by Gemma James
Another barrage contradicts her words. “I know you’re in there! C’mon, open the fuckin’ door.”
“Damn right, he’s going away.” Before she can stop me, I turn the lock and swing the door open. The idiot causing a ruckus on the other side takes one look at me and sneers.
“I knew I wasn’t imagining it. Saw your mug on the news today. Shouldn’t you be with your wife right now?”
“Shouldn’t you be in Oklahoma where you belong?” I fire back.
He glances past me and glares at Jules. “Another married dude? You’ve turned into a real slut.”
I grip him by the collar. “Apologize to her.”
“Go ahead. Hit me,” he seethes into my face. “I fucking dare you.” Whiskey wafts off of him, surrounding him like an aura.
“Stop it!” Jules wedges between us, and my hold on her asshole ex slips. She shoots us both a warning look before crossing her arms and facing off with him. “You’re drunk,” she says, voice laden with sadness. “I want you to leave.”
“I only had a couple.”
He had more than that, but I keep my opinion to myself.
Jules shakes her head. “You said you were staying sober, remember?”
“I was…I am.” He shoots me another glare, and if looks could maim, he’d have me bleeding out right now. “This is between me and Jules. You need to take a fuckin’ hike.”
“You need to leave her alone. She doesn’t want you anymore.”
“And you know that how? Because you fucked her a few times and now you think you know her?” He takes a step forward, the angles of his face hard and threatening, and I put myself between him and Jules, pure protective instinct taking over.
She immediately tries to come forward again. “Cash, I can handle this.”
“You shouldn’t have to. You told him to leave.” I turn my focus back to her ex. “If you don’t get the hell out of here, I’m calling the police. Do you understand me?”
His anger bottoms out, and desperation flows from his features as he pleads with Jules. “Baby, we need to talk. Please. It’s important.”
“There’s nothing left to say.” Her voice is small, and I hate the way she’s shrinking in this guy’s presence, wilting like a week-old bouquet of her favorite tulips. Something about him makes her unsure of herself, and for that alone, I want to hurt him.
I pull my phone out, prepared to call the authorities, and give him a pointed look. “Last chance. She doesn’t want you here, and neither do I.”
“This doesn’t involve you!” He balls his hands, and my spine stiffens, instincts going on high alert.
“Unless you want me to lay you out on the ground,” I say through gritted teeth, “I suggest you move your ass off my girlfriend’s doorstep.”
My harsh tone sends him back a couple of inches, and I push forward, gaze unwavering from his. Several tense seconds pass before he falters, realizing he won’t win this battle. He takes off down the vestibule and darts into the rain.
I glance at Jules, taking in the paleness of her face, and lace our fingers together. “I don’t feel right leaving you here alone. He might come back.”
“He won’t hurt me.”
“He’s drunk. Intoxicated people can be unpredictable.” I should know, considering how alcohol played a part in changing Monica’s behavior.
“This is nothing new,” she says, yet the strong grip of her hand tells me otherwise. His behavior shook her to the core. “This is Chris being Chris.”
I sigh at the sadness in her voice. “Except now he’s lost you. I don’t trust desperate people, Jules.” I hate that I don’t know her ex better. Maybe I’d feel less nervous about leaving her to fend him off by herself if I knew the guy, but I don’t.
“I’ll be fine,” she says, standing on tiptoe to wind her arms around my neck. “And I promise I’ll never kiss him again.”
“This isn’t about that. I just need to know you’ll be safe.”
“I’ll be fine.” She plants a kiss on my lips. “Go do what you need to do so you can come back to me that much sooner.”
I hold onto her for a while longer, but my gut is heavy with dread. When I make my way into the alley, leaving her on her doorstep, I’m disturbingly unsettled.
20. Triggered
Jules
A sense of sadness roils through me as I watch Cash disappear down the alley. The rain is a ruckus on the awning over the vestibule. Normally, the cacophony of water hitting the metal soothes me, but I can’t displace this feeling of unease I’ve had since Cash opened my door to Chris, and I realized my ex had gone back on his promise to remain sober.
I go back inside and that’s when my cell goes off. I reach for my phone, expecting a call from Les since she’s been calling almost every night to chat about one thing or another—usually the band or the funny shit her customers say. It’s her way of checking on me.
But it’s not Les.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, closing and locking the door behind me.
“Hey, Jules. How’re things going? Still loving your job?”
“Things have been good. And yes, working at MontBlake is amazing.”
“I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.”
I don’t miss how he didn’t say we.
“Thank you.” Opening the freezer, I finger through my options for dinner. Turkey, enchiladas, or Salisbury steak. I need to do some serious shopping because living off of frozen dinners and sandwiches from the deli down the street from MontBlake is kind of pathetic. “Mom still not talking to me?”
His heavy sigh comes through the line. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”
I put the Salisbury steak into the microwave and press the frozen dinner button. “She’ll have to because this is my life, not hers.”
“She’ll figure it out eventually. But you know how your mother is.”
“Stubborn and always right?” According to her, anyway.
My dad laughs, and I can’t help but join in. “One out of two ain’t bad,” he says. His laughter dies a second later, turning into a coughing fit.
“You promised you’d quit.”
“Hey, I’m down to half a pack a day. Give your old man a break, okay?”
His chain-smoking habits, coupled with the old man part is what concerns me the most. Dad is fifteen years older than Mom, and he isn’t getting any younger.
“I worry about your health.”
“I’m fine, Julie Bean.”
“How’s Brit?” A change of subject is needed. I don’t want to get into an argument with the only member of my family who isn’t upset with me for choosing to live on the other side of the country.
“Your sister is…” He clears his throat. “Well, you know how your sister is. Nothing will keep that girl down. She just signed a modeling contract with some fancy clothing line in the city.”
“That’s great! I know how hard she worked for it.” The photo shoots and various modeling jobs to build her portfolio finally paid off. My first instinct is to call and congratulate her, but I give that another thought. Unlike Mom, Brit’s still speaking to me, but the few times we’ve talked on the phone, her tone has been icy.
“I’ll pass on your regards.” Another coughing fit fractures our conversation. “Sorry, Jules. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, so I’m off to bed.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Even with the two hour time difference, he’s calling it a night earlier than usual.
“Stop worrying about me. I told you I’m fine. Just caught a summer cold, is all.”
“Summer ended last week.”
“I’m fine, Jules.”
“I can’t help it.” I open the microwave to stir the potatoes before setting it to cook for a few more minutes. “I worry about you.”
“Well you don’t need to.”
And he calls Mom the stubborn one.
“If anyone should be worried, it’s your old man. My baby girl is off on her own in a big city, hanging out wit
h rock stars and working for scandalous people.”
I burst out laughing. “The rock stars are harmless.”
“And what about your employer?” He pauses. “You don’t have to put on a front for me, Jules. Are you sure everything’s okay? I’ve been following the news over there.”
“It doesn’t involve me,” I lie. “I’m just keeping my head down and doing my job.”
Several seconds sneak by, and Dad breaks it with another cough. “Chris called me. He’s got it in his head that you’re involved with your boss.”
My heart sinks to the bottom of my gut. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” There’s no hiding the tremor in my vocal cords. I’ve always been a horrible liar, and the last person I want to be dishonest with is my dad. But I can’t explain everything to him right now, especially over the phone.
A knock sounds on the door, and I send a silent prayer up to the gods of perfect timing. “Someone’s here, so I’m going to let you go. I hope you feel better soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself.”
We say our goodbyes, and my heart skips a beat as I glance at the clock above the stove. It’s been ten minutes since Cash left, but I don’t think twice about opening the door, because every fiber of my being expects to find him on the other side, thinking that maybe he forgot something.
But it’s Chris, and he barrels his way into my apartment before I can stop him. The door slams, the microwave beeps, and Chris latches the deadbolt, making his intentions clear.
He’s not leaving—not of his own accord.
I still have my cell in my hand, but he steals it from my grip before I’m able to get out a single text. “Give it back!”
“So you can text the guard dog? Don’t think so.” He takes another step toward me, and his foot catches, sending him into the nearby wall. “I need to talk to ya, Jules,” he slurs.
Maybe it was the conversation I had with Cash before he left my apartment, or the fact that Chris is drunker than I realized, but a cold sweat breaks out on my skin.
“What do you want?” My voice shakes with the question.
“I want you to admit it,” he growls as he comes closer, like an animal on the prowl.
I back up for every step he takes toward me until my spine meets the wall. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow after you’ve sobered up. We can talk then.”
“I’m not wasted.” He waves his arms in the air. “Didn’t have that much, promise.”
“Did you drive here?”
“Fuck no. Took an Uber.” He cages me in, hands planted on either side of my head, and his breath is hot and heavy on my face, reeking of alcohol. “Admit you still love me.”
Chris has never caused this kind of fear to riot through me, but I’m trembling with it now. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not tryin’ to scare you. I just want you to fuckin’ listen. Remember how good it was between us.” He dips his head, lips brushing my ear, and I try moving out of his arms, but he won’t let me. “My cock felt so fuckin’ good inside you, baby.” He grinds his erection against me.
The stench of alcohol on his breath, the aggressive way he’s handling me, the way he’s not acting like Chris at all…
Something tickles the edges of my mind, speeding up my pulse, clogging my throat. I can’t pull air into my lungs. I close my eyes, and another face hovers over me in the darkness with whiskey on his tongue, the forceful grip of his hands holding me down, leaving me helpless to fight him.
Perry.
The gaping black hole where that night should have been casts me in a blind spin, but in the middle is a pinprick of a memory, growing bigger and stronger, triggered by Chris’ drunkenness and desperation.
It’s a mere sliver of comprehension, but it tears through me like a tornado. Letting out a horrified sob, I shove Chris with enough strength that he falls into the adjacent wall. The weight of his body sends a mirror crashing to the floor, and the glass shatters to pieces like I do.
“Get out!” I scream, advancing on him, mindless of the glass under my bare feet. I pound my fists against his chest. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking dare!” I back away from him as quickly as I advanced.
“Jules, please…” His shocked gaze locks on mine as he stumbles toward the door. “I-I’m sorry. Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I’m so lost without you.”
I slap a trembling hand over my heaving chest. “Go back to Oklahoma. I mean it. I want you gone.”
He dips his head, face a mural of shame. “I need to tell ya something.” Running a hand through his hair, he sucks in a breath, and when he lifts his gaze again, the tears he tried to hold back slide down his cheeks. “You should hear it from me.”
I lean against the wall, locking my knees so they don’t give out on me. “Tell me what?”
He opens his mouth, but several long seconds pass in his indecision. “I fucked up.” He shakes his head, expression a blatant apology. “I fucked up so bad, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Nausea rises in my throat. “What did you do?”
His expression fractures, and he runs a hand down his face. “Brit’s pregnant.”
21. The Coup
Cash
The uniform outside Monica’s room remains a stoic sentinel, though he lets me pass without issue. As soon as I enter, she lifts her head, red-rimmed eyes shooting accusation. Blackwell stands at my presence, and I gesture for him to reclaim his seat.
“Where were you?” Monica asks, a bite to her tone.
“I was here earlier. Don’t you remember?”
“How am I supposed to remember, Cash? The doctor put a bunch of crap in my system.”
“Better than the crap you put into your own system.” Part of me wants to take back the barb, but I’m too angry with her for what she did. Despite the way she’s been playing me since the moment we got married—before, if I consider her secret involvement with my brother—the thought of losing her to suicide shatters the pieces of my heart.
I take the vacant seat on the other side of her bed, opposite from Blackwell. “Have the police been back since she awoke?” Directing my questions at the attorney will get me further a lot quicker than trying to pry info out of Monica, especially since she’s still reeling from everything that’s happened.
With a grim face, he nods. “They’re charging her with murder.”
My breath hitches. Deep down, I anticipated this news, but I can’t deny a part of me hoped for a fucking miracle. “Jesus, Monica.”
“I’ve advised her to take a plea deal. She says Hirsch’s death was an accident. With no priors, coupled with her fragile emotional state, I think we can get the DA down to involuntary manslaughter.”
My gaze locks with Monica’s, and she turns her ice-blue focus on Blackwell. “I need some privacy with my husband.”
“Of course.” He rises from the chair and exits the room, leaving the two of us in tense silence.
Her full lips form a scowl, and she fights against the restraints keeping her arms flush with the mattress. “They have me strapped to the bed like a damn animal.”
“That’s what happens when you try to hurt yourself.”
Her dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks, and those chilly blue eyes turn glassy with the threat of tears. I want to kick myself for being so harsh with her even though she deserves it.
Even though I’m not entirely sure she’s not putting on a show for my benefit.
“Where were you?” she asks again, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Does it matter where I was?” I soften my tone, leaning forward, hands clasped between my knees. “It won’t change anything between us.”
“I needed you.”
“You were knocked out on sedatives. I needed to clear my head.”
“I’m not just talking about today.” If she weren’t strapped to the bed, I’m sure she’d cross her arms to accompany that sharp glare of hers. “You disappeared when I needed you most.�
�
The weekend I spent with Jules.
Settling back into my seat, I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” And I am. I don’t regret being with Jules at all, but maybe if I’d had my phone on and would have answered Monica’s calls, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe she wouldn’t be strapped to a hospital bed and facing a murder charge.
“What happened, Monica?”
She works her jaw for a few moments, and I wonder if speaking the truth has become a foreign concept to her.
I try to swallow a sigh but fail. “I need to know what we’re up against. I can’t help you if I don’t have the truth.”
“It was an accident.” She shutters her eyes, and there’s no mistaking the utter devastation in her expression. “We were arguing. She pushed me, I pushed back…I swear to God, Cash, I didn’t mean to…”
Didn’t mean to kill her.
Her words flit through my head as vividly as if she said them. “What were you and Lydia arguing about?”
“I don’t want to do this now. I’m tired.” Monica lifts her chin, and the cool defiance that takes hold of her jaw shoots ice through my veins. The stranger is coming back more and more with each passing second, leaving me helpless to stop it.
“If I don’t get the truth out of you in the next five seconds, I’m out of here.” I clutch the arms of the chair, ready to bolt. “Do you understand me?”
“Cash, please.”
“Do you understand me?”
She flinches at my raised no-bullshit tone. “Yes, I understand. I just don’t want you to…to hate me.”
“If I don’t hate you by now, I doubt you could say anything that would make me start.”
Something in her expression softens, and my pulse speeds up in anticipation of finally getting the truth out of her. It’s right there between her parted lips, begging to roll off the tip of her tongue.
“I don’t deserve you,” she whispers.
“Let’s not get into who deserves what. We’ve both said and done things we shouldn’t have. Right now, I need you to tell me why you and Lydia were fighting. Was she blackmailing you?”