Magnificent Ruin (Everlasting Series Book 2)

by Alison Foster

  “Yep, got me. I’m getting into bad habits.”

  Maybe that’s the answer I needed. Grace and Nathan being here will help me get over my damned problems without having to leave the island. The three of us could explore all the places I haven’t been to yet. Lesbos is a big island with all kinds of sites and hidden treasures to discover.

  Lord, I so enjoyed my stay here before that stupid dream got in the way of simple arrangements between Tomas and me. It was all about discovery, relaxation and having a good time. I want to go back to that pronto. Falling in love can wait for when I’m not a complete wreck of a human being.

  “What time is it in Greece?” Grace asks.

  “Hmm, let me check. Nine twenty-five.”

  “Go grab a bite already.”

  “Will do,” I say, trying to smile for her. “So when are you coming? Do you have tickets?”

  “No, I just wanted to check with you. We’re thinking mid-July.”

  “Shit, I can’t wait now. Let me know as soon as you have the tickets. I might come and meet you in Athens and we can all take the boat to the island.”

  “Yay, I can’t believe it’s actually happening!”

  I’m about to tell her she’s the only person I want to see right now when the doorbell rings.

  “Someone’s at the door, Grace. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Sure, take care. We’ll be talking face-to-face in like three weeks.”

  By the time we hang up, I’m at the door. When I open, Adrian gives me a big smile and opens his arms as if to hug me.

  He’s dressed in a fine blue buttoned shirt and linen pants. I’ve never seen him dressed like that; it’s mostly shorts, T-shirts or swimming trunks every time we’ve run into each other.

  “Adrian, hi,” I say. “That’s a surprise.”

  “Hey, lovely lady,” he says, finally giving me that hug.

  “What brings you by?”

  “Can I come in?”

  After a short hesitation, I let him in. I’ll be damned if I’m going to lock myself in a gloomy tower of isolation to mourn a non-existent love.

  “So, what brings you?” I say as soon as we enter the bright living room with all its windows open to create a soothing breeze.

  “I come to see Tomas,” he says, “but I’m glad to see you, too.”

  “Tomas isn’t here,” I say.

  “Oh, where is he?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. He doesn’t inform me of his whereabouts.”

  Adrian brushes back his styled dark hair. “You mean you don’t know where he is?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  There’s disappointment on his face. “When will he be back?”

  “I don’t know that either. Sometime tonight, probably. Is it urgent?”

  He shakes his head. “Is it okay to stay? A little bit? To talk to you?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Would you like a refreshment?”

  His eyes get confused.

  “A cold drink?” I explain.

  “Ah, thank you. Yes, a cold coffee,” he says. “We call it café frappe.”

  “Oh, I can’t make it. I’ve tried but it’s not good.”

  “I make it for us,” he says, rolling up his sleeves and heading for the kitchen.

  I try to remember if Adrian has been at the house before. He sure seems to know his way around. And I guess it’s too late for me to tell him that I really don’t like this café frappe thing.

  He opens three cupboards before he locates a can of Nescafe coffee. Next comes the sugar and the milk and then he turns to me with a question he can’t quite articulate in English.

  “I need a thing to put everything in,” he says, “and then I do this.”

  He starts shaking his right arm up and down until I know what he wants. “A shaker,” I say.

  He nods, excited by the successful communication.

  So we know what he wants except I don’t know where to find it. It’s my turn to open cupboards and look through pots and pans.

  “Here it is,” I say after a while, doing my best to fake enthusiasm.

  “Great,” he says, taking the shaker from me. He blends in coffee, sugar and water and takes on the daunting task of mixing them up completely in the shaker like a cocktail.

  “Tomas goes away often like that?” he says, smiling at me, as I quietly tidy the kitchen counter.

  “You know that he writes, don’t you?”

  “He writes?”

  “I guess you don’t know.”

  “What does he write?”

  I don’t give him an answer. Instead, I ask my own question. “Why don’t you call him?” The possibility that Adrian might call and find out where Tomas has actually gone is more than intriguing. My pride is too hurt to allow me to ever ask Tomas that question myself, but I’m dying to know.

  “I tried already,” Adrian says.

  “And?”

  “The phone is off.”

  My hopes immediately turn into a sour mood. Tomas has his phone off because he doesn’t want to have to deal with me.

  I nod and start closing the windows. “That’s odd,” I say. “Maybe it ran out of battery.”

  “Maybe he’s with that horrible American friend.”

  I freeze with my hands on the window frame, only halfway closed. I turn back to Adrian who’s pouring the coffee in a tall glass.

  “What American friend?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” Adrian says, handing me the glass with the frothy coffee.

  All kinds of alarms go off in my head. The expression on Adrian’s face is not one I have seen before. He smiles nervously as he pours the rest of the coffee in a second glass. “You need a straw,” he says, looking around the kitchen as if he could magically locate the straws.

  “Adrian,” I say, going to him and taking his hand. “This is important. Please, don’t try to cover for him. Does he have dangerous friends?”

  I don’t know how else to put it. Adrian’s limited use of English means I’ll have to put things forward in the simplest manner.

  “Tomas is a good man,” he says, “but—”

  “But what? Adrian?”

  “Never mind, Taylor. It’s not for me to speak.”

  He brushes his hand against my cheek, still holding my hand. The intimacy he’s looking for throws me off completely. I wriggle away from him as delicately as I can. “I just want to know if he’s in trouble.”

  “You care for him.”

  “Of course,” I say, giving him my sweetest smile. “He’s my friend.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s not important right now, is it? Is he in trouble, Adrian?”

  He lowers his eyes and then locks them on mine. “It’s wrong to tell you this. He has to tell you. But I must warn you because I care for you, Taylor.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “Tomas has friends that do bad things.”

  “Bad how?” This is not the kind of revelation I was hoping to hear today.

  “They lie, they steal, they threaten people. I tell Tomas not to be with these people but this is how he lives. He likes it, Taylor. The danger, the play with fire. He’s not good for you. Or Sophia.”

  Am I surprised? Yes and no. I mean, I know he’s lived a life of debauchery, drifting and gambling, taking major risks, avoiding emotional ties and getting himself in dangerous situations. But there’s also another side to him, a tender side. Maybe. He did take a spiritual trip to Tibet and he was there to save Nathan’s life and Grace’s, even mine.

  I thought maybe he was changing for the better, that light was winning the battle with darkness.

  “Did you tell Sophia this?”

  He nods, then opens his arms wide. “She doesn’t want to listen. Like you. You see only your dream. You do not see Tomas. His life is not dream.”

  “His life is tough. I know,” I say.

  “He is a criminal,” Adrian says reluctantly.

  “T
hat’s taking it too far, Adrian. If you think him a criminal, why are you his friend?” Suddenly, I want Adrian to go.

  “I’m sorry, Taylor,” he says. “I like him. He is good guy to me, but not good for a girl. He will tell you this himself.”

  “Okay, Adrian, I know you mean well. I need to go now.”

  “I will drive you.”

  “Thanks, but I like to walk.”

  He’s disappointed and makes no effort to hide it. “Don’t tell Tomas about our talk,” he says before he exits.

  “It’s none of his business,” I say to reassure him but as soon as he’s gone, my first instinct is to pick up the phone and leave a frantic message for Tomas.

  All my plans to move on from him crumble down at my feet as I dial his number and then hang up without waiting for a ringtone. I miss him with a hollow ache. I miss him so much I feel sick.

  In my blood his hands still electrify my skin, my body still swells for his lustful touch. I close my eyes and feel his breath on my neck. I can hear all those little things he whispered into my ear. For a few hours, life was full of possibilities and the seconds seemed everlasting. When our hands met, the dark world exploded into the bright light of a super nova.

  I take a quick look in the mirror. “I’m a mess,” I say as failed tears glisten faintly in my tired eyes.

  Chapter 11

  In the morning, I wake up feeling disoriented. Last night I went to bed early to avoid Tomas in case he decided to come home like he said he would. He didn’t show up in time for dinner nor by the time I went to bed with my e-reader at nine. I stayed up reading until I literally passed out, leaving the bedside light on.

  My head feels like it was just hit with a hammer. A relentless banging lingers in my ears, probably a remnant from some strange dream or other. I stay under the soft satin sheet for a moment before the banging returns. It’s not a dream. Someone’s trying to break the door down.

  All my senses go on hyper mode as I try to comprehend why anyone could be knocking on the door so violently. My ears scan the air for additional auditory information, like a police siren or people talking.

  Nothing. I step out of bed and go down the stairs, clutching onto the cell phone. In a moment of panic, I realize I don’t know who to call since I never bothered to ask for the Greek equivalent of a 911 number.

  My thoughts do a one-eighty turn when I get to the hallway downstairs. Tomas is standing in front of the door in nothing but his boxer briefs. Only now do I realize I’m wearing nothing but a thin, barely-there tank top and underwear myself.

  A nice pair we’ll make if that’s the police banging on the door. Tomas arches his brows. “Go back upstairs,” he commands me. Immediately I want nothing more than to stay until I know what’s going on.

  I face him with the most determined expression I can muster. I make quick calculations in my head. His hair is messy on one side which means he was sleeping but the redness in his eyes betrays he hasn’t had more than a couple of hours of sleep. He must have come back home right before dawn.

  He shakes his head at me disapprovingly as he opens the door. “Why so much noise?” he says with a fake yawn as two oversized goons in tight T-shirts and jeans push the door wide open to waltz through it.

  “You sure took your time, Keller,” one of them says. “What are you up to?”

  Tomas scratches his crotch with a grin on his face. “What do you think?” he says.

  The goon looks at me, laughing. “The little lady is keeping you company, huh?”

  “All right, Lester, what do you want?” Tomas says.

  “You took something that doesn’t belong to you, Keller,” the goon says. “Mister De Luca would like it back.”

  De Luca. The appalling man from the beach. I knew he was a scumbag the very moment I laid eyes on him. I’d love to know what business it is that Tomas has with him. Whether I like it or not, I allowed myself to get involved with Tomas and I can’t pretend not to care about what happens to him.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tomas tells the goon—or Lester as he called him earlier.

  “Do you like games, Keller? Cause we could play all year and you’d lose every time.”

  “I’m not a thief,” Tomas says, getting pissed off. “I haven’t even been to the villa in weeks.”

  “Cut the crap, motherfucker. You know what you did.”

  “Tell De Luca I don’t have anything that belongs to him,” Tomas says, walking to the door that’s been left wide open the whole time. It’s a good thing we don’t have any neighbors.

  “The loser of this game, Keller, loses everything,” Lester the hoodlum says. “I would advise you to stop.” I begin to wonder if the second beefcake can actually speak. He looks like he could be American but who knows.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” Tomas says sarcastically. “I’ll deal with your boss face to face.”

  Lester smiles as he takes a step toward the door. He turns around, swiftly throwing and connecting with a punch to Tomas’s face.

  Tomas takes a few involuntary steps backward, holding his nose. Blood drips through his fingers, making my heart stop for a second. I want to run to him, throw my arms around him and check to make sure he doesn’t have a broken nose. And then I’ll punch him myself.

  What the hell is Tomas thinking? Does he always feel compelled to provoke monster-sized goons and bouncers?

  Tomas laughs as he brings his bloody hand in front of his eyes. “Solid shot, Lester, I didn’t see it coming.”

  The goon grips the back of Tomas’s neck. “Consider yourself lucky we don’t have orders to inflict permanent damage,” he says. “Yet.”

  Tomas nods. “No hard feelings, man. You have your orders. But the thing is, I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  He spins around grabbing Lester’s wrist with both hands and bending over to toss him over his shoulder and onto the second goon. It happens so fast they’re both caught off guard, their bodies rolling into a messy hump of shell-shocked limbs.

  In a flash, Tomas snatches a gun out of Lester’s back pocket and trains it on them. “Get the hell out,” he says, teeth clenched. “Tell De Luca to grow some balls and come after me himself if he thinks I stole from him.”

  The goons get up slowly and, for the first time, it is the unnamed one that throws the threat, “You’ll pay for this.”

  Brooklyn accent, hoarse voice, eyes so narrow it’s a wonder he can see through them.

  “What fresh kind of hell is this?” I tell Tomas as soon as he closes the door behind his assailants.

  “I’ll straighten it all out,” he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand—the one holding the gun. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

  Blood trickles down his chin to his chest and all the way to his abs. Grace is good with handling emergencies like this and the sight of blood doesn’t faze her. Not so much the case with me.

  I drag Tomas by the arm to the kitchen to clean him with a wet rag and put some ice on his bleeding nose. I stare at the gun silently until he realizes he’s still holding it and sets it on the table.

  “Do you think it’s broken?”I say as he flinches when I put the ice pack on his face.

  “No,” he says.

  “How could you even tell?”

  “I’ve had a broken nose before.”

  “Of course, you have.”

  I’m so mad at him for valuing his life so little, for putting himself in harm’s way constantly and for building up walls to keep out everyone who might care about him.

  He reads my thoughts on my reprimanding face. “Don’t be mad, Taylor,” he says. “I have a big booboo.”

  “At least, all that martial arts training finally paid off,” I say, looking away, not willing to be amused just yet.

  “You sound judgmental.”

  Okay, that about does it. “Do I? Gee, I wonder why. Two thugs show up accusing you of theft and you seem to be quite familiar with them. Not to mention their boss. A mob
boss, I take it? What did you steal from him? Money? Drugs? What are these people even doing in Greece?”

  He remains interestingly calm. “I didn’t steal anything from him,” he says. “You have to believe that. I don’t have anything that belongs to him.”

  I consider his words, saying nothing.

  “What?” he says. “You think I’m lying?”

  “I think lying is your profession. You choose your words carefully. I think you did steal something but you believe it belongs to you.”

  “That wouldn’t be stealing,” he says, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Right, because in your pig head it never belonged to De Luca in the first place. What do they call it? Like blood money, maybe.”

  He laughs but stops quickly as it causes him pain. “Lord, you’re good,” he says. “But I still didn’t steal anything.”

  “Well the thing you didn’t steal might get you killed. Those people won’t give up,” I say.

  “It’s all fine, Taylor. Please, say you believe me.”

  “Goons come to where we live with guns. Guns, Tomas. Are you going to just stand there and tell me all is right with the world?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, “it should have never happened. You should not have been exposed to violence again—not after what happened to you last year. But I promise you that whatever it is they’re accusing me of, they’re wrong. Just say that you believe that.”

  “I don’t see why you should care what I think. You obviously chose your path long ago. Facts are hardly an issue in your world. Belief, even less so.”

  He sighs. “Just because I don’t want to have a relationship doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you think. Or that I don’t care about you.”

  “You think that’s what it’s about, you moron? I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I’m over it.”

  I’m lying and he probably knows it. If I keep my front up, he might lose some of his cockiness though. He nods as he removes the ice pack from his face. “Okay,” he says. “I’m still not happy bringing you into this. I’ll make sure to keep you away from the untidy parts of my life.”

  “Oh, I’ll make sure of that myself,” I blurt out before I have a chance to think it through. I don’t want to sound bitter or resentful.