The flames are mesmerizing, the way they dance around in a chaotic choreography. I'd give anything to be able to turn off my brain, and just exist.
Why do I feel so disconnected from my life lately? I'm home, Alex and I are still in love, things are almost back to normal – except nothing feels normal to me. I can't shake this feeling that I'm being watched by eyes I don't see, hunted by a man I know is under lock and key, and stalked by someone, but unable to prove of it.
Sometimes I wonder if it's all really worth it. Perhaps I should've let John finish the job that day, when he savagely beat me, and promised to end it all. Maybe all our lives would be better. John wouldn't be able to hurt me again. Alex's life wouldn't have been turned upside down by his need to protect me, or my need to be protected. And I would never have known that I could love so deeply, and have someone love me that deep in return. The pain I could have avoided, desperate to have that love for the rest of my life. Until John is out of my life – until he's dead – loving Alex for the rest of my life, until we grow old, is all just a tease. It's the dream that can never become reality. No matter how hard I grasp at it, you will always be just out of my reach.
I glance at the screensaver on my phone, the picture of Alex and I, smiling and happy. Carefree. I wish we could always be like this.
An email notification pops up, and I open my inbox. There's an unread email from Defenders for Truth, an organization I've never heard of, but I receive emails from many criminal defense related groups. It's not unusual for organizations to reach out to criminal defense attorneys, seeking support of one kind or another. I click on the message, aware that it's a waste of time, and will more than likely end up in my trash.
Kylie,
Are you tired of looking over your shoulder to see who is behind you?
It's me. I will always be there.
You are mine.
* * *
I stare at the words, my mind grapples with their meaning, and I struggle with who could have sent this.
You are mine. I suck in a breath, and close my eyes. It's from John – it has to be. My stomach twists into a knot, the faint taste of bile in my throat. I clutch my abdomen, as if that's going to give me any relief from the pain I'm feeling. My heart rate off the chart, I glance around the patio, but it's too dark to make anything out. I'm scared to death to move, but desperate to get inside the house.
What if someone's out there? Watching me? Waiting to grab me and take me from here? No one knows I'm out here, everyone in the house is asleep.
I stare into the darkness beyond the fireplace. In the distance, waves crash against the rocks along the beach, the smell of salt on the breeze. The sound of cicadas sing in the trees—a sound that usually provides me with comfort, but is overwhelmingly loud in my head. A chill ravages my body, shivers freeze my extremities. The warmth of the fire is gone, unable to compete with the cold dread that envelopes me.
The bushes rustle in the dark. A branch cracks under the weight of someone's step. I hold my breath, twist my fingers into the blanket, my hands ball into fists. Pressure builds in my chest, and a desperate croak escapes. My body is rigid, cold, as if I'm turning to stone. The world is spinning, everything seems to be in motion around me, my mind bounces between what I should be doing, what I am doing, and what the consequences will be for every action and inaction.
My eyes are trained to the spot of the noises. My breath surges in and out of my chest. A raccoon emerges from the darkness, pauses when he sees me, and we stare at each other for a minute before finally summons the courage to dart back into the security of the dark night.
All the air trapped in my lungs comes out in one long whoosh. Calm settles over me, and I silently chuckle, "a raccoon it's braver than I am." I close out of the email, and click the phone off.
Hands grasp my shoulders. I try to break free, but I'm held firmly in place. Hot breath is next my ear.
"Easy, baby, it's just me." Alex's soft voice fills my ear.
"Alex," I say, and breathe a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I woke up and you weren't in bed. What are you doing out here?" He places his hand on my thigh.
"I couldn't sleep, too much going on in my head."
"Am I part of the reason you can't sleep?" He brushes the hair from my forehead, and gazes at me.
The truth is, I'm not sure I'd feel any different if the roles were reversed. Alex is right, I've been under a lot of stress. I know what I saw, but I understand what it looks like from the other side. I'm not sure where John ended up, or how Thomas didn't see him, but I can't condemn them for questioning my version of events.
"That's part of it, maybe, there's just a lot on my plate. The trail starts tomorrow." I let my fingers drift over Alex's hand, making loops and circles on his skin. I can't tell him exactly how I feel – that I'm petrified I'm going to mess this up, and James will be set free. While I may be faltering in other areas – Alex still believes I'm strong, confident, and unbeatable in the courtroom. "I'm used to being nervous before trial, but this one has more personal, far-reaching implications if we don't get the outcome we want."
"Are you concerned about my testimony?"
I look in his eyes, worry floods them, and I notice the creases at the corners are deeper. There's no way Alex can go into court tomorrow anxious and uncertain while on the witness stand. It's up to me to put his mind at ease. "Well, you are a loose cannon, and there's no telling what you'll say when you get there." I chuckle, and grin at him.
He moves his hand to my inner thigh, and teases my core. "There is something you can do to prevent that, you know." He lifts an eyebrow, a mischievous smile across his face. "You could prep me for my testimony, counselor."
My sex contracts, eager to feel any part of Alex inside me, stroking me to orgasm.
I crawl onto his lap and straddle him. My robe falls off my shoulder, and exposes my bare skin. "Excellent idea." I bite his lower lip, and suck it into my mouth until he shifts his hips under me, and groans. "Please state your name for the court."
His lips press against my neck, and kisses across my clavicle. "Alex Stone," he says, his voice deep and sexy.
I run my hands up his arms, across his shoulders, and lace my fingers behind his neck. "Isn't it true, that you have a reputation for loving and leaving women? Breaking hearts worldwide?"
"That's all in the past. I only one woman," he says between kisses and nips along my shoulder, and on the sensitive underside of my arm. "And there is no way in hell I will ever leave her."
"Language, Mr. Stone."
He cups my breast while his fingers pinch my nipple, and I have to hold back a moan.
"My apologies to the court." He pulls my other nipple into his mouth, sucks it hard, and this time I don't hold back the moan that escapes. His free hand pushes the silky material of my panties to the side, exposing me. The cool air feels good against the hot, wet mess I've become between my legs. The smell the salt air, Alex's musky scent, and my arousal is heady. I run my fingers through his hair, my nails dig into his scalp, and I arch my back, encouraging him to continue lavishing my breasts.
"Is it also true that you provide the most mind-blowing orgasms recorded in the history of sexual intercourse?"
He releases my nipple, slowly makes his way to the other one, while his free hand travels down my body and grabs my ass. "If your passionate screams are any indication of that, Ms. Tate, then yes, I am aware."
"Perhaps," I whisper in his ear, "you should give a demonstration of your talents in that area." I drag the tip of my tongue along the edge of his earlobe, bite it, and stuck it in my mouth.
"I'll give you anything you want." His finger pushes inside me. I gasp, and bite my lower lip. He slides his finger out, and thrusts two fingers in, as deep as he can push against my pelvic bone. Grasping his shoulders, I hold onto him as tight as I can, my hips bucking against his hand. The pad of his thumb finds my clit, and presses against it. A jolt of pleasure
electrifies my core.
"Oh my God, Alex." The muscles in my core milk his fingers, his fingertips hitting that sweet spot deep inside that drives me wild. My orgasm builds, but it frustratingly remains just out of my reach.
Alex surrenders my nipple. "Oh, baby, you're so close, aren't you?"
I nod, unable to speak through my panting.
"Come for me," his voice is rough and gravelly, his breathing measured. "I want to watch you fall apart."
I spread my legs as wide as I can, grind on his hand, until my core muscles clench tightly around his fingers.
A fierce burst of pleasure ravages my body, I ride the wave my orgasm, my hips continuing to rock against his hand. I drop my head to his, and listen to my ragged breathing.
"Fuck, Kylie," Alex growls, "I need to be inside you." His free hand fumbles to unbutton the fly on his pajama pants. I raise my hips to give him more room, and he reaches into his boxer briefs to free his erection. I open to him, so eager for to feel him inside me. Positioning myself over the head of his cock, I slowly slide down the entire length of his shaft.
"Oh, Jesus, you feel so damn good."
I raise up, a shock of cool air hits between our sex. I sink onto him, bear down until it's impossible to distinguish where I end and he begins. My inner thighs rub against his pajama pants, the material creating a deliciously rough friction against the sensitive skin between my thighs. I grind against him, relish in the fullness of him, my body pulsing around his hard cock.
Breathless, I drop my head back, my core muscles contract. Alex's mouth is over my breast, his teeth graze my nipple, and a jolt of pleasure grips my pussy.
"Alex…I'm coming…oh…oh…" Every muscles tense, I clutch Alex's shoulders, my body thrashing as my orgasm bursts.
Alex grasps my hips, rocks my hips, his pelvis slams against me. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, groans timed perfectly with each thrust. Watching his orgasm build, seeing him so out of control—it's sexy as hell. My core tingles, another climax ready to claim me. I rotate my hips in a circle, the slight change in motion drives me over the edge.
"Kylie…fuck…" Alex's voice is strained, his body jerks. He grunts, thrusts a few more times, and then releases a long groan. His head drops back, and his body goes slack. He kisses the top of my head, and whispers, "I love you, baby."
I curl up next to Alex, not allowing for any room between us, as he pulls the blanket around us.
"Love you, too," I murmur, and close my eyes. I'm safe here—in his arms—protected from sinister emails, phantom cars running me off the road, and threats from a madman bent of revenge. But I can't stay here with Alex forever, and I know I'll have to face all these things again in the morning.
And that scares the hell out of me.
By Monday afternoon, I have successfully avoided checking my email. I'm still unsettled, and tired of jumping at every loud noise from the street below. I also haven't told Alex—we had such a wonderful weekend together, and I wasn't about to ruin it by telling him. I'll have to do it at some point—but that point is going to have to be after this trial is over. All of my energy and attention has to be focused on making sure James is sent back to prison.
Boxes are piled next to the stairs leading from my office to the parking lot. Thank goodness Reyes decided to come in today so he can help me get them down to the SUV. I left the Porsche at home and brought a vehicle from Alex's fleet that could accommodate everything I'm going to need to take to the courthouse.
Reyes loads the last box, and closes the back hatch. "I think that's everything. If not, I can bring whatever's missing to the courthouse in the morning."
I open the driver's side door, and toss my briefcase across to the passenger seat. "Thanks." I'm about to get in but stop, and turn back to look at him. "By the way, did you ever find out anything about those flowers that were delivered to my apartment?"
He looks down, his foot kicks at a small rock, and sends it skittering across the pavement. Finally, he looks up, but avoids my eyes. "Yeah, I found the delivery company, and talked to them. I was told that a woman dropped off the box with instructions to contact the property management company to let them into the apartment."
"Who let them into my apartment?" I could feel heat move from my chest, up my neck, and flood my cheeks.
"The building manager. They said you called in and requested it." Reyes narrows his eyes, and scrutinizes my words and actions.
"I requested it? So, anyone can call in saying they're me, and they'll let any Tom, Dick, or Harry in?" My composure is hanging on by a very thin thread. "Were the people at the delivery company at least able to give you a description of the person who dropped off the box?"
Reyes takes a deep breath, pulls his hand down over his face, and exhales. "Tall, auburn hair, dressed in a suit. Paid cash."
"Well, that's disturbing." I sigh, my shoulders slump a bit, and I shake my head. "I can't deal with this right now. I have to keep my head on straight and prep for court tomorrow. I'll dive into this mess later." I slide behind the wheel, start the engine, and roll down the window. "At least I'm no longer living in that apartment."
A pained look crosses over Reyes's face. "Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it right now, you've got a lot going on."
I silently admonish myself for sucker punching him like that. I can't help that he has a crush on me—do you still call it that when you're in your thirties—but I also don't want to needlessly hurt his feelings. "Thanks for checking it out for me, though. I'll see you in the morning."
He waves at me and I pull onto the road. The drive home is on auto-pilot as the scenario Reyes laid out runs through my mind. Who is doing this and why? Is there someone out there impersonating me? And if so, for what purpose?
Chapter Seventeen
I run through my notes a couple more times, Alex sits beside me, stares out the window, and strums his fingers on his knee. I place my hand over his, gently squeeze it in the hopes of alleviating some of his stress. That's impossible, of course, he'll be testifying in open court about the death of his mother at the hands of his father. He had buried this event deep in his psyche, and never intended to speak of it again until he broke down and told me one night, months ago.
He glances down at my hand on his, then into my eyes. I swear, whenever his blue eyes gaze at me, I melt. He still has the ability to make me feel like a girl chasing after the most popular, handsome boy in school. I smile, and he offers a small one back, but there's no joy in it.
"I want to go over a couple of things with you before we get to the courthouse, and things get hectic," I say, my voice calm but not overly serious. I want to put him at ease, not add to his anxiety. "I'm going to start with basic questions—name, business—they're going to seem innocuous, but they serve a couple of important purposes. One is so I can lay the proper foundation for your testimony, a sort of introduction of you to the jury. The second allows you to answer easy questions and gives you time to get nerves under control. When you're answering questions, direct them to the jury, not me or Hamilton. The jurors are the ones who will be deliberating, and we need to respect their role in the process. Plus, studies show that jurors are more apt to believe a witness who addresses them during testimony."
"Okay," he says, "anything else?"
"When Hamilton questions you on cross examination, don't elaborate on your answers. He's going to shut you down if you try, anyway, but I don't want you to worry about the narrative he's trying to put in front of the jury. Any answer you give that needs further explanation or clarification, I'll correct on rebuttal."
"And?" His eyebrows lift, and he cocks his head slightly to the side. "Come on, Kylie, I can see it in your eyes. There's something else, but you're trying to be diplomatic about your delivery. What is it?"
"You think you know me so well," I joke. I inhale, and look him straight in the eye, all kidding aside. "He's going to do his best to get you worked up. He'll pull out all the stops to piss you off. You have to remain ca
lm, and not play into his hands."
"Why is it so important to make me mad?" he asks.
"To see if you'll lose your temper on the stand. It's the only way he has a snowball's chance in hell of placing the blame on you."
"How does that prove anything?"
"It doesn't…it provides reasonable doubt, and that's all he needs to get the jury to swing his way."
Alex's eyebrows knit together, and he lets out a long exhale. My attempt at alleviating stress has failed in near epic proportions.
I twist in my seat, and face him. "Look, even if he can get the jury to believe you resented your mother enough to want to harm her—they won't believe you acted in a way that caused her death unless there was a catalyst. If the jury sees you on the witness stand, calm and under control, it'll be nearly impossible to associate who they see with what the defense is trying to sell. Hamilton has to show that you're easily enraged, and that rage—fueled by your resentment—pushed you over the edge."
He looks away from me, and back out the window. "These are some fucked up games you lawyers play with other people's lives." Resting his elbow on the ledge of the door, he rubs his finger across his bottom lip.
I sit back in my seat, straighten my skirt, and peer out the front window. "Yeah, everyone hates the games until it's their ass in a ringer—then their disgust and high morals go right out the window and they demand we use whatever tricks we have to get them the outcome they want." The fucking double standard people have when it comes to the legal system infuriates me. They scream for reform, bang their fists on desks while proclaiming revulsion at our tactics, and then turn on a dime when they need—no, demand—we act in the very manner that left such distaste in their mouths.
"Hey," Alex says, and tugs on my hand until I look at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out that way. I'm frustrated that James can even make the allegations in the first place. Hamilton has no idea what I went through that night, how helpless it is to watch someone slip away and not be able to do a damned thing about it. If he did, he would never mount this type of defense."
Revenge: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Two Page 15