by Corri Lee
He maintained that link with both gangs for years but his loyalty always remained wherever Henry was. He could be both saviour and destructor in a heartbeat, providing inside information that would either allow his friends to evade trouble or take a fall that would stop him being identified as spy. They lost and gained together, made sacrifices that were costly and stupid. Through everything, Regis never did a single thing to betray those who had actively helped him find the woman of his dreams, father a child and see them safely into a home that cost him nearly his entire earnings in rent.
It was probably around the time Henry met Ivy that their streak of good luck came to an end. Somehow, the rivals discovered they’d been double-crossed and found the weak link in the gang’s chain. One of their members was a little less conscientious and jumped at the chance to do some undercover work of their own. False information of the rival gang’s leader going out to do a deal without any backup was fed into the group—information that the rivals apparently ‘discovered’ had been leaked due to a mole at the last minute. Frightened, Regis did what he had to in order to protect his identity and agreed to be the one who went out and took down whoever arrived to kill their boss.
At the same time, Henry had been put forward to be the hit man thanks to a very helpful suggestion from the new gang spy. Time limits meant there was no rendezvous before the two headed out on their way—Henry to end the rivalry and Regis to save him from making the mistake that would cost them dearly.
Henry knew exactly where the ‘boss’ would be waiting. It was the same spot Regis had been told where to hide. Neither of them realised who the other was until it was far too late. Eight seconds, eight stab wounds, and it was over.
It was the greatest regret the bold Henry Tudor had in his life. Distraught, he’d scooped up his dying friend and carried him for nine miles to pass away in the comfort of his own home with his beloved fiancée and their four year old son by his side. By all accounts, he wept for days and stood guard outside their house until he was satisfied that Connie and Blaze were safe from harm by the hand of either gang.
His remorse was so great it was all consuming. He fell silent for weeks and almost lost Ivy through lack of communication. Connie offered forgiveness he wouldn’t and couldn’t accept, yet he vowed to provide all the things in life Regis had sworn he would give them. Blaze became like his own son but he knew he’d never be able to replace his best friend as a father. All he could do was become a positive male role model for him and encourage him to become a man his father would be proud to watch over from the Heavens, for that was invariably where he’d go.
Henry never returned to the gang. He left that life behind and started to carve a new path of hard work of a different kind. Regis had dreamt of running a shipping and distribution company ‘led by kings’ and Henry was determined to make it so.
My father was not always Henry Tudor. In his life before The Tudor Initiative and before he lost his best friend, he was a very common ruffian named Henry Jones. I’d always suspected his name was an alias, legally registered or not, but never imagined it could have come about in such a tragic way. My mother must have had some idea of how our picture perfect family really began; it was the best kept of worst secrets I’d ever learned of.
Could Connie really have forgiven him so easily? Just a month before the wedding they’d scrimped and saved for, Regis was taken away by a fleeting moment of bloodlust. Was guilt really a strong enough force to earn acceptance and mental peace, or was Constance Valentine just a woman of spectacular tolerance and inner tranquillity? It was hard to believe that she could be.
And Blaze—he looked up to Henry and trusted him, even after the huge loss he’d been caused. Was he truly so at ease with what had happened that he could overlook it or was there some latent resentment he’d never admit to?
Once again in my life, I needed him at a time he was out of reach. It seemed like his reassurance was always just out of touching distance at the most crucial moments. I needed to know what was going on in his head—how he really felt about Henry’s involvement in his father’s death. With his help, I’d have a baseline idea of how he could react if I told him what I’d done. If there was hope for Henry, there could be hope for me but if there was just that slightest niggle...
But he wasn’t available. I knew he’d drop everything to take a call from me but his own meeting was important as mine had been. For all that he’d been through both with and because of me, he deserved a good turn. Some downtime, at least. I wouldn’t disturb him.
Which left me lurking in my office, wherein the glass door gave me a perfect view across into the office of a man who’d once gone through the same motions I was going through now. Maybe he still was. Henry had spent twenty-five years living with the consequences of what he’d done. He hadn’t done time for it. Nobody had made him feel bad about it. He’d still become successful and found a family of his own. In spite of it, he was really very lucky.
He didn’t look like he felt lucky. I’d struggled to process what he’d confessed to me and fled across the hall, leaving him to nurse a bottle of bourbon he kept for emergencies. If we were as alike as I was starting to realise we might be, he’d taken my departure as rejection and disgust. Those two things were bad enough from a stranger; from family or a friend, it hurt like hell.
I felt an incredible wave of empathy for him. He had to feel so alone. In his mind, he was probably the only man in the world who’d done something so awful without truly intending it and the regret must have been eating at him for years...
I was one person who could relate to that inner hatred. He could tell me how he’d moved past it and got on with a better life the way he had. The advice he could offer was one of a kind and invaluable, if only I’d just reach out for it.
“Dad?” I’d crossed the way to his office so quickly my feet burned. Henry looked up despondently from the ice cubes melting in his glass and looked almost surprised to see me. “Can we talk?”
“Of course,” he answered tersely, pushing the glass away. It was almost scary to see him locked down into a state of self-preservation only a fellow denial-abuser would recognise; focusing his energy on making the world think he was powerful and in control when really, he was broken inside. It wasn’t something I’d ever seen in my father. He didn’t look like the same man I’d grown to loath for his avarice and malevolence. “I thought you’d gone home.”
Home? I didn’t have a home. I had a hotel suite full of packing boxes and was undoubtedly just on the processing line to go into one of the many new properties Henry had in escrow. “I’m sorry I rushed out.”
“Nothing more than I’d expect, love. So, what did you want to talk about?”
Wary, I tried several seats around his office before I found one that didn’t feel like it gave off too much of a defensive aura or was too open to his view. Even when I found it, I chose to stand by the windows looking out over the garden at the back of the building instead.
I’d underestimated how difficult it would be to get the words out. It was the first time I’d tell anybody about the truth behind Natasha’s death, and breaking that seal was difficult. It only took one person to destroy my life completely, like it wasn’t already shredded to tatters.
“Emmeline?”
“I did something bad. Awful. Unforgivable, actually. And I need your help.”
There was no telltale noise to suggest Henry had risen from his desk but he’d stealthily moved to the cabinet that held his stash of liquor. “You never ask for my help. Are you doing it now as an expression of pity or because you believe I’m a heartless monster who has no right to judge or disapprove of your indiscretions?”
Holy crap, talk about cynical. I’d always wondered if I’d gotten my jaded downtrodden side from Ivy but now I understood. Underneath all that carefully pressed and starched complacency and prowess, Henry was the dejected victim of a scheme and boy, was he sulking about it.
“Neither. I ask because you’
re a compassionate human being with regrets who’s unintentionally caused great pain. A man who’s haunted every day by the memories of darker times but knows how to rise above it.”
“Emmeline...”
“I killed someone.” The words came out so sharply, it left me stunned. There it was, the ugly truth I’d just blurted out. And Henry did nothing.
“I don’t know what you think I can do about that, Emmy. Necromancy isn’t my strong suit.” He was making jokes about it. Oh my God, he didn’t believe me. He thought I was kidding.
“Dad, I’m serious. I killed someone.”
The second time seemed to do the trick. The next words he spoke weren’t to me, but a gruff order to our assistant, who sat ever patiently at her station near the lift entrance to our floor.
“Marcie, book Emmeline and I a table for lunch. Somewhere with good steak. And a private dining room.”
He looked back at me through the glass wall of his office and sighed. “I believe we’ll need the privacy.”
As a man of many vices, Henry owned an array of restaurants and pubs across London and beyond. As a glutton, he relished in foreign cuisine and wasn’t afraid to taste the exotic; fruity chutneys and taste bud decimating curries were just two extremes of his taste.
But as a red-blooded man, sometimes a slab of dead cow, cooked rare with a thick scraping of pepper, fried mushrooms and an egg was the greatest and most traditional comfort food.
We sat in a quiet steakhouse just a block away from The Parr with matching meals, matching scowls and matching secrets. Despite what I’d just said to him, he ate like a man at the end of death row, ploughing through the meal like he could temporarily shut off the need for oxygen.
“You haven’t said anything,” I pointed out, staring down at my own untouched plate. His steak was twice the size of mine, and mine had come with green vegetables rather than his coronary-inducing deep-fried onion rings. He’d have made those alterations to my meal on purpose and I appreciated it, but how could he really expect me to eat at a time like this?
“You haven’t given me anything to say.” Henry spoke again before I could disagree. “All you’ve made is this audacious claim to have killed. I don’t know if you mean physically or spiritually, when, how or what you want me to help with. Did you hide the body—have you been found out?”
“No. Jesus. No... Nothing as grotesque as that.” Feeling sick, I sipped at my glass of water and could have sworn I shrank down to the size of a mouse. Of course he wouldn’t let me get away without providing the ugly details; had I really thought that he would? “I meant physically. Last week. I smothered her with a pillow while she slept. While I slept. It was like my mind took over my body.” I explained the dream-state I’d been in when I’d woken in Natasha’s guest room—the saturated hue of colours; the lightning and thunder thrashing against the skies outside; the unsteady sort of at-sea movement of the floor underneath me.
And then the voice in my head.
“When I came to my senses, it was all over and she was telling me I was stupid to believe life could get any better. I’d lose my friends, family and freedom. I’d lose Blaze.”
“So that’s why you tried to kill yourself.” Nodding sagely, Henry continued to hack away at his meal like I’d done little more than tell him a sweet bedtime story. “It didn’t make sense at the time but now I see.”
“You do?”
“You may think I don’t know you, girl, but the minute I found out what made you try to kill yourself five years ago, I understood why. You believed the pain of death was less than the pain of losing Hunter. I’d wager that the only thing different in this case was the man you wanted to hold onto.”
He’d hit the nail on the head. He understood me better than I’d ever realised. “He’s my world.”
“And you’re his. So how much trouble are you in?” Henry waved away an approaching server who obediently sped off in response. His lording it up over the lowly working-class masses had always bothered me before but I had to admit, a father in a position of power had it’s advantages.
“None. I think that’s what bothers me so much. I left a person for dead and the only consequence I’ve suffered is a few injuries. I feel like there should be more—a punishment or penance paid.”
“You made a very good attempt at killing yourself, Emmeline. We all believed we’d failed you by missing the signs of your mental decline. Everyone will walk on egg shells afraid to burden you with conversations about their negative emotions. And Blaze, more than anyone, will wear himself into the ground watching over you. You might be the perpetrator but you’ll be treated like a victim for years—maybe the rest of your life. You’ll never be trusted with your own safety again.”
Leaning toward me, Henry dropped his voice to a low whisper. “I understand because I’ve been there that the worst punishment you can endure is the one you inflict on yourself. Tell me that the hell you’re putting yourself through isn’t a severe enough castigation.”
I absolutely got what he was saying. Getting away with it would make me feel like dirt forever, getting worse with every day I was kept in limbo. The constant fear that I’d be found out would slowly overtake any happy thoughts I could muster. I’d become an increasingly paranoid wreck. I’d lose myself as I’d lost my soul. But...
“It’s not enough.” I wanted to be found out and pay a penalty for it, just so it was out in the open. I deserved to lose Blaze, but I’d rather do it sooner when I stood a better chance of being respected for my honesty than hated for concealing the truth for days, months, even years. “I feel like I should confess. To Blaze at the very least. If he can forgive me—”
“No.” Henry’s command snapped out so harshly it made my stomach flip. If a speech bubble had sprouted out of his mouth like a comic book character with the letters in a giant red font, there couldn’t have been more emphasis on it. “You can’t tell him. Blaze came too close to losing you last week; I don’t believe he’d be able to cope with knowing there is something that threatens to separate you again.”
“And here’s me thinking he might be a little more bothered about the whole murder thing.”
“Given the circumstances of the act, I think he’d be very understanding. It would certainly help him understand why he found you bleeding to death last week, maybe even help him stop carrying the weight of responsibility.”
“So I can tell him.”
“No...” Pulling his phone from his pocket, Henry opened up a notebook application and flipped up the plastic stylus tucked into the casing. “I would prefer to ensure that you’re well-protected before this goes further than us. I assume nobody else knows?”
“Just you, me, and the flies on the wall.”
“All right, then.” There was a visible shift from caring father mode to articulate strategist. Part of me felt terrible that he was going to help me cover this murder up, but a greater part was grateful that he’d do it so Blaze and I could eventually live a life that wasn’t held back with lies. “I can’t save you from yourself but I can save you from the outside world, Emmeline Elizabeth. So I’ll ensure that the lid is kept firmly shut on this as I know it’ll be hard enough. Now, tell me their name.”
Oh, God. That might have been the only thing I could tell him that changed his opinion of the situation completely. Without a name, it was an unfortunate mistake done during a moment of instability. With it, there was motive and intent.
“Emmeline?”
“Natasha.” Recoiling, I looked away and spoke to the wall next to me. “Natasha Valentine.”
On the periphery of my vision, I saw him cock an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“Natasha Valentine. Blaze’s wife.” And because I felt the urgent need to justify it, I launched into a ramble. “She was screwing him over. She led him into marriage under false pretences—told him she could die any minute. She only had MS. Nobody dies from MS. I mean, if she’d gotten a bad infection or something, that might have killed her but they
could kill anyone. It’s not like she had cancer or something. She took the piss out of him and when she knew I’d figured her out, she threatened to make him publicly known as a statutory rapist. She sort of had it coming.” Crap. Probably should have stopped a sentence earlier.
“You think she deserved it?”
I nodded dutifully. I deeply regretted killing her but fuck, not for the reasons I probably should have. “Yeah. Lil bit...”
If you make an admission like that, you kind of expect to be disowned on the spot after a bout of chastisement that would sting like a bitch. What I got instead probably hurt more.
Henry started laughing, a booming howl of utter disbelief. If I’d really thought that being judged and hung out to dry was the worst reaction of all, I obviously hadn’t taken into account how painful it would be to come clean like that and end up ridiculed.
Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Henry brushed away a dramatic tear of hilarity and reached over to pat my hand. “You actually had me worried for a minute.”
“You think I’m crazy.”
“Of course. You’re a certified nut case; I have the invoices to prove it.”
I scowled. “You’re not helping.”
“Oh, love... I don’t doubt for a minute that there may be something in that muddled mind of yours that makes your recollection of events very real. But I assure you, you didn’t kill Natasha.”
Before I knew it, I was on my feet. “How can you be so sure?” I promptly dropped back down into my seat like my backside was weighted with lead. Was I seriously arguing the point to defend my murderer status? I was crazy!
Reigning himself in, Henry urged me to drink some more water and passed me a napkin. Without realising, I’d broken into a sweat. My heart raced so fast it felt like I’d keel over again. Blaze would have thrown a fit if he’d been there to see me get so worked up—he was convinced my heart would stutter to a stop again any minute.