The Unblocked Collection

by Marni Mann

  She ducked underneath my elbow and hurried inside. “That’s all I’ll need.” When she reached the living room, she stopped and looked around. “Wow.”

  It wasn’t an open floor plan like my place in Portsmouth. My townhouse had been a full gut; the only thing I’d kept original were the bones of the unit. Everything else had been redone in a sleek, clean, contemporary style. It was sexy and unemotional—full of gadgets and unique upgrades.

  “This isn’t anything like your other house,” she said. “Actually, it doesn’t feel anything like you at all.” She had that part right. “But whoa, it’s a hot place.” She turned toward me, a sentimental look crossed her face. “You’ve really done well for yourself.”

  “Give me the papers.”

  She handed me the documents as she moved into the kitchen, grabbing two tumblers from one of the cabinets and my wine opener from the drawer.

  “I didn’t say make yourself at home.”

  She placed a glass in front of me on the table and filled it. “How else do you expect me to open the bottle? You didn’t exactly offer.”

  “I don’t plan on having you stay long enough to drink it.”

  She rolled her eyes before I glanced back at the listings. “This one is nice,” I said, holding out the sheet that showed a unit in the North End.

  “It doesn’t have an elevator.”

  “It’s a townhouse, Taylor. It doesn’t need an elevator.”

  “But it’s three stories. That’s so many stairs.” She swallowed half her glass and poured herself more.

  I looked at the next page. “What about this one? It has an elevator.” It was in Cambridge, which was even farther from Frankie and me.

  “It’s a little dated on the inside. And the walls were yellow.”

  “I’m sure they’ll paint it for you.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Maybe?

  She hadn’t bothered to ask…because she really didn’t care.

  I dropped the sheets on the table. “Those are two perfectly suited apartments and two lame-ass excuses. What’s really going on here, Taylor?”

  She walked to the freezer and removed a bottle of vodka. She didn’t bother to pour any in a glass. She drank it straight from the bottle. After several swallows, she wiped her mouth and said, “I really have to talk to you, Derek.”

  Her voice was aggravating the hell out of me. So was the look in her eyes, the position of her body, the way she had gulped that liquor like she needed its courage.

  “I don’t want to talk. I want you to—”

  “When I asked about your uncle the other night, you completely shut down,” she said. “What’s happened to you? You never used to shut down around me. You used to tell me everything. You trusted me.”

  “Of course I trusted you. I fucking loved you.”

  “Derek, I just meant—”

  “I don’t give a shit what you meant. You walked out of my life when you decided you wanted someone who made more money than me, who could give you more than I could. We’ve both moved on. What I don’t understand is why you’re back.”

  There was a knock at the door. We both heard it at the same time, our heads turning toward the front of the townhouse. Unless Taylor had invited a friend along, the only person it could be was Frankie.

  A tipsy-looking Taylor standing in my kitchen wouldn’t look good in front of Frankie.

  And the longer I delayed this, the worse it would appear.

  Motherfucker.

  I opened the door, wishing it wouldn’t be her on the other side. “Frankie…” As I reached for her hand to help her in, I felt Taylor behind me, her body much closer than I wanted it to be.

  Frankie saw her as she stepped inside, her eyes narrowed and she chewed her bottom lip. I’d come to know those reactions as something she did when she was turned on. It was obviously what she did when she was confused, too. “What’s she doing here, Derek?”

  The three of us stood in the entryway. I stared at Frankie, and I felt Taylor’s eyes on me. Frankie’s glance darted between the two of us.

  “Derek’s helping me choose a place to live,” Taylor said.

  “Is that true?” Frankie asked me.

  “Yes, that’s true. And actually, we’re finished now. Taylor was just leaving.”

  Taylor held her wine glass in the air and drank from it. It made this situation look even worse. I had to fix this, to explain that nothing was going on between Taylor and me. I took a step toward Frankie, my hands reaching for her waist. “Baby, listen—”

  “No,” she snapped, moving away from me. “You listen.” She pulled a folder out of her bag. Inside were several documents and she fanned them in front of my face. “It looks like Taylor isn’t here for the reason she told us. She’s working for White Construction.”

  My pulse thundered as I took the papers and read them. Taylor was working for White.

  Even worse was that somehow Frankie had identified White Construction…and if she knew about them, there was a chance she knew about my last name.

  Before I handled that, I needed to know if Taylor really was the fucking traitor that Frankie was accusing her to be.

  I turned toward Taylor. “You’re working for him?” I yelled.

  Her face drained of all its color. Her hand shook as she gripped her empty glass. “Derek…” That one word gave me the answer I needed on her. What was missing from these sheets was any information about me.

  “Frankie, where did you get all this?” Before I made a mistake and said something I regretted, I had to know her source was authentic, and that it wasn’t Reed trying to make things worse.

  “It doesn’t matter where I got it,” she said. “What matters is that I found it, and you didn’t.”

  “Is Reed the one who gave it to you?”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Another layer had just unraveled between us.

  “No, it wasn’t him.”

  “Frankie—”

  She stood taller, her voice getting louder. “I found more, if you’re wondering…Derek Block—or…Derek White.” There it was: the missing piece. My missing piece. Someone was helping her put this all together, but I knew she hadn’t figured out everything. She looked at Taylor, who was swaying on her feet. “Do I even know who you are? Has everything you’ve told me been a lie?” There were tears in her eyes like there had been the night she confessed in the rain.

  She was jumping to conclusions, and most of them were false.

  I didn’t blame her for that.

  “Frankie…” I reached for her, but it was too late.

  She wriggled her hand away from me and ran through the door. “I don’t know who’s lying to whom here, Derek, but I have this sickening suspicion that you don’t think I’m worthy of the truth.” She took another step and disappeared down the block.

  I felt an angry heat burn a path across my chest as I looked over at Taylor. “Tell me what the fuck is going on. Right now.”

  I looked like a goddamn fool because of her. But I looked like a liar…because of me. Because I’d been reluctant to reopen that wound.

  She stumbled back and used the couch to regain her balance. The wine, the vodka, both had hit her. Hard. She knew she wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of anything now. “I needed money,” she said bluntly, “and he offered me lots of it.”

  “Randy?”

  “Yup.” She pulled her hair to one side and rubbed the base of her throat. She was nervous…and she should have been. If she hadn’t been a woman, I would have knocked her out by now, or worse. “He gave me twenty thousand and offered to move me back here and pay my rent and give me spending money if I found out what’s going on with you. He thinks you’re up to something and he wants to know what it is.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “Derek—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Taylor.” I walked over to the kitchen table, grabbe
d the listings and her bottle of wine. I shoved it all in her hands and pushed her to the door. She begged me to stop the whole time, but I didn’t give a fuck about her whining or pleading. I wanted her out…it had been stupid of me to let her in, to let her anywhere near Frankie.

  I would never make that mistake again.

  I held the door open, gripped her arm, and brought her outside. “Don’t ever come back—do you understand me? And if I hear you’re anywhere near Frankie or one of her agents, I will ruin you.”

  “I know, Derek…I know.” She stepped clumsily onto the sidewalk. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s worth nothing.” I slammed the door shut and reached in my back pocket for my phone. It wasn’t there. I rushed to the couch and found it on top of a cushion. There were two missed calls from Frankie; both had come in at least forty-five minutes ago…when I’d been sleeping.

  If only they had woken me up.

  I scrolled through my contacts until I found his name; it was kept there so I wouldn’t lose it. I hadn’t called it since I was a kid. A kid who didn’t know any better.

  But I knew the truth now.

  “Son,” Randy said as he answered.

  “I’m not your fucking son.” I didn’t yell; I didn’t even raise my voice. I didn’t have to. My tone made my emotions extremely clear.

  “Is there a reason for your call?”

  I walked over to the window and watched Taylor climb into a taxi. “You’ve got my attention. Now if you want something from me, be a man and ask me.”

  “I take it you’ve gotten reacquainted with Taylor.”

  He was so smug. “You really did your homework, didn’t you? That skeleton was buried a long time ago, Randy. It was a nice try. But that’s all it was…a try.”

  He laughed. “I’ve got plenty more up my sleeve, son. Hopefully, I won’t have to use any of them.”

  I gritted my teeth together. “Speak. Now.”

  “I know you’ve been sniffing around,” he said confidently. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for so we can settle this once and for all?”

  Settle? There would be no settling.

  “Fuck you, Randy.” I hung up before he had a chance to say anything else.

  I didn’t give a fuck that he was my uncle—my father’s brother. Family didn’t hurt family…brothers didn’t hurt brothers. But he had hurt his.

  No, he had murdered his.

  I’d watched it happen. The scream, the fall, the death.

  The death…of my father.

  And I wouldn’t rest until that motherfucker was buried, too.

  To be continued…

  UNBLOCKED:

  EPISODE 5

  MARNI MANN

  Seattle, WA 2015

  COPYRIGHT 2015 MARNI MANN

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

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  should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Edited by Steven Luna

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-5137-0206-3

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0248-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015913523

  For my Midnighters,

  who constantly inspire me,

  keep me smiling

  and fill me with love.

  ONE.

  DEREK

  I HAD NO IDEA how long it had been since I’d hung up on Randy. The phone still rested in my palm, and his voice still rang in my goddamn ears. The anger in my chest was making it hard to take a deep breath. That motherfucker. He knew better than anyone how to get under my skin.

  He thought he was so fucking smart using Taylor to get information out of me. It was a bold move, not a smart one. It hadn’t earned him anything other than a confirmation that Frankie and I were together…a confirmation that I wouldn’t let put her at risk.

  If Randy came anywhere near my pink ivory, I would kill him.

  I paced, walking past the kitchen to the living room and back. Then I did it again, my anger building with each step. On my third trip toward the freezer, I pulled out the vodka Taylor had sipped from and swallowed down a few shots.

  It was starting to feel like things were slipping out of my control. Hayden was putting herself at risk while uncovering more victims every day; Randy was digging up skeletons I’d buried for years, and Frankie felt lied to. She had a sickening suspicion that she didn’t think she was worthy of the truth…but she was worthy of it, and of so much more. I just hadn’t been ready to share it with her. Ready or not, it had to come out now. Our relationship couldn’t afford another setback.

  I scrolled through my contacts and found her number. After four rings, it went to voicemail, so I hung up and called again. It went to voicemail a second time. If Frankie wasn’t going to pick up, I knew who would. I scrolled through my contacts again.

  “Hello, Mr. Block,” Brea said.

  I carried the vodka to the kitchen table and sat, swirling the bottle above the smooth mahogany surface. “Is Frankie with you?”

  “No…I thought she went to your place.”

  The hint of concern in her voice told me she was telling the truth. “She was here.” I pressed the bottle to my lips and swallowed. “But she left.”

  “Well, I haven’t spoken to her since she left the office, and that was before she came to your place. You would be the last person to have seen her.”

  I checked the time on the microwave; it was still early enough for her to go out. “Is there somewhere she likes to hide out? Maybe a bar or something?”

  “Have you tried calling her? That works for most people, you know.”

  I had zero patience for questions like that. But she was Frankie’s best friend, so I needed to find some damn patience. “Yes, Brea, I tried calling her. She’s not answering her phone, which is why I’m calling you.”

  Brea sighed. “When she goes out, I’m almost always with her. And since I’m not with her, I’d say she’s probably home taking a bath, or under the covers with her phone turned off.”

  That was all I needed to know. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to check the tub, too.”

  “Mr. Block?”

  I twisted the cap back on the vodka and walked to the freezer. “We’re past the point of formality, Brea. Call me Derek.”

  “Okay, Derek…she was given a lot of information tonight and a lot to take in all at once. I know her better than anyone; she needs time to process it all. This may be blunt, but you’re going to have to give her that.”

  I froze in the middle of my kitchen. Time? Fuck time. “Whatever she thinks or whatever someone told her or whatever the hell she tries to piece together, it won’t be the right story. She needs to hear the truth from me.”

  “And she’ll want to, I’m sure. But she’ll be the one to decide when that happens.”

  “Goddammit.” I tossed the bottle into the freezer, not caring if it broke and slammed the door shut. I didn’t want a puppet or a slave, but when I called, I wanted her to pick up the damn phone. It was another situation I couldn’t control: someone had given her information about me, and I hadn’t told her the truth. I hated that. And I hated that I’d avoided telling her every time I had been given a chance. “Okay. You know her best. I’ll back off.”

  “I know it’s not easy. But trust me, I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it
was best for her. And for you.”

  I’d trusted Brea in the past, and it had proven to be a good decision. I’d trust her again. I had no choice.

  I grabbed a bottle of beer from the bar in the living room, switching to something I could drink much more of, and walked into my office. There would be no sleep tonight so I might as well work. “I’ll make it right,” I promised her.

  “I know you will, Derek,” Brea said. “I think Frankie knows it, too.”

  TWO.

  FRANKIE

  “MS. JORDAN,” the doorman said, “it looks like you had a nice run?”

  I smiled as he held the door open, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. “I did, thank you.” I glanced around the lobby, checking for Reed’s face. “I didn’t have any visitors while I was out, did I?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. It’s been a quiet night.”

  After hanging up on him just a few hours earlier, I was concerned he would come here and try to talk more. I was happy to hear that he hadn’t—at least he hadn’t yet.

  “Have a nice evening.” I gave him a final smile and walked to the elevator.

  “You too.”

  I stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor, staring at the lit up numbers as sweat dripped down my forehead. I wiped it with my sleeve and leaned against the back wall, wrapping my hands around the safety bar. I didn’t usually run this late, or outdoors, for that matter; I preferred the treadmill inside my building. But tonight, I needed air, the sounds of the city, and asphalt beneath my feet. I hadn’t timed my run or tracked how far I’d gone. From the way my heart was pounding, how my breathing wasn’t yet under control, I knew I’d gone much faster and much farther than I usually did. Still, the distance I’d logged hadn’t given my mind the answers it was looking for; nor did the glass of wine I poured as soon as I stepped into my kitchen.

  I held my phone, staring at the two missed calls on the screen. Both were from Derek. It had been more than ninety minutes since his last call, and he hadn’t left a voicemail. Like me, I knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. And I knew he had things he wanted to say. The only way I would ever get any resolution was if I gave him a chance to talk. Avoiding him would only lead to more questions.