Eleusis (Stacked Deck Book 9)

by Emilia Finn

  “I can’t tell you!”

  “I will tell the cops what I know, and I’ll mention the copious Rhino’s Bar matchbooks I see laying around your apartment.” She tosses my tank and bends over to grab her bra from my floor. “I will tell everyone that you’ve been harassing me, and soon, you’ll find yourself unwelcome at every establishment in this town.”

  “You think you can shake me down.” I roll my eyes and turn away. “You’re beautiful, Olivia. And you’re pretty fucking important to me. But you don’t control this town the way you think you do.”

  “I will go home to Brenten,” she snaps when I’m halfway along the hall.

  I turn back, slowly, menacingly, and meet her eyes as she continues.

  “And I will give him the one thing our relationship is missing. He wants it, I assure you.”

  “You would bargain with your own body?” I grit out. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Not just my body,” she taunts. She pulls her shirt on, fixes her hair, then presses a hand to her chest and stares deep into my eyes. “But my heart. He wants it so bad, William. He would do damn near anything to have it. And maybe I’ve been keeping it locked away for a few years, because I thought we had something else. I had you, and your letters, I had your attention, your love. And hell, I’m pretty damn sure I had you all to myself. I’ve been holding onto this for years, holding out on every other guy who came along, because I was certain it would be me and you. But perhaps I was wrong.”

  “I will not negotiate with you,” I declare. “I will not negotiate your fucking body or your heart, Olivia. Because either they’re mine, or you’re playing games. And if you’re playing games, then I don’t want any part of it.”

  “They’re not yours,” she hisses and chips away at my heart. “They’re mine, to give to whoever I think is worthy. And you know what? The fact you refuse to give me any real answers about who you are means you’re not worthy. So fuck it.” She turns to my bed and plops down for just long enough to pull her shoes on.

  Despite fixing her hair, it’s still a mess. Despite getting dressed, she looks like she spent the night fucking. She’s disheveled and sexy, messy and delicious. And now she’s standing, preparing to walk out of my life.

  “I’m done. Don’t call me in the middle of the night again, William. You don’t have that right.”

  “Right, because you have a boyfriend. I’ve heard this one before.”

  “And I’ll tell you over and over and over again.” She storms out of my room and barges past me into the hall. Snatching up her things – phone, keys, a Chapstick she must have tossed at some point this morning – she makes her way to the door. “When he proposes, should I send you a wedding invitation, or…?”

  “You don’t seriously think this tantrum is gonna work on me, right? I raised my baby sister. I was there for the terrible twos, and the attitude-filled teens. I was there when she wanted to be with Jamie and I said no, and I was there when she wanted to stay with me but I sent her away. I have lived through the motherlode of all tantrums, Conner. So your little snit right now is ineffectual and makes you look like a brat.”

  “Well this brat is about to go visit her boyfriend. I owe him an apology, and possibly a few sexual favors.”

  I grind my teeth together and watch as she swings the door open.

  “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend since day one,” she says. “He’s a gentleman, and he never tries to pressure me into doing more than I’m comfortable with.”

  “No, but he asked you to flirt with me to secure himself a better office. Sounds like a fucking catch, Olivia. I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m not happy for you.” She steps into the hall and meets my eyes. “I pity you. Because you could have done something really good with your life. This is a good town, and the people here are good people. You could have gotten a job doing basically anything you wanted, and I would have helped you. I know people, I know jobs, and I know you could have made a career of competition fighting if that was what you really wanted to do. I know Jamie wants to train you, and despite the way my brother acts around you, I know he respects you as a fighter. All those times he squared up and tried to goad you into sparring, he was only looking for you to prove your worth. He wants you to show him that you’re the right man for me, and in his eyes, the way someone does that is to fight him and prove you can handle your shit. But no. You’d rather back away and hide behind Jamie.”

  “You’re shitting on me because I’m not fighting your brother? Are you serious? I walk away out of respect for you! The same way Jamie never bites when I fuck with him. If I knew I had the green light, I’d have swung out the first fucking time that cockhead stepped up.”

  “I’m not saying I want you to fight him. I’m saying that he’s testing you, and you keep failing.”

  “Get back inside the apartment, Olivia.” I hobble closer and reach out a hand. “Come inside, close the door, and stop with your fucking tantrum.”

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes to the sky. “Tell me the truth, Will. You have one last chance to be honest with me, but then I’m going. I don’t have time for relationships like this.”

  “Will?” I heard the rest of her sentence, I heard it all, but my brain obsesses on that one small detail. “Why’d you call me Will?”

  “Because it’s your name!” she explodes. “Ya know what? Forget it.” She spins away and moves along my hall. “I have work to do, and a boyfriend to apologize to, and family to assure I’m safe and okay. We’re not suited, William. But it was fun.”

  “Wait.” I run into the hall. My knee screams, and my ribs ache, but I run anyway, and catch her at the top of the stairs. I plaster my body against her back, and whisper the words, “Rush and Ronan are drug dealers.” I lick my lips, and swallow down the bile that wants to rise in my throat. “They work for Ripley, the same guy your father is trying to track down, and they sell the drugs that your father is trying to get off the streets.”

  Olivia’s back is taut, tense, and steely straight.

  “And you?” she whispers. “What do you do?”

  “I…” I draw a deep breath and close my eyes in preparation for what’s coming. “I work with them. The bag I hid last night is full of cash, and Rush, the guy you asked about, he had the bag of product we went out last night to sell. My knee hurts because the cops were tipped off that we would be out there, I ran toward the trees, and the cop car clipped my leg.”

  “You were hit by a car?” she breathes through her panic, her temper. “Not just any car, but a cop car. While you were fleeing a crime scene.”

  And there she goes. Exiting the relationship I was so certain we could have.

  “Yes. I was fleeing a crime scene. I was in possession of a lot of money, I was in the car with two other known criminals and a few kilograms of drugs. I ran into the woods, busted myself up on a fall, called you, and hid the money. I’ll go and find it today, and return it to my boss, since last night’s deal fell through.”

  “And then you’ll…” She swallows and shuts her eyes. “You’re a drug dealer. You’re willingly padding our streets with drugs that kill people. You know that folks hide near the schools and wait for kids to come out, they give them a little product, and hook them before they even know what’s happened. You know that, right?”

  “Yes,” I murmur and try to hold her closer. “I know that.”

  “These drugs kill people! They kill kids! And you’re okay with that?”

  “No, I’m not okay with that. But I don’t–I can’t—” I bite off my groan and pray that there was something else I could tell her. “I don’t have a lot of choice in all this, Olivia. I’m doing as I’m told, and when I get the opportunity, I keep it away from kids. I swear I do.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whimpers. Her stomach heaves, and her chest shudders. “I’ve been sleeping with a drug dealer. And that’s worse,” she cries, “so much worse than sleeping with a killer.”

/>   “I’m sorry, Olivia. I swear I’m trying to make things right.”

  “You can’t make things right!” she spasms in my arms and breaks free of my hold until she’s standing four feet away. Close enough to show me the disgust in her eyes, but far enough away to dodge my hands if I reach out. “The first time you made a deal, you lost me.”

  “Olivia, no—”

  “The very first batch, because that batch goes to kids, or it goes to junkie parents, and those parents use product and hurt their kids, or neglect them, or starve them, or beat them. The very first deal you made directly hurt a defenseless child.”

  “You act like I don’t know about junkie parents!” I blow up. “Dammit, Olivia. I am the product of junkies. My whole fucking life was that of a child who was hungry, beaten, and abused. I was the poster child for what happens when parents get hooked on product. And then my sister was born into that mess. Don’t act like I don’t know what goes on!”

  “You know! And yet you compound the problem. I can feel sorry for the child you were, William. And I can cry at night knowing you were one of those children. But that doesn’t mean you get a free pass as an adult to make a situation worse for other kids. You’re supposed to be the hero! You’re supposed to help people, not make it worse all for the sake of a little cash.”

  “What did you think I was doing, Olivia?” I step forward and grab her arm so she can’t run. “You knew I came to town after a mystery year away, you hadn’t heard about anyone hiring me, yet you see I have an apartment, as old and ugly as it is, but I gotta make rent somehow, right? You knew the math didn’t work, but you still came to my bed. You still wanted to be with me. You still loved me!”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs her arm from my grasp and swipes a tear from beneath her eye. “I still came to you because I love you. I came to you because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When we’re together, I don’t have think about what’s happening out there,” she points toward the window. “I know the math doesn’t work out, but for as long as we were hiding away, I could pretend none of that mattered.” She takes another step back. “But I can’t pretend now.”

  “You made me tell you!”

  “Because ignorance isn’t a legal defense,” she whispers. “I was able to pretend for a little while, but not now. Not anymore.”

  “Olivia.”

  She takes another step back when I step forward. “Stop,” she croaks. “Don’t follow me.”

  “Don’t do anything impulsive,” I grit out. “Don’t go to Brenten and fuck him because you’re mad at me. And don’t go into the woods looking for bags that have nothing to do with you. Just hunker down and mind your own business until the heat blows over.”

  “It’s all my business.” She stops on the top stair and holds on to the railing. “I know the truth, and now it’s all my business.”

  “Olivia, stop!”

  “Livi?” A woman’s voice echoes from a flight down and sends Olivia into a tailspin.

  She wipes her eyes with a frantic scrub of her hands, then she stands taller and fills her lungs with oxygen.

  “Livi? Are you here?”

  “Yep.” Her voice cracks, but she covers it with a clearing of her throat.

  When Evie makes her way up the concrete steps and stops when she can see us both, she narrows her eyes and tries to gauge what the fuck is going on with a single glance.

  “I was just leaving,” Olivia murmurs. She looks to me once more, bites down on her bottom lip, and ends us with a shake of her head. “You here to see me?” she asks, “or him?”

  “You.” Evie takes Olivia’s hand when she offers, but she studies me as I stand helpless at the top of the stairs. “Um…” she looks back to Olivia. “I was heading over to see you at your place, but I saw your car out front when I was driving by. I, uh, figured you were here lending Will a cup of sugar.”

  “Yup.” Olivia’s voice cracks as she continues down the stairs and drags her sister-in-law with her. “That’s what I was doing. But I’m done here now.”

  I’m done here now.

  I’m done here now.

  “Olivia, wait.” I rush forward and try to skip down the stairs, only to remember when I bend my knee that it’s fucked. “Wait! Fuck.”

  But she doesn’t.

  Of course she doesn’t. Because in her eyes, I’m a fucking monster.

  Olivia

  The Truth Must Be Told

  I sit at Mom and Daddy’s kitchen counter one hour, one shower, a face full of subtle makeup, and a skipped session at the gym later, with Evie sitting on the stool beside mine, and her hand in my lap – supportive, but without prying.

  She heard me and William shouting at each other today. She must have, but she doesn’t ask. Evelyn Kincaid – or, well, Conner now, I guess – is the world’s most abrasive and curious woman. She doesn’t stop until she has answers, and she doesn’t much care about being subtle or gentle about it.

  But she doesn’t ask today, and knowing that only cements the fact that this is bad.

  This is really, really bad.

  “I’m heading to court in a bit.” Daddy stomps around his kitchen in full uniform and pours a glass of juice – just one glass, despite the three women in the room, which shows how distracted he is. “X and I have to present on the Curran case from a few months back.”

  “Brenten’s working on that one too,” I murmur in monotone. “He’s been talking about it for a couple weeks.”

  Daddy’s eyes come up like he’s only just now noticing my existence. He sets his juice down and leans against the counter to catch my eye. “Pierce is gonna be there today?”

  I nod and try my damn best not to think about William. Is he trekking through the forest right now in search of hidden money? Is he setting up a new deal for the money and drugs he was unable to offload last night? Am I now an accessory to his crimes for as long as I keep my mouth shut?

  Instead, I try to think about my actual boyfriend, and focus on my stepfather’s question. “Yes, I believe he’ll be there today. Unless his office sends someone else, but I don’t think it works that way. Brenten’s caseload is Brenten’s caseload. I don’t think they spin the bottle to decide who does what each day.”

  “Oz?” A heavy knock sounds at the front door, only for our visitor to let himself in. Uncle Alex walks in dressed much the same way as Daddy, and behind him, his wife Juliette, who is a fancy-smart lawyer with her own firm in town.

  She and Brenten are often at odds in a courtroom; where Brenten wants to send someone away, Aunt Jules fights for that person’s freedom. She’s blonde, beautiful, and comes from big money, so basically, she’s her husband’s opposite. He’s gruff and grumpy and he spent his youth riding skateboards and terrorizing folks around town, whereas she spent hers in diamonds and gowns, ballrooms and high heels. Perhaps she has shinier foundations than he, but she works hard and kicks ass in front of a judge. She’s smart as hell, and ruthless when she has a case she’s digging her teeth into.

  She’s on her way to court today too, which I guess explains why she’s here with X.

  “We’re heading in now,” she tells us. She looks to me for a moment and winks – a sly hello, and sneaky grin that does nothing to battle the ache that roils in my stomach.

  Frowning when I don’t give her the reply she was expecting, but knowing better than to bring anything up in front of Alex or Daddy, she merely presses a hand to my shoulder as she passes, and moves along to snatch up Daddy’s half-consumed juice. “I’m ready to tear that douchebag to pieces in front of Florence.”

  “Florence being the judge, right?” Evie asks.

  “And that douchebag,” I add dryly, “being my boyfriend?”

  Jules snorts and clasps her hand around X’s. “No offense intended, baby girl. This is my fight face. I have to stay in character.”

  “Perhaps you could stay in character elsewhere.” I slide off the stool and head toward my old bedroom. “Like, in the car. Outside.”
/>   “Olivia!” Daddy snaps with surprise. “What the fuck?”

  “Its fine,” Jules murmurs. “We’re good.”

  “It’s not fine!” Daddy argues. “Olivia! Come back here and say sorry to your Aunt Jules.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Jules.” I speak in monotone and flash a peace sign with two fingers.

  It’s the equivalent to Jules’ ‘bless your heart’ that she spouts off when someone annoys her. She doesn’t mean to bless anyone, just like I don’t mean peace, but rather, something else a person might indicate with raised fingers.

  “I just need to grab something from my room, then I’m heading home for a bit,” I tell them. “I don’t feel well.” Because my childhood home is filled to the brim with cops and lawyers. All of whom I think I’m legally obligated to tell that I know of a local drug distributor.

  Except, the problem with that is I’m in love with him, and the thought of having him sent away to prison is terrifying. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to get into trouble.

  But I can’t ignore what he does, either. I can’t let it go.

  I push into my bedroom and step onto heavenly soft carpet in bare feet. Moving into my closet, I reach up to a high shelf and pull down a small shoebox that I keep hidden away in plain sight.

  No one would ever expect to find anything I truly treasured left inside my parents’ house. They figure, logically, I’d have taken it with me when I moved out. But in my head, that’s what makes this the perfect cover. The likelihood of this house burning to the ground versus my apartment building, where other people live, is slim to none, and no one would expect me to leave anything truly precious in such an easy-to-find location.