by Juniper Hart
What was it that Marco was really so afraid of?
Samantha pulled her sorrow-filled eyes away from the mirror and swallowed the lump in her throat. She had never been alone. She did not think she would survive if she was forced to do so.
At first, she used to daydream that Marco finally ran off with his lover, and Samantha immediately would run into Jordan’s arms. The dream had sustained her until she began to read about his string of successes in the cage, winning the title match. She suddenly realized that he had already moved on from wanting her.
He wouldn’t want me distracting him from his career now. He decided when he left the office that he was done with me. He would have come to stop the wedding if he had wanted to be with me. I gave him an opportunity to do that.
She wondered if she was being unfair. After all, even if he had come and made some heroic attempt to stop the wedding, she still would have gone through with it, wouldn’t she? Perhaps. But she would have told him why.
With a deep sigh, she looked back toward the mirror again and tried to smile, but the effort was futile. Instead, she rose from her chair and made her way downstairs.
Marco was sprawled on the couch, nervously biting his nails. The television was on, but he didn’t seem to be watching it. The nail biting was a habit he had recently picked up, and Samantha knew it was merely a manifestation of his guilt. Still, she wished he’d stop it. It annoyed her to no end. He looked up in surprise when Samantha sauntered into the room.
“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, almost accusingly.
“I was waiting for you to come upstairs,” she told him truthfully. “I was hoping we could talk, but seeing as you’re camped out down here for the night, I thought I’d move the conversation.”
“Sorry… I… uh… had a late meeting,” Marco lied. “I didn’t want to wake you up by coming upstairs.”
“I understand,” Samantha lied back. She approached her husband, and he seemed to shrink away from her as she perched on the edge of the couch. He averted his eyes and resisted the urge to remove his hand when she rested a pale palm atop his.
“Can we talk?” Samantha asked him, watching him closely. As she expected, he looked away uncomfortably.
“I’m really tired, Sammy. I just want to turn off my brain and go to bed. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No,” she said firmly. She was afraid she would lose her nerve if she waited any longer. Marco scowled, unaccustomed to defiance.
“I really have a lot on my mind, Samantha,” he snapped. “Now is not a good time.”
“I don’t care!” Samantha’s voice rose an octave, and she realized she was nearing hysteria. She forced herself to lower her tone. “It’s really important.”
Marco narrowed his dark eyes and waited, his mouth a thin, unimpressed line. His breathing seemed to deepen, anticipating a fight. He dropped his fingers from his mouth and waited.
“Well?” Samantha took a deep breath.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said quietly. “I want out of this marriage.” She watched his face go through a variety of emotions, settling on anger.
“No.” The response was flat and emotionless. “Not yet.”
“You can’t force me to stay with you, Marco. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me because, well, frankly, you’ve been kinder to me than any man I’ve ever known in my life. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I care about you. However, I am not willing to give up on my one chance at truly being happy.”
With cat-like reflexes, Marco shot up, seizing her wrists with his hand, his face inches from hers.
“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Samantha, but this is not the time for it.”
Stunned, Samantha tried to pull away, but his fingers only tightened around her.
“Let go of me,” she breathed.
“Not until you stop talking out of your ass.” Their eyes locked, and Samantha felt a shiver of worry spike through her. She knew the look on his face well. She’d seen it in many men in the past. “So, what are you going to do?” he hissed. “Make this hard, or do what you promised?”
“What am I going to do?” she echoed with anger. Her nose twitched slightly, and a rare feeling overcame her. Oh no, she thought, her heart hammering in her chest. I’m going to shift.
She leapt up from the sofa and backed away, spinning at the last moment as she felt her nose melt into long snout.
“Where the hell are you going?” Marco snarled after her. “We’re not finished talking yet!”
She fell on all fours and darted up the staircase, her tail twitching as she stealthily moved along the shadows. I shifted. How long has it been since I’ve shifted? She couldn’t remember.
“Samantha!”
She fell into her bedroom, kicking the door shut with a white paw, her breaths escaping shakily. She couldn’t let Marco see her like that. But she had no idea how to shift back.
“I haven’t seen you around the gym in weeks, Jordan.” Harley stuck his foot in the door to stop Jordan from closing the door in his face.
Dammit. Why did I answer the door? Not that it would have taken Harley much to burst his way through. The landlord hadn’t bothered to fix the apartment door since Alex Carlucci’s goon had come through almost two weeks earlier.
Harley glared at him warily, waiting for Jordan to speak, but the fighter didn’t say a word.
“Not to mention that you never return my calls or texts. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Harley demanded. “Or should I guess?”
“Nothing!” Jordan answered defensively, peeking out of the frame. “I’m not feeling well.”
Harley’s eyes widened with understanding, his brow furrowing furiously.
“Are you high?” he snarled, pushing his athletic body into the apartment. He looked around, his face curling into a sneer.
Jordan had not bothered to clean up the disaster originally created by Carlucci’s muscle. Now it was a dump of liquor bottles, pizza boxes, and dirty clothes. A rancid smell filled the air, and cockroaches were having a party on the overflowing dishes in the kitchen sink.
“What the hell is this, Jordy?” Harley questioned. “What is going on?”
“This is a bad time, Harley,” Jordan insisted, rolling his shoulders, trying to alleviate the sudden onset of tension he was feeling. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the untimely arrival of his trainer which had him so jittery. Either way, he needed to get rid of Harley. He was expecting James to text him with another job. His life was becoming a constant tightrope act, trying to balance his sanity against the texts that were coming in a steady flow from James on Alex’s behalf.
Half of Washington owes Carlucci money. How the hell is that even possible?
“Are you gonna talk to me? What the hell are you doing?” Harley howled, unwilling to take Jordan’s silence for an answer.
“I’m sick,” Jordan blurted out again, forgetting that he’d already used that excuse. “I’m really contagious. You should go.” He started to corner the smaller man toward the door, and at first, Harley began to resist. Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened as he caught glimpse of the lines laid out on the coffee table. Anger and disappointment colored his face.
“Really, Jordy? What is that? Meth?”
Indignation filled Jordan. He really thinks I’m that dumb?
“It’s only coke!” Instantly, he wished he could retract the words. Harley’s jaw clenched, and he glared at the boxer.
“Only? It’s only coke?”
“I’m taking a break from fighting, Harley. Get off my ass. I deserve to let loose once in a while. You have to stop acting like you’re better than me because I relax in a different way than you.”
“Oh? Are you relaxed? Because you look pretty goddamn sketched out to me. You know what, kid? Do whatever the fuck you want. You want to work your ass off and throw it away for a few cheap thrills, go ahead. You always say I’m not your father, and I’m no
t, but I thought I was your friend. You want to shut me out and get high by yourself in your apartment, fine. When you smarten up, give me a call. I’m done worrying about your ass when you clearly don’t give a shit about yourself.”
With that, Harley whirled on his heel and stormed out. Jordan was instantly sorry and went to chase after him, but his mentor had already found his way into the stairwell, disappearing out of view, and Jordan wasn’t about to go chasing him down the stairs. Sighing, he turned back to his place and closed the door.
You need to lay off the stuff, he told himself for what seemed like the ten thousandth time in weeks. But every time he stopped doing the drugs, he was faced with the reality of what he had become: a weapon for the mob. The guilt of what he had resorted to in order to pay off his astronomical debt was eating him alive.
“It won’t be forever,” James had told him comfortingly when Jordan had begged his agent to make it stop. “Carlucci is a reasonable man.”
“You keep saying that, but he keeps setting me up to collect his debts. When will I be ever be square with this guy? How much more could I possibly owe him?”
“He’ll tell you when he thinks you’re even,” James said evasively. “I don’t think there’s an actual number for something like this. In the meantime, you’re needed in Kirkland again.”
The coke helped him reach a point of numbness, where he did not feel his powerful fists wreaking agony upon men floundering in their own gambling addictions.
He did not think of how he was neglecting his MMA career. He forced his mind away from the pain he still felt over losing Samantha. But most of all, he tried to reach an apathetic place to forsake the fact that he was failing himself in every area of life.
You need to talk to Carlucci. You need to tell him you’ve had enough. He laughed at his own idealism. Yeah, you do that. Go tell the mob boss that you’re quitting. Good luck with that.
He sat on the sofa, crushing a roach in the process, and leaned forward to pick up the rolled-up dollar bill.
His cell phone chimed. It was James again. Jordan was needed in Tacoma.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and Jordan was standing in front of a convenience store, sucking on a popsicle. He looked sorely out of place, a giant, handsome man standing among gangly teenagers in the autumn sunlight, trying not to look conspicuous.
“Hey, man, uh… can you buy us a six pack?” one squeaky voiced kid finally had the courage to ask.
Jordan did not respond but continued sucking on the sugar water, his brown eyes narrowing until the kid slunk away. After ten minutes, he saw a man exit a business from across the street. Jordan discarded the wrapper and began to tail the unsuspecting soul, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the feat he was about to perform. He could hear Harley’s voice in his head reprimanding him for it.
“Don’t do that! It ruins your joints. You’re gonna get arthritis!”
Jordan tried to shove his trainer’s fathering out of his head, but he was suddenly inundated with memories as he continued after the man.
“I’m proud of you, kid,” Harley was saying when he won his first amateur match.
“I’ll always think of you as my kid, Southy.”
“I knew you got him, Jordy! I could tell by the look in your eye at a minute and a half! You were amazing!” Harley told him when he won against Frank Giles.
As Jordan followed the man down the street, Harley’s voice took a turn for a worse in his head.
“Are you high?”
“Do whatever the fuck you want.”
You need to make things right with him when you get back to Manhattan. He doesn’t deserve your shitty treatment. He’s done everything for you. Who knows where you would be without him, he thought.
The figure abruptly turned into an alleyway, like Jordan knew he would. He was heading to a back-alley poker game, but Jordan was about to intercept his fun. Jordan closed the distance between the two of them in a few short strides and had the man in a headlock before he even realized anyone was behind him.
“What the—?” Jordan slammed the man’s head into the brick wall in front of him, cringing, horrified, at the crunch which accompanied the motion. He repeated the action and dropped his body to the ground.
“You owe Mr. Carlucci seventeen thousand dollars by tomorrow, or your wife is dead.” He followed his words with a solid kick to the gasping man’s ribs and turned his head quickly as blood spurted out of his mouth.
He turned the corner onto the street and headed back toward the store where he had been waiting. He entered the bathroom inside the 7-Eleven and vomited in the toilet. It had become a ritual. After every debt collecting exercise, he found a public restroom, threw up violently, and instantly felt better. It was as though by releasing the acid in his stomach, he was cleansing himself of the horrible deed he had just done.
It’s like confession, he reasoned with himself, and the thought only made him nauseous again. I can’t keep doing this. I won’t keep doing this. But what was the alternative? He wouldn’t suffer the consequences of refusing—Harley would. James would. He needed to keep working for Carlucci. Or I could kill Carlucci, he thought grimly, but even as he thought it, he knew he would never do it.
He washed his hands and face, withdrew a baggie from his jeans, and inhaled a bump of cocaine off his housekey. Looking up quickly, he wiped his nose, checking for residue in the mirror. Satisfied that his nose showed no sign of what he had just done, he turned away, not wanting to look at his dilated pupils and pale complexion. He was no longer a fan of the man in the mirror. Jordan threw open the door and solidly collided with a body.
“The washroom is decidedly unromantic. We need to stop meeting this way,” Samantha remarked.
Jordan regained his balance, and his heart froze and warmed simultaneously. Time ceased to function as the estranged lovers stared at one another.
Jordan licked his lips nervously, his eyes raking over Samantha like a lion on a gazelle. She looked exactly the same as she had many months earlier, her curls slightly longer, worn loose and sexy around her shoulders. Her normally rosy complexion was paler than he remembered, but she was just as breathtakingly lovely as the last time he had seen her in the offices. He noted an evasive sadness in her luminous eyes which had not been there previously.
“How are you, Jordy?” she almost whispered.
Without considering it, he leaned forward and scooped her into his arms, and he kissed her with every ounce of raw emotion he had stored in his bones since she had departed from his life. He fully expected her to fight, to struggle against his almost feverish embrace, but it was as if they had never been apart. Her mouth parted to allow for his tongue to enter, her nails digging into his neck. Jordan’s hand found the handle to the bathroom, and the two were quickly inside, their pants making their way to the dirty floor.
Jordan wanted to crawl inside Samantha’s skin, their connection as instant and fiery as it had always been. He could not get close enough to her, and when they entwined, Jordan felt whole for the first time since he could recall. Against the wall, he pressed her body, savoring the soft sounds of her moans, his lips trailing along the sweetness of her skin.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed, and she sighed.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she moaned, but he stopped her from speaking again, his lips crushing against hers wildly. Her legs clung to his hips, and together, they fell into an instant flow of passion which brought Jordan higher than anything he’d ever known with any drug.
This, he realized, his brain fogged with passion. This is the high I’ve been chasing. She is the high I’ve been chasing.
When they emerged from the tiny bathroom moments later, neither was embarrassed, despite the scathing look the old clerk gave them as they sauntered into the parking lot. Silently, Samantha led him to her white Lexus and drove down the street, her hand on his thigh, like she could not keep her hands off of him for one moment. She did not say anything until sh
e arrived at a secluded parking lot at the Harbor Marina. There, she turned off the car and turned to look at him, her eyes shiny with tears of mixed sentiment.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” Jordan replied, returning her loving gaze. The silence was comfortable and tense, both wanting to say so much but neither wanting the euphoric feeling to end.
As long as we’re together, it never has to end, Jordan thought, swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat.
“We need to figure this out,” he mumbled, unsure of exactly how to say what he was feeling. “I can’t do another year like this without you.”
“I know,” she breathed, meeting his gaze, and he could see she was speaking the truth.
They were both saved by the need to speak when they found themselves in each other’s arms once more. For the first time in a year, Jordan felt right. He knew that he would not let Samantha go again. He just had no idea how to keep her when his life was already in such chaos.
13
James circled him like a cat on the prowl, and Jordan found himself tensing like a shifter preparing for battle. Every cell of his mortal frame threatened to jump out of his body and become the wolf hiding within.
“What?” Jordan asked, annoyed, his body on fire. The mere presence of the man was enough to put him on edge. Suddenly, James was no longer cool and suave, but somehow a seedy, unscrupulous character. Jordan wished the agent would go and leave him in peace. How had he not seen what he was before all this? Harley had never liked him, and he hadn’t understood that.
“What, what?” James replied silkily. He reached into his pocket and tossed a baggie of cocaine onto the table. Jordan frowned.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s a present for you,” James said, smiling. Jordan glanced at the drugs impersonally and then looked up at his agent. For the first time, he saw something in the man which he found utterly disgusting, finally seeing his true colors with blinding clarity.