by A. C. Bextor
“Come again?”
“Free of worry. Free of fear. Free of the threat of something happening to those you hold close.”
“I don’t think that way. No good comes from fearin’ the shadows of the dark.”
“You’re wrong,” he tells me, his words are voiced with conviction. “If you’ve not feared the dark, Leglas, then you’ve certainly never met the angels in the light.”
Someone please, explain why the fuck these Russians talk in riddles? After dealing with Abram as much as I’ve had to, then witnessing the same ridiculous romantic gestures to Cricket from Nikolas, I’m nearly spent on talking to any of them about any-fucking-thing.
Going along, though, I press, “Seen the what of what?”
“You’ve never had something or someone you wished to keep forever.”
“I see you don’t get me.”
“I get you,” he flips back sardonically. “My advice for you is to stop fighting,” he gives freely, turning back to the crowd, this time moving his chair back to stand. The moment his eyes hit their mark, his entire demeanor changes. No, his entire body changes. Turning my gaze toward where his follows, I see Cricket hanging on Vante’s arm. She has her head resting on his chest, and he’s leaning down to kiss the crown of her head.
“My own beautiful girl,” he utters to himself. “I fought my want to have her for a very long time.”
I’ve met Vlad’s wife, Klara, also the mother of his only daughter, Emilia. The woman is remarkable. Beauty tip to toe. A woman like her for a man like him, I never would’ve imagined. The battle to keep her at arm’s length must have been one hell of an emotional war.
Lucky for me, I don’t have that pull. At least not anymore. Possibly never again.
Without looking my way, Vlad scoots in his chair and makes his way to the door.
“So, I take it we’re done here then?” I ask, and he turns around.
With a smile, this one not in amusement but determination, he says, “We are. I have a family to get home to.”
“You do that.”
“And you, Leglas, should stop stalling for time. The woman you care about may not have much left of it to give.”
What. The. Fuck.
As I start to deny every truth Abram told him, I can’t. He’s gone.
As much as I hate to admit, Vlad is a cunning, intelligent man. If Abram hasn’t already told him what we’re up to, he probably found out another way. But, my guess is that Abram Wiles talks too goddamn much.
Fuckin’ Russian bitch.
“Baby, be calm,” Gypsy’s soft voice soothes, his mouth to my ear.
His arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me up as my body rocks in agony.
If the human heart could whisper its pain aloud, mine would be demanding to know why.
Why is life so bitter and cruel?
Why are some lucky enough to survive our time on earth with people we care about, yet others are left to face its torments and tragedies alone?
Why didn’t anyone see this coming?
“Sweetheart, Eve is in a better place now.” Nikolas is close, his thumb gently gliding over my hand. “There was nothing more anyone could have done to help her.”
“But how could this happen?” I reach for reason. Any reason at all is better than being left to wonder.
I’d been standing at the bar, talking to Mia as she worked her shift this afternoon, when Nikolas strode inside the clubhouse.
I was smiling, happy to relish in life returning to normal. A new normal.
When I turned to see Nikolas sauntering in, my mind went back to the day we met, and how careful and cautious he’d been. The soberness in his expression said something was terribly wrong before he had uttered a word.
As soon as Elevent and Gypsy stepped in close behind him, the time on the clock of my recovery had stopped. Another storm had come and gone, leaving a trail of tragedy in its wake.
Why?
Eve, in all her despair, had extinguished her own beautiful light. She’d gone to the room we’d stayed in together, climbed into the bed, and swallowed as many over the counter medications as she could before falling into forever darkness.
Agatha had been the one to find her. Nikolas had been the one to find Agatha at her side, praying for her safe passage.
Why?
Nikolas clears his throat and steps back, giving Elevent space to get closer.
Getting as close as he can, Elevent’s warm hands cover my cheeks, putting his face inches from mine.
With sad eyes, he shakes his head. “Cricket, honey, hear this.” He waits for my full attention. Once satisfied he has it, another strike hits my already broken heart. “Eve didn’t have your strength. She didn’t have your determination to get better.”
“But she was better,” I whisper, leaning into his hand on my cheek. “Elevent, she talked to me.”
“No, baby,” he denies. “She only told you what happened. She didn’t tell you how she felt about what she’d been through.”
He’s right. Eve got out what she needed, purging her memories exactly how she remembered them. But she gave me nothing more. Not once did she express how she felt about what happened, admitting she was out of control inside her head. Lost to the world she once thrived in.
I missed this.
I thought she understood. When I’d left her sitting on that couch, I believed from the depths of my soul she heard what I said and believed in my words. Yet, really, she had none of her own.
“Baby,” Gypsy whispers in my ear. “Let’s get you off your feet.”
Reaching for calm, and unable to find it completely, I sob.
Following his lead, I let Gypsy walk me to the couch. He goes down, dragging me with him before situating me on his lap. Most of the others who’d been here when this started are quiet. Vante, Mia, Sunny, Sty, and also Leglas.
Elevent grabs the table from the middle of the room, placing it directly in front of where I sit. He nods to Nikolas, and Nikolas moves to sit on top of it. Directly in front of me.
“Do you remember the conversation we had in my library before you left?” he prods.
“Yes,” I return, wiping my face of tears. “I remember.”
This was the last we had alone. I’d been confused, questioning where I belonged. I hadn’t wanted to leave. I was safe with him and Agatha. I was cared for.
“You asked me why I do what I do.”
“I remember.”
“You must know I’ve met many women in my life,” he tells me, the number hard to believe. “But until you, I’ve never taken so much pride in my work.”
“I’m nothing special,” I return solemnly. “I didn’t live through—”
Nikolas’s mouth gets tight. “What happened to you was a terrible circumstance that was out of your control. However, your reaction to it was well within your reach.”
“Eve would’ve gotten better,” I tell him.
“No one can know if this was true or it wasn’t.”
“I’m so sorry for Agatha. She must be devastated.”
He nods once. “Like you, Agatha is determined.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“And, like you, Agatha is strong,” he adds.
“I’m not strong,” I deny.
Nikolas smiles. “Yet, after everything you endured, here you still are.”
Keeping quiet, I look around the room, not seeing the furniture, pictures, floor, or windows, but the people. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be who I am. Without the promise of home, I wouldn’t have survived.
“This, too, shall pass,” Nikolas states solemnly, and I bring my gaze to his. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But nevertheless, we’ll move on.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For coming here to tell me about Eve.”
“As sad a circumstance that it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He means that.
And all he’s said today was true. I’m surrounded by those w
ho love me more than I’d ever known.
If only Eve would’ve been so blessed.
What happened to you was a terrible circumstance that was out of your control.
“Gypsy,” I gasp into the dark, sitting up to free his hold around my waist.
Dazed from sleep, he follows, sitting up at my side. Moving the hair from my cheek, he confirms, “Right here, baby.”
Before falling asleep, and after crying rivers of angry tears for Eve, I made a decision.
Sunny won’t be used as bait, risking herself to get to Seveena. Eve taking her own life won’t go unavenged. My future won’t be shrouded under the threats of my father.
All of this will be no more.
“I wasn’t afraid of death,” I tell Gypsy first. He wraps his arm around me, taking us back to the bed. Going with him, I settle at his side and rest my head on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t afraid of it either.”
When he doesn’t interrupt, I decide this is it.
I’ll give him everything and let him decide what to do with it. There’s nothing more I can do. A person can’t change their past, but like Nikolas told me, they can control their reaction to it. I can control what happens next. I can keep my friends and family safe. I can erase all the guilt I haven’t been able to wash away.
And I’ll do this with the only option I’ve been given.
My present is haunted by a living, breathing monster. My future owned up to that as well. The demons of my past won’t threaten their wrath against those I love again.
“I was afraid of living,” I tell him. “Without you.”
“Cricket,” he whispers, burying his face in my neck. The warmth of his breath, the sound of his voice, and strength in his arms pushes me forward.
Turning to lie on my back, Gypsy takes my cue and settles himself on top. With his hips between my thighs, he tangles our legs and rests his chest flat against mine. He runs his finger over my temple and stares down with apprehension.
“I need to talk this out,” I tell him. “There’s a lot I want to tell you, and you need to let me.”
Gypsy grabs my hands, lifting them over my head and lacing our fingers together. “I’m right here.”
Guilt surges. For weeks, Gypsy’s been waiting to hear what happened during my time with Seveena. The details I’ve refused not only him, but everyone. I’ve struggled with what happened, but to be honest, I’ve moved on.
I’ve kept my strength, borrowing courage from those who keep me safe. They’ve led my way to this.
“I want you to have a beautiful life,” I get out on a lost whisper.
Gypsy clears his throat, saying nothing, but his eyes search mine in the near dark.
How unfair it is that my thoughts torment over the idea of Gypsy ever loving someone else? Someone who isn’t me?
I struggle in the knowledge that eventually, he’ll find a woman worthy of his heart. He’ll take her hand, giving her his name. He’ll love their children. A boy, a girl, maybe one of each. They’ll see each other through struggles and celebrate their successes together. Growing old, he and the woman he can’t live without will watch their children flourish under the love they’ll no doubt overwhelm them with.
Pressing on, I hear the rasp in my voice. “Five years ago, you walked into your room and—”
“Don’t,” he denies, shaking his head and taking his eyes away. “Don’t fuckin’ do that.”
“You told me that night changed your life,” I power through before I lose my nerve and his attention. “What you didn’t know was that you changed mine so long before that.”
Gypsy bends his neck, kissing the center of my chest. I hate how what I have to say will come between us.
“Life is short,” I tell the ceiling. “No matter what happens. No matter what decisions we make. Everyone’s time is borrowed.”
Visions of Lane and Pyke come, vividly and in color. Lane giggling with the girls. Pyke slapping the back of little Ziah’s head.
Birthdays. Dinners. Celebrations. One after another, the endless reel of happy memories plays out.
Truth be told, whether the others believe this or not, all of what we’ll never have again is because of me and my father’s sick and twisted possessive hold.
All of this is on me. I’m the reason he wants revenge. If Gypsy hadn’t saved me, his life would not only be less complicated, but it wouldn’t be in peril.
Gypsy’s warm breath blankets my skin through the sheer nightie he’d chosen before he helped me into bed.
With his forehead to my chest, he argues, “Life is short, I get that. But it’s also good, Cricket. Don’t focus on it bein’ anything but that.”
A tear falls from my temple. Gypsy turns his head, resting his cheek against my beating heart. I wonder if he can hear how badly it’s breaking. I’m curious if it gives itself away, saying goodbye to the only one who’s ever owned it.
Keeping my emotions intact, I consider what he said about all the gifts of life being opened at one time.
With that, I offer, “Loving you has been the sweetest and cruelest gift of my life.”
Gypsy’s chest reverberates with a growl. He releases my hands, moving his down to my inner thighs where he spreads them as far as they’ll go.
“Stop talking,” he insists, not angry, but detached. “I fucked up. All these years, we could’ve had this.” He pushes his hips forward, his breathing becoming heavy. “But I have you now, so whatever’s workin’ in that head of yours, let it go.”
As if this wasn’t breaking my heart already.
“You make me happy,” he goes on, shoving my nightie up to my waist. “In a world that’s full of shit, mired in fuckin’ dirt, you’re the only person who clears the way for better.”
“Gypsy—”
“Fuck, we’ve lost so goddamn much,” he seethes, giving me more of his weight and pushing my panties to the side.
With the sting of the breaking material, I gasp. This will be the last time I’ll have Gypsy like this.
Thankful and happy.
Blessed and content.
Beautiful and kind.
Pulling my hands from the bed, I run them through his hair, holding his head to my chest. Gypsy’s return is to yank my nightie down from the top, exposing my chest before kissing the swell of my breast once, twice. Finding the nipple, he pulls it into his mouth and sucks hard.
I struggle to focus, writhing beneath him.
“Promise me, if something happens…” I start, but stop as his cock slides over my clit. Gypsy’s movements are jerky, irregular, his excitement building.
I shift my hips to deny him entry. In return, he exhales in frustration.
“Let me inside,” he hisses with restraint.
“Promise me,” I push, dropping my hands to his shoulders and shoving lightly.
Gypsy rights my waist, aligning mine with his, and drives inside in one long thrust, filling me full, and stealing my breath.
His head comes up, leveling his eyes with mine. With every stroke, Gypsy holds my gaze. Intense. Knowing. Deliberate. “Stop talking and just feel this, Cricket.”
“Gypsy, please,” I beg, panic rising.
Claiming my mouth, Gypsy takes my worries, soothing my anxiousness.
In and out, over and over. Full of him. Empty. Full of him. Empty.
Full of exquisite torture: a snapshot of our past. Full of memories of us together.
Then empty: a prelude to his imminent future, void and alone.
“I love you,” he tells me, pulling back and brushing his lips over mine.
His movements become hurried, my back arching at his relentless drives.
“Gypsy, wait—”
“Let this go,” he demands, before taking my mouth again.
We’re both close. Proving this is the trembling of my thighs, the aggressiveness of his touch.
“Together,” he orders, driving in deep once, twice, and again.
Wrapped around him, I t
uck my face into his neck and give him what he’s after.
A happy ending.
No more hurt.
No more fear.
I give him this goodbye.
I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t afraid of it either.
“Where is she?” Standing toe-to-toe with Leglas in the hallway to Cricket’s room, I shove his chest with mine. “Everyone knows how tight you two are. Where the fuck is she?”
Leglas glares down, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. I’d have a mind to this, except the fact that when I woke up this morning, Cricket was nowhere to be found. My first irrational thought was that she’d gone to his room, but when I pounded on his door first, then broke it wide open, I was relieved to find I was wrong. He was alone, and instantly pissed off.
Leglas shoves my chest with both hands. I stumble back, landing against the opposite wall.
“First thing first, mother fucker. Don’t put your hands on me,” he fumes. “Second, what the fuck are you talkin’ about ‘where is she’?”
“Cricket’s gone,” I return, sneering as he had.
Shaking his head, he stupidly suggests, “Maybe she’s with the girls. Or Ziah. Or Mom. Jesus Christ, Gypsy, what the fuck?”
I want you to have a beautiful life.
Vante’s door opens, and he steps out wearing only his boxer briefs. His eyes are swollen from little sleep, and his face is wrinkled from his pillow. “What the fuck’s happening out here, and why does it have to be so loud?”
Jesus. Christ.
“Cricket’s gone.”
At this, Vante’s back straightens and his eyes come to focus.
“She’s not gone, for fuck’s sake,” Leglas growls. Looking at Vante, Leglas tips his chin to his door. “Go on. Get back to your room.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ move,” I point to Vante and order. “Get dressed. I need your help.”
Confused, but alert, Vante bounces his stare between Leglas and I. “Cricket’s gone? How do you know?”
Opening the palm of my hand, I offer the only proof I have. The only thing she left behind.
When I opened my eyes against the light in her room, the old, tarnished ring I gave her years ago, before I left her the first time, had been lying on her pillow. I didn't wake up to the smell of her hair, her bright, shining eyes, or her arms around me. I didn’t break from peaceful sleep thinking after we talked last night that she’d do the same.