Saving Emma

by Banks, R. R.

  Right now, I have Carlyle backed in a corner, and he's waiting to see if I press him further into it or leave him a way out.

  I know that if I print the articles I have in mind, he'll come for me. That's a matter of when – not if. I just need to be sure that I'm ready when he does. Not that you can ever really be prepared for a serial killer to come calling.

  As I pack up some things, I notice Brice looking around, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with shame. I feel my cheeks flush and want to get out of here as soon as possible. Compared to his condo, I'm living in a shanty. It's small, cramped, and dingy.

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “I know my place isn't –”

  “You know, you really need to stop apologizing for what you have or don't have,” he says. “There's no need for you to be embarrassed about where you live. And if you think I'm judging you for it, you're totally wrong.”

  “Just – compared to you –”

  “And comparing yourself to others is the other thing you need to stop. I had a lot of privilege growing up. I was lucky. I know you didn't have the same childhood I did. Yeah, I was probably a prick about it back in the day. I'm sorry about that. But, I never judged you. Not once. Not then, not now.”

  I give him a smile, though I still feel slightly ashamed of my place. I did the best I could to make it a home, but it's nothing compared to how he lives. As I throw some things into a bag, I feel him behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and nuzzles my neck.

  “If there's one thing I wish you'd do, it's drop the chip on your shoulder about how poor you grew up,” he says.

  “Spoken like a boy who got everything they wanted as a kid,” I tease.

  “I'm actually talking about your dad,” he says. “I would have traded in all the stuff I owned if I could have had a father like him. Your dad cared about you. Intensely. More than life itself. I would have killed to have a dad who was even mildly interested in what I had to say, or what was happening in my life.”

  It's a perspective I've never considered before. I've always been so focused on the material things, like clothes and cars, that I never stopped to think about what I had that Brice envied. It's another of those things that's so simple, and yet, profound. I can't believe I never stopped to think about it before.

  “Anyway,” he says. “Got everything you need?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I think so,” I say. “Let's head out.”

  I follow Brice out to his car, letting him carry my bags for me. He puts them in the back seat and holds the door open for me. I give him a smile as I climb in, but my mind is still spinning with that brief little insight into his thinking – and mine.

  Apparently, I'm still clinging to a lot of baggage from the past, and I need to find a way to drop a lot of it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brice

  I sit in the large overstuffed chair beneath the window, watching Emma curled up in the comforter, sound asleep. I listen to her soft, steady breathing, which seems to mix perfectly with the sound of crashing waves upon the shore outside.

  Moonlight slants in through the windows, making her cool, alabaster skin seem to sparkle and glow. She looks like an angel with her dark hair fanned out around her on the pillow in my bed. I can't get over how exquisitely beautiful she is.

  I look out the window, watching the foamy shore break come up the sand. The night air is cool, and the taste of salt is heavy in the air.

  When I think about anything happening to Emma, it not only fills me with a profound sense of despair but a rage so hot and deep that I've never felt anything like it before. If Carlyle Hawkins lays a finger on her, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands. Damn the consequences.

  It all seems beyond crazy. Bizarre, even. But, not all that long ago, we were spitting fire at each other. We hated each other. And yet, here we are, Emma in my bed, me watching over her as an incredibly rich depth of emotion for her wells up inside of me. When I think of something happening to her, and how my life would be without her now, I feel empty. Totally hollow. My life wouldn’t be the same – nowhere close to it – without Emma Simmonds.

  Does that mean I love her?

  I don't know. I can't say I've ever been in love before, but I suppose that's what these feelings are.

  Ever since Emma waltzed back into my life, I've been a mess. My whole world has been turned upside down, and I never seem to think clearly or logically anymore. And that's not a bad thing. Before reconnecting with Emma, I felt stagnant. Trapped. Bored and restless. Everything was the same, day after day, and I was exhausted with the daily tedium of my life.

  Now though, with Emma in my world, things are changing. Damn, are they changing. And most of those changes are for the better. At least, I'd like to believe so.

  With Emma, I feel like I have a new lease on life. I feel an energy and a vigor that's been missing for so long. I feel a deep, burning passion inside of me I thought was long dead.

  It's for all those reasons and more that I will fight to the last to keep her safe. I'll lay down my life to make sure she's protected if I have to. I will give my last breath to make sure no harm comes to her. Emma Simmonds is a precious existence to me. She's special. She's touched and moved me in ways no other woman ever has before. And I want to make sure she has everything she could ever want in life.

  If that's what love is, then yeah, I guess I'm in love with her.

  “Can't sleep?”

  I look over and find her staring at me. Her onyx-colored eyes glint like dark jewels in the moonlight.

  “Not really,” I say.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I'm good. More importantly, are you okay?”

  A faint smile touches her lips. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I'm good.”

  “You're a terrible liar, you know.”

  “That makes two of us,” she says.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask.

  “Come back to bed.”

  I stand up and walk back to the bed, laying down beside her. Emma rolls over and puts her head on my chest. She trails her fingertips along my skin, tracing my tattoos idly. Her hair is soft and silky as I run my fingers through it. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to sort out my feelings.

  The potential of losing her flashes through my mind again, and it's almost unbearable. It sends a lance of pain straight through me. I can't lose Emma. I won’t have to. I will fight to the death for her. She's mine. I'm hers. Period. End of story.

  “Does this – us – scare you?” I ask.

  “A little,” she admits.

  “Why?”

  “It's all so unexpected,” she explains. “I never saw this coming. I've been so angry at you for so long, and to have – this – it's kind of turned my world upside down.”

  A soft, rueful chuckle passes my lips. “Tell me about it,” I say. “Not that I was ever angry at you or anything –”

  “I know what you mean,” she says. “Does it scare you?”

  “More than anything in my life.”

  “Why?”

  Somehow, the darkness brings out truths that can’t be revealed during the light of day. There's something comforting about being able to speak into the dark – like it has some magical power that can absolve you of your sins, and allow you to speak your truth without fearing the consequences.

  But, with Emma, I feel safe. I know I won't be judged. That she'll accept me – faults, flaws, warts and all. With Emma, I feel safe to be myself.

  It's such a simple thing – being able to be you – and yet, so few people live their truth. I had to learn to wear masks pretty early on. Being the college and NFL star, the public expects something of you. They expect you to be a certain way. Demand it, really. And if you don't give it to them, you're ridiculed for it.

  I found that it's much the same when working as an agent. The people you represent expect everything from you. They expect you to be their therapist, best friend, and family. For you to be available for them around th
e clock, regardless of what's going on in your personal life.

  In both roles, player and agent, I found that people expect you to not only live up to their ideals and expectations of you, but to not be a real person at all. You're expected to strip down your identity and conform to whatever – thing – they need you to be in that moment.

  With Emma though, I feel like I can be real. Like I can be myself. And that's okay. That's enough. It's such a strange, foreign concept that I don't really know what to make of it.

  Emma lays there with her head on my chest, listening to me put that all into words. All I can hope is that she understands, and hears the gratitude in my voice.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “For what?”

  “For opening up to me,” she says. “For letting me behind those high walls you surround yourself with. For letting me see the real you.”

  “And that doesn't make you want to run off into the night screaming?”

  “Hardly,” she says. “If anything, it brings me closer to you.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  She nods. “More than anything.”

  “Good,” I say, as I stroke her hair. “Because that's exactly where I want you.”

  We lay in silence for a few moments, adjusting to this new reality between us. A reality where, I guess, we're a couple. It hasn't been explicitly stated, but are these things ever? I mean, I guess some people run to Facebook and change their status, but I'm not that kind of guy. In fact, I've never been a relationship kind of guy, so I don't exactly know how it works. As strange as that is for a thirty-nine-year-old man to say, it's the truth.

  I don't know that we necessarily need to put a label on it right now. That tends to add pressure where there doesn't need to be. I think it's known between us that she's mine, and I'm hers. And for now, that's enough.

  “Are you afraid of Hawkins?” I ask.

  She nods again. “Yeah,” she says. “A little.”

  “Only a little?”

  “I know you'll protect me.”

  I put my fingers beneath her chin and lift her head up so she's looking at me. “With my life,” I say. “If it comes down to it, I will protect you with my last breath.”

  “I hope it never does.”

  “It won't,” I say.

  “You sound so certain.”

  “I am,” I reply. “Just know that I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Emma. I will keep you safe.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good.”

  We lay together in the silent stillness of the night for a few more moments before she stirs. She lifts herself up, flashing me a seductive, flirty smile. She brushes a few loose strands of hair from her face, biting her bottom lip. Without a word, she reaches out and grabs hold of my cock, squeezing it tightly through my boxers. It almost instantly starts coming to life, hardening beneath her touch. I let out a soft sigh of pleasure as she strokes me through the thin fabric, a bottomless pool of desire welling up within me.

  I open my mouth to say something, but Emma puts her finger to my lips to silence me. She shakes her head, continuing to touch me through my boxers. She leans over and opens the top drawer of my nightstand, fishing out one of the condoms inside. Quickly tearing open the wrapper, she pulls it out, and I lift my hips, helping her slide my boxers down my thighs.

  Leaning over me, she licks the tip of my cock, sending a spasm of pleasure shooting through me. Then she rolls the condom all the way down, squeezing and stroking my dick as she goes. The task complete, she slips out of the lacy boy shorts she's wearing and straddles me.

  Her eyes are filled with the rawest, purest desire I've ever seen. She kisses my mouth, guiding the tip of my cock to her opening, and rubbing her clit with it, moaning softly. I open my mouth again – and again, she silences me with a finger pressed to my lips.

  Emma positions herself above me, parting her lips with the head of my cock. Slowly, she lowers herself down on me, taking me deep inside of her. We both moan softly, as she starts to rise and fall on my cock. She plants her hands firmly against my chest for leverage, moving her hips, grinding herself against me, taking me impossibly deep inside. Her movements are slow and sensual, making my cock grow even harder. I run my hands up and down her body, relishing the feel of her smooth, flawless skin under my fingertips.

  Emma throws her head back, her sigh of pleasure soft, but intense. She leans forward again, her hair spilling down around us like a curtain. It's just the two of us, the rest of the world blocked out entirely.

  I cup her breasts, gently kneading them as she continues to ride me. My body is awash in sensation, the pleasure running through me like a river.

  Her lips are parted, a silent scream of pleasure written all over her face. I want to open my mouth, to cry out, and moan out loud. The pleasure is so intense that it's bringing me to the brink faster than I've ever gotten there before. Emma won't let me make a sound, though. She looks down at me, her lips parted, her breathing ragged, but silent otherwise.

  As I move my hips upward, Emma thrusts downward, taking me deeper inside of her. Her entire body tenses and begins to tremble as the muscles inside of her begin to clench and unclench around me.

  Emma throws her head back as her body vibrates on top of me, but she remains silent. My cock pulses deep inside of her, shooting thick streams of come into the condom as Emma takes it all. She's gripping my hands tight, squeezing hard, as the intensity of her orgasm overwhelms her.

  Slowly, we come down from the sex high, and our breath explodes from our throats. She falls forward, pressing her forehead to mine. Her dark, smoldering eyes bore into mine, and there is a look of absolute bliss and contentment on her face.

  “I love you, Brice Kelly,” she says.

  “I love you too,” I reply.

  There was a time – not all that long ago – when uttering those words was unthinkable to me. Things change though. Emma came storming into my life, tearing through it like a tornado through a trailer park. She turned everything in my world on its head – but, I like it. I'm embracing it. I'm adapting and rolling with the changes.

  And one of those changes is expressing exactly how I feel to Emma.

  Still straddling me, Emma lays her head down on my chest. I wrap my arms around her and stroke her hair as we bask in the afterglow and the energy created by those three words. We lay there in perfect silence, content and satiated, until sleep finds us both.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emma

  It's been a couple of days since the first article was published. It chronicled the murders themselves, and I explored the similarities between the three. I went out of my way to avoid mentioning suspects or anything along those lines. I only wanted to establish a link between the three murders, and hopefully prompt the police to investigate.

  “How are you holding up?”

  I look up and see Ava standing in the doorway of my office. She has a cup of coffee in hand and is leaning against the jamb. The picture of normalcy and calm. I can see the tightness around her eyes though. Though she's taking great pains to hide it, I can see the worry in her face. She knows we're rolling the dice here. We're gambling with my life.

  To that end, she hired a few extra security guards to patrol the building. At night, I go home with Brice, so I'm rarely, if ever, left alone. As far as my safety goes, I think it's pretty covered.

  “I'm good,” I say. “No weirdos popping out of dark corners to strangle me, so we're all good.”

  She laughs. “The piece is getting a lot of reaction,” she says.

  “That's what we wanted.”

  “Yeah, but not from the right people,” she says, her tone angry. “But, the comments section on the online piece is blowing up with all kinds of conspiracy theories about who it could be.”

  “And who's the leading candidate right now?”

  “Mayor Burris,” she says.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Great,” I say.

>   A man in an ill-fitting suit enters the building and right away, I know that he's a cop. It's just something about the way he carries himself. It screams it. Ava picks up on it right way too. He's an older man with a darker complexion, his black hair shot through with a gray, clean-shaven face, except for a thick mustache – he has a dignified air about him.

  The receptionist points to Ava, and the cop nods, and starts heading in our direction. Ava sighs and steps into my office.

  “Well, this should be fun,” she says.

  “You have a strange idea of fun.”

  “So I've been told.”

  The man enters my office, looking at the two of us carefully before introducing himself.

  “Deputy Chief Curtis Avilla,” he says. “Long Beach Police Department.”

  “Ava Drake, editor-in-chief,” she says, then motions toward me. “Emma Simmonds, lead investigative journalist.”

  “Ahhh,” he says. “The woman I wanted to speak with. May I sit down?”

  “Please,” I say, and gesture to the chair in front of my desk.

  Ava shuts the door and takes the other chair facing me. We all sit in a moment of awkward silence, until Deputy Chief Avilla finally speaks.

  “I read your article, Ms. Simmonds,” he says. “So did the Chief. And a lot of other people.”

  “That's great,” I say. “We're definitely looking to expand our readership.”

  He looks at me, his face expressionless as a stone. He's clearly not amused. I'm not sure if they beat a sense of humor out of him at the Academy, or if he was born that way.

  “LBPD Command thinks you're making some pretty bold assertions,” he says.

  “Just following where the story leads me,” I say.

  “And you're also jumping to some pretty big conclusions.”

  “Or, she's making some very solid connections,” Ava chimes in. “Connections that were maybe – missed – during the initial investigation.”