The Note

by Natalie Wrye

  He glances at me, his blond hair falling into his face. He uses his free hand to smooth it back, ever the pretend-polished playboy he believes himself to be.

  His thin lips spread into a crooked smile. “Don’t you know that Chris’s reach extends all around the world? Not to mention Manhattan.” He sniffs, sounding self-important. As usual. “This isn’t the first time I worked for C.J.”

  It was C.J., all of a sudden? Now the over pompous bastard was using unprompted nicknames. It didn’t get more twisted than this.

  ‘Really?” I keep him talking. “Where did you work for him before?”

  “Benny’s Pizza,” he harrumphs. “And don’t give me that look. It was a front for money laundering. And I made over half a million a year there when I was a manager.”

  “That explains why the pizza tastes like a foot.”

  But Rick can’t help but ignore me. On his high horse now, he boasts about working for the world’s biggest bastard, present company excluded.

  But I’m not the lost kid I once was, no longer a broken child.

  There was some good that came with my atypical Bronx upbringing. And that was knowing how to handle a hot spot. And it didn’t get any hotter than the one I was currently in.

  I shift on the stool. “So, I’m assuming that you’re the person who bought the watch I sold?”

  Rick’s eyes lock. “You assume correctly.”

  “And I’m assuming you bought it from Al for more than the fifty thousand dollar price-tag?”

  “I bought it for almost a hundred actually.” He smiles—smugly. “If you’ve been listening at all, then you know that I certainly can afford it.”

  “Then I’m assuming that you know that particular watch is worth over half a million dollars?”

  Rick’s smile slides off his face, replaced with a quick frown. He doesn’t know if I’m serious or not, but he stares at me just to be sure. Reaching beside the counter, he slips inside some hidden drawer I hadn’t noticed, retrieving Noah’s watch, the platinum piece of jewelry wrapped around his palm as he stares.

  He doesn’t look at me now. “You’re lying.”

  “Wish I were.”

  “That can’t be true,” he asserts.

  “But it is.” I sidle up closer to the bar, sinking back into the same deception mode that I, once upon a time, used to don like a second skin. The smile that plays on my lips is genuine. “And we can sell it again. Walk away with another easy half a million more…if we play our cards, right?”

  Rick’s eyes narrow into slits. He finally glances up at me. “What would you know about selling it for more? You’re confessing that you actually sold it for a tenth of the price before.”

  “That’s when I was desperate. And I sold it to Al.” I wave my hand in a dismissal. “I’ve known the guy since I was a kid. Used to steal items for the shop before. I knew I could get it back anytime.” I lick my lips, going in for the kill, a sweat working its way under my shirt as I attempt a fraud I haven’t had to pull off in ten years.

  My past mixes with my present in an intoxicating mix that, through my nerves, strengthens me, empowering me.

  Combining both feels like coming home, my two worlds working in a way to make me more of the strong Sophia I hadn’t seen in an awful long time.

  Maybe it’s the call from the gallery. Maybe it’s Noah Quinn.

  Maybe it’s me.

  But I’m no longer feeling the “Princess Who Never Smiled” or the “Armless Maiden.”

  In fact… I’m feeling a lot like the me that used to be, with some much-needed alterations.

  I smile at Rick, my old criminal spidey senses going into overdrive.

  I was used to living in this sort of twisted story. But the man holding me hostage doesn’t.

  Rick has no idea what kind of Grimm fairytale he’s in for.

  Chapter 29

  NOAH

  “Uh, so I know we’re in a rush, Noah, but I would like to make it to the bar in one piece.”

  I don’t glance into the backseat (or trunk, rather) as I push the BMW another five miles per hour faster.

  My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

  “I have plans for us to make it one piece, Lach. Though you might not be so lucky if you keep clamoring in my ear.”

  “I’m just saying…” my youngest and annoying brother banters from the back seat. “If we don’t slow it down on these curves, you will definitely see pieces. Because I’m going to throw up chunks of that disgusting pizza all over this car.”

  “If that’s the case,” Nancy whines, sandwiched between the driver and passenger seat, “then Lach’s right, Noah. We might want to take our time. I could barely eat that pizza from Benny’s; I definitely don’t want to end up wearing it.”

  Drew adds to the conversation. “Come on, Nance. It might be an upgrade from the outfits I’ve seen you wear in your bartending days.”

  Nancy’s lips thin into a straight line. “I was wrong, Noah. The faster we can get to the bar, the better. Because if I have to be in a small space with Andrew any longer, I’m going to end up throwing up chunks.”

  “Anyone throwing up chunks on this tux I’m wearing won’t make it to The Alchemist at all,” Jase declares. “In case that pizza hasn’t soured your distracted minds, I have a wedding to be in, oh…” He checks the watch on his wrist, “less than two hours.”

  “And it will take us an hour to get to Connecticut,” I finish, reminding myself more than anyone.

  I press the gas pedal a little harder again, still holding onto hope that Benny’s pizza won’t be making any more appearances in this car, a sweat starting to form under my collar as I navigate through the New York streets like a hot blade through butter.

  The city around us is as frantic as I feel.

  Stoplights sway overhead as we zoom through traffic towards The Alchemist, twisting, turning and swerving over the soaking wet asphalt that decorates the New York City blocks.

  I think back to two months ago when I first arrived in the city, and immediately I hate that version of myself, the man I’d been in the back of that town car.

  Selfish. Self-serving. A prick-ish, perfection-seeking asshole with nothing to offer the world but my ass to kiss.

  Until her.

  My calls to Sophia’s cell phone go straight to voicemail, and worry slides effortlessly into panic with me now knowing about The Alchemist manager’s role in the disappearance of my father’s watch.

  My fingertips twisting around the BMW’s stick-shift, I push us as far and as fast as the traffic and rain will allow, my chest tightening with each passing mile.

  My heart hits a rate I didn’t think was possible as I prod the blue vehicle farther into Manhattan.

  By the time I reach the corner where The Alchemist lies, my insides are a mess, my pulse playing the congas, my stomach turning cartwheels when I park, hopping out the driver’s side door immediately.

  The barfront is dark as I approach, and I cling to the glass door, desperate to peek inside.

  My eyes scanning over the dark empty floor, in search of Sophia. Scouring. Skimming over every inch I can find.

  Until I see it.

  I can barely hear the influx of the Bimmer’s other passengers, as I pull on the locked door, jarring the glass to within an inch of its breaking point.

  Nancy calls out—some sharp comment about her having a key, but I can barely hear her.

  The lock at the door turns and twists, groans underneath my rough touch, and with an unsteady growl, I heave the damn thing open, breaking the doorframe into pieces just a second before I burst inside, my footsteps echoing loudly over the hallowed, hardwood floors.

  The blond creep barely registers what’s happening before I’m hoisting him high off the stool on which he perches, his collar wrapped in my hands within seconds.

  Using my height to my full advantage, I lift him towards my face, snarling the words with such force that it feels as if the floor shakes.


  “You piece of shit. Who the hell do you think you are? Did you think we wouldn’t find out? I will kill you where you stand.”

  And then I smell him.

  Or rather, I smell her.

  Sophia’s lilac scent. Sweet and sultry.

  It’s all over him.

  An anger I didn’t know existed rages under my skin, heating me from the inside out, and I grip the greasy asshole so tightly I fear my fingers will break.

  My voice is unrecognizable when I speak. “Where the hell is she?” When he glances behind the bar, his gaze shifting away from me, I ball one fist in the air, ready to swing it at the fucker’s head when I feel something around my arm.

  A light touch, familiar and warm that makes me hesitate.

  I glance down to find Sophia’s hand at my bicep, pulling, her hazel eyes filled with emotion.

  “Noah…” My name on her lips is strained, tinged with relief and undertones of fear all at once, and I drop the blond bastard in front of me so suddenly that he falls, crumbling to his knees.

  I rotate towards the woman I’ve been looking for all day, feeling like I’ve recovered my heart in human form, feeling like I’ve found it…

  My world.

  “Fuck, Sophia.” I reach for her face, one hand drifting towards her jaw which I stroke. “What—where have you been? I’ve been fucking out of my mind for the last few hours.” I heave a heavy sigh. “Did he—?” I glance back to find Richard Slauson on the ground. “Did he hurt—?”

  “No.” She shakes her head before I can finish, multi-colored strands of her cinnamon and brown sugar-hued hair flying back and forth. “But you might want to check on him.”

  She waves a dark object in her hand, and after glancing down, I realize why Richard Slauson might have been frozen on a stool when I broke down the door.

  My little thief.

  The little criminal that she is.

  Richard Slauson wasn’t the one holding her hostage after all.

  She was holding him.

  I can’t help but smile. “Alright, Little Bear, hand it over.” I reach for the pistol wrapped in her fingers. “Haven’t you ever heard that ‘Violence is not the answer’?”

  She cocks a sharp eyebrow. “Is that another Stephen King quote?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “But I have a few Noah Quinn original ones you should hear, once I get you alone.” I touch her forehead with my mine, inhaling her soft scent. “But first,” I spin towards the haggard heap of a man on the ground, “let’s take out the trash, shall we?”

  Chapter 30

  SOPHIA

  Life sure was strange.

  But it wasn’t a novel.

  It couldn’t be wrapped up in themes of Stephen King horror or Russian tales of romance and fancy.

  Because real life—and all that came with it—was both, interspersed with the good, the bad, the fanciful and everything in-between.

  The real thing was so much better.

  And it didn’t get more real than Noah Quinn staring at me as he walks down the aisle to join his brothers’ side in a dark tuxedo that I could swear was painted on.

  I sit on the groom’s side under the newly erected white tents on the Quinn Estates property, my heart full as Noah’s family and my friends watch the proceeding, a misty atmosphere of misty-eyed affection spreading among the guests as Jase Quinn and Mindy Lessman profess their undying love to one another.

  I barely had time to change when we returned from The Alchemist after holding Rick inside just long enough for the police to show up.

  My jeans are still on, coat and shirt still ruffled. The scuffle with Rick for the gun leaves my already-worn outfit a mess.

  I thank the universe and everything in it for my father, Aunt Roberta, Jesse and all the Somerset tips and tricks I’d learned to bring a bastard down as a kid.

  The Somerset I’d been and the one I am now, for the first time ever, exist peacefully in my body—both tame and wild at the same time, both criminal and innocent. Both whimsical and sensible.

  The urge to rid myself of one in favor of the other dies a quick death as I watch the gray-haired reverend gaze over the adoring couple, his words clear amidst the wet and mystical fog that falls across the lush lawn where the wedding takes place. He stands proudly.

  “Do you, Jason Alexander Quinn, take Melinda Clara-Ann Lessman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Jase’s eyes—brown and filled with warmth—gaze at his would-be wife with pride and love. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows what must be a knot of emotion. His voice, though unsteady, is strong.

  “I absolutely do.”

  “And do you, Melinda Clara-Ann Lessman, take Jason Alexander Quinn to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “Hell yeah I do.”

  The audience breaks out into laughter.

  “And with that note,” the reverend grins, “if there are any objections to the joining of these two people, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Jase and Mindy turn immediately, as did Noah, their eyes shooting in the direction of Lachlan who stands perfectly still, his large hands folded in front of him. His eyes widen at his sudden audience.

  “What, me? What makes you think I have anything to say?”

  The corner of Noah’s lush mouth tugs upward. “I don’t know… Maybe because you always do.”

  Lach shifts, seemingly upset at the attention. “Well, I don’t.” He peers over at the reverend. “Keep the wedding going, Rev.”

  The elder man nods. “So, without further ado…”

  “Wait!” Lachlan exclaims softly. “On second thought…”

  Noah nudges him hard, and laughter bubbles up again amidst the guests. The brothers exchange light shoving and prodding, calming down several seconds to an unhappy wedding officiant.

  Jase rolls his eyes with a smile. “Please, reverend, continue…before we’re missing two groomsmen from the party.”

  The reverend’s voice rings out once again. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He motions to Jase. “You may kiss the bride.”

  It’s my first wedding, but even I find tears in my eyes as Jase and Mindy seal their union with a kiss. A loud applause crescendos among the crowd, and as I clap, I discover Noah’s eyes on me, his stare focused under a head of ink-like hair, his blue eyes ethereal and almost misty under the overcast sky.

  Forty long minutes later, after a brief break for the wedding couple, I’m in his arms on the manor’s makeshift dance floor, swaying softly under his guiding touch.

  My hair is still messy, my clothes rumpled and un-ironed since I didn’t have the time to change before the ceremony, and against Noah Quinn and his stunning, effortless perfection, I know I must look out of place.

  Like a charity case next to royalty.

  But before the first time since I can remember, I don’t care. Because the man holding me in his arms makes me feel secure.

  At peace. At home.

  I know in Noah Quinn, in my friends, in my brother, in my fondly-remembered Aunt Roberta, and my paints and passion and in the city that made me who I am—mess and all—that I’ve never needed anything more.

  I wrap my arms around the suited man towering over me, breathing him in. I sigh.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue earlier.” I exhale.

  “Thanks for coming to mine,” he rumbles. “I was seconds away from committing murder at The Alchemist.”

  “Stephen would have been proud.”

  “Stephen King writes about horror, Little Bear. He doesn’t commit it.”

  I angle my eyebrows. “Can you be so sure? He has to have source material. Maybe he has a stack of bodies buried somewhere…” The babel of bickering nearby catches my attention, and I peek over to find Nancy and Drew on the dance floor, hurling hushed insults at each other with Lachlan in the background cracking quiet jokes. Shortly after, the trio fusses their way off the floor, still embattled in a war of wits and subtle jabs.

  I
shake my head, holding in a laugh. “And with friends and family like this, who could blame him? I’d thought about committing unspeakable acts against that fiancée of yours.”

  “Ex-fiancée,” he corrects. “And I hate that she even showed up here in the first place.” His voice lowers as he leans closer. “I should have never left you in that bed by yourself. And I’m going to make up for the craziness I put you through when we get back to that bed.”

  Noah grins, his eyes following the path of mine as our friends and family scurry away, expletives exploding in the air as the new three stooges argue their way out of sight. The man between my hands gives a shrug. “It could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “When Jase ultimately buries Lachlan for another inappropriate joke, at least it won’t be in a nearby Pet Sematary.”

  I blink fast. “A nearby what?”

  Noah shakes his head. “Pet Sematary? You know, the King novel? Dead family members?” He waits. “Resurrection? ‘Sometimes dead is better’?” He chuckles softly as I stare up at him blankly, none of his words registering. His grin is soft. “You have so much to learn…”

  I grip him closer, loving the feel of him, wishing I could get him alone. I whisper to him only. “And I can’t wait for you to teach me.”

  “Give me thirty minutes and a bucket of ice, and I’ll do just that.” His fingers curl around my waist, holding tight. “And speaking of source material…” his voice sinks to a quiet rumble. “I’ve got an idea for your next painting.”

  “Oh do you?”

  “Yes, I do.” He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously above mine, his woodsy scent flooding my senses. Heat curls between my legs at the nearness of Noah and his body pressing suggestively against mine. “How do you feel about nudes?”

  My pulse tap dances all over the place, growing more chaotic as Noah puts his mouth to my neck and presses ever so lightly. I hold in a sigh.

  “I’ve never done one before…” My voice is but a breath when I respond. “But I could be open to the suggestion.” I lean my head back, giving him greater access, my body humming with need as his lips move slowly, forming circles on my skin. “What’ll you give me for it?”