My admiration just turned into hate.
More hate to stir into the pit of my demons.
25
JAMES.
I need to be rid of this incessant need to make her talk. To tell me things I already know. It’s driving her away when I need to be luring her closer, and not only because of this fucked-up desire for her.
I text Otto.
Watch her.
The elevator opens, revealing Goldie.
“I’m not up for being nagged,” I warn, glancing at my phone when it dings. I ignore the message from Beth. Not tonight.
“Tough.”
“I’m taking Beau to the opera.” I push my phone away and head toward my gym. Since my method of relaxation has just left the building, I need to relax in another way.
“Are you crazy?”
“Insane,” I murmur to myself.
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because it’ll look fucking odd if I’m there solo,” I retort, turning when I reach the top of the stairs. Goldie has made her way to the bottom. “And we’d look a bit weird together.”
“Yes, I’m sure people will think you’re punching way above your weight, you arrogant fuck.”
“Such a lady,” I mutter, getting on my way. “Make sure Otto got my message.”
“He just left.”
“I want updates.”
“In case she sees her ex again?”
“My interest in that is only because he’s a copper.”
“Of course,” she practically sighs. “And while you’re balancing in the gym, can you try to balance your fucking head as well?”
I laugh to myself. I’ll try. God knows why Goldie’s still so fucking loyal to me. I’d never let anyone hurt her, she knows that, although she’s learned a lot from me since I stepped in, a total stranger, and ripped that lowlife rapist off her in that alley in London. She can defend herself, but this, me, my life, is now all she knows. She has a purpose now, beyond her time in the military. She has people, albeit limited people, who respect her and value her. She feels like she owes me. It’s been a long time since she’s seen me do something so contrary to the plan. Her anger is understandable. She won’t allow herself freedom until I find it for myself, and Beau Hayley is seriously screwing with that plan.
I push my way into the gym, heading straight for the horse. I take the handles, flexing my fingers, getting the best grip, and slowly pull myself up, bringing my knees into my chest, before unbending my arms and lengthening my legs until I’m vertical, my body straight. Blood rushes to my head, my balance faultless, and I remain in a handstand, arms at full length, my eyes closed.
Just focusing on remaining steady.
And, inevitably, with the absence of Beau here to distract me, my thoughts turn to a past I’ve tried and failed to forget.
To the shell who mourned his lost life for years after his family was wiped out. To the hollow man who drowned in alcohol and drugs. To the pitiful, broken mess who attempted therapy battling—and not defeating—his black thoughts.
And to the monster who was eventually born.
The monster I am now.
The monster I will always be.
26
BEAU
Sleep feels like a slow, unending torture. I close my eyes, I see him. I wipe him clear, I see Mom. I wipe Mom away, I see fire. Smell the stench of burning flesh. Hear her screams.
Hear my screams.
I fight it all from my dreams and see the letter denying me the answers Mom deserves. The answers I need.
I don’t need anything.
Except that.
A movement at my door pulls my attention to the wood, and I see the handle move ever so slightly. But Lawrence doesn’t come in. I sit up and grab my cell, checking the time. It’s seven. I’ve been lying here for hours at war with my head, battling with sense and reason.
I pull up Nath’s number and dial, falling back to the pillow. The sounds of a bustling coffee house seeps down the line when he answers, the gurgling of the machine, the scrapes of chairs on the floor. “They denied my appeal,” I say mechanically.
Nath’s silent for a brief moment, and for the first time I consider that he already knew. “Beau—”
“Did you know?”
A brief silence. A sigh. “I knew.”
I reach up to my forehead and try to rub away the headache that’s threatening. Of course he knew. And Ollie probably did too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask for the sake of it. I know why, and it isn’t only because it would have been top-secret information. Nath knows as well as I do that my life’s been hanging in the balance for two years, unable to move forward until I’ve found my peace. I’m trapped. Caged.
“Beau, you have to move on.”
“To what?” I ask. “What do I have to move on to, Nath?”
“Anything you want.”
Anything I want? I want my mom back. I want my life as I knew it back. I want faith and hope and daily justice. I can have none of it anymore.
“The MPD would have you back in a heartbeat. You’ve got too much potential for them to lose permanently.”
“You mean enough potential to stir more shit?” I ask. There’s only one reason the force would have me back now, after my relentless attempts to prove Mom’s death wasn’t a tragic accident. To keep me close. To keep an eye on me. To keep me quiet. No. “I won’t let this rest. Someone knows something, Nath.”
“You’re out of options.”
I close my eyes and swallow hard, refusing to accept he’s right. But there’s a power far greater than me at play here. I can’t beat them. But it’ll finish me off if I give up hope.
“You free tomorrow?” he asks softly. “Let’s push the boat out and do lunch as well as coffee.”
“Sure,” I mumble, getting up and pulling on my robe. It’s not Nath’s fault he works for an institution of liars. And he’s a good friend. One of the only ones I have now. Mom trusted him with her life. I trust him too. “Let me know what time and where.” I hang up and stare at the door. I can feel the tension in the house even locked away in my room. I can’t bear it. I look at the piles of apartment brochures on the sideboard. Perhaps it’s finally time to get my own place. A big glass box on top of a building, all spacious, peaceful, and light.
Maybe. Is that what I need? Or is it simply the glass man inside?
No.
I take a deep breath and leave my room, forcing my feet to take me to Lawrence before my head has a chance to foil my plan. I push the door to his bedroom open, finding him lying on the bed in his silk robe that’s embellished with flamingos. He’s twiddling his thumbs, chewing his lip. “You’ll get scabs on your lip and your lipstick will clog,” I say, pacing over and dropping to the mattress beside him. I turn my head on the pillow to face him. “You need a shave.”
He reaches up to his jaw and feels, grimacing. “I was too busy whittling about you last night. I forgot.” Reaching for my hand, he pulls it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. The arm of my robe slips down, revealing my welts. They’re still red. Still fresh. I don’t rush to cover them. “Tell me about him,” he says, shuffling down the bed and mirroring me.
I indulge him, if only for his sanity. Even if it might send me over the edge. “His name’s James.” And he has more secrets than me, which pretty much makes him the most enticing man I could find. And his ways in the bedroom make him all the more tempting. “We spent the first few days of our professional relationship avoiding each other’s eyes.” That’s a lie. I avoided. James goaded. “And then one evening when I was leaving, he said something that triggered something in me.”
“Triggered what?”
“Lara.”
Lawrence gasps, and I nod. He knows what I’m capable of. He knows I’m lethal when I put my mind to it. “Did you disengage him?”
“Yes.” I can’t help secretly smiling as I picture James’s head trapped between my thighs. “And he threw it back at me. Played me at
my own game.” I frown. It wasn’t my game. It was totally his game. “I was on my back before I realized I was moving. And then he kissed me.”
“And tied you up.” Lawrence reaches for my wrists, wincing when he turns them over.
“I asked for it.”
Did you though, Beau?
I fall to my back and stare at the ceiling. James wasn’t talking about what he did to me in the bedroom. He was talking about something else, and I’m so fucking furious that it’s playing on my mind.
You think you have bigger secrets than I do.
“It was nice. To be that lost, it felt freeing. While James played games with my body, my mind was wiped clean for the first time in a long time,” I admit.
“It can’t be healthy,” Lawrence whispers, and I turn my head on the pillow to find him.
“And this is?” I ask, motioning down my body. “This invisible cage I’m trapped in? The relentless need for retribution? The never-ending cycle of hate, pity, and anger? That’s healthy, is it?” My time with James made all of that vanish, if only temporarily. Not that it matters. It’s done. James and I are done. I lean over and peck my uncle’s cheek. “I’m not seeing him again, so you don’t need to worry.”
“Why? If he’s all that to you, why aren’t you seeing him again?”
I get up and go to the door. Because he started asking too many questions. Because he could become a habit. Because I’m a little bit afraid of who he is. “Because my wrists can’t take it,” I say on a smile, pulling the door closed on high, cheeky eyebrows. And as soon as the wood is between us, my face muscles give in to the effort it’s taking me to smile.
“Beau?” Dexter calls from downstairs.
I lean over the banister and find him at the front door in his blues, a box across his arms.
“Delivery for you.”
I frown and make my way down, pulling the lid off while it’s still in Dexter’s arms. I’m greeted by a pile of black lace. My frown deepens as I reach in and pull it out.
Dexter breathes in as the material unfolds, tumbling to the floor. A dress. “Good grief,” he says, taking it in. “Do not let Zinnea see that; it’ll be gone forever.”
I’m still staring at the gown, my mind blank, when I hear thundering footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Too late,” Dexter sighs.
“My God, would you look at that.” Lawrence swoops in and seizes the dress from my hands, holding it up. “Italian. I just know it.” He looks for the label and sings his joy when he discovers what he’s looking for. “I’ve never seen anything so beautifully made.”
I can’t see his face, the dress is concealing it, but I can hear his utter glee. I peek in the box, spot a card, and seize it while Lawrence and Dexter are distracted. Of course, I know who it’s from, but I don’t know why. Or what the heck I’m supposed to do with it. I wander to the kitchen while my uncles drool over the lace gown, pulling the card from the envelope.
Secrets are only secrets if no one knows about them. No one knows my secret.
I frown down at his handwriting. No one knows my secret. Therefore, it is, in fact, a secret. Is he suggesting he knows my secrets? “What?” I murmur to myself, so fucking confused. But more than that, intrigued. And isn’t that his point? Intrigue me. Lure me back into his sex chamber. But why? “Fuck this,” I mutter, marching out of the kitchen. The dress lowers, revealing Lawrence’s and Dexter’s stunned expressions, their wide eyes following my path. I stomp up the stairs, find my cell, and dial him. I pace. Around and around, I pace. He doesn’t answer, and I growl, dialing him again. No answer. “God damn you, James.” I throw my cell on my bed, frustrated, and so very angry. He knew what he was doing.
And I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.
“Everything okay?” Lawrence and Dexter appear at the door, both looking a bit sheepish.
“Fine.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” Lawrence takes a few, cautious steps into my room. “I’ll just hang this up. Be a shame to get it all creased.”
“No,” I snap, sounding harsher than I intended. I can’t help it. I’m mad. “You keep it.”
“What?” Lawrence clutches the dress to his chest, like he’s scared I might change my mind and snatch it back.
“I want you to have the dress.” I go to him, encouraging him to turn, and then gently and firmly guide him out of my room. I shut the door before I’m questioned as my cell beeps from my bed. I don’t rush over, despite my curiosity going through the roof. I take calm, measured steps, hoping my temper settles as I do. I see a text from him and open it.
Tomorrow night at eight. My secret won’t be a secret anymore.
“You bastard,” I breathe. The manipulative, immoral, clever asshole. I dial him again, intending on telling him exactly what I think of him. He doesn’t answer, and I picture him staring at my name flashing up on his screen, his face impassive. Satisfied. My thumbs lose all control and start hammering away at the screen.
I don’t want your secret.
I just want him. No. I just want his gift.
Outside the Ziff Ballet Opera House at eight.
I drop to the bed. His evasion of my statement is warranted, because we both know my claim is utter crap. And as if my conscience is joining the persuasion party, it reminds me that I haven’t thought of anything else but James in the past ten minutes. It doesn’t matter if those thoughts are infuriating. I look at the marks marring my skin. His mark. The angel on one shoulder is screaming at me not to do it. Don’t bend. Don’t play his game. The devil on my other shoulder is daring me to extend the distraction.
I startle when my cell bleeps the arrival of another message, but this time there are no words. Only a video. I open it and stare at a piece of footage from our first encounter. I’m on my back, my knees pushed up to my ears, and James is fucking me violently. I can only see his profile. But it is heart-stopping all the same. He knows that’s what I want. He knows that’s what I need. His dark, fierce fucking. Merciless. Glorious. “Bastard,” I murmur. The beautiful, depraved, dangerous bastard. He’s stunning, and I simply do not want to resist watching, listening to his grunts, studying his moves. I’m already wet.
I wander to my bathroom, shrugging off my robe and letting it fall to the floor. After flipping on the shower, I step into the stall, resting my back against the tile. I don’t feel the shock of cold.
I slide down the wall, skim my hand down my stomach, and let my fingers slip over my throbbing clit. I inhale, my head falling back. But my eyes never leave the screen of my phone.
I come on a murmur of his name.
And on the screen, he comes with me.
27
BEAU
I stand outside the diner the next day at noon, staring in through the window. It’s busy. Too busy for me. Only half the tables are taken, but still too busy. I glance left and right, to the free tables outside on the sidewalk of the quiet backstreet.
“You can do this, Beau.” I whisper to myself, taking a deep breath and pushing my way through the door, batting down my climbing heartbeats. I hurry to a table at the back and sit, pulling out the brochures of apartments for sale and setting them in front of me. Distraction. Focus on the brochures. I start flicking through the one on top, a two-bed, top-floor apartment overlooking the ocean.
“Good afternoon, can I get you a drink?” the waitress asks, setting a menu on the table. I look up at her on a smile I’m forcing to within an inch of my life. “Just a sparkling water, please,” I say, rolling my shoulders, so uncomfortable. “And a Coke with ice.”
“No problem.” She leaves to fetch my order, and I return my attention to the details of the apartment. It’s too perfect. I need something that requires a full redecoration. I discard it to the bottom of the pile and begin on the next, a converted factory on the west side of town. My cell rings. It’s Nath.
“Hi,” I say, looking past all the people to the sidewalk outside. As I expected, he’s standing there looking up and d
own the street for me.
“You going to be long?” he asks.
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
“Inside,” I reply, and he turns and looks through the window, confusion rife on his face. I wave, and he cocks his head, going to the door. “Don’t make a big deal of it,” I warn as he approaches the table, doing exactly what I did. Counting the amount of people in here. There’s thirty. Too many. One person for every beat of my heart per second.
“I won’t,” he says, taking his jacket off and hanging it on the back of the chair. “But . . . well done.”
I give him a tired look, vehemently ignoring the fact that this isn’t about sitting in a semi-busy diner. It’s a step in the right direction, yes, but a backstreet diner isn’t quite the same caliber as an opera house.
The waitress sets our drinks on the table and tells us she’ll be back to take our order. Nath clocks the piles of brochures before me. The poor man must be wondering what the hell is going on. I’m wondering myself. “Just looking at my options,” I tell him, pushing them aside. “Lawrence and Dexter’s place was supposed to be a temporary solution.”
He smiles. “I bumped into Lawrence yesterday.”
“Did you get an earache too?”
“A bit. He just worries about you. As do I.” He takes a sip of his Coke. “And Ollie.”
“Ollie needs to move on.”
“And you?”
I show the ceiling my palms, taking a quick look at our surroundings. It shuts Nath up. Good. The waitress returns, and I pick up the menu and scan the options. “Cajun salad, please.”
“And a BLT on white for me,” Nath says, collecting my menu and handing it to the waitress. “So who’s this guy you’ve been seeing?”
I sag in my chair. “Lawrence needs to stop gossiping.” I fiddle with the straw in my water, wondering if the gossiping stopped there or if he went into explicit details. My gaze inadvertently goes to my wrists, and I reach to pull the sleeve of my shirt down a little more, checking to see where Nath’s attention is. He’s staring at my wrist too. I clear my throat to say something, anything to break the uncomfortable quiet, but no words come to me.
The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2 Page 17