by Stella Noir
Crux: A Dark Romance
Stella Noir
Contents
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Epilogue
Thank you!
Copyright © 2016 by Stella Noir
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Prologue
crux krʌks, noun
1 the decisive or most important point at issue.
I’m scared.
My heart beating, fast, too fast.
What have we done what have we done what have we done?
I look at the mess we’ve made, look at all the blood splattered around us.
I look at the man I love, my heart threatening to throb right out my chest.
“I didn’t meant to,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding slightly, my eyes crazed. “Okay, okay, okay, okay.”
I repeat the simple word over and over again as if saying it so many times will actually make it all better. But it doesn’t. It just doesn’t.
The bottle drops out of his hand and he looks at his bloodied palms. I just stand there, useless, helpless. I look at the unmoving heap on the floor and I feel the panic seeping through my pores like a toxic perfume.
“I need to get out,” I mutter and stumble towards the door that leads up from the basement, almost falling on the stairs until his strong arms catch me. I tremble and shake and whimper, but he helps me get out. Takes me outside where the fresh air hits me like …
I’d rather not say like what.
He holds my hair back while I puke on the grass outside the building.
Then, he wraps me up in his arms, not caring about the fact that I’m all gross and dirty, me not giving a fuck that he has another man’s blood on his fingers.
“We’ll fix it,” he says softly. “We’ll make it better.”
“You already did,” I admit, and look up into his wide eyes. His pupils are so dilated I can only see blackness where there’s usually color. His mouth is slightly parted, like he’s waiting for my kiss.
So I obey. I do what I want to do, what needs to be done.
I lean forward, pressing my feverish lips against his, crushing him against me as we fold together perfectly, mold, shape, form one perfect soul instead of two desperate, broken ones.
I kiss him like he’s my lifeline, my tongue playing with his, tormenting him. I bite his lip hard, tasting his blood.
And then I’m sick again in the grass.
And he holds me as I cry.
He holds me when I whimper.
Always holds me.
Happy, sad. My sweet boy.
Then they come for him, like I knew they would.
They scream and they shout.
They take him away, literally tearing him from my arms as I scream his name over and over and over again. Our eyes stay connected for as long as they can, and he silently mouths my name.
“Lola,” his lips say.
“Killer,” the others scream.
“Lola,” he silently promises.
“Murderer!” someone shouts.
“Lola,” he says goodbye.
“You’ll die for this!” someone condemns him as he is taken away.
And then I’m falling, falling, falling.
We’ve done it.
We’ve done something so bad, so fucked up. There’s no going back from this, and no one will ever believe me if I tell the truth. They’ll say I’m a filthy liar. Like they said before.
And he’s gone, stashed in a car, and I’m lying on the grass, someone splashing cold water on my face. It doesn’t help. Doesn’t calm me down.
And only when my throat feels like it’s bleeding from the inside do I realize that the shrill screams are coming from my mouth.
And then it’s all over.
He’s gone.
The man, dead.
Me?
I’m by myself.
All alone.
Left in the darkness.
Chapter 1
On the day of my engagement party, my past comes to haunt me in full force. And I’m not someone who enjoys reliving moments from years ago, so when I see Dylan’s face, it feels like a truck going at full speed has hit me.
His face knocks the air out of my lungs and I gasp audibly as people turn to stare at me curiously. Are you so desperate for some drama? I think angrily, my fists already clenching by my sides. But on the outside, I’m the perfect Southern bride, offering everyone a polite smile and clutching my fiancé’s hand even more tightly.
I focus my eyes on Matthew. Matthew Roberts, my ever-so-perfect, wonderful, patient husband-to-be. He’s all that I want. All that I ever needed.
But why is my heart pounding for the man I just saw a glimpse of a second earlier?
“Lola - are you okay, sweetheart?” Matthew whispers in my ear as he presses a soft kiss against my cheek. I’m quick to nod, smiling softly and obediently like a good little wife.
“Of course, of course,” I offer quickly and he retreats with a satisfied smile. It’s so easy to fool Matthew. Always was. If he knew what was actually going on in the darkest, deepest corners of my mind, he would not be this unconcerned, I think darkly.
I convince myself, just like I always do, that Dylan’s face was nothing but a mirage. A stupid, silly childhood wish that will never come true. He’s gone, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me. And it’s pointless to imagine him here, on one of the most important days of my life.
He may have fixed it all when we were kids, but I am twenty-three now, and no one can fix me, though many have tried … And least of all, a child with a naughty smile and a penchant for smacking me straight on the lips when I least expected it.
So I do what I always do, what I do best lately.
I listen.
I smile.
I nod.
I obey.
; Because what I’ve become is a perfect little doll, orchestrated by those around me to do as they please. And I’m damn good at it, if I do say so myself.
But then I gasp again.
Because fuck, that was Dylan’s face. Again.
“Lola! Dear!” Matthew’s mother gushes over me worriedly. “Are you quite alright?”
I nod weakly and offer a smile, but I can see from the old viper’s face she’s suspecting something. “I just need to powder my nose, if you’ll excuse me?” I offer a lame excuse and after an awkward pause, she nods, tight-lipped.
Sometimes I feel like I’m getting married to this witch, not her handsome, perfect son Matthew Roberts.
I exhale loudly and quickly make my way away from the small group that has gathered around my soon-to-be-in-laws. I can literally feel the crone’s eyes on me, so I make to leave for the powder room, but as soon as her watchful eyes are off of me, I head outside of the hotel, through the big hall and into the real world.
I lean against the wall of the hotel and sigh. I’m exhausted. My legs hurt from these impossibly high heels. And I want a smoke very badly.
And I want to know why I keep seeing Dylan … He is a thing of the past, and I’ve done my hardest to keep him buried there. Deep inside my memories, where he can’t catch a glimpse of the light. He always loved the darkness …
With a moan, I unbuckle the belt on my T-strap stilettos, exhaling as relief from the pain floods me. When I set my foot back down, I stumble on the strap and nearly topple over, but a pair of strong hands catches me before I connect with the sidewalk.
“Are you quite all right, Lola dear?” someone asks mockingly and my eyes shoot up into the stranger’s face.
Only he is not a stranger.
Instead, I know every single crevice of his face – the way it was before.
His jaw, which used to be round, is chiseled.
The hair that used to be too long and floppy is cropped, shaved at the sides and long on the top. It’s no longer sandy blond, but instead a dark chestnut color.
But those eyes.
Those perfect, steel grey eyes are still very much the same.
“Dylan,” I half-moan, half-stutter, and he grins that perfect smile at me. He always did have an amazing smile.
And suddenly, the past really does crash into the future, carrying me off on waves of confusion and … joy. Pure joy.
Instead of leaping into Dylan’s hug – which I’m sure would amuse him – I stumble backwards in shock and he has to catch me once again.
“You’re still as clumsy as can be, as far as I can see,” he teases me and I just stare and stare.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to get out.
“Your engagement party?” he says like he’s talking to a mentally challenged person. “You invited me, remember?” He pulls a gold and champagne colored invite from his pocket, all crumpled and falling apart. It’s absurd in his hands, and despite the crazy situation, a smile finds its way on my lips.
“I did,” I nod slowly.
He shrugs and tucks the invite – or what’s left of it – back inside his pocket. “How could I not turn up for the biggest party little Lola will ever have?” he teases me relentlessly, just like he always does.
I smile shyly and look down, because right now, staring at his face hurts just a tad too much. And just as I think I might get away with it, just when I feel like maybe I’ll be okay, I feel tears pricking my eyes and spilling over, hitting my cheeks with their coldness.
Dylan reaches for me, but I recoil from his touch.
“Get away from me,” I murmur quietly, but just loud enough for him to overhear my words.
“Lola,” he says calmly, his hands outstretched, reaching for me. Always reaching for me …
“NO!” I say, a little too loudly, because a few passersby turn their heads towards us. I shrink away from their looks and I position my gaze on Dylan instead. “You left me. You never came back. You didn’t care what happened. You just think of yourself,” I spit out.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he says with his trademark smirk. “Surely that shows some care?”
“You’re about seven years too late,” I hiss at him. And then I turn away and walk back inside, towards my mother-in-law from hell, towards my fiancé – towards the inevitable future.
I’ve fought for it, and I damn well deserve it.
Chapter 2
I return inside, smile sheepishly at my fiancé and refuse to look at his mother. I stand by his side, politely accepting compliments, being the perfect doll I am.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan return to the room, but I refuse to pay him any attention. I’m too busy being perfect, perfect perfect.
He may think I’m the girl he left that summer day, but I’ve come a long way.
And Dylan Rawlings will not make me weak at the knees once again.
This is quickly proven wrong by the very fact my knees are actually shaking, but I refuse to acknowledge it, ignoring the strange looks Mrs. Roberts is throwing my way every so often.
“Thank you,” I repeat over and over again, until my throat is sore with the pain of those two little words. Finally, I’ve had enough.
I tug on Matthew’s sleeve, careful to do it when his mother isn’t watching. He looks at me with a big smile.
“Yes, honey?” he asks expectantly, pressing another peck to my forehead affectionately.
“I’m tired, Matt,” I moan, and I really am. I’m tired of pretending, tired of this crowd. All I want is to get in bed in one of Matthew’s old shirts, cradling a pint of ice cream. “Do you think we can leave anytime soon? It’s getting a little late.” I proceed to give him the most pleading puppy-eyed look I can muster up.
He looks at me for a moment and then his features soften momentarily. I wait, wait if his eyes will find his mothers, but he’s overwhelmed with concern with me and I triumph.
“Of course,” he says softly, clutching me a little closer. “We can get going now. Did you have a nice time?”
I think of all the fake people I met today, the fake smiles, fake well wishes, and fake everything. I think of my own family, none of who bothered to show up today. I think of my nonexistent friends.
The only person who showed up is Dylan.
And in the end, he is the only one that matters – and I even managed to fuck that one up.
“Yes, a lovely time,” I lie smoothly, offering him a tired smile. I’m going to need to sleep for 14 hours after all this, I think darkly.
Matthew is pleased by this, nods at me and begins to make our excuses with the group we’re currently talking to. I feign being sick from too much champagne when the old crone comes over, and even though she eyes me suspiciously, she doesn’t say much. She gives me another tight-lipped smile, which, in her world, means I haven’t disappointed her as much as I usually do today.
Thank fuck for that.
Matthew gets my coat and I wait in the hall of the hotel where the reception was held, thinking why we decided to do this in the first place. It was only to please Matt’s mother, and as far as I’m concerned, it was a waste of time.
All of it, apart from one person, one conversation …
One threatening love interest that has materialized in front of me this very moment.
“Dylan, I’m tired,” I sigh.
But he doesn’t respond, not in the way I expect him to. Instead he does something I’ve wanted him to do ever since I first saw him in this place, so far away from the life I lead when we knew each other.
He leans in and grips my hips tightly, pulling me into him. It’s rough, it’s needy, and it’s everything I want him to be. But instead of claiming my lips with his as he has done so many a times, he presses a kiss fiercely to my check.
There’s softness to it. Softness I never knew Dylan to have.
He lingers next to me for a moment, standing too close to me for comfort. My heart is beating irregularly and I’m scared, deli
rious and I want more. Finally, our eyes meet, and my head fills with questions.
Who have you become?
Do you still remember?
Do you regret what we did?
Do you still dream of me?
But before I can ask any of those questions, Matthew drapes a coat over my shoulders and I shudder with the sudden contact of fur on my skin. I try not to vomit at the mere thought of wearing a dead animal, just like always – but when Mrs. Roberts bestows such a beautiful gift upon you, you just don’t say no, according to Matthew.
“What am I interrupting here?” Matt asks good-naturedly, but he squeezes my shoulders a little too tightly. I can see Dylan’s brows shoot up, but the expression is replaced by his loveable smile as he offers my fiancé a hand to shake.
“Dylan Rawlings,” he says cheerfully. “And you must be Matthew Roberts. I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Lola’s friend from childhood.”
Matt shakes his hand I can once again see he’s trying to astern his dominance by squeezing too tight. The corners of Dylan’s mouth turn up.
“But Lola hasn’t mentioned you,” Matt says sadly, but the smug tone is obvious. “I don’t know of any childhood friends. Let alone boys,” he says with a throaty laugh.
I giggle nervously and look pleadingly at Dylan, asking him for help with my eyes.