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Images of Clara dead, throat slit in our bed upstairs, flooded my mind. All because I hadn’t checked the locks properly.
Gritting my teeth, I strode back down the hall and tapped the door just above the lock. I couldn’t touch the actual knob, otherwise it was fucked up and I had to count by threes again.
I could see it was locked, but the impulse to check it was out of control. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Calming my mind, forcing the images from my brain.
I tapped the door three times, took a long look at the lock, and turned on my heel.
My body froze up again, barely a step down the hall.
Goddamn it. I closed my eyes, envisioning Gretchen sitting in front of me. Face calm, eyes steady and comforting.
“It’s not real,” she said softly. “Trust yourself, Merrick.”
But…it was real though. People died by home invasion all the time and I was a prime target as the Welsh King. Maybe I should barricade the door and install another lock in the morning.
A bolt that I could see all the way down the hall.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Searching for my pulse in the darkness as I forced my breathing to slow.
One, two, three.
Four, five, six.
Seven, eight, nine.
Before my brain could start working, I strode into the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time.
For a second, I thought I was free. I was almost to the bedroom door when the panic set in. Before I knew what was happening, I’d swung around and I was back downstairs. Walking down the hall with my heart pounding in my chest.
No, I wasn’t going through this tonight. Not with Clara upstairs. I needed to stop this before it got bad again. I whirled, completely misjudging how close I was to the wall, and struck a picture frame with my elbow.
It fell, the glass splitting in half. The sound echoed down the hall.
I snapped out of it, sliding to my knees in the hallway.
I’d fucked everything up.
Her footsteps sounded above me, pattering down the stairs. Her pale face appeared at the end of the hallway and then she was running to me. Falling to her knees, cradling my elbow.
Uncurling my hand, looking for an injury.
“I’m fine, Clara,” I said, forcing my voice to steady.
She gripped my wrist, her eyes locking on mine.
“I think you need to start being truthful with me,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CLARA
He looked cornered.
Trapped.
My chest tightened as fear rippled through me. I’d never seen Merrick like this and it threw everything off balance. Merrick was supposed to be the strong one, the Welsh King without a single crack in his armor.
I sent him upstairs to take a shower and I made him a drink with his favorite whiskey. I had a feeling I was going to need something too so I prepared an enormous bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce.
