’re not looking or leave us alone. I know he was going to if I hadn’t pulled a gun on him first.”

His eyes filled with rage. “I have never hit you, hurt you—”

“No, but you’ve bared your fangs at me and made the implication quite clear that there is a line I better never cross or you won’t be so controlled like you are right now.”

He glanced away before he spoke. “I am not human, Nina. I cannot help my reaction, but I also make sure you know that I am
always
in control.” Conall slowly looked back to me, tears running down his cheeks. “I would never,
ever
hurt you, no matter how angry I was. Human men yell, get in people’s faces. You have gotten in mine. I’m not sure you’re being fair to me on this.”

“Maybe, but when a dictator yells, it’s much scarier than a person.”

He blinked at me a moment, still not understanding. “Please put down the gun.”

“Will you really leave?”

“Is there no way we can talk through this?” he choked out, leaning heavily against the doorway.

“No, I want my life back.”

“Was there truly no help or good I gave you?” The idea seemed so distressing to him I actually felt terrible for him.

“It wasn’t worth all the bad, Conall. Most of it wasn’t help. You came in and took over like a
dictator
. You never asked me. You bought promo I never would have. You furnished my house with stuff I don’t like. You ransacked my office. You sold my
car
!”

“I got you a better one!” he cried as he sank to his knees.

“I bought that car with my grandmother!” I screamed, sliding the clip out of the gun and standing, done with the theatrics. “That wasn’t your call to make. You took those memories away from me without
asking
me. I can’t get that back. Someone else has them now! You didn’t give me something. You took something away from me. Just like my office. Like my websites and my cover designer and my editor and my cleaning lady. You took away pieces of me until I’m hollow.

“You want to know why my blood is sour? I’m empty. Those people were my
friends
. My work is my life and you’ve killed it. I’d rather be fat, unhealthy, stressed out, and happy writing, still having my few friends and all my imaginary ones than thinner, healthy, miserable, and
alone
with a creepy dictator, stalker, master thing we’ve got going on here. Please, just leave me
be
.”

“I will go handle those work issues,” he mumbled as he got to his feet.

“No,
no
, god
no
,” I groaned, shaking my head. “No more
help
. What are you going to do? Eat them?”

“If that helps,” he answered, looking away. “It’s the least I can do.”

“No—actually, yeah, go
right ahead
,” I chuckled, wiping my eyes.

He nodded, but didn’t look back at me as we headed to the front door. When we got there, he reached in his pocket and took out his keys, unhooking my spare key from it before handing it over.

“Thank you,” I muttered, taking it from him and then a deep breath. “Do me one favor?”

“Anything,” he whispered as he met my gaze.

“Can you make sure there won’t be any retaliation from Tim for what I did? He seems like a payback kind of guy.”

“I swear you will never see Tim
ever
again. I am ashamed I brought someone of that caliber into your home. I will handle the situation permanently.” He slowly leaned in and kissed my cheek, and I was proud of myself when I didn’t flinch. “You are truly the most talented artist I have ever known in all my years, Nina James. I pray I did not do irreparable damage to your creativity. That would be a disservice to the world I would never forgive myself for.”

“Time heals,” I chuckled, starting to feel guilty at how guilty
he
felt, which was ridiculous I knew. But, well, we couldn’t help the way we felt.

“I hope so. I now worry how many artists I’ve broken over my many years now. None of have been of your strength. They have all fizzled out or become gluttonous, spoiled with my attentions. Now I think I see things in a different light.”

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” I whispered as I moved my hand to his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Everyone’s different. Maybe painters need a firm hand, or the last generation did. Who knows? I don’t. I just know this didn’t work for
me
. Most people are gluttonous and spoiled, or would play games like you thought I was. I’m a strange breed. I’m independent. I want a partner, not boss or leader. You just didn’t know me like you thought you did.”

“Should have tried that first.” He frowned, finally understanding what he did wrong. “I will arrange for my things soon.”

“Right, yeah, we can do that. Talk to you then.” I swallowed loudly as I stepped back, realizing that it wasn’t really
goodbye
then.

And after
finally
really talking with him, part of me didn’t want it to be.

How fucked up was that? Maybe I was a glutton for punishment?

Maybe I liked being burned by the stove?

Maybe I was an idiot?

Or maybe we were finally just really on the same page and something was there?

* * * *

I spent the rest of the day fixing things… Namely rehiring my website guy, editor, graphic designer, promo person, and cleaning lady, explaining that my overzealous business manager had taken a few notes and run the wrong way with them. The
really
wrong way with them.

I had the most fun like
ever
firing that douche editor though, who had the balls to reply to me that he still demanded payment since he had belittled himself in the first place to work with someone of my caliber. I wrote back,
what caliber? Independent?
Yeah, he was a freelancer too.

Ass. Hat. Fucking caste system in publishing. I swear to god people needed to get over their shit. I typed with two hands just like everyone else did. And I used a mouse. That was all that mattered.

Thank god my website guy was a genius and I had always demanded weekly backups. He uploaded everything to its former glory and we were pretty much able to pick up right where we had left off. By the end of the day, I practically flopped into bed and passed out.

The next morning, strangely enough, it was really weird to wake alone. And my house was so quiet, too quiet. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t miss random stranger time all the time, but there was one guy who was strange that I did miss when he was the nice guy when we’d met.

Yeah, that wasn’t convoluted and vague.

My doorbell rang at eight in the morning, and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. I opened the door and smiled when I saw a contractor holding out his license to me with a work order for the repairs for the damage Conall had done, already paid for.

“Come on in,” I chuckled, holding open the door.

An hour later, there was a woman named Susan at my door
interviewing
for the job of my assistant but on a Mr. Conall Brightmore’s payroll.

“He said you would be disinclined to even interview me or accept his offer but to tell you that I have been compensated for the day so to at least allow me to help you clean up his mess,” she informed, obviously relaying a pre-memorized message. As much as it seemed like letting him back in my life, I wasn’t going to let him waste his money, plus, I could accept an apology gift or two.

Even if it was in the form of people. Plus, she was a
huge
help. The woman knew her shit and publishing.