The Red Roots

by Andrea Johnson Beck

  She finished her shower. Clothes were laid out on the made bed. Isla lifted the forest green lounger and camisole. More silk but at least it was pants. Isla dressed and as she did, she checked out the room in greater detail. There was no clock or phone. No television. His safe house was not equipped for a tween girl.

  Rosa opened the door holding a tray of food.

  “You look refreshed.”

  “I feel human again, thank you.”

  Rosa sat the tray down on the side table. “Vegetarian chili and roasted eggplant melt.”

  “Sounds . . . healthy.”

  Isla picked up the bowl and sunk down in the recliner. She sniffed the chili as spicy steam curled around her. The robust aroma tempted her appetite. Rosa sat down on the loveseat. Isla didn’t know if she was aware of Jules’s impending arrival. Would Henry stay as well? What would he think of Ronan’s death? Henry hated him just as much as Isla. He was careful not to see her right after she escaped Walker Plantation but once enough time had passed—when Isla was starting her third trimester—Henry moved them to Montana. When Jules celebrated her second birthday, they moved to the ranch in Colorado. It was there that Isla decided it was time to visit Carys.

  Carrying the Pierce name would give Isla the power she needed to destroy Ronan. Over the years she’d circled and picked at him like a piranha. The prey was now the predator. His IT department was no match for her advanced computer skills or the malicious code she fired off to his servers. It was around the time the Stuxnet computer worm was released into the wild, so the authorities lumped it in with the worm.

  Idiots.

  Isla backed off Ronan as Ellis contracted her for more jobs. Fight and protect was Pierce code. After Reed slipped the wedding band on, training started. Isla was taught to shoot by an ex-FBI agent, and her instructor at the gym trained some of the best UFC fighters. She excelled and practiced until each target was hit and each takedown was flawlessly executed.

  The pull of the trigger along with the bloody, swollen lips was her therapy. Discussing her abuse on a stranger’s rigid couch did nothing for her but push the trauma deeper. Jules didn’t deserve a broken mother. She deserved a mother who fought to keep the evils of the world away from her.

  Cross-legged like a child, Isla devoured her food and listened to Rosa share stories of her family back in Gotland, Sweden, a quaint island in the Baltic Sea. She was Erik’s aunt, which explained their spirited interaction.

  “I have known the Pierces for many years. Reed and Carys are good kids.”

  “What of the other two? I’ve never heard much about them. I didn’t even know this house existed.”

  “Jealousy. The eldest son and daughter always have more say in the business. The Pierces are protective of their privacy, especially after the affair. Ellis never forgave his wife.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  Rosa nodded.

  “Who was it?”

  “Reed walked in on his mother and another man. She begged him not to tell Ellis. He did, and when she was banished from their home, Reed blamed himself. I believe he still does.”

  “Jesus, can’t people keep their pants zipped and blouses buttoned in this family?

  Isla understood guilt. The house of mirrors, its reflective torment. No matter which way Isla turned, the echoes of shame confined her.

  “Ellis say, love is a fast way to die.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Love is to live.” Rosa patted her chest. “Love makes us human. Do you love?”

  Isla said nothing. She brushed crumbs from her fingers onto the plate.

  “I believe you do.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I love. I show you love, then you show him love.”

  Rosa retrieved the empty plate from Isla’s lap and waved off any further protest. The bedroom door cracked open, Reed stuck his head inside. “May I come in?”

  Talk about timing.

  HE BROUGHT ISLA’S bag in with him and laid it on the loveseat. Rosa squeezed Reed’s arm before she left.

  He walked deeper into the room. Isla’s lips tingled. Her mouth dried.

  Rosa laced my food with some funky love poison. I know it.

  Admitting how she felt terrified her but she didn’t want to run. She glanced down at her wedding band. Without him, she felt empty.

  “You look scared.” Reed said.

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “I have no self-control.”

  “Good.”

  Reed’s voice resonated inside her chest as she released a breath. His fingertips outlined her lips. Soft. Refined. Her awareness of him overwhelmed Isla. She’d been dead inside for years.

  Lost.

  Lost and scared.

  A wrecked mess.

  Visions of what Ronan had done—the lashings, the degradation—flashed. She couldn’t stop the tears from spilling. Reed raised her gaze to his. He wasn’t Ronan. Reed wasn’t Ronan.

  He isn’t Ronan.

  Reed thumbed her tears. Smeared them into her skin. She blinked, and they came again. They overflowed her but didn’t drown her. Instead, they carried her closer to him.

  He lowered his head brushing his lips along her collarbone. Isla tipped her head back. Reed’s hair tickled and brushed along her skin. His arms enveloped her waist. God, Reed’s touch took her higher.

  He glided his hands beneath her shirt. Fingers dug into Isla’s sides.

  Along her ribcage, her breast. Isla raised her arms—silk skated along her flesh. She ignored the slight twinge in her shoulder. The neckline glided over her face. Reed dropped it to the floor. Her arms lowered, spine shuddered, skin dampened. Isla wanted to be there with him, in the same emotional space, but fear caused her to pause.

  Reed would see her disgrace. See what Ronan did to her. What she allowed him to do to her. Shame. Pure shame Isla couldn’t hide anymore. She crossed her arms over her breasts and stepped away from him.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Isla shook her head.

  Reed moved closer.

  Prickles swept across her skin.

  He reached out to her. “What did Ronan do to you?”

  Isla’s pulse flooded her ears. The earth fell away. She felt nothing as her feet pivoted slowly. Her back faced Reed. She hunched and closed her eyes. Intricate onyx wings covered her back—and her scars. Her skin weaved together into silver marks of persecution and ink. Each feather was knitted with precision. Many times Isla envisioned her black feathers extracting from her shoulder blades, the soft fringe lifting her up into the sky.

  Cool air pranced along her exposed skin until she felt warmth, skin on skin. Tender fingertips traced the black feathers.

  “Beautiful.” Reed whispered.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. Don’t ever think or speak differently.”

  His hands dropped to her waist. Reed’s hot breath floated along her skin. His lips grazed each scar. Slow. Excruciating. She stopped breathing for a moment.

  He lowered.

  Reed injected a cure for her despair and blame. He eliminated all her ghosts. Her secrets became his truths.

  Silence cradled them.

  Reed’s touch flowed through Isla, ripening her blood, bringing new life to her dormant heart. The empty spaces filled. Isla warmed. He flooded her. With every breath she took, Reed became a part of her, but panic shook her away from him. She wasn’t ready to be intimate. Isla set boundaries when she became his wife. The scars and the marks of beauty from her pregnancy, she kept covered.

  Isla turned in his arms. “I can’t.”

  Reed pulled her tight against him. Lips lingered. Isla wasn’t ready, though his touch divine, she needed more time. Intimacy was difficult for her. Isla never thought she’d have a connection with anyone. Ronan pounded into her with rage, violated her. He was dead but the marks would never go away. The memories would never
go away. For a second, Isla felt like she was losing it. Tears rolled down her face. Reed motioned toward the mirror near the dresser. “Come with me.”

  With one arm crossed over her breast and her across her abdomen, Reed guided her ahead of him, her back pressed against his shirt. He smoothed her hair away from her face, tucking loose strands behind her ear. His chin hovered above her shoulder.

  “Let your arms drops.”

  “No.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I’m trying,” Isla said, and tightened her arms until her breasts throbbed from the pressure.

  “I won’t hurt you, Isla.”

  “You will.”

  Reed pressed his lips against her bandaged shoulder. “I won’t, not ever.”

  Isla squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart raged through her veins. Isla uncrossed her arms. Her ample breasts exposed, silvery lines ran across her hips and stomach. Reed slid his hands down her arms; their gazes collided inside the mirror.

  “He can never touch you again.”

  Dark-eyed Reed trailed kisses along her neck, shoulder blade, and spine. His hands held her like precious stone or metal. He revered the curves that flowed and caressed her skin.

  This was the humanity that dwelled inside Reed Pierce. This was the man she fell in love with.

  Rosa was right.

  She loved.

  IN THE DARK and well into the early morning, Isla and Reed started over.

  FOR THE BETTER part of a decade Isla adapted—not accepted—to the notion that Jules would not be able to come home. She’d remain in hiding with Henry until authoritative bounds held her no more.

  A Will was drawn up leaving Henry in charge of Jules. It pained Isla not being with her daughter, and though the agony never ended within her heart, she made sure her eyes never gave her away. Expressions carved of stone deceived everyone, including her husband.

  She was never numb to Jules’s absence but time had strained her mental state. Perhaps that was when Isla let Reed slip through. Knocking down the walls she built up around her heart. Perhaps there was room for one more.

  Perhaps.

  WHEN ISLA WAS a child she flipped the handlebars of her new pink bicycle. Gravel embedded into her skin, and her mother was quick to clean the wound. Once bandaged, Isla cried into her arms apologizing for damaging her birthday present. Her mother wiped her tears away. “That is just metal and plastic. You, my sweet girl, are what matters.”

  While Isla curled into the corner after one of Ronan’s lashings she wondered why her mother left her sweet girl in the care of a monster.

  Many questions such as those disturbed her for years. What could she do? Raise the dead? Hold a séance? Conjure up her parents. Anything from Ronan’s mouth was vile, and her grandmother was too occupied with charity luncheons and facials to care about what was happening to Isla.

  The Walkers were nothing more than a wealthy immoral family, but unlike the Kennedy or Rockefellers, their dirty secrets weren’t streaked across Page 6 of the New York Times. Ronan buried his deep into the dirt.

  The Pierce family wasn’t exempt of front-page news or gossip, but they protected their own unless you betrayed what the family stood for.

  Influence.

  Unity.

  Dynasty.

  Amaranthine wasn’t a name of happenstance. It was chosen for a family to continue on through the decades. Ellis’s decision to give Reed his shares made sense to Isla. Also, with the increase of her hacking abilities, it fell into line of what her father-in-law wanted.

  Reed and Isla, along with Jules would build the Pierce empire stronger, fiercer, and without mercy.

  No matter what thoughts combed through Isla’s mother’s head about her own family, her torment brought Isla here. She was the woman shaped by triumph, and Jules would be shaped by strength and love. With Reed at her side, their family would be unstoppable.

  ON THE PRIVATE beach, Isla sat next to Ellis and dug her toes into the cool sand. Only he would wear an expensive suit and then roll the pant legs to mid-calf like a boy.

  Isla swatted a gnat from her legs. “You need new clothes for your guest houses.”

  “Green looks nice on you.”

  “If the shirt wasn’t clinging to me like another layer of skin.”

  Ellis looked to the clear skies. “How are you and Reed?”

  “Good.”

  “I need you better than good.”

  “We have much to work through. I’m a stranger to him.”

  “I have faith.”

  Isla laughed. “You? Faith?”

  “Dead men say silly things.”

  “Are you dying today?”

  “It’s still early.”

  “Yes it is.”

  As Isla looked across the water, a buoy bobbed in the current. Just as the tides in the ocean, life was the same. All could change with a single wave or a drop of rain from the heavens.

  Life was an illusion. A strange, dangerous illusion.

  DOWN THE CORRIDOR lined with Pierce family portraits and Old World oil paintings, rows of wood beams guided Isla and Reed closer to the elegant limestone foyer of the compound.

  Isla was ecstatic to see Jules and Henry, but something frenetic stirred inside of her. She also felt similar things when she travelled, her suspicions at high alert. Ellis assured Isla that their identities remained concealed as they boarded a private jet from Colorado.

  Still, she worried. Too many snakes slithered through Amaranthine, through the families. A snake would always be a snake no matter how many times it shed its skin.

  They entered the foyer. Armed guards stood stiff at the front double doors. Isla stopped beneath the crystal chandelier. Mounted on the wall, near the door was a small screen giving view of the coquina driveway. Erik glanced at his watch.

  “How long?” Isla said.

  “ETA four minutes.”

  Isla looked to Reed. He, too, appeared nervous, but gave her a slight smile.

  Most never see the snake slithering in the grass or hiding beneath a rock. When the venomous fangs sink into exposed skin, it’s too late.

  “Soon you’ll be with your daughter.”

  “I never thought this day would come.”

  “Three minutes” Erik said.

  The affected area swells and changes color as the toxins seep into the tissues. The important thing is to stay calm and call for help.

  “Where’s my father?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be down.”

  “Two minutes.”

  Venom causes destruction of the red blood cells and blood vessels; to be specific, hemotoxin. Remain calm. Advise medical personnel of any symptoms, such as, shortness of breath, vomiting, or paralysis.

  “You look sick.”

  “Anxious.”

  “One minute.”

  It is helpful to identify the venomous snake. The doctor will decide on an exact course of action.

  The SUV arrived, slowed and stopped in front of the security camera. Isla’s rigid circulatory system burned. Cries tipped the edge. She walked closer to the screen.

  Winded, Rosa entered the foyer. “Ellis is dead. He is shot dead!”

  “Martin.” Reed said through gritted teeth.

  At the same time, Isla spoke, “Zargotta.”

  Snakes identified.

  CHAOS ERUPTED.

  Either one meant death. The perfect plot would be to execute a public feud but in private be allies. Martin turned on his family. He was a coward. He knew when to shed his skin and slither away. Vinny was violent, didn’t have a conscience. If he banned together with Martin, they’d take over Amaranthine and eventually each of the sister companies.

  Screaming, Isla flung open the door ignoring the others protest. Daylight blinded her, but she stepped out into the threat. “Jules.” She called out with trembled lips. The back passenger door opened, long wisps of hair blew in front of her daughter’s face. She held a red backpack close to her chest. “Jules, come to me now.
”

  Jules’ black Converse shoes hit the driveway. Isla shook off whomever was pulling her back. She had to get to Jules. Protecting her daughter was all she focused on. Isla’s arms outstretched, and she motioned for Jules to hurry.

  “Mom, what’s happening?”

  “Come quickly, darling.”

  Isla grabbed the sleeve of Jules’s sweatshirt, pulling her close. She wrapped her arms around Jules and stared at the SUV.

  “Where’s Henry?”

  “In the front seat.”

  Isla’s vision darted to the blackout windows. Not him. Please, not Henry. Reed pulled them back toward the door as the armed guards stepped in front. All was silent; nothing moved but the salty wind pirouetting from the ocean, teasing the fronds. Jules’s face was tucked into the crook of Isla’s neck.

  “Listen.” Erik held up his hands. “Shut up and listen.”

  Isla looked to the sky.

  Whup.

  Whup.

  Whup.

  Growing louder, blades slicing through the air. A loud bang mixed with the helicopter noise.

  Erik looked back at Isla. “Get inside.”

  The passenger door opened, and Henry’s body fell out, he faced away from them.

  Isla paled. Henry didn’t move. He didn’t take a breath. He was dead. Henry was dead and Isla was to blame. She squeezed Jules tight, making sure her daughter didn’t see Henry’s body lying lifeless before them.

  The guards lifted their firearms.

  Erik readied his gun. “There is a way out, and Rosa knows where. You four will leave.”

  “No way. Not without you.”

  “Not the time to argue,” Reed said.

  “Go.”

  They shuffled back into the foyer. Rosa shut and locked the door.

  Gunfire broke out beyond the fortress walls.

  The inescapable pull of gravity kept Isla next to Reed. Their time slipped thin. She ignored the tears skating down her face. She ignored the fear shuddering her frame. She ignored the echoes of death inside her chest. He had to know before all was lost into the ether. “I love you,” she mouthed to Reed.