The Arrangement 21 (The Arrangement #21) (3 page)

S
prawling takes on a new meaning
. I remember the field at Belmont Lake from when I was a kid. I thought it was big. Henry's lawn makes the entire park resemble a patch of sod. The mansion sits on acreage that spills around the house and deep into the woods. I can't see the fence line, but I'm confident there is one. Henry likes his privacy—probably because he's batshit crazy. It wouldn't surprise me to find naked women trapped beneath the floorboards of his house. He's a little unhinged, and I still want to beat the snot out of him every time he crosses my mind, so I push the thought away.

The grass is cut in a diamond pattern that my Dad would have envied. He was always trying to get the greenest lawn on the block. One summer he fertilized the yard with his own mix of super grow. He had the best-looking yard on the block—and had to mow it three times a week or the grass would have jumped up and eaten the house. I smile remembering it, missing him.

I glance to the right, thinking I saw a light, but it must have been the moonlight reflecting off something—a camera lens maybe? The estate is so big it's not hard to remain concealed while we move around.

"Sean, why aren't you worried about Henry? Don't you think he'll do something twisted, like try and join us in the shed—something I am NOT okay with." I cling to his neck and feel a nervous jitter work it's way up my arms.

Thinking about having sex with dark Sean is like thinking about playing Frogger on the Long Island Expressway at rush hour. It's exhilarating, and I'm sure to get more than I bargained for, like one of those gator-logs that swallow you whole.

I'm biting my bottom lip without realizing it. Gators are freaky creatures. They pretend they can't move fast until they're ready to devour something. If Sean were an animal, he'd be part gator. The log is icing.

Sean's eyes are boring a hole into my head. I feel awkward and wiggle to get down. He holds me tighter. "I'm not putting you down yet, so be still."

"I could get down if I wanted."

"I'm sure." Sarcasm laces his voice.

I twist in his arms and push away. I should land on my feet, but just as I slip from his grip, he bends at the knees, catches me and tosses me over his shoulder.

"Hey!" I kick my feet and push off his strong back, as I try to yell in his face, but I only get the back of his head. He ignores me, pretending like I weigh nothing. "Put me down!"

Instead of being a gentleman about it, his hand comes up and slaps my ass. I wiggle on his shoulder and try to get down. Sean swats me again. "Stop twerking on my shoulder, or I'll do you on the lawn in the big wide open."

I freeze. "I'm not a prude."

He actually laughs. "Are you still on that?"

"NO!" Yes. I am. Why does he think I wouldn't like some PDA? "I think you're a prude."

He laughs, and it shakes his entire body, jostling me on his shoulders. "Me?" Sean stops walking and nearly releases me. "You're playing me." He sounds shocked. He holds me tighter and picks up his pace.

I bounce, hair flopping in my face, strands going in my mouth with my ass sticking out from under my chemise. "Dude, you almost got played." I giggle. "That was fun. Let's do it again."

His hand comes down on my cheeks, harder this time. I kick and try to shift, but his grip is like iron. The air tickles my skin all around the stinging spot. I have the worst wedgie ever. I might as well go commando.

Sean replies, "Let's not."

"Quit hitting me. I don't like it."

"Yes, you do."

I cross my arms and pout. When I realize he can't tell, I flop there, arms dangling down his back like two pieces of spaghetti. I'm staring at his backside as we bob along. Each step makes him flex his tush, curving it into a super-yummy curve. I reach for his waist and tug on his shirt.

"Undressing me, Miss Smith?" He smiles, looking over his shoulder at me. I've got my neck craned around so I can see the jaunty smirk on his face.

I drop his shirt and feign boredom. "Only in your dreams, Mr. Jones."

I flash a show-stopping grin at him. He laughs. "You're in a mood."

"Likewise, captain." My lips curve into a playful smile. "Where the hell is this shed? You've been walking forever. I would have dropped you by now and fallen down dead."

Sean's face scrunches up as if I insulted his manhood. "You can't lift me."

"I did lift you." I jerk my head in an I-told-you-so move and make a face. "How can you not remember?"

"Right. That." He sounds annoyed. "I believe I'd been shot and was concentrating on other things at the moment. Some minor details are fuzzy."

I reach down and slap my hand against his back. I was aiming for his ass, but it's too far away. "Fuzzy! Do you know how much you scared me? Stop getting shot! Also, you're not a dainty guy!"

"Thank God."

"It was like hauling a monster truck through water."

"Water would make it lighter." His voice is light, teasing. "And you should abstain from hitting me unless you want me to retaliate at an unpredictable time."

I shrug. "That could be fun." I grab his shirt in my hand, crumple the fabric as I gather it on one swoop, and smack his skin with the open palm of my other hand. There's a loud slapping sound, and he freezes.

Grinning in a wolfish, still-got-wool-stuck-between-his-teeth manner, Sean replies, "It will be—for me. Keep your hands to yourself, Miss Smith. I can guarantee you won't like the payback."

My stomach twists as a shiver rips through me, making my skin prickle. He notices. "It's not for you."

"Of course not."

I manage to crane my neck long enough to leer at a little house standing on the back corner of the property. "That's the shed?" I squeak. "Can I live there?"

Sean shakes his head and mutters, "Peasants."

"That's not a shed. It's a house! There's an upstairs! Sheds don't have two floors." I glance at it again before I flop down his back.

"This one does, and the upstairs is unfinished with bare rafters rather close to the floor. It makes it so much nicer than standing on a bucket the whole time with your hands tied above your head."

A bucket? I can't tell if he's joking.

A few more steps and we're at the door. Sean swings me down into his arms and cradles me against his chest. His eyes meet mine and hold. There's so much adoration there, such tenderness that it shocks me. I know he loves me, but he never shows it—not like that.

"I love you, my Greek goddess."

My breath catches, and I lose myself in his eyes, unable to rip mine away. I whisper his name and pull his lips to mine. The kiss is tender, soft. He pulls away and watches me as we cross the threshold.

He places me down and follows through on his promise.

I shouldn't be surprised, but the rapid transition from sweetness to darkness shakes me to my core.

S
tanding
barefoot on the wooden floor, he reaches for my silk slip, grabbing the hem and ripping it in two. It tears like a piece of paper, and I'm in front of the open door in nothing but white panties. An underwire goes flying, and I hear it clatter against the floor, out of sight. I flinch and move to cover myself.

"Don't budge, Miss Smith."

The muscles in my chest freeze as I force my arms back to my sides. I glance at the open door and back to Sean. My fingers graze my bare thighs as I try not to fidget.

Sean drops to his knees in front of me and hooks his thumbs into the sides of my undies. He pulls them over the swell of my hips and past my thighs. They slip down over my legs and fall to the floor. He presses a kiss to my stomach, as low as possible. I'm not ready for it and tense, sucking in loudly in response.

Sean stands, backs away, steps to the other side of the doorway. His eyes wander over my body, lingering in places as if he's deciding something. I wonder what he's thinking, what he wants to do. His eyes are so dark. The part of his lips combined with the downward tilt of his head give him a dangerous quality. "Turn around."

I could say no. I could tease him and provoke the man standing there, but the expression on his face, the way he hangs his head and flexes his hands slightly as if trying not to—he won't hold back. Not listening will have repercussions. He will have complete control over me.

Glancing around the room, I turn and face away from him. I wrap my arms around my middle and glance over my shoulder, wondering if I'm ready for this. The past few days have been so difficult. It feels like I barely caught my breath, and, if faced with Sean's darker side, I'm not certain I can handle him.

T
his building is not a shed
. The walls are not metal. There are no rakes, no brooms, and not a lawnmower in sight. The exterior is tumbled brick and stone with little black shutters next to the windows. The interior floors boast scraped hardwood across the entire 3,000 square foot lower level. The wood is stained dark to match the coffered ceiling, which matches the ceilings in the mansion.

If I had to guess, the dark wood up there is mahogany. Who puts exotic wood in a shed? Who would think this was a shed? It's like a big-ass shanty from the Alps. The walls are Venetian plaster with a light wash, and a monster chandelier hangs in the center of the room—instead of the bare bulb most ax murderers use.

Henry Thomas possesses an obscene amount of money. It wouldn't surprise me if his lawn was sliced from emeralds and his trees were covered in black diamond bark.

I'm glancing around, but I say nothing to Sean. There's no furniture in here, no supplies, no seeds, no nothing. It could be a cottage for Henry's mother. Maybe she's under the floorboards in a box!

I cringe inwardly hoping there are no boxes in my immediate future. I talk a good game about the box, but it still freaks me out. It's not like I learned to love small spaces during my time with Sean.

The door is still open. I don't like that mainly because I'm sure Henry can see me. There's no way he doesn't have security cameras. Additionally, a little drone circles the property every few minutes, little green and yellow lights flashing as the thing flies by, buzzing as it goes.

The first time it passes the shed, it ignores me. My gut instinct is that drones are creepy little buggers. But if Constance had used them at the Ferro mansion, would she still be alive? Maybe Sean should invest in drones. If Pizza Dudes can use them to bring you a pie, how bad could they be? Vessels that deliver pizza aren't inherently evil, right?

I could use a pizza. Or cheese. Something. I'm starving.

Sean walks up behind me and puts a blindfold over my eyes, before going upstairs to prepare something horrifying, I'm sure. Waiting, blind makes my pulse pound harder. I'm kneeling, naked on the floor where he left me, hands in my lap and wringing my hands.

The drone whizzes by again, but, this time, I hear the high-pitched sound of the motor buzzing linger. It gets louder like it's going to fly into the room. There's a breeze on my face like I'm about to get hacked with the propellers, and I wince, but before it slashes up my face, it's gone. Creepy mofo. I should wave and punch it if it comes by again. I still need to enroll in ninja classes. I envision myself doing cool things and being a badass, but my execution is a little dodgy.

Back to evil things confusing me—the relationship between Henry and Sean is weird. It's strained, like one of them might snap at any moment and kill the other. I can see it in their stance, how they both assume the posture of a teenage boy with rounded shoulders and utter indifference.

Add floppy hair and a skateboard and he resembles my high school crush. That guy didn't know I was alive. I wonder if he's currently kneeling naked in an empty shed.

Warehouse. It's too big to be a shed. It could be the home of the third little pig.

My knees are starting to ache when I hear the wooden stairs creak behind me. I picture Sean in my mind, descending the staircase, excited and a little worried that he'll break me. As far as I'm concerned, I lived through so much crap the past few weeks that I can survive anything. Physically, I've got it.

Emotionally, maybe not.

I mean, think about it for a second. How am I supposed to reconcile who I wanted to be, with what I've become? How do people stare in the mirror after killing someone? What if that man had a family? They still don't know where he is, that I ended his life. The guy forced my hand. It was him or me, but that doesn't change the way I feel. It'd be the same if I walked into Waldbaum's, picked a random guy and shot him.

I don't kill people.

I'm not a hooker.

I want love, and I found it by selling myself to the man on the staircase. When we have kids, what am I supposed to tell them? Daddy bought Mommy, took her on a date, and purchased the right to take her virginity!

My mind wanders. He played the piano then. We played together. If you remove the whoring part from the story, it sounds sweet. Sean needed me, and I needed him. How we met isn't important.

My blindfold is removed. My senses are suddenly on high alert, and I feel like someone is watching me. I can't see anyone outside, but I can't hear Sean inside either. I glance over my shoulder and find him sitting on the lower step, leaning forward, chin resting on his folded hands. The tux shirt is gone, and the way he sits accentuates his hard, beautiful body. The way the muscles in his arms, swell and curve, wrapping around strength that's buried deep within. It's hard to look away.

"Avery, come here." His voice is softer than usual, as if he's not sure of himself. That's a rare thing for Sean. I rise and pad over to him. When I stop in front of him, he straightens and peers up at me. "I've wanted to do this for a long time, but I don't know if you can handle it. How do you want me to proceed?"

Awkward naked conversation. Whatever he planned, I can tell he wants it immensely. At the same time, the forewarning is freaky. "I need more information than that. What do you want to do?"

This must be something bad, worse than the box and the fake rape. What the hell is it?

His lips part and he relaxes his shoulders and jaw. His eyes avoid me for a moment, and when he meets my gaze again, he offers his hand. "Come and see."

I stay where I am and fold my arms across my chest. Sean stands in front of me, stepping closer, towering over me. His broad shoulders are nearly twice the size of mine. He's in my space, and that cologne fills my head. I breathe in deeply, trying to place the scents. They're warm, strong, and masculine. They whisper of open arms, passionate kisses, and a firm embrace. It's a dance of power and seduction wrapped in the perfect smell.

I step back, which just makes Sean walk forward. He immediately closes the space. I feel his eyes on me, watching me, tracing my curves as he tries not to touch me, not yet.

"Sean, you could show me the things you want to do and they won't seem like a big deal until we're in the moment. It's you. You make the actions beyond comprehension. You make it intense, igniting the room with your presence. I don't think showing me will help. You need to decide how much you want this—if it's worth it to you."

Before his gaze drops, I see the conflict warring within him. Love isn't supposed to be this way, but for him, it is. It always will be. Part of him suffered in darkness so long he can't simply walk away. I don't know if it's love or insanity on my part, but I know he needs this and I want to be there for him. Plus I kind of like it, but I'm not ready to admit that out loud yet.

He lets out a rush of air and runs his hands through his hair and down the back of his head. He stays like that for a moment, arms held tight at the nape of his neck watching me, thinking. He's wondering if I can take whatever he's planning to do.

He clears his throat and drops his hands, shoving them into his pockets. "I was involved in some pretty messed up things in the past, Avery."

I want to say, 'I know,' but I don't know specifics, and I don't want to hear about how he fucked some girl on a cactus while she was screaming and terrified.

I press my lips together and lift my chin. "I know you had to do what you needed to do to stay sane. Is this for sanity or recreation? Who's asking me if I can handle this? Survivor Sean or Fun Times Sean?"

He doesn't speak which is answer enough.

He thought I was dead. He thought my brother killed me and mutilated my body. I thought the same of him. I thought Vic killed Sean, and I had lost him forever. I don't want to be without him. I don't want to make him deal with this alone.

I rest my hand on his elbow after taking a step closer. Looking up into his face, our eyes meet and hold. My stomach flips and falls to the floor shattering like a china bowl when I speak. My brain and my heart battle, but my brain is defeated. It's waving flags like a lunatic running across a battlefield, more likely to get killed than solve anything.

RED FLAGS.

Everywhere.

I see them exploding. The tattered fabric waves from the end of the pole, burning. Fire slowly consumes the cloth until there's nothing left.

It's one of those times my mind operates on instinct, showing me what will happen if I do this—it solves nothing, and his pain will still be there in the morning. I'll only destroy myself in the process.

"Let's go," I say, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. "Take what you need and don't ask me again. My answer is yes."