I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Arthur,” I said sternly. “Stop.” He did. Stock-still. But his eyes were still blown. Still wide as he towered over me.
He launched forward and placed his hands on either side of my head. “Listen to me,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “You have to be protected. I have to know where you are.”
“Did … did something happen?” I asked, a trickle of fear crawling down my spine.
Arthur laughed a single laugh, but it was without humour. “Did something happen?” He shook his head, then pressed his forehead to mine. “They killed my mum and sister,” he said quietly, so quietly it was heartbreaking. His hands were unyielding on my head, keeping me close. “They killed your old man, your wankstain of a fiancé, your two best mates, and they tried to fucking kidnap you,” Arthur hissed, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. “They fucking wanted to sell you. Like those cunts did Ronnie. Like they did the women in the shipping container.”
“Baby—”
“It’s them!” he said, his wild eyes imploring me to listen. To understand. “They’re the ones behind all the attacks on us. They’re the ones sneaking around, fucking with us. And I don’t know who they are. I don’t fucking know who they are!”
Desperately, he smashed his lips to mine. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was raw and savage and unrestrained. When he broke away, my lips felt empty. “I can’t have them taking you. If something happens, if they strike again, if they fucking get to us somehow, I need to be able to find you.” His hand slid down to the wrist that wore the bracelet. “This makes it so I can find you. If everything goes up in fucking flames, I’ll be able to find you.” His skin drained of colour and his voice broke to half a whisper. “I can’t fucking lose you,” he said, so sadly it stabbed through my chest. “Princess … I can’t lose you too.”
I put my hands on his face too, anger melting to sadness. We stood at the foot of his bed, hands on each other’s faces, holding on to one another for dear life.
“Please,” Arthur said, and my blood cooled at the sound of someone like Arthur Adley pleading. “I’ll fucking beg if you need me to, princess. But …” His breathing hitched. “Just wear it for me. Please, just fucking wear it so I can fucking sleep.” I thought of the headstones in the garden. The ones he could barely acknowledge when he found me on the bench talking to Gene.
“I can’t have you buried out there too,” he said, reading my mind. “Not you too … especially not fucking you.”
“Okay, okay,” I said calmly and kissed his cheeks, his wrists and his lips—softly, soothingly, gently. “I’ll wear it,” I said. And I would. I didn’t like the idea of a tracker on me. But then I replayed the attackers tying my hands and gagging my mouth. Remembered being dragged down the stairs of the spa and almost forced into the van. I never wanted that to happen again. But if it ever did, I would have the knowledge that Arthur would find me.
If this was the insurance Arthur needed to feel calm, I would do it for him. “I’ll wear it. I promise,” I assured, and Arthur started breathing normally. He had dark circles under his eyes, and I knew he hadn’t been sleeping. He was exhausted. And strung out. And worried for me. But there also seemed to be something more. Something else.
“Have you found something out?” I searched his face, trying to understand what had triggered all of this.
Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He stepped back and pulled his hand back from my face. He lit a cigarette, took a calming inhale and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not yet. Just some things don’t seem to be adding up.” He stopped whatever he was going to say. “I think I’m going fucking mad,” he said and took another drag. “Fucking losing it.”
“When was the last time you rested? Truly rested. When was the last time you slept?”
“I can’t,” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. “They’re fucking out there. And I can’t fucking find them. I always find anyone threatening us. But these fuckers, these snakes, they’re buried too deep. And …” He shook his head and dropped down to the bed. I kneeled on the floor in front of him.
Arthur’s eyes fixed on the bracelet, and I felt the calmness bloom around him. The steadiness of his breath when the light glinted off the silver band. “You’re scared of these men,” I said, seeing through this outburst, this obsessive need for me to have the tracker on.
Arthur laughed, and the mocking sound made my toes curl. But there was despair in it too. “Scared,” he said with another cold laugh. He shook his head, staring again at the floor as he finished his cigarette. “I’m not scared of any fucker in this town. They can come at me all they fucking want, guns blaring and shipping containers exploding. They can try and take me out—let them fucking come.” I frowned, not understanding the tortured look on his face.