Behind His Eyes - Consequences (16 page)

He brought Claire Nichols to Iowa for one reason—she had a debt to pay. Not the goddamn money. Tony didn’t give a rat’s ass about $215,000. No, Claire Nichols was the proverbial sacrificial lamb for the entire line of Nichols descendants—a child of a child. The vendetta rang in Tony’s head. He’d heard it over and over for twenty years.
So what if he’d extracted some pleasure from her consequence?
That was acceptable; however, her blatant disregard for his rules, her insubordination and disloyalty, were intolerable.

The ridiculous idea running through his mind these past few weeks, that there was anything more between them than business, would end today. Tony would stay strong and deliver the consequences Claire deserved.

When Tony initially entered Claire’s suite, he knew his mission: confront her about the interview, entertain the idea of a misconception—at least superficially, and deliver the appropriate punishment. It was a solid plan; however, that was a long time ago. As he sat in the chair near Claire’s sofa and minutes turned to hours and hours passed like days, Tony’s restraint evaporated. With each tick of the clock, his body stiffened and the red colored his vision.

Three hours! He’d been waiting in her suite for three fuck’n hours!

Catherine told him that Claire had gone to her lake for the day. Tony glanced toward the windows, as darkness fell over the land and enveloped her suite. He told himself,
the damn day is done
!

During the entire three hours that he’d been there, Tony hadn’t moved or turned on a light. Truly, he thought it was interesting how well his eyes adjusted. Never before could he remember experiencing each moment of diminishing illumination. As the darkness prevailed, the crimson hue grew.

He worked to contain the fury in his chest and soul. It had been years since he’d experienced this depth of rage. Honestly, he hadn’t moved because he feared if he did, he’d break something or some things. That’s what used to happen when he was younger. He would break an object or punch a wall. There was one time at Blaire Academy when he punched another kid. The kid deserved it. He had said something about Tony’s grandmother. The damn teachers broke it up and no one was seriously hurt; nevertheless, his grandfather didn’t care about the why. He warned Anton to never let it happen again, and he hadn’t. It was surprisingly easy—remain detached. That was how he could buy companies and fire a roomful of people. They weren’t people: they were marks on a ledger.

Initially, this technique worked with Claire, but with each day she’d become more than that. Now, in the quiet suite, with time standing still, his thoughts ran together:
He’d allowed her to become more than that—more than just a Nichols! He’d trusted her—hell, he sent her to the spa, allowed her to shop, and even allowed her to remain in Chicago without him. For what? So that she could spit in his face? So that she could publicly discuss their relationship? What else had she told Meredith Banks? Maybe she had the whole thing planned. Of course, it was her plan to get away from him.

That was probably it … she arranged it from the spa—hell, he never thought about her using a phone from the spa, or maybe she used a pay phone? He’d supplied her with enough cash. What if she bought one of those disposable phones? The release said Claire and Meredith were sorority sisters. Claire probably contacted her for this purpose!

There were so many possibilities of how she’d betrayed him. It was true—he didn’t know the exact mode, but he knew the final result. The papers were lying on her table—the black and white evidence of her deceit! She’d never meant a word of what she said that day in the dining room. The whole damn speech about trust was a sham, and he was a goddamn fool for falling for it.

Tony’s train of thought came to a screeching halt as the sound of the opening door filled the otherwise silent suite. While the moonlight pooled in rectangles on the soft carpet, Tony stepped into the dark shadows and neared the woman who’d consumed his thoughts for the last eight hours—no, for years!

Before she could turn on the light, he stepped behind her. With the redness nearly beyond penetration, her presence and her scent fueled the fury and pain within him. He wrapped his arm around her throat while pulling her ponytail with his other hand. Nearing his lips to her ear, he attempted speech through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Tony heard the desperation in his voice as it filled the dark room. That desperation poured more crimson onto the fire of his rage. No damn woman, especially a
Nichols
, would have this much control over him!

She didn’t speak!

He spun her around—he wanted to see her face, see her lying eyes. Gripping her shoulders, he questioned her again. “I asked you a question. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Tony,” she gasped. “I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.”

His patience expired hours ago. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He slapped her cheek.
Damn her, why wasn’t she apologizing for her disloyalty? Why wasn’t she answering his fuck’n question?
“I have asked you a question twice. I will not ask again.”

His palm stung as it once again connected with her cheek and temple. The red behind his eyes obscured the growing physical evidence of his more forceful contact. Truly, he didn’t even see the tears as they began to fall from her pleading eyes.

“Tony, please stop. I was hiking in the woods.”

Letting go of her shoulders, he shoved her onto the sofa and followed. Leaning over her petite body, his words sounded too desperate for his own ears. “Do you expect me to believe you were in the woods until this time of night?”

“I was in the woods”—
lies—
“The sun was setting”—
bullshit
–“It was so beautiful.”

He couldn’t take it anymore! He wanted the truth! “Shut the fuck up! You were out there because you knew I was coming home, and you didn’t want to face me after what you did!”

“I don’t know what you mean. You told me you were coming home on Saturday—this is still Friday. I haven’t done anything.”

She was lying. He struck out again. Claire reached for her cheek as she tried to hide her face. He pulled her chin toward him; she wasn’t looking away! His breath bathed her tear-drenched face. “Liar!”

He searched her eyes.
Why weren’t they contrite or smug? She’d successfully humiliated him, broken his rules—why wasn’t she assuming credit for her deceit?

Tony stepped away. He couldn’t look at her expression another minute. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the sound of her sobs from his ears and stepped toward the light switch. While the light filled the suite, Tony concentrated on inhaling and exhaling as he walked toward the table.
Maybe if she read the release she’d accept responsibility
.

The sound of her whimpering on the sofa tempered the red, causing it to wane, but when the tips of his fingers touched the pages of the news release, the crimson violently resurged through his veins. He didn’t want the red to be so intense—if he didn’t keep it down, he knew it had the ability to control him. Tony didn’t want to give in to it, but he sure as hell wasn’t giving that control to Claire. His neck stiffened. He refused to proceed lightly; it was his choice. Claire’s damn emotions weren’t going to deter his quest for truth. Stepping toward her, he held out the pages and steadied his voice. “Then tell me—tell me how this is a misunderstanding.” The pages in his hand shook. Despite his best effort, his words came out too close together. “I jumped to conclusions last time. Tell me how I’m doing that now.”

Tony wondered why he was giving her the chance to talk her way out. Maybe he wanted to push that bravado.
Would she try to talk her way out of this?
Most people would know better—they would accept the consequences and leave him alone.
Should he even allow it?

Claire’s voice interrupted his internal debate. “Tony, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

He threw the pages toward her and watched as they scattered on the floor near her feet. He didn’t move; instead he stared and watched as Claire moved to the floor. Tony knew every word—hell, he’d read it fifty times. He watched as she fumbled with the pages, and her breathing became ragged.

“Tony, oh my God, I did
not
agree to an interview.”

He was once again beside her.
What kind of pull did she have on him?
He pointed to the picture. “So you’re telling me that the picture of you talking to this woman is a print shop fabrication and this is a colossal misunderstanding?”

“It is me, but—”

He seized her shoulders, lifted her from the floor, and pinned her against a wall. The falling picture and fear in her eyes didn’t register.

Her voice begged for understanding. “I wasn’t giving an interview.”

She was lying to him!
He slapped her again! If he had to, he’d force the truth out of her. He leaned down until their noses almost touched.
Would she have the audacity to look him in the eye and continue lying?
“Then what in the hell were you doing?” He shook her again. “Claire, I trusted you! You told me I could trust you, and I believed you. I sent you to a spa day. This is how you thank me? This is how you repay me? By breaking all my rules? By public failure?”

Abruptly, he released her shoulders. He wasn’t going there. He refused to reveal how betrayed he felt. That would give her too much power.
She didn’t have the power, he did
. And he would prove it!

When he turned around, Claire was scurrying to pick up the papers. The sight of her face finally registered: it was red and blotchy, yet her voice fought for steadiness. “What is this?”

Fine—he could be steady too. “It’s an exclusive Internet release of an upcoming story. It’ll run simultaneously in
People
and
Rolling Stone
.”

In an effort to control the emotions he didn’t want to feel, he stepped away, went to the bookshelf, picked up a book, and threw it into the fireplace. The release served as a small vent. After a deep inhale, he answered, “Shelly, my publicist, found it today and immediately forwarded me a copy. I flew home as soon as I could.”

While she read, Tony walked to the sofa, sat, and watched. The pages in her hand trembled as tears fell onto the printed words.
What the hell did she think—that he wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t know she’d betrayed his trust?

“Tony, I did go to school with Meredith. She did come up to me the other day and start talking. I didn’t know she was a reporter. I wasn’t giving an interview. I didn’t say anything about you.” She cried, “Your name was never mentioned!”

Tony didn’t speak; instead, he nodded toward the pages. Claire continued reading. When it appeared as though she were finally done, she didn’t move. She didn’t look up, or speak—or anything. Tony waited. The only sound in the suite was that of their breathing. Tony’s was getting louder while Claire’s became shallower. Eventually, she laid the pages on the carpet and kept her eyes downcast.

His fury had ebbed. On much steadier legs, he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire. How many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture, right here, of you sitting with her, the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate. It’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”

He wasn’t yelling; he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire still didn’t look up. He wanted to see her face; instead, all that he could see was the top of her head. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail and hung in front of her eyes. “Get up,” he ordered.

She didn’t move—not a flinch.

His volume increased. “Claire, get up!”

Still looking at the carpet she begged, “P-please, Tony, I-I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her arm, lifted her, and said, “The entire way home I was praying that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this, not after I put my trust in you, but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding, there had to be consequences. There had to be punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules.”

Claire wouldn’t look at his eyes. When he reached for her chin, she moved away from his touch. The red returned and filled every molecule of the suite.
How dare she pull away from him!
He moved again, not to lift her chin, but to strike her face. If she were going to pull away, he’d give her something to pull away from. His hand caught her pearl necklace, and Tony watched as the small pearl charm flew across the room.

He would do more than punish her physically for her betrayal. Next time, she would remember to follow his rules. Tony emphasized his control over her liberties as he continued, “I believe some time away from people, some time alone in your suite, will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

The betrayal combined with the fear in her eyes was too much. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear. She was fighting him or protecting herself. Tony wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense.

It was like the boy at the Academy—only multiplied. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop. Claire’s behavior caused him pain. At the moment, the only thing he could think to do was return the favor.

How long did he hurt her? Tony truly didn’t know. It wasn’t until she stopped fighting, stopped begging, and stopped moving, that the red disappeared.

When it did, the only thing that remained was Claire.

“Claire, get up.” She didn’t move. “Claire?” Tony reached for her shoulder as she lay upon the floor. Blood trickled from her lip, and her face was beginning to bruise.

Tony fell to his knees and shook her. She still didn’t respond. He tried again. This time his touch was soft and gentle. He wanted to shake her harder and wake her from this sleep, but he couldn’t. The rage and fury, which seconds earlier had consumed his entire being, faded into nothingness. Momentarily, his soul felt empty. Then, slowly, the void within his chest filled. It filled with fear—a fear like he’d never known.

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” he murmured. Reaching for her pulse, he said a prayer. Tony really wasn’t sure to whom, but at that moment he knew the thing he wanted more than anything else in the entire world was for her to live. Not because he didn’t deserve to pay for what he’d done. He prayed for her to live, because Claire didn’t deserve to die or to suffer as he’d made her suffer. “Please, don’t be dead. Oh God, help … Claire … please, please, let her wake up …”