Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale

by Lauren Landish

  I give him the same bare smile. “Blackwell gave me a data card with info about my brother’s killers. Do you think Mia would look at it for me? While he said it’s not encrypted, I can’t be sure he didn’t do some other kind of skullfuckery to it, and computers aren’t my thing, but Bella says Mia’s next-level genius with them.”

  He holds his palm out, and reluctantly, I place the envelope in his hand. I want to know everything there is to know about Jeremy’s death, but handing over the intel to someone I don’t know, don’t fully trust is about as crazy a move as I’ve made since beginning this journey for answers. But it’s a necessity.

  He slips the envelope into his jacket pocket, the reverse of what Blackwell had done, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me. These two men, for all their similarities with business and brains, couldn’t be more different at their core. And that thought alone gives me the smallest peace at letting Thomas have the data card.

  “And your question?” he asks.

  I look around the room and then back to Thomas, who looks out of place in the old, worn out factory. “Why’d you want to meet here? A broke down factory doesn’t seem like your style.”

  He smirks, tapping his temple. “This factory is actually closed, it’s been shut down for the past six months and I’m considering buying the building and turning it into a new youth center.” He looks out towards the mostly dark factory floor, continuing softly. “There’s a group of young men, a boy’s home, that I help out at not far from here, though they don’t know that it’s Thomas Goldstone that is behind it. I don’t want attention and accolades like Blackwell. I like to keep some parts of my life private, like my good deeds and my woman. You understand that, right?”

  “I do,” I say, nodding. “Keep Bella safe for me, please. She’s all I have, and I sure as shit don’t deserve her, but I need her. She has my heart,” I confess.

  If I hadn’t seen how hard Thomas is hung up on Mia, I don’t think I could’ve told him that. But I saw their love and I want that for Bella and me too.

  He leans forward, confiding, “Pretty sure you have hers too, man. She’s like a sister to Mia. I’ll keep her safe and out of sight while this plays out.”

  He stands, offering a handshake, and then we step out onto the factory floor. It’s not large enough for a basketball court, but it could be other things. “What’re your plans for this, anyway?”

  “A lot of the boys at the home, they think they’ve got no chance in life. They don’t need a head start, they need to get to the starting line of the race. And while Roseboro High’s fine, it still needs improvement. I was thinking here, they could learn all those skills that high school doesn’t teach. Coding, basic electricity, wood shop . . . all that cool shit that they don’t teach kids in high school anymore.”

  “A trade school?” I ask, and Thomas shakes his head.

  “No . . . or at least, not just that. The kids are going to help build it. Like, one of my first projects for them . . . they’re going to build their own gym, right here for this part of the floor,” he says. “Come on, I’ve gotta get this data to Mia.”

  He looks around the space, his eyes soft in the dim light as if he can already see the youth center in his mind. And then he comes back to the present time, shitstorm brewing and all.

  We walk out into the darkness, and before I peel off, I give him a nod. He nods back and climbs into his own truck, driving off into the night. As his taillights fade, I think about what he said.

  Good deeds. Doing the right things for the right reasons.

  My trust in Thomas grows.

  Chapter 32

  Blackwell

  The air has a chill in it as I wait on the roof of my building, looking out toward Golden Boy’s abomination of a headquarters and analyzing every nuanced detail. It’s what I always do, regardless of whether a strategy is going to plan or not. Only through constant awareness can I make micro-adjustments as needed. Because people are not static, stationary, and predictable one hundred percent of the time, no matter how much I wish it were so.

  And it is in their actions and reactions that I find the most interest.

  Goldstone has hired a private investigator, is paying an exorbitant amount of money to track down his little fleshpot’s friend. So it appears that he does not know where Isabella is and is getting worried. It’s the barest hint of a reward for what I’ve already gone through to see this particular plan to fruition.

  But Jericho assures me the pictures are frauds, and that Miss Turner is alive, not rotting in some forest as Jackson vouched. At this point, I believe Jericho over the photos, considering the lack of a body.

  So the question becomes . . . if she’s not dead, where is she?

  Jackson’s resources are vast, both personally and in his connections, so he could have stashed her away nearly anywhere, but I suspect he’d keep her close.

  That damned woman, drawing men in like flies to a spider.

  “Give me a stable firing platform up here and I can have that entire penthouse reduced to ash in thirty seconds,” Jericho calls from behind me. That he knows where I am looking is concerning in itself, since I have not told him anything of my issues with Thomas Goldstone, merely giving him the needed orders for Gabriel Jackson and Isabella Turner. I do not like others having information beyond what I choose, especially when it is about me.

  But a man of his particular skill set is not to be wasted, so I delve into his expertise. “An interesting proposition, and one I’ve considered,” I answer, sipping my tequila. “I once thought about what it would take to bring a sniper up here.”

  “A very difficult shot with a rifle,” Jericho confirms, squinting and staring into the distance as he analyzes the conditions. “The wind is favorable though. Still . . . a missile would be much better. Larger payload and certain to defeat any sort of bulletproofing he might have on his windows.”

  “And very visible,” I counter. “Even in this town, I can’t silence every security camera, every idiot with an iPhone. There would be too many questions I couldn’t silence if someone used my roof for destruction . . . even if it would carry with it a certain pleasure.”

  “Questions . . . is that why you haven’t given me a green light?” Jericho asks. “Concern over visibility?”

  It’s a subtle probe of my intentions, and maybe of my steel. If so, Jericho will find that I stand while others fall. “I have other plans for your target . . .” My lips spread in an evil smile, and I correct myself. “Forgive me, I mean targets.”

  “Targets?” Jericho asks, lifting an eyebrow. While his outer shell barely reacts otherwise, I know the truth. He’s a true sadist, a man who lusts for cold cruelty.

  “I want Gabriel Jackson dead. Betrayal and dishonesty are simply something I will not tolerate. But the saying ‘two birds with one stone’ seems rather apropos. Use the girl to lure him, then kill her in any manner you wish. Dealer’s choice,” I offer, knowing that by gifting him with free reign, he will shine in his monstrous form of creativity. “However you do it, she will serve her purpose.”

  I don’t explain the impact her pain will cause. I have no need to justify myself to a man like Jericho. And he doesn’t need any explanation. His sadistic nature means he will do my bidding in this job happily, though a dangling carrot couldn’t hurt. “If you can do it inside two days, I’ll give you a bonus that will make it worth your while. Let you relax on a beach somewhere warm for as long as you wish.”

  “Are there visibility concerns for Jackson and Turner?” he asks. I appreciate his attention to detail, consideration for my specific wishes.

  I frown, shaking my head. “Only to the people I want to know of their demise.”

  “Two days,” he agrees. “Consider it done.”

  As he slips back out the door, I swallow the last of my tequila and look across the entirety of Roseboro to the gold building glimmering in the moonlight once again. Perhaps it’s a fortuitous sign, but the moonlight’s not pale but ruddy, almost
bloody against the tower’s surface. It makes me smile.

  “Soon, Golden Boy.”

  Chapter 33

  Isabella

  I’m trying my damnedest to focus on a school project, moving the text in the layout I’m designing one click to the left and then back, one click to the right. I can’t decide which is better. Or maybe I just need a different font?

  “Ugh,” I tell the empty room, leaning back in my chair and stretching.

  If you’d told me a few weeks ago that I could get several days off work to relax, sleep, and do school work, I would’ve said it sounded like a dream. Add in a stocked refrigerator, endless hot water, a tub that qualifies as half jacuzzi, half swimming pool, and a mattress made by NASA, and I should be feeling like a damn queen.

  But the reality of being in hiding is that I’m going stir-crazy. No phone, no internet, and most of all, no Gabe.

  Coming to the Goldstone tower would be a sure sign that something’s up, so he’s stayed away. And even with his burner phone, I understand the security risks. Someone might listen in and catch that I’m alive and well, chilling on the twenty-sixth floor in the penthouse apartment like some spoiled brat.

  I wish. I don’t feel spoiled. I‘m worried.

  I get it, we discussed it all. Gabe laid out his concerns, and I put in my own two cents as well, and I agreed to go along with it. But that doesn’t mean I like it.

  The elevator dings, and I stand, instantly on alert. It’s late in the day, but Mia and Thomas should still be downstairs in their offices, working.

  Mia had stayed home with me at first, but when Thomas came back from his nighttime meeting with Gabe, the idea of putting her to work analyzing Blackwell was the right move. I feel safer with her jamming on her supercomputers downstairs and finding a solution to this than being with me, trying to figure out which anime she was going to distract me with next.

  I don’t say anything, quietly peeking down the hall.

  “Iz? Honey, where are you?” Mia calls out. There’s an odd tightness to her voice.

  I come down the hall, hands wringing and not sure I want to hear this. “What’s wrong? Is it Gabe?”

  She gathers me in her arms, not answering, but she’s pale. Tears burn my eyes because whatever she’s about to say, I already know it’s bad.

  “Come sit down, Izzy.” She directs me to the couch and sits beside me, holding my hands.

  “Just tell me, Mia. Is Gabe dead?” I force out.

  She shakes her head. “No, he’s fine. Well, I haven’t talked to him, but as far as I know, he’s fine. But I got a call from the private investigator Thomas hired. He’s watching all sorts of alerts and . . .” she swallows, her eyes dropping before they lift back up to mine. “It’s your house, Izzy. It’s on fire.”

  “What?” I screech in shock.

  It’s like a punch in the chest, and I sag into the couch, all the wind taken out of me.

  It’s nowhere near as bad as Gabe being hurt or worse, but that house is a symbol of my whole life. It’s me and Reggie singing carols around a paper cutout of a Christmas tree, it’s patching up the backdoor screen again because the squirrels keep coming in to eat breakfast with us, though we both secretly fed them, and talking through the walls at night.

  And it’s my painting, in Reggie’s old bedroom, my memorial to a family I was never able to properly say goodbye to.

  It’s all I have left. And I’ve worked so damn hard to keep it.

  I stand up, clearing my throat before the tears start. “I have to go.”

  Mia grabs my hand, yanking me back to the couch. “The hell, you are. The fire trucks are already there, and the firefighters are doing what they can. But this is a ploy, and you damn well know it. It’s too convenient. So you’re going to sit your ass on the couch and stay here.” She’s all business, and on some level, I’m glad she’s thinking clearly because I’m definitely not.

  “Dammit, Mia, my . . . my . . .” I stammer, tears coming to my eyes as I think of what’s being destroyed. My painting. Mom, Dad . . . my memorial to a family I was never able to say goodbye to properly.

  Vash chooses that moment to wander through the living room, meowing for food. I pick her up, hugging her as tight as her little kitty body will allow me. “Oh, my God, Vash. What are we going to do?”

  “You’re going to take care of Vash, take care of yourself,” Mia says softly, her voice full of love. “That’s what matters. I know you don’t have much, and what’s in that house is so important to you, but they’re just things. The real memories, the important things, are right here.” She touches my head and then my heart.

  “But—”

  “Izzy, Izzy. I love you, babe,” Mia says, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

  I sniffle, and while Mia’s hug helps, it’s not the arms I want around me right now. “Where’s the phone?” I choke out as I set Vash down. “I need to call Gabe.”

  “Sure, honey,” Mia says, grabbing the phone from the side table of the sofa. “Here you are.”

  It doesn’t take long to call Gabe, and he picks up quickly, already knowing the reason for my call. “I just heard.”

  “Gabe, that was my house!” I cry, but the shocked sadness is beginning to be tinged with anger. It settles me somehow, like a dash of cold water in my face helping me focus. “If this is that asshole—”

  “It could be,” Gabe says. “But we don’t know yet. It might have been something in the house, or it could’ve even been Carraby,” he says, but I can hear that he doesn’t believe that for a second.

  He sighs. “I think this is most likely a tactic to draw you out, which signals that he doesn’t believe the story I fed him. That means you need to stay where you are. The stakes just got a lot higher.”

  I cringe inside but understand why he’s saying that. It’s the same thing Mia’s saying, and I need to listen to their advice right now while my emotions are pushing me to act irrationally.

  “Is there any way you can come over? I know it’s dangerous, and it’s stupid of me to ask, but I need you. Gabe?”

  He’s silent for a moment, thinking, and then finally agrees. “It’ll take me a little bit to make sure I can get there cleanly, but I’ll be there soon.”

  We hang up, and I tell Mia, “He’s coming.”

  She nods and just sits with me. We must talk, but I’m not really processing anything and couldn’t repeat what she says or what I reply.

  I don’t know how long it’s been when the elevator dings again and Gabe comes in, taking Mia’s place next to me on the couch and wrapping his arms around me.

  I bury my nose in his neck, inhaling his scent to ground myself. I hear Mia excuse herself, saying she’s going back downstairs and to call if we need anything. In seconds, we’re alone.

  Gabe twines a lock of my hair around his finger, whispering in my ear, “I’m so sorry, Princess. Is there anything I can do?”

  I shake my head, but feeling him here with me after days apart does soothe some frayed bits inside me. I look up through my lashes. “Can you make me forget all of this? Blackwell, the fake death, and my house. I need to . . . not think about any of it.”

  His eyes search mine questioningly, his voice soft. “Are you sure?”

  “Sorry, it’s stupid,” I reply, sagging. “I just feel like I’m losing everything.”

  He tilts my chin back up, looking deep into my eyes. “Bella, you’re not losing everything. You have me, and I have you. We’ll figure out the rest, deal with Blackwell, and rebuild your house if we have to.”

  I lick my lips, drawing strength from his steady gaze. “Why? Why are you doing all this for me?”

  It’s something I’ve been wondering in the back of my mind all along. Gabe is beautiful, brilliant, and smooth. Why would he want a woman with nothing but dreams?

  Gabe’s smile is the slow one I like best, starting on the left and moving across his lips until his dimples pop out. “Don’t you know? It’s because I love y
ou, Bella. I love you with everything I am, everything I have.”

  Somehow, in the middle of this mess, he knows just what to say to bring everything into focus. “I love you, too.”

  His slight intake of breath is audible, like he’s surprised by my admission, but I suspect we’ve both known the truth for a while and were just too scared to speak the words, hoping the actions would be enough to communicate the depth of what we’re feeling.

  But even with the words hanging in the air between us now, I need the action, both to revel in our shared truth and to distract myself from the building storm coming for us.

  Our mouths meet, tasting our declarations, though I don’t know if he moved to me or I moved to him. I feel him pick me up, his rough hands on my ass as I wrap my arms and legs around him. “Which way?”

  “Down the hall, second door on the right,” I tell him, licking and sucking on his neck.

  In moments, I’m spread on the guest bed, soft cotton beneath me. “I promise you, Bella, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and by my side.”

  I put my arms around his neck, just holding him and seeing the love I feel reflected in Gabe’s eyes.

  Every time I’m with him is a new exploration, a way for us to discover not just our bodies but our souls and our hearts. Nothing is truer than this moment, and instead of tearing into each other with rabid passion, clothes flying like a clearance sale in a Marshall’s, we lie on the bed, looking into each other’s eyes as we run our hands up and down each other’s body, memorizing every inch.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit, feeling goosebumps form on my arms. “It’s the first time I’ve ever said those words to someone who wasn’t family. Mia and Char being family, of course.”

  “Me too,” he admits, taking my hand and placing it over his heart. “But I know every beat, every thought, everything I am . . . it’s for you.”

  Gabe cups my face, and I lean in, kissing him softly at first before our kiss deepens, our tongues entwining and our lips caressing each other as we slip and squirm out of our clothes. Finally, I help him slide his jeans off, and our skin presses together, his heat coursing through my veins.