Max stood. “Lead on.”
They walked in silence into the big kitchen and Clem, her face red, her heart pounding at being alone with him again, bustled around, pulling random items from the refrigerator, the cupboards. “How have you been?” she asked him shyly.
“I missed you,” he said in a low voice, and she stopped. Her gaze met his, and she felt herself melt.
“I miss you every moment,” she whispered and then she was in his arms, his lips against hers.
“Bella, I shouldn’t have walked away,” he whispered when they finally broke free. Clem looked up at him, her eyes full of understanding.
“I know why you did, and you were right to. I wasn’t ready—and Max, I still don’t know if I am. And now that I know about your Ophelie, maybe you aren’t either. Am I right?”
Maximo pressed his lips to hers briefly. “You see me, Clem, you do. And to answer your question, no. Until I find Ferdie, I don’t think I will be. I need to honor Ophelie before I can move on but, Clementine, know this. I will come for you when this is all over.”
Clem looked up at him with frightened eyes. “What will you do when you find your brother?”
Max’s eyes hardened, and Clem gave a shiver. “I will avenge her, bella Clementine. I will make him pay for what he did.”
Kizzie sat in the large, cold meeting room wondering if she could escape from a window. Group therapy. God.
Most of the others in the room, scattered around the large impersonal table, were older; people in their thirties, forties, fifties. Only one other person was her age; a tall, gangly youth with short dark hair and huge chocolate brown eyes. He was looking as uncomfortable as she was, but he sensed her gaze and looked at her. He grinned, showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth, and the expression lit up his face and made her smile back automatically. He side-eyed the other people in the room and rolled his eyes, and Kizzie had to stifle a giggle.
“Okay, everyone here? Good.” A harassed-looking psychiatrist bustled into the room. After some preamble where she introduced herself–“I’m Dr. Wooley, Ph.D. and MD, but you can call me Gwen”—she told them to go around the room and introduce themselves. “And don’t forget to tell us a little about yourself.”
Kizzie could feel the collective groan that almost went up. Yeah, she thought, way to make us feel less stressed.
“Someone begin,” Gwen said, a little shrilly, and the man next to Kizzie sighed.
“Hey, I’m Doug. I’m fifty-two, and I got in a car wreck.”
Doug set them off and slowly they worked around the room. When it got to the young man’s turn, his face turned a deep scarlet.
“Yeah, uh, I’m Ethan Fonseca, and I got a little shot up in the Auburn massacre, I guess.” He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in the spotlight.
Kizzie felt her heart stop and when it was her turn, she couldn’t stop staring at Ethan. “I’m Lexi … I mean, Kizzie … my sister Lexi…” She trailed off when she saw Ethan sit up and stare back at her, his attention riveted. He knows ... Kizzie steeled herself. “My name is Kizzie Kline, and I guess they say I tried to kill myself, but I didn’t. My twin sister Lexi died at Auburn.”
She saw Ethan’s head incline—a small nod—in an acknowledgment of shared history. Suddenly Kizzie didn’t want to be in this room; she wanted to grab Ethan and go somewhere they could really talk.
Ethan obviously had the same idea. As they filed out of the room later, he was waiting for her. “Come with me,” he murmured in her ear and grabbing the top of her arm, steered her into a stairwell and headed upwards. Finally, he pushed through into a little room that looked out onto the roof. “Found this place almost as soon as I could walk. Good to get away from people. Parents.”
There was no furniture, so they sat on the cool floor, facing each other.
“So,” Kizzie said, suddenly shy, and he grinned.
“So. Auburn … survivors. But I don’t remember you.”
Kizzie shook her head. “I didn’t go to Auburn, Lexi did.”
“Where were you?”
“The Peabody Institute.”
Ethan whistled. She loved the easy, casual way he made her feel at ease. “Swanky. What do you play?”
“Cello.”
“Very nice.”
“I got expelled.”
“For what?”
“Being a drunken whore.”
Ethan bust out laughing. It was such an infectious sound, Kizzie couldn’t help joining in. “That’s what I like to hear.” She noticed him wince and hold his side. He saw her looking and raised his T-shirt. Three jagged scars ran along his side.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Azano was a good shot. Hey, sorry…” He smacked his own head. “Sorry about Lexi, she was…”
“Really sweet, yeah, I know,” but Kizzie smiled. “Everyone says it and I never get tired of hearing it. I mean it, no shade.”
Ethan squinted at her. “Bible?”
Kizzie laughed. “Dude, did you really just quote the Kardashians?”
Ethan grinned sheepishly. “I swear to God, the only TV channel they have in this godforsaken place is E!”
“Bible?” Kizzie laughed as Ethan grimaced, then her smile faded. “Ethan, do you mind telling me about the shooting? Where were you?”
Ethan looked away and with a shock, Kizzie realized he had tears in his eyes. “You don’t have to,” she said hurriedly, but he waved her protestations away.
“No, I want to. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone yet, and I was hoping one day I would be able to tell someone … I just didn’t know it would be you.”
Kizzie felt her chest tighten. “You saw him kill Lexi, didn’t you?”
After a beat, Ethan nodded. “I did. I’m so sorry, Kizzie.”
Kizzie thought she might faint and for a second, she couldn’t breathe. “Tell me,” she said eventually, “tell me everything.”
Ethan crawled over to her side. “As long as I can hold your hand while I do. I’m not being a creep, but I think we might both need it.”
Kizzie grabbed his hand. “Deal.”
Ethan wound his fingers between hers. “We were in the library. There were six of us, me, Lexi and Sandrine, Mr. Shaley, Rich Fuller and Ted Underwood. He shot Mr. Shaley first, then Richard, in the head, and Ted. Ted survived, too, but he’s a wreck. The thing I should tell you is that before, me and Lexi had always gotten on really well with him. Mr. Azano, I mean. He was a cool dude, and we always made him laugh. Maybe that’s why he hesitated. Sandrine … she stepped forward to speak to him and he just shot her down. Then he looked at Lexi as if he were sorry and then shot her … she buckled; he’d shot her in the stomach, I tried to … then he shot me three times, as you saw. Lexi didn’t die straight away. We played dead, and he left us. God, it was so quiet … then I kinda crawled over to her and told her to hang on. She grabbed my hand, like this,” he held their conjoined hands up - “and told me to be brave and that she couldn’t breathe. Is this too much?”
Tears were flooding down Kizzie’s face but she shook her head. “I need to hear it.”
“I could tell she was fading and to be honest, I thought I was a dead man too, so I thought, what the hell and I kinda wrapped myself around her, holding her, hoping she would feel loved. I hope you don’t think that was inappropriate. I thought she would be comforted.”
Kizzie wiped her tears and sniffed. “I know she would have been. Thank you, Ethan, thank you, I ...” She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed, and he held her tightly.
He buried his face In her hair. “Please don’t thank me, Kizzie. Please don’t … I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice was breaking, and there was an undertone of something else, but Kizzie didn’t care. She just cared that her beloved Lexi hadn’t been alone when she died, that this adorable boy had looked out for her.
They held each other for the longest time until their limbs grew stiff. Ethan looked pale and exhausted. “Come on,” said Kizzie, helping him to h
is feet. “We better go back before they report us missing.”
They walked slowly down. “I’m supposed to be getting out of here at the end of the week,” Ethan said, “and I can’t wait.”
Kizzie nodded. “Word. I’m out of here the minute the seventy-two hours are up.”
As they reached her room, Ethan stopped, and suddenly she was aware of how close they were standing, how strange it was that they had only met a couple of hours ago. She felt like she had been through a war with this man.
“Kiz … you don’t have to say yes, but when we’re both free of this place, do you wann—…”
“Love to,” she said with a grin. Ethan grinned in relief, and his lips brushed her forehead. “I’m in two-seven-two. Come see me.”
“Promise.”
Kizzie watched him lope away, his easy swagger disarming. Before he rounded the corner, he looked back and waved. She gave him the peace sign and heard him laugh as he disappeared. She got back into bed and lay down, her mind whirling.
Before long she fell asleep, and when she dreamed, she dreamed of Ethan Fonseca, his smile and his lips against hers.
She backed away from Ray as he advanced, the gun aimed directly at her. He couldn’t miss from this distance … Emory glanced behind her in panic. The edge of the platform was a dead drop into the dark, freezing waters of Elliott Bay.
“It’s all over now, Emory, darling. There is no way out.”
Emory turned to face her killer. The gun was aimed at her abdomen, and she saw his finger twitch on the trigger. Drawing herself up, she met his gaze. “Go fuck yourself, Ray.” She was glad her voice didn’t shake. Rage creased Ray’s face, and he pulled the trigger.
The bullet smashed into her belly and Emory buckled, gasping, and fell backward into the water. He’s won … he’s won ….
Then there were voices, calling her name over and over. A girl’s voice. A man’s voice. She wanted to reach out to them, but her body was frozen except for the fire raging where the bullet had torn into her body.
You’re dying, Emory. Ray’s voice. I won’t leave you alive in this world. I’ll kill you again and again if that’s what it takes…
And I’ll kill anyone who dares to love you…
Emory woke up, screaming, her distress and terror making the sound a raw, desiccating howl of panic. She was drenched in sweat, and she twisted away from the ghosts of the dream that were reaching out to her. She rolled off the bed and began crawling toward the door. She heard someone running, and the door burst open.
Oh, God, not Ray, not Ray, please …
But the arms that wrapped around her were bigger and stronger than Ray’s had ever been, the chest she was held against broader, and it didn’t have that sickening whiskey and whiskers smell that Ray had, that awful sour milk smell. No, this man smelled like home: clean linen and freshly showered skin.
“Baby, ssh, it’s okay; it’s okay…”
That warm deep voice. “Dante?” The panic was starting to subside now. Don’t let me go.
“It’s me, Em. It’s me. It’s all okay now…”
Emory looked up through the tears in her eyes. God, his face, his beautiful face. His eyes, so troubled, so tender, as they met hers and then their lips were together, and it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dante kissed her so deeply, with so much longing, that Emory’s entire body became entirely under his control. He picked her up easily and carried her to his bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, covering her body with his. Emory wrapped her legs around his hips as they kissed, neither in any doubt of what was about to happen between them.
God, the instant he had touched her, all her fear disappeared. It was a dream … but her thoughts now were just of Dante and being in his arms and how right it felt.
Dante worked his way down her body and pushed up her camisole, kissing her belly, moving so he could take her nipples into his mouth. Emory stroked his hair as his tongue teased her nipples until they were so sensitive, she shivered through a tiny orgasm as he worked his way back down. He pulled her shorts off in one easy movement and then his face was in her groin, his tongue lashing around her clit, tasting her, driving her wild. She felt pure, fierce longing, as well as the rightness of this moment as Dante moved up to kiss her mouth again and now she could slide her hands under his T-shirt, feel the hard muscles of his chest, the curve of his stomach. He was so broad and tall that she felt tiny in his arms, vulnerable but unafraid.
“Oh, God, Emory … I have wanted you for so long, so long…”
In a flash, they were both naked, and Dante was pulling her legs around his waist. Emory gasped and moaned as his diamond-hard cock thrust deep inside her, its length and girth filling her entirely, making her head swim with pure desire. Her body moved against his as they made love, their lips hungrily seeking the other’s, whispering each other’s name over and over and over again, before they both came, moaning and crying out. Dante gathered her to him, kissing her over and over, stroking every inch of her skin, his focus entirely on her. They made love long into the night and when finally, exhausted and sated, they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that their lives had changed irrevocably.
Kizzie was released the next day, the doctor agreeing with her and her parents that she wasn’t a danger to herself. “I know. I told you that,” she muttered, but now she had no resentment, no anger left, because if she hadn’t been here, she wouldn’t have met Ethan.
And God, Ethan … in the three days since they had met, they’d spent every hour together that they could and talked about everything. Almost everything, Kizzie amended in her head. She was aware that Ethan, in all his easy manner and guile, was holding something back. She was confident, however, that if she needed to know, he would tell her. And besides, she didn’t feel she had the right to push him.
She was already dressed and packed but excused herself from her parents to go say goodbye to Ethan and to check, for the hundredth time, that he had her contact details. She walked slowly along the corridors, holding herself back from running. She had never felt like this about anyone before—except Lexi, Jess, and Bree, of course—but not a guy. A guy guy.
As she neared his room, she heard him talking, and when she reached the half-closed door, she stopped and listened, not wanting to intrude.
“No. No, fuck you, Nick. It’s time, you need to … no. You’ve held this over me for too long … people died, Nick! My friends, our teachers. People I care about, people I love got hurt, are still hurting because of what you did, and I’m not going to be party to this anymore … Jesus, you’re a psycho, you know that? Do what you want to me. I’m going to the police.”
Kizzie felt her blood turn to ice. She had no doubt what Ethan was talking about. Who the hell was Nick, and what did he know about the school shooting? She stood, frozen, not wanting to know anymore. She closed her eyes. This cannot be happening. Of all the things Ethan could have hidden from her. Suddenly his words in the stairwell came back to her. Please don’t thank me, Kizzie. Please don’t … I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Oh, God. Kizzie whirled around and staggered back down the corridor, almost making it before she threw up. A nurse rushed to help her, but Kizzie was inconsolable. Ethan was hiding something about the school shooting. He could have been involved …
Kizzie did the best thing she could as the pain raged through her.
She fainted.
Emory pulled her sweater over her head and walked out of the bathroom. She felt changed deep inside of her. For the better, she thought now, definitely for the better. When she had woken in Dante’s arms, she had felt so safe, so loved. They had made love again, slowly, tenderly before taking a shower together. Her body ached pleasantly, her thighs from being wrapped around his hips, but her belly was sore, and she realized that maybe she had underestimated how badly her injuries had been. She shook her head. Don’t think about that, think about now. You’ll heal quicker with the happiness that Dante brings y
ou.
She padded through the immense mansion and down the stairs. She found him in the large kitchen. She smiled shyly at Dante, who was pouring out some weak-looking coffee.
“Is that for me?” She grinned at him. Dante looked worried and hesitated before handing her the cup.
“I don’t know; it’s not very good.”
She rolled her eyes and took the mug, sipping it. He laughed at her expression.
“See? Now you’ll think less of me and mock my shambolic coffee making skills.”
Emory put down the mug and walked around the counter. She slid her arms around the dark-haired man and looked up at him. “It’d take more than crappy coffee to put me off.”
He grinned down at her, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Glad to hear it.”
She pulled his face down to her and kissed him. His arms tightened around her.
The coffee, abandoned on the counter, got cold.
It had been a month since the wedding and Zea had heard nothing more from Jared. Flynt’s private detective had been trying to trace him but found only what they already knew. Jared Podesta had been David Azano’s biological brother.
“In a way, it helps to know that there’s some sort of reason behind David’s behavior,” she said to Flynt one evening as they relaxed in his living room. “Some latent psychological imperative to do what he did. Something inherited.”
Flynt wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know, Zea … we didn’t find out anything bad or wrong about the birth parents.”
Zea frowned. “What I don’t get is this—why would they, wealthy people, give up their kids? They had all the means necessary to bring them up well, even if it meant sending them to boarding school. So why didn’t they keep them? No, something’s hinky with the parents. I’m sure of it.”
Flynt kissed her. “Hey, Hannah will be waiting for us.” They had plans to join his sister at the cinema that evening, along with Teresa, with whom Hannah had formed a fun friendship lately.
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