Mortal Siege

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  Consumed by bitter longing, I sit on the bed, in front of the desktops set-up along one side of the floor. Watching those codes go by is the only thing that distracts me. That, and swallow after swallow of the Greygoose in my hand.

  I should probably try to be sober as I look for her.

  Yet, for the sake of my father’s life—for the sake of the freedom I need to locate her—I need this to numb myself. To help me deal with this nasty, ugly as fuck crawling sensation in my brain.

  Don’t know how long passes with me here, working at this bottle, watching those desktops in their quest to find the most important, missing piece of me. All I know is one moment I’m in that daze, the next I hear voices outside.

  Approaching my door.

  Familiar voices.

  “Daniel, are you sure you tracked him here?”

  Mom?

  Fuck! She’s found me. And she’s with her main security guard, Daniel, who no doubt brought a team to bring me in.

  Son of a bitch!

  Furious, I shoot to my feet, eyeing the desktops longingly. Leaving is the last thing I want to do, but if I don’t get away from here, I’ll be back at our home in no time.

  I’ll come back for them, I tell myself, shooting for my keys.

  When I open the door to head for my car, I spot my mom, Daniel, and three other guards with them. Luckily for them, none of them are my father’s security; the same group of assholes that helped me lose over two weeks of time.

  “Drew!” Mom cries, eyes widening at the sight of me.

  My blackened, empty husk of a heart clenches at the sight of her. At how obviously stressed she is. This is the last thing I want to do to her, but she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get why I need Lexi so bad, why I can’t be under his roof if I’m to succeed at locating her. “I’m not going back, Mom. Please, just go. I’m eighteen and can decide on my own what I want to do.”

  Tears brimming in her eyes, she begins jogging towards me in her three-inch heels. Even without makeup and rocking a serious, obvious lack of sleep, she’s still dressed to perfection, as befitting her status.

  The guards are right behind her.

  I allow myself one last look at my mom—a woman I love more than life after Lexi—and run to my car. She’s screaming my name as I start the engine. I keep my stare glued on the steering wheel as I shift to drive, afraid that if I gaze at her too long, they’ll have their chance to get me.

  That is, until something slams onto the hood.

  It’s my mother.

  My beautiful, perfectly-schooled, graceful mother, and she’s slammed herself onto the hood of my car, screaming for me to stop.

  Motherfuck. It’s too much. I don’t mean to do this to her. Hate that I must pick between her and Lexi.

  “Drew! I know you’ve been drinking! I know you, my son!” That one sentence guts what’s left of my heart. I can practically see the ashes left of it leaking out through the wound. “Please, don’t do this! She’s just a girl!”

  And it’s with that one sentence that my mom proves what I already knew.

  She doesn’t understand.

  She can’t help me with this because she doesn’t get what Lexi means to me.

  Everything.

  I’m sorry, I mouth to my mother, seconds before peeling backwards out of the motel parking lot. The world spins dangerously on the turn, all the liquor I’ve ingested the last few days rearing its head.

  I push it down, focusing on getting away.

  And how the hell I’m going to get back for those desktops without them spotting me again.

  chapter 9

  l exi’s silent.

  She’s been silent.

  Throughout the whole car ride.

  While I took a call from Mateo and discussed where he would deliver Asad’s body—namely, across the street to Drevlow Systems, where I can guarantee its absolute disposal.

  The one place I can guarantee no one will witness it, since I alone control the security feeds.

  She didn’t say anything as we drove down into the parking lot.

  It isn’t until we’re inside the elevator that she speaks. From the corner, she watches me place my thumb on the scanner and press the button for the penthouse.

  “You live right across the street?”

  Her calmness isn’t soothing; it’s the exact opposite. That withheld fury is like a force vibrating inches from her skin, a humming I pick up on with every sense in my body. “Moved here a year ago.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s when I finally . . . decided to take over the company from my father.”

  Lifeless, dilated gray eyes drill into me, and from this close I can see the thin line of her contacts. “He died eight months ago, right?”

  “Almost nine,” I answer just as calmly, not breaking our stare. The elevator arrives at my penthouse, but I don’t make any move to exit.

  Lexi doesn’t reply, that expression dangerously controlled.

  I wonder if she realizes how obvious that crack in her psyche is. The will she’s exerting to keep it together is fantastic, powerful.

  And not lost on me at all.

  “Ask me how he died, Lexi.”

  “Heart attack.”

  “Ask me how he died,” I repeat.

  Her lids flutter in a rapid blink. Instead of replying, she looks over my shoulder. “Of course, you have a massive penthouse.” She walks around me and into the short foyer that leads to the loft-like first floor. Her head turns as she takes in the navy blue and black bench to her left.

  I follow her, letting her lead. Not because I don’t have a thousand things I’m ready to say—confess—but because I’m not a fucking idiot.

  What I did seven years ago? Sure, I’m innocent of actually plotting to have us recorded. But the miscalculation I made, not predicting my father would leave me there overnight—that he would take my confession video straight to Lexi, poisoning her against me—left her with only one belief.

  For almost a fucking decade.

  Whatever she went through, whatever happened to her, the entire time she’d believed I’d betrayed her.

  “This place is fucking massive. Seriously,” she says from the middle of the ground floor, staring from the bar on her left, to the large living area on her right.

  Straight ahead of her is the stairs leading to the second floor.

  “I figured I would need something convenient, close, and large.”

  “Why?”

  Look at me, damn it. Do I push? No. I continue my slow approach, achingly aware that I’m clueless here.

  She’s damaged and I don’t know just how deep. Without the details of what happened to her before, I’ll never fully know.

  What happened earlier today alone would be enough to ruin anybody.

  My lack of answer makes her finally look over her shoulder at me. “Why did you need this place?”

  Pressing my lips together, I refuse to answer. Don’t want to lie to her, but also not sure she’s ready to hear how determined I’ve been to find her.

  To live my fucking life with her.

  “Lexi . . . why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me,” I suggest gently, feet from her now.

  A stubborn tilt of her chin. “How are you planning of disposing of Asad’s body?”

  “The pharmaceuticals division has an acid tank.”

  I don’t know how I expected her to take that answer, but it wasn’t with a raised eyebrow and pleased nod.

  Looking away, she focuses on the stone wall in front of the light brown sectional. She takes in the large flat screen mounted to it, the short fireplace carved beneath it, and finally the massive painting above the flatscreen.

  The one that’s visible from the second-floor landing.

  “Lexi—”

  “I already gave it to you. I’m planning on sleeping with you again. So why lie to me?”

  “Look at me when I answer you.”

  She refuses, head twisted t
o the side so mostly her profile is visible to me.

  “I wouldn’t tell you anything I couldn’t prove to you.”

  That gets her attention. “You’re saying you can prove you were lying on that video?”

  “To within a ninety-percent certainty, yes.”

  Her incredulous glare speaks volumes. “Ninety-percent?”

  “I acquired the text logs between Kaylee, Stephen, Barnard, and I years ago. I . . .” Pausing, I run a hand along the back of my neck. “I knew I might need them once I found you. It’s up to you if you can believe I didn’t alter them. Hell, knowing you, you’d find a way to prove if they were or not.”

  That faked-calm begins to peel away, like a tragic shedding of skin. It begins with her breathing, her chest bouncing as it begins to speed up. “Do you understand what you’re—God. You’re—” Blinking back angry tears, she stares at the ground. “You’re saying that I ran away for . . . nothing?”

  I can’t take this distance anymore. Not while watching her reality shift. I’d promised myself I’d give her a reason to continue hating me, that I wouldn’t shatter whatever beliefs kept her strong.

  Yet what choice do I have now? After killing Asad tonight, we must become a single entity. An unshakable partnership. I need to be able to trust her as much as she needs to trust me.

  “Whatever happened to you”—I walk up to her and circle her waist with my hands—“whatever he did, it wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me, baby? It was all his. And I’m going to make him pay for it.”

  Her hair trembles around her face as she shakes her head. “You don’t get it,” she whispers, staring up at me. “It was. If you’re innocent, and I let your father convince me to run the way I did . . . Andrew. I—I ruined us both. Didn’t I?”

  chapter 10

  s he can’t even stand.

  That’s how damaged my confession leaves her.

  Lifting her against me, I lead her to the couch situated in front of the bar. She stares at my chest as I urge her to sit, but she’s not really seeing it.

  Lexi’s unfocused again. Dipping into whatever crack in her psyche that’s currently calling her name.

  “You better start talking to me, baby, before I call for Dr. Aaberg.”

  She runs a shaking hand along her jaw, blinking in the direction of the bar. “I need a drink, Andrew. Something strong.”

  Last thing I expected.

  I watch her eyeing the bar longingly, as if she’d get up and serve herself if she could.

  She can’t. I had to lead her here. That’s how bad her legs are trembling.

  I almost refuse to give it to her. She was bombarded by Menahan’s bullshit tonight, raped by Asad, helped me commit murder . . .

  And then I attacked and fucked her on my car like some demented beast.

  “Drew,” Lexi mumbles. “Get it for me. Now.”

  Shit. Alright. Fuck.

  I make quick work of heading over to the bar and pouring her two fingers of the strongest rum I have—British Royal Navy Imperial.

  I’m worried it’ll knock her on her ass.

  Even more worried that denying it to her will push her over the edge.

  I return to her, handing her the glass as I sit next to her. “I’m so sorry, Lexi. About everything tonight. I should’ve predicted what Menahan would choose to do. Should’ve predicted Asad—and I shouldn’t have violated you the way I did. I’m—”

  “Shut up. That’s the only good thing that happened tonight.” Expression mulish, she downs the entire glass in a single shot.

  No reaction.

  No coughing.

  And she holds out the glass to me, silently requesting more.

  Yeah. Okay. Whoa. This is not the same girl that choked on dry red wine seven years ago on that field.

  The reminder sits heavy in my chest. How much time has passed. How many things have changed between us.

  Beneath this suit, the scars from the accident remain. The small track marks from my half-a-year of heavy, insane heroin use.

  The thin scar running up my left forearm from when I managed to find a blade in the rehab, after the withdrawals triggered a psychotic break. From when I believed there was only one way out of the agony and I tried to take it.

  I have to face these changes in her and, soon, she’ll have to visually see the marks of everything that changed me.

  Impatient, Lexi wiggles the glass towards me. “Please.”

  “Baby, I’m worried—”

  “Just one more, please. I need help to deal with all this.”

  God, I want her back in my arms.

  Instead, I take the glass and head over to get her another serving; one finger this time, instead of two.

  She takes it from me, lids down, and I wonder if it’s because she still doesn’t believe me.

  But when I once again take the seat next to her, she discards the empty glass behind her and practically crawls into my lap, her face tucked into my neck.

  “Lexi.” I squeeze her to me, pressing feverish kisses to her temple.

  Her back bounces.

  At first, I think it’s another round of shivers.

  Her low sob is barely muffled against my neck.

  “Baby. Don’t.” I try to pull her back to stare at her, but like a child, she shakes her head and borrows deeper.

  “You’re innocent,” she forces out, tears drenching my skin and pulling at the frayed, damaged edges of my soul.

  “You believe me?” Rubbing her back, I continue kissing her even though she won’t raise her head.

  “You know I can prove you a liar about the texts it I want to . . . and if you aren’t telling the truth,” she says, voice shaking from her tears.

  I crush her to me even harder. “I got all six months leading up to that night. I’ll show you. I’ll give you everything. You can hack into the cellular company’s servers and—”

  “I believe you.”

  “Oh God. Lexi.”

  She starts crying even harder and unless I use force, I can’t get her to look at me. “It’s my fault, Andrew. All of it.”

  “God damn it! No! Stop talking like that. It’s all their fault. All of them. His, especially. And mine for not predicting that my dad would leave me in jail overnight so he could get to you.”

  “No!” Finally, she pushes back, the heartache in her expression a mere glimpse of how ruined she must feel inside. “It’s my fault. I ran. I convinced my mom to take the money and run. I let Stephen befriend me because I was so angry at you,” the last part is hissed out in a disbelieving sob. “And you . . . It wasn’t just what happened to me. It’s what happened to you and I don’t even know the half of it.”

  I cut off her rambling by cupping her beautiful, tear-drenched face. “Stop. I—”

  “You’re going to tell me everything. The whole story. All of it. What happened before, after. And don’t you dare think of protecting me. I deserve to know.”

  She might not be able to handle it. Although, what choice do I have? My earlier conclusion that honesty between us is the only way to forge our trust still stands. “Fine. But you’re telling me what happened to you, too. What he did to you.”

  Seeming to dive deep for some inner resolve, she begins wiping at her tears and makes no move to leave my lap. “I’ll tell you all I’m capable of telling you, Drew.” Somber, sad eyes, highlighted by the mess of her watered-down eyeliner and mascara, meet mine. “But you’re going first, okay? I want to know everything, Drew. Everything.”

  chapter 11

  a month after the day in the motel, my lids peel back, a tiled, white ceiling coming into view.

  Groggy, I try to blink the film out of my vision.

  Where am I?

  What the fu—the thought isn’t even fully formed when I recognize the blurry room around me.

  The IV bag hanging next to me and the tube leading down to my arm.

  Shit, I’m in a hospital? Head pounding, I close my eyes and search my memory for a clue
of how I got here. I remember setting up the desktops at my latest hotel room. Heading to the liquor store an hour or so later. Purchasing a new round of vodka with my dwindling cash. Then, the sidewalk as I left, already working on one of my new bottles.

  That’s it. After that it’s all black.

  Fuck.

  I look around the room, trying to spot my belongings. Hoping against hope that no one looked inside my wallet and saw my ID.

  If so, he’s probably almost here. Mom, too. It’s been three months since she tracked me down in Bayonne.

  Four-fucking-months since school ended. Since Lexi disappeared.

  I was supposed to have started at Princeton last month. My main priority should be getting the fuck off this bed and out of this hospital before my parents arrive, yet I can’t help but wonder what my father told the school.

  Doesn’t fucking matter. Get out. Right. I jerk to a sitting position without thought. It proves to be a mistake immediately as a hammer descends on my head. The pain is intense enough to make me double over. Hissing, I press the heel of my palm into one eye.

  This is worse than any hangover I’ve ever experienced. The way the room spins and my stomach follows along is too much. I have no idea how the fuck I’m leaving this bed, only that I have to be gone and soon.

  A suspicion arises of what might’ve landed me here. One that I push back as I drag the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

  More spinning.

  More pounding.

  My stomach heaves, my throat expanding as I fight back the urge to vomit. It’s sore, aching, as if something had been shoved down my throat again, and my suspicion grows stronger.

  The door to hospital room swings open. A doctor steps in, but it’s who’s behind him that fucks everything up.

  “Drew!”

  Shit. Mom. Here we go again.

  Ignoring her, I try to stand.

  My weak legs and pounding head only allow me to make it halfway to a standing position before I’m brought back down onto the bed as all strength fails me.

  My mother calls my name again.

  The doctor rushes to place a hand on my shoulder, intending to ease me back on the bed.