by Charles, Eva
“Alright JD, I’ve got a country to run, and you’ve got money to make. We’ll talk tomorrow or the day after.”
“Okay. If you really think Sayle could benefit from me being on that trip, I’ll figure out how to make it work. A month, you said?”
“That’s about right.”
I end the call, lean back in my chair, and stare at the picture of Gabrielle, pregnant with our child. A child I’ll never meet, maybe never live to see. The thought rips my chest open every time it crosses my mind. That’s the problem with murdering the president, you don’t get to enjoy the spoils. But I’ll rot in prison, or go to my grave, knowing he’ll never hurt either of them again.
I will be taking that trip.
* * *
Planning a murder takes less time than you’d think, especially when you’re not trying to get away with it. That would be pointless. But planning to die, now that’s a shit-ton of work. And heartache. I never realized how much I had to live for until my time on earth came down to a matter of weeks.
I don’t know exactly how this will end, but there are two things I’m sure of: I’ll need a weapon that won’t set off a metal detector or alert the explosive sniffing dogs. The second thing is that as a close family member, I’ll have a great deal of unfettered access to the president. I won’t be subject to the same scrutiny others would encounter. It won’t be easy to kill him, just easier for me than it would be for the average hater.
I glance up at Gabrielle standing in the doorway of my study, her hip propped against the frame. She looks like she’s fresh out of the shower. “You coming up to bed soon?” she asks, sauntering across the room and into my lap.
“I need about an hour and a half. Then I’ll be up.” I nuzzle her neck. “You smell delicious. Why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me?”
“What’s all this?” she asks, flipping open one of the novels I have on my desk. “Are these books for you and Zack?”
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, if you’ll marry me.”
“Don’t start that dead-end conversation again. I’ve already told you, I love you, but I need some more time.”
“Every time I get on a plane or some asshole cuts me off in the car, I think about how much easier your life—” I run my hand over her belly, “and this baby’s would be, if we were married.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear one word about something happening to you. We need a little more time before we make that commitment.”
Time, the one thing I can’t give her.
She shifts against me and I wince. My stomach’s been hurting like a sonofabitch lately. Heartburn day and night. I’m not big on going to the doctor, and who has that kind of time, anyway? It won’t matter soon. I wrap my arms more tightly around her and bury my nose in her untamed hair.
“Are these books for you to read to Zack?”
“Mmhm.”
Her eyes go to the Dictaphone on my desk. “Are you recording them?”
“Yes. Now go upstairs and let me finish. You’re too distracting, squirming all over my lap.”
“Am I?” she says innocently, rubbing herself against my cock.
I pinch her ass and she squeals, but she doesn’t stop asking questions. “Why are you recording them?”
“I’ve always recorded books. I go away here and there, and I don’t want Zack to miss story time. I’ve made it a ritual. And it’s possible he hears my voice.”
“Of course he hears your voice.” She rubs the back of her fingers over my jaw. “Are you thinking after the baby’s born you won’t have as much time for him in the evening? We’ll work it out so time is always free for you to be with him.”
“I’m not worried about the baby getting between me and Zack. Now get upstairs, take off this nightgown,” I tug on the flimsy fabric, “and get into bed and think about how hard I’m going to make you come when I get there.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“I am. But I meant every word.” I set her on her feet. “Now get.”
When she reaches the door, she stops and gazes at me over her shoulder. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she says in a voice that makes my cock weep.
Two more days. I slump back in my chair. Two more days and that bastard will never hurt them again. Ughhh. I open the desk drawer and pull out some antacid and shove a double dose into my mouth.
Two more days with her. I’ll do anything to protect her—to protect that baby she’s carrying. I made that decision a long time ago. But right now, the price seems exorbitant.
31
Julian
I almost skipped supper with Gray and Chase tonight, but I’m not a coward. The fucking last supper. Not going to lie, it was hard and painful and my heart was heavy. Neither of them know that I’m leaving tomorrow on a trip with my father. And they didn’t say much about the truce with DW, either. They’ve had a few weeks to process the improved relationship, and they have, each in their own way.
Gray is just happy we’re getting along like one big happy family, and he doesn’t ask any questions that might rock the boat. That’s how he is. Chase on the other hand, thinks I’m up to something. He doesn’t buy the whole we need to be a cohesive family unit now that a baby’s coming thing. I believe he said, “That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” while Gray was in the bathroom.
There were dozens of things I wanted to say to each of them, but I couldn’t say any of it without giving too much away. When we said goodbye, I clung to them for a little longer than usual, hoping one day they’d forgive me.
I turn off the water and reach for a towel. I’m shivering. I’ve been cold all day. I brush my teeth without looking in the mirror. I don’t know what I’ll see there. Perhaps some of the twisted agony I feel inside.
I turn off the bathroom light and crawl into bed to wake the woman I love for the final time. But before I do, I open the shutters and let moonlight fill the room. I don’t want our last night together to be in the dark.
I reach for Gabrielle and pull her into me, my arms winding around her body, enjoying her sleepy warmth, before I let my hands roam freely.
“Mmmm,” she whispers, pressing her ass into my cock like a tease. I smile, caressing her breasts in my palms, rolling her nipples between my fingers until her back arches. I bury my face in her hair, letting the soft curls tickle my nose, while I inhale her sweet clean scent.
Sex with her tonight will be different. Every part of me, every molecule, every cell, needs it to be different. “I missed you at supper,” she murmurs. “I hate eating without you.” My heart clenches, and I suck in a breath, and roll her onto her back.
I’m not a tender man, but tonight my lips find hers in a long, gentle caress. When I can bring myself to pull away, I smooth her hair back so I can see her face. Her eyes shimmer, the little flecks of light dancing like stars in the moonlit room.
I don’t demand she undress for me. Tonight, I undress her, carefully cherishing everything about her, like the gift she is.
The languid pace is unfamiliar, not just to me but to her too. I see the concern in her ruffled brow. “Is everything okay?” she asks, cupping my cheek.
I nod. “I want to talk to you a little more about my trip tomorrow. There’s one thing I didn’t tell you—but it’s highly confidential—and you can’t say anything about it.”
Her gaze is steady, as she chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Tell me.”
“We are making a stop in Amidane like I told you, but then we’ll be headed to North Africa to visit the troops on the front line. I’m not supposed to talk about it to anyone—but you’re not just anyone.”
Her eyes are filled with concern. “It’s dangerous?”
“Not really. They don’t take any chances with the president.”
“I don’t care about the president. No chances with you. I need you to come back to me.” She presses my hand into her belly. “We both do. Promise me
you won’t take any risks.”
I can’t promise you that, darlin’. Anything but that. I bring her hand to my mouth. Examining each fingertip, as I place a tiny kiss on the smooth pad so that I don’t have to look at her while I lie. “No risks.”
“Promise me.” Her plea fades as I kneel between her legs and brush my fingers against her center to make sure she’s ready. “Julian,” she whispers as I ease my cock inside her. The passage is tight and hot, and the tingle at the base of my spine is already beginning.
I rest my weight on my forearms and lower my mouth to hers until I can’t breathe. “I love you, Gabrielle. I love you.” I’ve never said it quite like that. Not since we were kids. But as a man, I’ve never felt worthy to love her—until now.
Her eyes are full and the tears begin to escape slowly. I catch each one on my tongue as it slides down her face.
I love you.
32
Julian
We arrive in Amidane mid-morning and go directly to the palace after showering. I was briefed on protocol while we were in the air. Talk about a bunch of bullshit. I believe in respecting the cultural traditions of others, but this is like a damn dog and pony show, and I don’t perform tricks on demand for anyone.
My father slept in the bedroom aboard Air Force One, and I rested in my seat not thinking about how I’d be murdering a man sometime in the next forty-eight hours—my father, but thinking about Gabrielle.
My punishment won’t be prison or hell, my punishment is here and now, reflecting on the lifetime with her that I’ll miss. I won’t see my child grow, either. But her mother—she’s my soul.
I’m sitting with the Crown Prince in a glass-enclosed conservatory in what is tantamount to a Sultan’s palace. My brother Gray would get a kick out of this place. There’s a theme room at Wildflower called Sultan’s Palace for people who get off on harems and the exotic flavors of the Middle East. Like this palace, the décor is opulent, the mood lavish and excessive. The only difference is at Wildflower you know going in you’re going to get fucked.
It’s not difficult to imagine how little patience I have for this dipshit. He knows nothing about anything. He’s just chatting me up to see if we can be pals. If he decides I’ll make a good prom date, he’ll put one of his lackeys—one with a brain, I hope—in touch with me. The last thing Sayle needs is to be involved in a deal with these idiots. I don’t care how much it’s worth. I’m not selling my soul for this. I take a sip of bourbon. But it won’t be my decision to make.
“Good stuff,” he says, nodding at my glass. “I fell in love with it during college.”
Alcohol is prohibited here, but I don’t ask any questions about why it flows freely in the palace. Wouldn’t want to cause a fucking international incident. Besides, I’ve certainly never let a little thing like God come between me and my vices.
My father is right in one regard, the Prince and I do have some things in common: same alma mater, an appreciation for good bourbon, and we both prefer pussy to cock. But that’s where I draw the line. This guy is a first-class douchebag with an entourage of bootlickers anticipating his every mood. I can’t even say for certain that he wipes his own ass.
I gaze out into the courtyard, trying to tune out the noise. Two women and a little boy are sitting quietly on the grass.
“My sister Saher and her son,” the Crown Prince says when he catches me looking. “She lives in the palace. Her husband orchestrated a coup against my father two years ago. He was unsuccessful. His family believes they are the rightful heirs to the kingdom.”
“Where is he?” I expect him to say prison.
“We killed him and now she’s our prisoner. The child is valuable to his father’s family.”
Okay. I didn’t really need to hear about all the messy internal politics. But the Prince is a problem. I don’t give a shit how they do things around here, she’s his sister and he doesn’t seem to have any empathy or concern for her or his nephew. But I probably shouldn’t judge anyone’s family dynamics. “Are there children in the palace for the boy to play with?”
“Other children? Yes. Servant’s children, but he’s not permitted to mix with them.”
Of course not. The little guy is pretty subdued. I remember Chase and Zack when they were that age—they never sat still. “Must be lonely for him.”
“He’s destined for a sad and lonely life. His father brought shame on his wife and child. Doesn’t matter what the boy says or does, his motives will always be suspect. Eventually he’ll be accused of trying to avenge his father’s death. It won’t end well for him.”
Jesus. This guy’s rough. “He’s just a little boy. Was he even born when his father attempted the coup?”
“He was a few weeks old. But the sins of the father are always visited upon the son. Everyone knows that.”
The sins of the father are always visited upon the son. That stuck with me for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.
The Crown Prince’s sister reminds me of Gabrielle. It’s her dark, warm eyes. The sins of the father are always visited upon the son. I can’t get it out of my head.
After I kill my father, I will be apprehended. Dead if I’m lucky. My child will always be the kid whose father murdered his father—the president. History will brand me a psychopath. My child will wear the label like an albatross around her neck. Or his neck, I don’t think gender matters in this case. People will wonder if they’re capable of murder too. They’ll whisper cruelly. They’ll shun Gabrielle and our child. It will be a sad, lonely life for them.
I rub my chest. My heartburn is back with a vengeance and I didn’t bring any of those goddamn chalky tablets.
I didn’t plan for this part. I worked through all the financial pieces, for Gabrielle, the baby, Zack, and even Chase and Gray. I know Gabrielle will grieve, but she’ll get over it. She’s already suffered plenty because of me. And with DW dead, she’ll be safe. And so will the baby. There are other monsters in this world, but none hell-bent on using them to get to me. But still—
The sins of the father are always visited upon the son.
All of a sudden, my sacrifice seems more like the action of a coward. That of a man who is too beaten to fight anymore. And in many ways, it is.
The sins of the father are always visited upon the son.
I’m many things, but I am not a coward.
33
Gabrielle
The bedroom door opens and a large figure stalks toward me. I’m in that dreamy state between sleep and wakening so my panic is subdued.
“Gabby!” It’s Smith’s voice. “Gabby wake up! Where’s JD?”
I sit up, but I’m disoriented. “What time is it?”
“It’s two-thirty. Where is JD?” he asks again.
I’m not supposed to talk about it. It could put them in danger. But this is Smith. But I gave JD my word.
“He’s not in Virginia at the Pharmaceutical Executive’s retreat like he said. Where is he, Gabby?”
My heart is pounding. Smith’s really angry. No, not angry, upset. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The president’s been shot.”
“What?!” I shout. “No!”
Smith grabs my upper arms. “Is JD with him?” I nod.
“Tell me everything you know. Everything,” he says.
“He’s on a diplomatic mission with his father. They stopped in Amidane and then were going on to Northern Africa to visit the troops. I don’t know anything else. Is JD safe? Was he hurt in the shooting?”
Smith lets go of my arms, but he doesn’t say anything. “Is JD hurt? Did they kill him? Smith,” I shriek, climbing out of bed. “I need to talk to JD.”
“Is this your phone?” he asks. I nod. “Check to see if there are any messages from him.”
I check voicemail, texts, missed calls—there’s nothing from him.
“When did you last talk to him?”
“The morning he left. He kissed me goodbye and told me if anything
happened to him there was an envelope in the top drawer of his desk with instructions.” I think for a moment. “That was it.”
“I’m going to find that envelope.”
I rush down the stairs behind Smith. He pulls the manila envelope from the drawer and tears it open. His phone rings. “Yeah,” he barks.
I pull out the contents of the envelope while Smith’s on the phone.
There are four white letter-sized envelopes inside. One with my name on it, and one each with Gray, Chase, and Smith scribbled on the front in JD’s handwriting. There are also notarized forms attesting to paternity of the child I’m carrying and instructions on how to proceed with probating his estate. He knew he was going to die. I don’t understand. How did he know? I glance at Smith.
“He wasn’t?” he says into the phone. “Then where the fuck is he?” Smith catches me begging silently for answers. Any crumb will do. “Hold on a second,” he says, lowering the phone.
“JD didn’t go to Africa. At least he wasn’t on the President’s plane when it left Amidane.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods and lifts the phone. “This my father.”
I sink to the floor and hug my knees to my chest and sob my heart out while Smith finishes the call.
After he hangs up, he sits next to me on the rug, pulling me into his chest while I continue to cry. “Where is he?”
“He was on his way to Charleston, on the Crown Prince’s private jet, but my father thinks they’ll probably divert the plane so that JD can accompany the body back. The only thing they can say for certain about JD is that he wasn’t on Air Force One when it took off.”