Free Mine by Mary Calmes Page A

lockbox I gave you, and it goes in the hamper with the dirty clothes.”
    “Got it.”
    “Good.”
    My eyes flicked to his. “You know I appreciate it, right? Everything you do for me. I don’t know how to show it without giving you money so you know I’m sincere.”
    “I know you’re sincere, it’s why I give a shit.”
    I nodded and then yawned, my eyes watering.
    “You’re so fuckin’ tired.”
    “I am, shit.”
    “Just get Landry and the two of you go home and go to bed.”
    I grunted as he patted my knee.

Chapter 4

    C ONRAD had to shake me awake when we reached Asil, and once I was there at the door, in the dark, I realized that I really needed to go home and get in bed. It was a little after six on a Tuesday night, and I saw at least five couples milling around. Landry’s small boutique gallery, only a thousand square feet, was open Monday through Friday from nine in the morning to eight at night and on the weekends from eleven to four. It had simple cream-colored walls with a single orange-red accent color used once behind the cash register with the logo and again on the outside of the door. He had wanted a location with a window, and I said no, not downtown where he was thinking, not right there on the street. I had the door custom made so the glass was protected. Even if you broke it, you still couldn’t get in. The alarm was set for the sound of breaking glass as well, either from the cases inside or the door. I was taking no chances with his safety or his livelihood.
    We had picked a place with a wall of ivy beside the front door, which made graffiti impossible. On the other side of the gallery was an alley that cars drove through, so as far as trash and vandalism went, Asil was in good shape. The lady who owned the shop above sold shoes, which was why, as I came into the sandalwood-scented showroom, my boyfriend was walking—or rather, strutting—for his two salesgirls in four-inch patent leather platform boots. It was hot. He looked good in them, and they were doing something amazing to his ass, but the man was enormous. Normally six feet, he was now six four and all legs.
    I flopped down on the riveted leather bench by the door.
    “Hey, Trev,” Chantal called over to me, her eyes sparkling in the light. “Check out Landry. He looks like a model.”
    “He’s so gorgeous,” Megan agreed, her eyes full of adoration for her boss.
    “Oh, hi,” the man himself greeted me coolly, pivoting around to face me like he was on the runway. “Aren’t these fabulous?”
    They were something.
    “I’m so impressed you can walk in those,” I told him. Then I realized that his hair, which had been dirty-blond in the morning, was now streaked with several different colors: chestnut, bronze, copper, and a bright red that was not a naturally occurring shade. Whoever had done it, the job was masterful, the highlights and lowlights blending well, but it was still a lot of colors on one head of hair. “I thought you weren’t gonna mess with it anymore.”
    He shrugged. “I lied. It had to be done.”
    I realized instantly that he was furious. Not just annoyed, not just mad, but seething with anger at me. And I was tired, but now I had a fight on my hands.
    “I like the round toe on the boots,” I offered, trying to make peace for whatever I had done. Looking at the boots, seeing that the front was built up at least an inch and a half, maybe two inches, I was even more impressed that he could do the pivot walk and be so steady; my sister would have killed herself.
    “They were only two hundred.”
    I nodded. We were supposed to be saving for my dream now, and a house and a car. We had expenses, and two-hundred-dollar shoes, though nothing for a lot of people, were a big deal for us.
    “And my hair was a lot too.”
    Pushing, testing… seeing how far my patience would stretch. Would I yell? Could he actually, finally, get me to hit him? So many of the guys he let fuck him had hit him, too, got him