I didn’t reply, now understanding why he hated me so much. McAvoy was the boy.
He brushed my hair aside as I fell onto my back, my blood now painting the cell floor. “When you see her in Hell,” he said, giving me a smile, “say hello from me.” He pushed up and left my cell, leaving me to die.
***
My alarm went off, waking me up. I hit it off my bedside table, just wanting it to shut up, for everything to shut up! I brought my hands to my head, my nightmare still fresh—just like the memory. My cell mate had found me, getting help in time. I was taken to the hospital for surgery, the scar on my back testament to my close brush with death. I’d stayed there until I was well enough to be moved to the prison infirmary, but not before I’d told the authorities what Marnie and McAvoy had done. As a result, Marnie was moved to another prison, her sentence extended for attempting to murder me. But McAvoy had gotten off, Marnie claiming she’d acted alone. My statement ended up being written off as the story of a delirious woman on the verge of death. Either way, I was moved out of General and into the protected unit. It had been a massive relief, Marnie in a way doing me a favour. Although I’d had crippling nightmares after the stabbing, it was still worth it just to get out of General. The relief of being in the protected unit had been immense, so much so that I’d broken down into uncontrollable sobs. I was able to walk around without fear, without people glaring at me, judging me. They might not have liked me, but there was no threat in their stares, only the understanding that if any of us left the protected ward, we’d be dead women walking.
I leaned over the bed and picked up my alarm clock, about to place it back on my bedside table, but instead went still. A vase filled with the most gorgeous roses was sitting on it, right next to where my alarm clock had been. They were the brightest of reds, with a pink ribbon tied around the crystal vase. I put the clock down and plucked the small card off the vase, finding a typed message inside:
Roses are red like apples
The type that are given to teachers
I shot up straight, the words hitting me, no explanation needed. I scrambled out of bed, bolting for Georgie’s room.
I banged on her door, yelling, “Georgie, wake up!” When she didn’t reply, I banged louder. “Georgie!”
“What?!” she hollered back.
“Who gave you those roses for me?”
“What roses?”
“The ones you put by my bed.”
Movement came from the other side of the door, then it cracked open. A sleepy-eyed Georgie glared through the doorway at me, her thick brown hair sticking out in all directions, her curls not tamed by products.
“What are you going on about?” she snapped.
“The vase of roses you put by my bed.”
“I didn’t put any damn roses there.”
My worry shot up a thousand notches. “Stop playing with me, Georgie, this isn’t funny.”
“No, you stop playing with me.” She pushed past me, her shorty-short pyjama pants riding up her butt as she marched into my room.
I followed, picking up the card off my bed. “Read it.” I thrust it out at her. “Would I write this for a trick?”
She took the card, her eyes widening. “What the fuck?” she gasped, now looking wide awake. “You found this by your bed?”
“When I woke up. It was stuck to the vase of roses,” I said, pointing at it.
She swore in Fijian Hindi, her Kiwi accent not diminishing the harsh words. She went to my window, pulling the curtains across. “You left your damn window open.”
“No, I didn’t, and even if I did, this isn’t a normal breakin. The person knows who I am.”
Fear filled her hazel eyes. “Do you think it’s…” Her words drifted off, the name not needing to be said.
The star of my nightmare.
Marnie.
I shook my head, instantly dismissing her. “She’s not getting out for a very long time, plus she would’ve stabbed me in my sleep, rather than leave roses with a cryptic message.
“What about McAvoy? You said he helped Marnie hurt you.”
My mind went to the guard, thinking it was possible, but not understanding why he’d do something like this. “If it was him, why now? He could’ve gotten to me years ago.”
“Either way, we have to phone the cops.”
She raced out of the room. I followed her, watching in stunned disbelief as she snatched up the phone, speaking to the emergency services within seconds. She explained what had happened, snapping out that someone had broken into our house while we were sleeping, leaving a threatening note.
I sat down at the kitchen table, not looking forward to explaining to the police why the note was threatening.
7
Dante
The blond man who’d bumped into me the day before stopped beside my breakfast table. I looked up at him, catching the scowl on his face before it changed into a false smile. Clearly, he didn’t like me, though fuck knew why, since I’d done nada to him. He’d ploughed into me, not the other way around. Or maybe he was like everyone else, assuming I was a criminal due to my tattoos, scum who should be in the slammer, not some fancy-schmancy rehab clinic.
“There’s a woman at the reception,” he said. “She won’t leave until she speaks with you.”
I groaned, hoping like fuck it wasn’t Kara, but knowing it probably was. Looks like it wasn’t me he was annoyed with, because Kara could put a scowl on anyone’s face—mine included.
“Is she blonde, gorgeous, and with a Croatian accent?” I asked.
He nodded, his floppy blond fringe falling over his eyes. He swept it off his face, giving me a hard stare, as though I was at fault for my ex showing up. He looked like a preppy shit, white-bread who wore polo shirts and drank lemon, lime, and bitters, pretending it was beer so he didn’t look like a prude. He probably went to church every Sunday, a good Methodist or Mormon boy… Yeah, I could imagine him knocking on doors when he was younger, trying to convert people. I smiled at the memory of what Jasper used to do when Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses came over. He would whip out his Satanic Verses, laughing his head off as the good li’l Christians ran like hell.
“We don’t normally allow visitors,” Preppy Shit added, “but she said it was urgent.”
“I bet it is,” I replied, pushing up from my chair, everything to Kara urgent.
I headed out of the dining hall and along the corridor, the counsellor, or whatever he was, following me to the reception area. As I rounded the corner, I spotted Kara by the large kauri counter, dressed in her usual attire: fuck all. Her fake leather micro-skirt barely covered her shapely arse, while her massive tits were trying to split apart her leopard-print top. Add all of that to her sky-high black stilettos, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had men propositioning her. But, although the wannabe prostitute getup was trashy as hell, I fucking loved the way she looked, Kara always giving me a boner. I just hated the way she treated me.
“What are ya doin’ ’ere, Kara?” I asked, making a beeline for her.
She spun around to face me, the sour expression on her gorgeous face instantly changing. She lit up like a born-again Christian seeing Jesus for the first time. Before I knew what was happening, she was launching herself at me, wrapping her legs around my waist. She started kissing me all over my face, probably covering every inch with her bright red lipstick.
“I missed you so much, Dante!” she cried, her Croatian accent thick.
I pried her off me, the guard behind Kara grinning widely. “What are you fuckin’ lookin’ at?!” I snapped at him, knowing damn well he was ogling her arse, her skirt having ridden up, Kara wearing a G-string.
He gave me a Can you blame me? shrug, then turned away, the smile still on his ugly mug. For some reason he looked familiar, his leathery skin reminding me of someone else. I just couldn’t put my finger on who that someone was. Either way, I had more important things to do than trying to remember who he looked like.
I turned my glare on my ex as she fixed her skirt. “I asked, what are ya doin’ ’ere?”
“I told you, I missed you,” she replied, looking hurt by my tone.
I grimaced, knowing I was being a right shithead to her. Despite being my ex, she’d still been one of the people who’d been there for me during the intervention.
“Yeah, sorry, still, you ain’t allowed ’ere,” I said. “And how did’ja even know where I wuz? Only Jade and Ash know, and those two wouldn’t tell you squat.” My manager/producer hated her with a passion, while my brother was a hard motherfucker who wouldn’t crack under pressure, and especially not from Kara. He was one person she couldn’t push around, Ash taking no shit from her.
“Sledge,” she said, mentioning my younger brother.
I frowned, wondering how Sledge even knew I was here, then the penny dropped. Ash would’ve told our li’l sister, who would’ve told her twin, and knowing Sledge, he would’ve blabbed it to Kara without thought. I shook my head, thinking Juliet should’ve known better than telling her twin. Sledge was incapable of keeping secrets due to his brain injury, the bullet having stolen his ability to censor himself. He’d been shot in the head while trying to save his boyfriend, my bro thankfully pulling through.
Kara’s face soured. “Why aren’t you happy to see me?”
“I’m in rehab, Kara,” I replied, avoiding saying the real reason. I didn’t just need to quit booze, I needed to quit her. I still loved her, just couldn’t deal with the abuse. “You know I’m not s’posed to have any outside contact,” I added.
“But I had to see you. I missed you so much.”
“So…” the blond counsellor spoke up behind me, “this isn’t an emergency.”
Kara turned her pale blue eyes on him, giving him an icy stare. “Of course it’s an emergency! I haven’t seen Dante in over week.”
“The conditions of his stay—”
She cut him off, “I don’t care what the conditions are! He’s my boyfriend, which means I should get to see him whenever I please.”
“I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Kara,” I said, frustrated with her.
Her eyes snapped back to me. “You will be once you get better,” she replied, her Croatian accent growing thick with emotion.
I shook my head at her. “No, Kara.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean no? There’s nothing stopping us from being together once you leave here.”
I shook my head again.
“Stop shaking your good-for-nothing head at me, Dante Rata!” she barked. “I’ve stood by you, waiting for you to get over Beth’s death—”
“Beth’s still alive!” I snapped, not believing she’d said that.
“Barely. I heard they’re going to pull the plug after she reaches full term.”
I stiffened at her insensitivity. “You’re a callous bitch.”
She waved her hand at me dismissively, the rosary tattoo wrapped around it extending to her forearm. “What I said wasn’t callous, you’re just oversensitive when it comes to that woman. And I don’t understand why you’re still so hung up on her. You admitted you loved me more, so get over it. Just because she’s got one foot in the grave doesn’t make her a saint. If anything, she’s more likely going to meet the Devil, than God.” She scowled at me. “Stop glaring at me, you know it’s true. She was a lying bitch who thought way too much of herself.”
“You fuckin’ lied to me way more than Beth,” I said, thinking it was rich of her. “The cameras in my room, your fake husband—”
“That wasn’t by choice. You know Craven threatened to kill my family if I didn’t do what he wanted,” she replied, mentioning our old boss. The man had ordered her to hook up with me when I was nineteen, so she could put cameras in my bedroom. He’d wanted to sell the videos to his clients, since he’d had an illegal porn business hidden in the dark net. But Kara had ended up falling for me, moving into my house without his permission. Craven had allowed it to happen for a while, then had forced her to leave me when his clients wanted me to fuck more than just her. It had devastated me when she’d walked out on me, leading me down a road of drunken debauchery, my sexual exploits now legendary. Then out of nowhere last year, she’d walked back into my life. Craven had ordered her to become my girlfriend again after my brother had told the prick we were cutting ties with him and moving. Craven had wanted her to move with us, so he could keep filming me without my knowledge.
“You can’t throw that back in my face,” she said. “Not to mention, I risked my life for you,” which was true, Kara almost taking a bullet for me in a game of Russian Roulette.
“Fine, but you’re still a nasty bitch.”
She clicked her tongue, giving me one hell of an eye-fuck, her gaze basically stripping me bare. “The right kind of nasty, baby, especially for you.”
I sneered at her. “Not bloody likely, so don’t you dare think you can swan back into my life and start where we left off. It ain’t gonna happen.”
She took a step closer. “You said you love me, so why not?”
“We’re not good together, Kara, you know that. It always ends badly.”
“It doesn’t have to, if you tried.”
My eyebrows shot up. “If I tried?”
“Stop repeating what I say, you know what I mean,” she said, reaching for my hand.
I whipped it back. “Yeah, for me to toe the line, doin’ everything you say. That’s what you mean. Which I have no intention of doin’. So, leave, Kara, before you ruin our friendship too.”
“I don’t want a friendship,” she spat out the word as though it was vile. “I want all of you.”
I shook my head at her. “You know that’s not gonna happen now.”
“Why?!”
“I can’t take the shit you throw at me.”
“This is about me knocking you over, isn’t it? That was an accident, Dante, so get over it.”
“It’s not just ’bout that shove, Kara, and you damn well know it. We’re too volatile together. It won’t work out.”
“Don’t you dare say that! You said you wanted to be with me, until that bitch lied about having your baby.”
“Leave!” I yelled, finally losing my shit, the continual mudslinging at Beth too much.
“I’m not leaving until you admit we’re meant to be together!”
I let out a choked laugh, thinking this took the cake, the woman delusional.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“What do ya expect me to do? You’re yelling at me, insulting me, and we’re meant to be together? Your words are a fuckin’ joke, Kara. You’re a joke.”
Her face turned red, anger warping her beautiful features. Then her hands whipped out, shoving me back hard, almost knocking me into the blond counsellor.
I righted my footing and stepped closer, lowering my head to her level. “This is exactly why we can’t be together. You can’t control yourself,” I growled out.
Guilt crossed her face. “I didn’t push you that hard, so stop making a hill out of a mountain,” she said, getting the saying wrong, her English not fully up to speed. But it didn’t lessen what she’d said, the woman always downplaying her actions.
“What ’bout the last time?” I snapped. “You pushed me so hard I wuz knocked unconscious. Or what ’bout that time you threw a knife at me?”
She blanched. “That was years ago, and you said you forgave me.”
“Forgiving you won’t stop the abuse.”
“Dante—”
“No, Kara, this is it. Leave.”
“No, Dante!”
She went to grab me, but I backed away, snapping at the counsellor, “My manager said no visitors.”
The counsellor moved towards her as I turned to leave, along with the security guard. I ignored her scream for me to stop, knowing this was it…
Our friendship was as dead as our relationship.
8
Clara
I climbed out of my car w
ith Georgie, the both of us late from talking to the police. The look on the officer’s face when I’d told him what the note meant was something I wanted to erase from my mind.
Disgust.
I knew I had to tell him, but his reaction, as well as his fellow officer’s reaction, had made me wish I hadn’t. I’d wanted to shrivel up, to disappear into nothing. It was bad enough being registered as a sex offender, but to see people’s reactions to it…
It was unbearable.
Georgie walked around my beat-up Civic, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
I shook my head, the roses and note having shaken me to the core, the cops’ reaction making it worse.
Georgie lowered her hand to the small of my back, rubbing it in a calming manner. “We should pack when we get home, go to my mate’s. She’ll let us stay until the cops find McAvoy.”
“That’s if it’s even him.”
“Who else could it be?”
My mind went to Tane Rata. “Maybe Dante’s dad found out that I work at the clinic. The roses could be a warning to stay away from his son?”
“From what you’ve told me about that mongrel, I don’t think so. He seems like the type to yell it in your face, rather than put a crystal vase filled with roses next to your bed while you sleep.”
“Then who? Because I just don’t see why McAvoy would leave it so long to come after me.”
“What about that bloke who threatened you after you got out? You said he told you to stay clear of Dante. You know, the one called Killen.”
A chill ran up my back at her words. “You mean Killer?”
“Yeah, yeah, him, the one you said wanted to give you a Joker smile.”
I swallowed, praying it wasn’t Jasper’s uncle, what he’d done bone-chilling. I’d woken up to find the man standing over me, holding a knife. He’d placed the tip of the knife to the corner of my mouth, what he’d said and done still freaking me out:
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