Black Tangled Heart

by Samantha Young

I took a step back.

  “What did I say?” His voice flattened. “Stay put.”

  “Get out of my apartment.”

  Frank chortled. “Don’t be brave, baby. It’s not going to save you from this mess.” He looked around the apartment. “You know this is a nice place for a single woman in LA. You’ve done well for yourself.” He shrugged, squinting at me in confusion. “Why would you fuck that up?”

  My heart raced out of control. I was afraid. Afraid of a man who had hospitalized his own wife. Who had framed Jamie. But I was more afraid that Jamie would come home, and Frank and Foster would take him from me again. “What do you want?”

  “You think Foster didn’t know who you were? You think he’s dumb? As soon as his only son started spending lots of a time with you, he looked into you. Found out about the name change and the foster care … and what should appear on a little Google search for Jane Doe, Glendale, California, but photographs of Skye McKenna’s funeral. There you were, front and center, all cozy with Jamie McKenna.”

  Oh my God.

  Frank tsked. “All you had to do was keep your nose clean. Foster was perfectly willing to believe that you were moving on with your life, and your friendship with Asher was a coincidence. But we monitored you. Not a lot. Now and then.” He stepped toward me, the air around him chilly with menace. “I was lucky when I saw you with Elena Marshall. A random surveillance day to check up on you. And there you were with Elena. So, I followed you for the day, and who did you have a date with that night? Lincoln Gaines, Ethan Wright’s partner. Then I see you with Elena one week later. That wasn’t a coincidence. Foster doesn’t think so either. Is Jamie McKenna involved in this?”

  “I haven’t seen Jamie in two years. Since the last time I visited him in prison.”

  He nodded, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been smart enough to get out of state. To move on. He’s been smarter than you.”

  I glanced surreptitiously around, searching for a weapon. There was nothing useful in my immediate vicinity. The deadliest were behind me in the knife block on the kitchen counter.

  “This is a warning visit, Jane.” Kramer shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it across the back of my armchair, as if he were just stopping by for tea. Then he began unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

  Terror made my knees shake.

  At my expression, he smirked. “I’m not going to rape you, Jane.” He pointed to the gold band on his left ring finger just before he took it off and put it in his pocket. “I’m a devoted husband.”

  I wanted to laugh at that.

  “But I am going to hurt you.” He took another step toward me, talking calmly, so calmly, almost like he was soothing a frightened child. “I’m going to hurt you enough to make you reconsider whatever you’re planning. You won’t make Elena talk because I’ll hurt her too. You won’t get to Wright because he’s a psychopath who could give a shit about you or your friend Skye McKenna. She’s just a dead piece of pussy, and if I have to come back after this, you will be too.”

  I darted toward the kitchen, but I wasn’t fast enough. Heart in my throat, I choked out a yelp as I felt the sharp sting of my scalp pulling. Frank yanked me by my ponytail into his chest and covered my mouth with his hand, using his weight to force me to the floor. I fought with every ounce of rage inside me, bucking and battling, grappling and crawling, trying to get away from him.

  Smashing my elbow into his face, I heard his grunt of pain as his grip on me loosened. I dug my nails into the floorboards, attempting to propel myself forward into the kitchen.

  He grabbed me by the calves and hauled me back down the floor toward him. I cried out, my plea for help cut off as he flipped me like I weighed nothing and slammed me into the floor. He knocked the wind right out of me and I panicked, struggling to draw a breath.

  Kramer drew back his fist and smashed it into my face. Fire blazed across my cheekbone as sparks of white light flared in my vision.

  He hit me again, this time near my mouth, and I felt the sharp sting of my lip splitting.

  Discombobulated, I couldn’t get myself together quickly enough to retreat before he hauled me up by the hair and punched me in the gut, winding me again.

  Gasping for breath, I fell to my side. Fire exploded across my ribs as he kicked me as hard as he could. Another kick. Another.

  And another.

  Agony wrapped around me, but I tried to fight through it, tried to find my way back into my body.

  “You had enough?” he asked, his voice sounding far away. “You’re just a little thing. I don’t want to go too far. Maybe I should break that cute little nose and we’ll call it a day, huh?”

  Through the blurred vision of the eye I could feel swelling up, I gauged how close he was. Then I pulled my knees to my chest, pushed through the pain, and screamed as I punched out both feet toward his shins with as much force as I could. It sent him slamming down onto my coffee table, which collapsed beneath his weight. I scrambled to my feet and shot toward the door, slipping on magazines that scattered off the table.

  I was almost there, sobbing in relief, when suddenly I toppled to the hardwood, yanked down by the ankle. Roaring in fury, screaming for help, I flipped onto my back, kicking out at his grasp. He was on his knees, coming toward me, and he threw himself onto me, his fist slamming into my face again.

  My face felt like a ball of swollen, burning, throbbing pain as he squeezed my chin between his hand, hellfire in his eyes. “You need more, you little bitch?” Spittle flew from his frothing mouth.

  Was I in hell?

  Was he a hellhound?

  Yes. I thought of his wife, Juanita, and how he didn’t even care about me like he’d obsessed over her. He’d cared if she died. He wouldn’t if I did.

  Where were my neighbors? Couldn’t they hear this?

  No one was coming to save me, I realized.

  No.

  No way had I survived the shitty cards I’d been dealt in the twenty-six years I’d spent on this planet to break at the hands of this dickless abuser!

  I grabbed for Kramer’s throat, trying to choke him, my nails clawing at his jugular. Kramer punched me, this time connecting with my temple.

  I lost consciousness. I didn’t know for how long, but when I came to, he was still there, so it couldn’t have been long.

  He straddled me, panting, hard. My vision was hazy; the room spun. Kramer wiped his nose and then spat on me. The wet fluid landed on my cheek, just below my eye.

  The son of a bitch.

  I turned away in disgust, and that’s when I spotted my keys on the floor.

  My arm snapped out, my hands clawing at them, and as I felt him move to stop me, I swung my arm up, keys sharp-edge out, and swiped the fucker across the face with every bit of strength in me.

  He yelled, clutching at the wound, and I launched myself upward, screaming my rage as I brought the keys down with both hands—with more force than I knew I had—right into the side of his neck. They slid in after a strange, jarring, popping sensation, and Kramer slumped off me, clutching at the makeshift weapon sticking out of him. Horror and disbelief slackened his features.

  Get out, Jane. Get up and get out! It was Jamie’s frantic command I heard reverberating around my mind.

  I wanted to scramble away. I did.

  But there were black dots all over my vision.

  Multiplying and multiplying until there was nothing but a starless universe pulling me into its dark depths.

  33

  JAMIE

  Sitting at the coffee shop on Sunset Boulevard, near my apartment, I couldn’t write. I thought if I took some time, poured all my frustration into the new novel, it might calm me down.

  However, I couldn’t shake my agitation.

  I’d never walked out on an argument with Jane when we were younger because I hated that shit, and it only took half an hour for me to realize I still couldn’t do it. I’d never be able to concentrate until she and I hashed
this out.

  She had to know I wasn’t walking away from Foster Steadman, and I had to know where that left things between her and me.

  No matter how concerned I was that Jane might walk away from us for real this time.

  Snapping my notebook shut, I cleared my table and left the coffee place. My car was parked only a block away, but I jogged to get to it. It was thankfully only a five-minute drive back to our complex.

  I felt more than a little nervous as I let myself into the building. Everything was so fragile between me and Jane. I didn’t know when I’d stop expecting things to fall apart again. Hopefully, time would make things easier between us.

  As I neared our floor, I thought I heard the murmur of a man’s voice. Picking up my pace, I hurried upstairs. Disturbed by the sight of Jane’s door lying ajar, I marched into the apartment and came to an abrupt halt.

  The place was a mess.

  The building manager, Ivy Martin, was kneeling next to a prone Jane.

  Fear exploded through me at the sight of Jane’s bloodied and swollen face, her unconscious form. I stumbled toward her.

  What the hell had happened here?

  A groan drew my gaze. Sitting propped against the sofa, his hands covered in blood and clutching at his neck, was Frank fucking Kramer.

  My entire body felt like it had been dipped into a pot filled with molten lava.

  I fell to my knees at Jane’s side. What had he done? I couldn’t breathe properly. My hands shook as they hovered over her. “Jane?”

  “Jane?” Ivy asked.

  I ignored her. “Jane, baby, wake up, yeah.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Margot’s alive, just unconscious,” Ivy informed me.

  I pressed my fingers to her pulse and found it strong and steady. “Jesus fuck.”

  I looked at Ivy and blinked in surprise when I realized she had a gun trained on Kramer.

  “Ambulance is on the way. I heard a crash while I was working upstairs, and I heard Margot yell for help.”

  My blood turned to ice in my veins at the idea of her alone with that fucking maniac, Kramer. I could only surmise he found out what we were up to, and he’d come after Jane.

  FUCK!

  “Hurried to get my gun, thought I might need it. Nearly had heart failure when I heard her scream again. Had to break down the door because the chain was on. Found Margot out cold and this son of a bitch”—she nodded at Kramer—“was crawling along the floor, trying to escape, even though he’s got a set of keys wedged in his neck.”

  “Keys,” I muttered, watching Jane’s chest rise and fall slowly.

  “Yeah. She fought back. Boy, did she fight back. You know the kind of strength it takes to stick a set of keys in a guy’s neck? But he got his licks in good before she could.”

  Just like that, I snapped.

  Lunging at Kramer, determined to finish the asshole, I was shocked as shit by the strength in the manager as she grabbed me by the collar one-handed and threw me back on my ass.

  I glared at her in disbelief and outrage, ready to take her on too, gun or no gun, when she cocked her head and said, “Police are on their way, and that sounds like them coming up the damn stairs.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when the cops poured into the apartment.

  Jane would be fine.

  That’s what the ER doctor told me and Asher. It turned out Asher was her emergency contact, so they called him when she got rushed to the hospital.

  I had never been so relieved to see someone wake up as I was when Jane’s eyes fluttered open as the paramedics hurried into her apartment.

  After detailing Jane’s injuries, the doc told me and Asher we could see her. They were keeping her overnight for observation due to a concussion.

  “Concussion,” I muttered as Asher and I approached her hospital room.

  “What?” Asher halted. He looked shaken. Pale.

  The guy might have real feelings for Jane after all.

  “Concussion,” I repeated. “From trauma to her temple. Fractured ribs where the bastard kicked her. Multiple lacerations and swelling to her face from where he repeatedly hit her.”

  “Jamie—”

  “I swung her ass out there.” It felt like there were pieces of glass stuck in my throat. My words were rasping. “This is my fault.”

  “While I’m not happy that you involved her in this, this is no one’s fault but my father’s and Kramer’s.” Something beeped and Asher frowned. He pulled out a cell from his pocket and his expression grew taut. “I need to take this. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  He left me there, hesitating on the fringes of Jane’s room.

  I kept screwing up with her name, telling everybody it was Jane when they asked, forgetting her legal name was Margot.

  Not that it mattered.

  I should clean up her apartment so it didn’t look like shit when she got home in the morning.

  Wait, no, Ivy said she’d take care of it.

  The police hadn’t been too happy about the gun, but Ivy showed them her permit and they backed off. They would arrest Kramer once he was released from the hospital. The shit stain survived, despite Jane’s best efforts. The cops said they’d question Jane after, but they’d need her statement soon.

  What the hell would she say?

  What explanation could we give?

  Well, you see, the piece of scum with the keys in his neck, he helped frame me for a crime I didn’t commit and then years later, I came back for revenge; he found out and took it out on my girlfriend.

  Yeah, that didn’t sound far-fetched at all.

  Taking a shuddering breath, I pushed open the door and stepped carefully inside. It was a small, private room. I paid for it so she didn’t have to share a room with a bunch of strangers. Jane would hate that.

  I faltered at the sight of her lying on the bed, her eyes closed. One eye was swollen to twice its normal size, dark red and purple and angry as fuck.

  There was a cleaned-up cut on her lower lip.

  A massive bruise on her cheekbone, stitches where he’d split her skin open.

  Imagining what she’d gone through in that apartment made my legs shake. I walked to the end of the bed and grasped the footboard. Bowing my head, I tried to pull myself together. She was alive. That was what mattered.

  Was it?

  Because the woman I loved was lying in a hospital bed, beaten to a pulp, because of me.

  “Jamie?”

  I lifted my head at the croaky voice.

  Jane could only open one eye. I straightened and covered my mouth with my hand as I stared up at the ceiling, trying to get my shit together.

  “Jamie, come here.”

  I didn’t deserve to be anywhere near her, but still I went. I took hold of the hand she held out to me, pulled the chair by the bed closer, and kissed the back of her hand as I lowered down into the seat. Her fingers tickled at my cheeks, scratching against my stubble.

  I couldn’t speak.

  There was too much to say.

  “I’m going to be okay.” Her voice was husky, like she’d been shouting for a long time.

  “Nearly had heart failure when I heard her scream again.”

  Jesus fuck. I closed my eyes.

  “Jamie, I’ll be fine.”

  I forced myself to look at her.

  “The bruising and swelling will go down. By some miracle, he didn’t break my nose. Yay for that.” She tried to smile and then winced when it pulled at the cut.

  “He will pay for this, Jane.”

  “I don’t want that.” She squeezed my hand.

  “Well,” Asher’s voice sounded loud in the room, “it’s going to happen.”

  I glanced over at him as he came to a stop by the bed. His expression darkened with anger as he took in Jane’s face.

  “Jamie’s right, Jane. Kramer will pay.”

  “Not you too, Asher.”

  “Not like you think.” He rounded the bed to the
other side, to take the empty chair there. “I just spoke to my contact at the FBI.” Asher shifted his gaze from me to Jane. I tensed, my grip probably too tight on Jane’s hand, at the mention of the bureau. “They arrested my father this evening and Kramer will be taken into custody once the hospital releases him.”

  “What?” Jane breathed.

  Yeah, what?

  Blood rushed in my ears.

  Asher shot Jane an apologetic look. “I’ve been working with the FBI since before we met. Just a few weeks before we met, actually. They’ve been building two cases against Foster, and I helped them with both. Steadman Productions was funded with money provided by a criminal organization. An organization Foster is still actively involved with. He’s been swimming in shit for a long time. They’ve also been working with some of my father’s victims to bring serial sexual assault charges against him.”

  Holy shit.

  Jane’s nails dug into my skin as she looked at me, astonished. “Jamie.”

  “What does this mean?” I asked, trying to stay cooler on the outside than I felt inside.

  “It means that you’ll have to talk to the FBI.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I know you probably don’t trust the justice system in this state very much, but I told them what I knew about your case. With Kramer attacking Jane, they want to hear about Skye and what Foster did to you. Don’t get your hopes up yet, because they’ll need the cashier who got shot to come forward for there to be a chance of you being cleared for the robbery.

  “But whatever happens, Foster is looking at a long time in prison. No matter how the trial turns out, my father will lose everything.” Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “His company, his reputation. The world will know what a predator he is, Jamie. I’m sorry Skye didn’t live to see it, but she’ll get her justice.”

  A sob from the bed brought my eyes to Jane.

  “That’s what I couldn’t tell you, Jane.” Asher reached for her other hand. “That’s why I had to keep you out of it by lying. We couldn’t have you interfering with the long game. I hope you understand.”

  She nodded through her tears and turned to me.

  I didn’t know what to feel.