Silver Tears

by Camilla Lackberg

  David was breathing more and more quickly, groaning loudly, and now his eyes were shut and his hands were around her head, his fingers deeply buried in her hair.

  “I can’t wait any longer—I want to come inside you,” he murmured.

  She lay down on the bed with him on top of her, between her legs, pushing into her—he slid forward and slowly, inexorably slowly, he penetrated her. It felt absolutely incredible. Now it was her turn to groan. She felt his warmth between her legs, his hardness, his desire.

  When he was almost fully inside her, he suddenly pushed in fast and hard—all the way—and she felt his weight on top of her. With his mouth at her ear, his warm breath on her cheek, he thrust into her while she wrapped her legs around him. She held his hips firmly, helping him to find his rhythm, pushing her hips against him—she wanted more, she wanted all of him.

  Then he pulled out of her.

  “I don’t want to come yet. You turn me on so damn much. I want to taste you.”

  She opened her legs, and licked the fingers on his right hand. He began to slowly stroke her. She raised her head—she wanted to see him touching her. He stroked her clitoris before slowly inserting two fingers into her, then three. She gasped, groaned.

  David withdrew his fingers from her. She whimpered—she was close to coming now. He pushed her legs farther apart and brought his face closer. He let the tip of his tongue playfully toy with her clitoris. Faye tried to press her hips toward him, but he gently held her down with his hands on her legs. His tongue was gentle but resolute, applying more and more pressure to her clitoris, moving in circles. He was pushing her over the edge—she grasped the sheets hard and her back arched. When he put his fingers inside her, she felt the orgasm building—it was verging on painful, the boundary between pleasure and pain was just a hair’s breadth, and she twisted her head back and forth as he brought her ever closer to the brink.

  When Faye came she cried out. He continued, increasing his intensity while her entire body shook and she contracted around his fingers.

  When the orgasm had finally stopped washing through her, her whole body relaxed, but Faye didn’t want to rest. She wanted him inside her.

  The swell outside made the boat sway. Faye turned around. She got onto all fours. At first, she hit her head on the low cabin ceiling, and both she and David laughed. She lowered herself a little and curved her back inward, turning her head so she could see him approaching her from behind. But he didn’t take her right away. Instead, he caressed her ass—tenderly, lovingly.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  “Fuck me,” said Faye, wiggling her hips at him.

  David stroked her buttocks again, then he took hold of her hips and pushed his cock deep inside her. Despite the fact that Faye had just come, she was still just as turned on by him—she wanted more.

  “Fuck me, David,” she said huskily. He didn’t hold back on obeying her.

  Afterward, they collapsed onto the bed and enjoyed the warmth of each other’s bodies. David pulled her hair away from her neck and kissed her on her most sensitive spot, behind her ear. She giggled—it felt wonderful, but it was also ticklish. He rolled off her and lay on his back, his hand on the curve of her spine.

  “I’m sweaty,” she said, lying on her side so that his hand was on her hip.

  He reached out and caressed her cheek tenderly.

  “Do you know how amazing you are? How beautiful you are?”

  “No, I think you’ll have to tell me.”

  “I promise I will. Over and over and over again.”

  Faye realized she was smiling as she lay with her back to him. She blinked away tears. She told herself she couldn’t fall for a man again—even if she had begun to fear it was already too late.

  Faye got out of the elevator and took slow, expectant steps toward the heavy door. She didn’t miss the old apartment. It contained far too many memories. Jack had managed to become a part of that too. This apartment was going to be just hers.

  The keys weighed heavily in her hand. She loved the feeling of newness—how unspoiled it was. Even though she was only renting the apartment, she had been given permission to repaint.

  She smiled when she put the key in the lock, thinking about the night before with David and everything they had done together.

  When she opened the door, she detected the scent of fresh paint. She had never thought she would love that smell so much, but she did. The apartment was virgin territory. Hers to conquer.

  Kerstin was in the apartment next door. She would still be nearby. Family. But this was hers. Just hers.

  Faye unlocked the black security gate and stepped inside, taking off her Jimmy Choos and placing them on the walnut shoe rack in the hallway. Slowly, cautiously, she walked into the apartment, which opened up before her—big and airy.

  The whole place was more than two thousand square feet in size. Maybe it was a little over the top just for her, but after all those years in a gilded cage she wanted air and space around her more than anything else. She had loved this apartment from the moment she had set eyes on it on the rental site—it felt like her even if it was just a rental.

  The kitchen was reminiscent of a farmhouse kitchen, but a modern version. Philippe Starck, Gaggenau, and Le Cordon Bleu created the right blend. The big wooden table with long benches made from the same weathered wood had been custom-ordered from a carpenter on Södermalm. She ran her hand over the tabletop. She loved the feeling.

  When she reached the living room, she smiled at the sight of the enormous emerald-green velvet sofa. The room had been painted in light, muted colors that made for a relaxing feeling.

  She went over to the window and spent a while gazing across the rooftops of Östermalm before slowly continuing her tour of the rooms in the apartment. It was going to be her home while she worked on the American expansion and saved Revenge. She now had two homes. One in Italy and one here. Both were important but in different ways. Half her heart was in Italy, where Julienne and her mother were. But half of her heart would always be here. She had made Stockholm her town from the very first moment she had arrived. Julienne had been born here, taken her first tentative steps here. Stockholm was her and Chris’s town. They had shared laughter, adventures, successes, misfortune, and deepest sorrow here.

  This apartment was going to be her fortress, her stronghold.

  She had come home.

  Faye’s pulse quickened as she entered through the main street door on Birger Jarlsgatan. When she saw Revenge’s logo—the ornate R—she forced back a wave of emotion. On her way through the open-plan office, she smiled at the young women greeting her.

  Her body was buzzing when she opened the door to her office—she loved this space where she had created magic and built an empire.

  And it was from here that she had orchestrated Jack’s fall. Conquered him. Taken over Compare, the company he’d built using her ideas, the company she’d helped him set up, only for him to claim all the credit and cast her aside.

  She placed her handbag on the desk and sat down in the chair, then opened her laptop. She glanced through the sheet of glass at the twenty employees at their desks. Ten or so new hires had arrived—she knew their names since she had been emailing with them, and she appreciated finally having the chance to see them in reality. They were women of all ages. Talented, multilingual, self-starters, and professional. Modern women, full of self-confidence.

  Revenge’s revenues were going to set new records, and as she sat there gazing at her employees, she thought to herself that there wasn’t really any need to expand. Why risk all this? Wasn’t it better to focus everything on stopping the buyout?

  Financially, Julienne’s future great-grandchildren’s prospects were secured. But she knew that Chris would have loved to see Faye fulfill her dream of taking on America. And the Skavlan interview had exceeded all expectatio
ns. Their inbox was full of financiers who wanted a slice when Revenge took the step across the Atlantic. They were so incredibly close to sealing the deal with their partners in the USA. Much closer than she had let on. But she wanted to have the right investors on board. People who would allow her free rein to operate as she saw fit—and even more important, people who did good in the world. People with a good center, as Chris used to say.

  Sometimes she remembered Chris’s smile, heard her laugh, felt her firm hand in hers. If she closed her eyes right now, she could almost imagine that Chris was standing beside her. Her throat tightened and Faye brushed away tears. The melancholy was back.

  What was the point of the money and success if she was forced to be apart from the people she loved? While she might like those female employees out there, they hadn’t been there for her when she was a nobody—before she became a billionaire. And if it all went to shit, they would pick up their designer bags and abandon her without so much as blinking. A company, just like a relationship, should be based on loyalty. But the fact was that she had given more of herself to Julienne—and prioritizing her personal life had caused her to loosen her hold on Revenge.

  She glanced at the desk and jumped. She had ten missed calls from Kerstin—she must have set her mobile to silent. With butterflies in her stomach, she called back.

  “I’ve found out who’s behind the purchases,” Kerstin said right away.

  Faye swallowed.

  “Yes?” she said as calmly as she could.

  “Henrik Bergendahl.”

  “But that can’t be…”

  Faye closed her eyes and sagged against the backrest. Jack’s former business partner. Shouldn’t she have seen this coming? Even though Henrik was now more successful than ever, he had been in a bad place for a while. But she hadn’t given him a thought.

  “And that’s not all,” Kerstin continued. “I’ve just found out that Irene Ahrnell has sold her holding to him.”

  FJÄLLBACKA—THEN

  I hurried home from school. Dad was going to Dingle to get the car repaired and wouldn’t be home until late. That meant a few rare hours of freedom.

  Mom had promised me that we would sew. Grandma had told me that Mom had long dreamed of becoming a dressmaker. Even when she had been little she had made amazing fashion creations for her Barbie dolls. Now she only had time to sew household necessities, but she had begun to teach me.

  I wasn’t really all that interested in learning to sew. But when we sat side by side in front of Mom’s Husqvarna sewing machine that Dad had let her buy after much pleading, it was as if we were in our own little bubble. I would watch in fascination as she threaded the machine with practiced and competent hands, showed me which buttons ensured straight stitching, which ones created zigzags, which seams to use where, and how to tie off the thread when you were done. I loved every minute of it.

  Today, she had promised to help me make a pair of harem trousers. I had smuggled in some shiny purple fabric from the sewing shop, and I was picturing how beautiful they would be when they were done.

  When I entered the house it was completely silent. I called out cautiously, not entirely certain that Dad wasn’t at home. But no one replied.

  I looked around the hall. Mom’s coat was hanging on the hook. And her shoes were neatly stowed on the pine shoe rack. Something within me shifted anxiously.

  “Mom, are you at home?”

  Still no answer. It would be another hour or so before Sebastian got home. Mom and I were supposed to have a long time to ourselves—a rare gift—and I knew that she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She loved our brief stints at the sewing machine. Perhaps she’d gone for a nap?

  I carefully climbed the stairs to Mom and Dad’s bedroom. The steps creaked but no one seemed to hear. I turned right and saw that the bedroom door was shut, which made me feel relieved. She had probably just lay down for a bit.

  I gently opened the door. Yes. She was in bed. Her face was turned away from me. I crept into the room quietly—as quietly as I could—still not sure whether I should leave her to sleep or wake her. I knew she would be disappointed if we missed our time with the sewing machine.

  When I reached her side of the bed, at first I merely frowned. Mom’s eyelids were fluttering, as if she were falling asleep. Then something on the floor caught my attention. A white bottle. The lid was lying beside it. I bent down and picked up the bottle. Sleeping tablets.

  Panic struck. I shook Mom but she didn’t react.

  My thoughts raced but at the same time a clarity and calm descended on me. I knew just what I had to do.

  I leaned her over the side of the bed, her face pointing down, and I pushed my fingers into her mouth, farther and farther down into her throat. At first nothing happened. Then she suddenly began sobbing against my fingers and eventually I felt warm vomit gushing over my hand and onto the floor.

  Tiny, tiny pieces of the tablets were in the midst of the mess, mixed with spaghetti from lunch. I continued to keep my fingers in her throat until there was nothing left to come up except bile. Then I pressed her head against my breast.

  While her dismal sobs echoed between the walls, I cradled my mother in my arms as if she were a child. I had never hated my father more than in that moment. And I knew two things. That I would never be able to tell her what Sebastian had done. And that I had to get us away from them at any cost.

  “Is there a law in this universe that says everything has to go to hell at once?”

  Kerstin poured a cup of tea for Faye. Broms was full of patrons breakfasting. The noise and her own frustration were giving Faye a headache.

  “I think you’re referring to Murphy’s law,” Kerstin said. “But yes, I have noticed during the course of my life—which has been somewhat longer than yours—that things have a tendency to clump together. Happiness clumps together. Grief clumps together. Accidents clump together.”

  “Then we’re definitely seeing some clumping right now,” Faye muttered while sipping her tea with a grimace. “Who drinks stuff like this of their own free will? I need a strong coffee.”

  She stopped a passing waitress and hissed:

  “A cappuccino, please.”

  “Have some food.” Kerstin nodded at the table. They had ordered sourdough, boiled eggs, yogurt and muesli, and fruit salad.

  Faye shook her head.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Kerstin ate in silence while Faye waved irritably at the waitress, who still hadn’t brought the cappuccino. She had barely slept a wink all night.

  “Don’t take your frustration out on the staff,” Kerstin said.

  “I’ll do as I please.”

  Faye finally made eye contact with the waitress, who quickly rushed off toward the kitchen.

  The sun was shining outside the window. People were hurrying about, focused on their own things, and for a moment Faye wondered whether they—just like her—were living lives in which they were being torn between hope and despair.

  “You need to talk about it instead of yelling at people,” said Kerstin. “Irene went behind your back despite her promises. She sold to Henrik—Jack’s old partner.”

  Faye thumped her fist on the table. She wasn’t angry at Kerstin or the staff. She was just angry.

  “I’m getting chia pudding,” she said, standing up.

  She wasn’t really hungry, just as she had told Kerstin, but she needed some time alone to gather her thoughts. She stood in the long line and got angrier with every passing minute. When she eventually got to the front she ordered a chia pudding with everything on it: blueberries, cranberries, and coconut flakes.

  When she sat back down at the table, Kerstin looked at her without saying anything. Faye not only polished off the chia pudding, but everything else too, taking huge bites. Once the food was inside her stomach in one big mass, she caught her
breath and leaned back. Only then did she realize that she had finally received her cappuccino.

  “First things first,” she said. “I can’t understand why Irene sold. She must barely have finished digesting the food she ate at our lunch before she did it. I’ve always considered her loyal and honest. I don’t get it.”

  “There must be something more in it,” said Kerstin. “But that’ll have to wait. Right now we can only contend with the fact that she has actually sold.”

  “And to Henrik,” said Faye despondently, knocking back the cappuccino.

  She raised the cup toward the waitress.

  “You’ll end up with a stomachache,” Kerstin said dryly.

  “I can’t end up with more of a stomachache than the one I’ve already got. I’ve made so many mistakes, Kerstin. That’s what gives me a stomachache. I underestimated Henrik’s hatred of me. I underestimated Revenge’s vulnerability. And I overestimated the loyalty of our shareholders.”

  “Both you and I made mistakes in that case. I didn’t see this coming either.”

  “True. But to be perfectly honest, that doesn’t make it any easier to take.”

  Faye was uneasy within her own skin and she stood up. Behind her, the waitress set down a new cappuccino on the table, but Faye just carried on—away from everything.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked at it. The number wasn’t saved in her contacts, but she still recognized it. It was Yvonne Ingvarsson.

  “Yes, what do you want?” Faye said abruptly.

  The woman on the other end took a deep breath. Faye thought that she almost sounded expectant.

  “I’m afraid I have to notify you that there was an escape from a prison transport earlier today. One of the prisoners who escaped was your ex-husband, Jack.”

  PART TWO

  Aftonbladet can now reveal that one of the two escaped prisoners is the convicted murderer and former financier Jack Adelheim. He was found guilty two years ago of the murder of his daughter. Prior to his conviction, he was the CEO of the scandal-hit investment company Compare, which he founded. He was previously married to businesswoman Faye Adelheim.