by T. K. Leigh
I faintly hear the crowd begin counting down from ten, but it doesn’t register we’re seconds away from the start of the new year, my mind clouded.
“Like I did for Julia,” he adds.
“What did you say?” I hiss, my eyes wide as my brain swirls with dozens of questions. Did he do the same thing to Julia? Did he assault her, too, getting her pregnant, and that’s why she stayed with him? Or does he mean something else entirely?
“Hope you took good care of my girl,” Wes cuts through, pulling me to him.
“I certainly did,” Nick remarks, draping an arm around Julia’s shoulders.
I should look away from him, focus solely on Wes, but I can’t. Instead, I continue to study his expression for any hint of what he meant by his last statement. But as was always the case, it doesn’t falter. An impenetrable fortress.
When that proves futile, I shift my attention to Julia, an awkwardness in her stature as she stands beside her husband, as if his touch sickens her. Or maybe I just want to see it. I don’t know what to believe anymore, my own eyes feeling like they’re betraying me in the cloud of alcohol and masks.
“Come on, honeybee,” Wes croons as he grips my chin, forcing my eyes back to his. “Let’s ring in the new year.”
I stare into his brilliant blue orbs, urging them to provide me the peace and serenity they have since the beginning. Since he carried me out of that crosswalk and to safety. But they can’t. The safety and security I thought I’d found has been eviscerated.
“Five… Four…,” he says, joining the countdown.
I try to find my voice, but I’m unable, too scared about what this new year will bring. I want to rewind the clock to when Wes and I danced. Want to live life in that moment, and that moment only. I fear what we shared then is gone forever.
“Three… Two… One… Happy New Year!” The room erupts in cheers over the opening measures of “Auld Lang Syne”, confetti and streamers falling from the ceiling, covering everyone.
“Happy New Year,” Wes murmurs, lowering his mouth to mine. “I have a feeling this will be the best year yet.”
I smile, wishing I could share his enthusiasm. But a premonition deep inside tells me everything’s about to change.
“Happy New Year,” I respond, drawing him to me, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss.
For the past few months, Wes has become the calm in the storm of my life, a magic elixir that could chase away the darkness.
I don’t think anything can do that now.
Chapter Thirty-One
Londyn
“This can’t wait until tomorrow?” Wes asks the following afternoon as I step into my living room, dressed in a wrap dress and my knee-high boots.
All night, I’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Whenever I heard a sound outside our suite, my heart leapt into my throat, panic overtaking me at the idea that Nick had somehow sweet-talked his way into getting a key and was about to break in. But that never happened. Still, I needed to get out of that hotel. Needed to go where I felt safe. And that was no longer at either of Wes’ homes. I needed my condo. So after we ordered an extravagant room service breakfast, I lied and told him something work-related came up and I needed to get home.
“They wanted someone to look at the place today,” I respond, looking to where he’s lounging on the couch with his tablet in front of him, fixing a few designs his team sent him earlier in the week.
I hate that I’m lying to him, but I need to talk to Julia without Wes knowing until I have some answers. Or at least more information. So instead of telling him of my plan to pop in to visit Julia at her bakery this afternoon, I told him I had to meet a potential client for a historic home renovation.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I assure him with a smile.
Not wanting him to read too much into my anxious demeanor, I saunter toward him and take the tablet from his grip, straddling him.
“Then when I get back, we’ll have some fun.” I whisper my lips along his jawline, a bit of scruff starting to grow back.
“Is that right?”
I nod. “Why, yes, it is, Mr. Bradford.”
“And what kind of fun did you have in mind?” he asks, squeezing my ass as he moves against me, making it clear how much he wants me.
“Use your imagination. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” I hover my lips just over his, pausing there a moment before pushing off him.
“You’re really going to leave me like this?” he groans, making no move to cover up his obvious arousal.
“I sure am. But don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”
I turn from him, heading toward the foyer and grabbing my purse off the entryway table.
“Hey, Londyn?” Wes calls just as I’m about to disappear out the door.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder and meeting his eyes.
“I love you.”
I sigh, tension momentarily leaving my body. He tells me he loves me several times a day. But something about this one feels…different. I can’t quite explain it. But I don’t care. It’s exactly what I need right now.
“And I love you. You for me, me for you. For the rest of our lives.”
“You for me, me for you. For the rest of our lives,” he repeats.
I hold his gaze for a beat, then turn, leaving him behind so I can run my…errand.
As I make my way to my car, I pray Julia isn’t too hungover and shows up at the bakery to catch up on paperwork, as she mentioned she planned to do this afternoon. I debated texting or calling her, but didn’t want to clue Nick in. The last thing I need is for him to figure out what I’m planning and get to Julia before I can.
The fifteen-minute drive from my house to Julia’s bakery in Buckhead seems to take an eternity, my nerves kicking up with every light I’m forced to stop at and wait. I have no idea what I’m even going to say to her. How do you tell someone her husband is a rapist? Worse, how do you ask if he ever did the same thing to her? How do you convince someone it’s okay to come forward? That she doesn’t have to hide anymore?
When I pull into the parking lot closest to the bakery, my stomach churns, a flash of anxiety pulsing through my veins. I debate turning around, unsure whether this is the right thing to do. But I refuse to remain the cursed Echo I was all those years ago. I need to do this. For me. For Julia.
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I head toward the rear service entrance, assuming the front door is most likely locked since the bakery is closed for the holiday. When I turn the corner and see Julia’s SUV parked there, I expel a relieved breath. Approaching the back door to the bakery, I pause, running my sweaty palms over my dress before knocking.
“Julia?” I call out. “It’s Londyn. Are you here?”
I press my ear to the door, listening for any motion from within. Not immediately hearing anything, I knock again, calling out once more.
“Jules?” I try the handle, expecting it to be locked. Instead, it turns, the door giving way.
I don’t do anything right away. This is the point in scary movies when I usually scream at the woman not to go in. That it’s a trap. But this isn’t a scary movie. This is Julia’s bakery. And she told me she’d be here. I have no reason to believe otherwise. She probably just has her earbuds in, her music drowning out everything else.
“Julia?” I crack the door open, a loud groan echoing from the hinges. I step inside, timidly making my way through the storage area and into the kitchen.
Normally, this place is a beehive of activity, every surface covered with flour and trays upon trays of cookies, cakes, and pastries. But today, it’s devoid of life, florescent lights reflecting off shiny aluminum surfaces.
“Jules, are you here? It’s Londyn. There’s something I need to speak to you about. It’s kind of important.”
The heels of my boots click on the tile flooring as I head toward her office at the far end of the kitchen, dropping my purse on one of the meta
l prep tables. When I peek my head in and see she’s not here, either, my shoulders slump. She was here at some point. What looks like purchase orders sit on her desk, the door to the safe open. Plus, I saw her car out back.
“Julia’s not here.”
The deep voice causes the hair on my nape to stand on end. I whirl around, inhaling a sharp breath when my eyes fall on Nick’s intimidating frame. For the past several years, I pictured him in the attire he wore the night he assaulted me. The same attire he wore last night. Dark suit. Dark tie. Dark mask. Dark, dark, and more dark, his blond hair the only lightness he possessed.
But now, he’s dressed in a pair of jeans, cream sweater, and loafers, just like he was during the months we forged our friendship. The months we bonded over art, literature, and marriage struggles. It almost makes me soften my resolve. But I don’t. I know the truth. That Nick is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“And whatever you came here to tell her better not be about me.”
“Where is she?” I ask, flashing a brief look at my purse just a few feet away.
“At the hotel. She can’t handle her liquor all that well. And being the compassionate, doting husband I am, I came to get the paperwork and bank deposits she’d wanted to go over.”
I stare at him. Should I believe him? Or is there another reason Julia wasn’t able to make it here?
“So, is it?” he asks when I don’t immediately respond.
“Is it what?”
“What you came here to discuss with Julia. Is it about me?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, widening my stance. “And if it is?”
“Oh, Londyn, Londyn, Londyn,” he retorts slyly, advancing toward me. But with each inch he gains, I take a step backward in retreat, my pulse quickening. “When will you learn? I don’t play to lose. I only play to win. Do you honestly think she’ll believe you over me? I’m her husband. You’re just some bitch her brother’s fucking for the time being. Plus, she already knows about you.”
I blink, my expression falling. “She does?” My breathing increases as even more questions circle in my head. If she knows, why would she remain married to him?
“She doesn’t know it was you, per se, but she knows the truth you agreed to. That I developed a friendship with an undergrad student who was going through a difficult time. That said undergrad student attended the same masquerade party I did. That said undergrad student drank too much. And being the charitable man I am, I offered to escort her home.” He smirks. “College campuses aren’t safe at night, especially for a beautiful young woman in a tight little dress.” He lasciviously licks his lips, his gaze darkening as he continues toward me. “She knows I was stressed with the new baby. And when said undergrad student kissed me, I was weak and couldn’t resist. All of which is absolutely true.”
“It was a mistake. I realized that immediately afterward.”
“I don’t think you thought it was a mistake, Londyn. I think your upbringing says you shouldn’t have wanted me like you did. You may have fought me physically, but mentally, you wanted me.”
When my back hits the wall, I peer over his shoulder for a potential escape route. My muscles tighten, limbs shaking. But I do everything to give off the impression that he doesn’t scare me. He gets off on fear. And I refuse to give it to him.
He rests his forearm on the wall beside me, effectively caging me in. “Which is why I was able to make you come, Londyn. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget I was the first man to ever make you feel like that. So you can call it assault. Call it rape. Call it whatever. But we both know the truth. You wanted me.”
His sinister stare rakes down my frame as he smothers my body with his, his arousal prominent against my abdomen.
“And I think you still do.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” I spit out. “It’s only a matter of time until Julia realizes just who she married. You’re right. She may not believe me. She may take your side. But Wes believes me. He knows everything that happened. The true version of events. The only thing I left out was who, but that can be rectified. You may be her husband, but he’s her brother. She’ll do anything for him. You?” I pinch my lips into a tight line. “Not so much, especially if what you did to me strikes a chord with her. If it sounds a little too familiar to something she’s also experienced.”
His jaw tightens, eyes widening for a moment. Apparently, I hit a sore spot.
He drops his arms, no longer trapping me against the wall, giving me a chance to breathe. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”
“How so?”
“Maybe you’re not Medusa. Maybe you’re more like Ovid’s Philomela. Are you familiar with that story?” He cocks a brow.
“It rings a bell,” I say, despite the voice in my head telling me to take this opportunity to run, to flee. But like that night all those years ago, I don’t listen, allowing him to pull me into his chess match once more.
“Tereus was a king who married a woman named Procne,” he begins, pacing in front of me, as if lecturing a class of eager students. “After a while, Procne missed her sister, Philomela, so she asked Tereus to bring her to their home. He agreed and set out on the journey. When he saw Philomela, he fell in deep, deep lust.”
His voice turns into a growl as he stalks toward me like an animal prowling after its prey. My chest heaves as I remain glued in place, detached from reality, like I’m just watching a movie, not living through this.
“He couldn’t shake it. He tried. Reminded himself he was married to her sister.” He presses his hips back against mine, circling them.
A whimper escapes my throat, my body seeming to betray me like it did that night. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears escape and slide down my skin.
“He knew he’d never be satisfied until he had her.” He leans toward me, dragging his tongue up my cheek, licking my tears.
A tingle rushes through me, partly out of desire, partly out of fear. I think that’s what confused me so much about what happened, made me think perhaps I was to blame. It wasn’t until I attended a sexual assault survivor’s meeting that I learned it’s completely normal, that a small percentage of women who are assaulted do feel pleasure. It doesn’t mean they enjoyed it. It’s still a brutal act. For some, there’s simply a disconnect between the pleasure receptors and the brain.
“So, just before they reached his kingdom, he had her in the woods. When she threatened to go public with it, he had no choice but to cut out her tongue.”
My stomach roils at the brutality of it all. I shouldn’t be surprised. Greek myths are notoriously barbaric and violent. Which is probably why Nick seems drawn to them. They feed his addiction.
“I can’t blame him,” he says nonchalantly. “He did whatever he needed to protect the kingdom he built. The life he built. Just like I’m willing to do.”
He makes a move to cage me in, but I’m ready for him and quickly duck away, darting toward the door. But what is normally only a dozen or so feet away now feels like the length of a football field. I only make it a few feet before he wraps an arm around my arms and chest, using his strength to lock me in place. His strong grip makes it impossible to fight him off.
“But don’t forget,” I pant, hoping to distract him.
“What’s that?” he growls.
“Philomela still found a way to tell her sister of Tereus’ crimes.” I swallow hard against the pain as he tightens his grip on me. “Wove a tapestry. And let’s not forget Shakespeare’s Lavinia from Titus Andronicus. They cut off her tongue and hands, yet she refused to stay silent, holding a pencil or quill with her mouth to write out her abusers’ names. You can attempt to silence me all you want, but the truth will eventually get out. It always does.”
He momentarily loosens his grasp on me, and I take advantage of it, leaning forward to throw him off balance. He stumbles and I quickly spin around, using an upper strike of my open palm in the hopes of breaking his nose. But he moves at the last second, avoiding the blow.
/> “Kitten really did grow some claws. And learned to fight, too,” he remarks breathlessly.
Refusing to engage him any further, I rush toward the exit once more. And once more, Nick catches me, grabbing my bicep and yanking me toward him. His eyes wild with fury and excitement, he reels back, landing a hard slap to my cheek. The blow knocks me off balance, causing me to trip and fall to the floor.
Disoriented, I struggle to stand, but before I can, he’s on top of me, keeping me pressed to the floor, a wrist bound in each hand as he straddles my back. It’s the same position he used all those years ago. I do everything to swallow down the memories, trying to buck him off, but it only seems to encourage him, his arousal hardening against me.
“You know, I love a woman with some fight in her. There’s something incredibly intoxicating about something off-limits.” He drags his tongue from my earlobe to that place where my neck meets my shoulder. “Something forbidden.”
Despite wanting to panic, I try to stay in control, something I didn’t know how to do the last time he had me like this. But instead of zoning out, I focus on any possible escape routes. I have two. Make another dash toward the door and hope to be able to outrun him onto the street and flag down someone to help. Or I help myself and go for the gun in my purse, which is only a few feet away.
“Do you have any idea how often I’ve thought of you over the years… What was it Wes called you last night?”
I stiffen, holding my breath.
“Oh, that’s right.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth, biting hard. I yelp, kicking against him, but I’m on my stomach and unable to push up enough to make any difference. “Honeybee.”
Bile rises in my throat as Wes’ term of endearment rolls off Nick’s tongue with such ease. I hate that he’s destroyed that, just like he’s destroyed everything else.
“And lucky me that you happen to be wearing a dress. If you ask me, I think you hoped you’d run into me here.”