Page 33 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Ten

Clara Bishop is not a woman who can be drank away. Still, I’ve tried. The subtle thump of music is all that penetrates my hiding spot. Below me, hundreds of people are crammed into Brimstone, enjoying themselves or, at least, forgetting whatever troubles plague them. Lucky bastards.

“Let’s go down there,” Jonathan suggests, eying the crowd. I’ve no doubt he’s spotted some potential conquest. He’s dressed for the evening. A button-down, cuffed to look casual. Expensive shoes of some sort. With his blonde hair and blue eyes, he could take home more than a few conquests. I, on the other hand, need a shave, and I’m in a t-shirt and jeans. I know he expects a wild evening. What I can’t figure out is why I invited him in the first place.

Maybe because only alcoholics drink alone? But I’m not really drinking. I’m not doing anything, a fact my father reminded me of this morning.

“You go.” I grin, trying to sound encouraging. I really would like it if he left.

“Is this about that girl?” Jonathan asks. “You know, the best way to get over her would be to fuck someone else.”

My fake smile flattens, even though he has a point. “Not interested.”

“You always told me that sometimes a girl needs to get fucked out of your system,” Jonathan reminds me. “You’ll feel better after.”

It’s like he’s telling me to take some medicine for a headache. “I’m not fucking coming,” I growl. “Go!”

My hands close into fists as I try to keep this from getting physical. Because right now, I want to throw him out—toss him to the crowd. But why?

He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.

A dark look flashes across his fair features, but he rearranges his face into an apathetic mask. “Fine.”

The door slides open, and club music punctures the air as he exits. It reminds me of the night she came here to visit, and I look up, half-hoping to find myself back there. What would I say to change the direction our relationship took?

Nothing.

There is no relationship. There won’t be. She was smart enough to run, and I need to be man enough to let her.

Moving to the window, I stare into the crowd, losing myself to the faces below. Maybe he’s right. Maybe a night with a stranger would fix all this. I’d never let a woman get to me before. It’s always the other way around. I sleep with a woman. It’s good. I fuck her again. She gets ideas. It’s the natural course of things. I can’t blame her. But I do send a clear message by moving on to someone new. Once a girl sees she’s replaceable, she understands. It’s how I’ve always operated. I’m not looking for a fucking princess or a happily ever after. No man is.

So why can’t I go down there and take some stranger to my bed? Why am I up here nursing a bourbon and wondering if she’ll respond to my texts?

There’s another burst of club music, and I look up, expecting Jonathan, but it’s only Norris, dressed in a suit and looking a bit too James Bond for Brimstone.

He stares stoically at me as if waiting for an invitation to join me. It’s been like that since I got back from the front. Before I left, he treated me like a charge—lecturing and interfering as much as he thought necessary. I don’t know if he sees me as a man now or if he gave up when all his well-intentioned fathering failed, and I wound up bleeding on the roadside holding my dying sister. I’ve never asked.

I hold up my glass and motion for him to pour himself one.

“Are we drinking or admiring it?” He doesn’t bother with the bourbon. I knew he wouldn’t. Not since he’s been stuck playing bodyguard and chauffeur.

“Neither.” I turn my attention to the club.

“You aren’t going to find her down there,” Norris says softly.

“Who?” I’m tired of this conversation. I’m tired of people seeing through me and acting like they know what’s best for me. I know exactly where to find Clara Bishop. I know she starts work in the morning at Peters & Clarkwell. I know she’s been shopping with her best friend. I know she doesn’t want to see me. I know I shouldn’t want to see her.

Norris doesn’t answer me. He’s been around when I’ve received reports from friends inside SIS. He knows I’m tracking Clara, but he’s kept his thoughts to himself, and it’s driving me crazy.

“I’m not looking for her,” I say, my eyes glued to the swarm of club-goers.

“You don’t have to,” he says in a clipped tone. “You know exactly where she is. You always do. If I might, that’s not exactly healthy behavior for either of you.”

I know that, too. She admitted she’d had a bad relationship before. I’d had to stop myself from seeking out information on this ex of hers. But I had checked up on her. “I’m not stalking her.”

Norris raises a gray brow. “Just because you’re using MI5 doesn’t make it right.”

“I just want to know that she’s safe. That the reporters are leaving her alone.” I walk away from the window, away from him and the accusation. But I can’t seem to get far enough.

“The reporters have been quiet,” he says. “They seem more interested in Ms. Lockwood since that photo at the opera.”

“I guess I owe Pepper one,” I bite out. “She took the heat off Clara. It’s what I wanted, you know. Clara to have a normal life. I never wanted anyone to find out about us.”

The pause between us is deafening, but it’s what he asks next that’s loaded. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t belong in my world.” It’s obvious. I live in a world of glass crowns and pretty cages. No beautiful creature belongs there. “It’s better to keep her away from all this.”

“But it’s part of who you are.” Norris watches me as I continue to pace, his eyes sweeping along with me while the rest of him remains still.

“Why would that matter? She doesn’t belong here.” She doesn’t belong in the ugliness surrounding me. I can only imagine what she’d think. I’d made the mistake of showing her a glimpse of my darkness, and she’d run. “If she knew the truth about my family, she’d disappear forever.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Norris says. “Show her. Lose her.”

He’s calling my bluff. I know because this has already occurred to me. All I have to do to lose Clara is allow her closer. She’ll see the truth. She’ll run.