Four Score

by Lili Saint Germain

  “Start from the beginning,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

  It’s not a question. It’s an order.

  The fear of him knowing my deepest, darkest sins is outweighed only by the relief I crave: the relief that we will no longer have a wall of secrets and lies separating us.

  For once, I don’t hesitate.

  I tell him everything.

  I tell him everything that’s happened, from the moment Elliot stole me away from the hospital where Gypsy Brothers were converging to kill me, right up until the moment the bombs went off. I leave out the finer details about Dornan and Elliot, because I can’t bear to upset Jase any more than I already have. Besides, he knows. He’s seen. Willfully having a sexual relationship with Dornan was always going to be the death of any hope between Jase and me.

  As I speak, my voice is steady. I don’t cry. I sum everything up very matter-of-factly, as if I’m speaking about somebody else entirely. A stranger.

  That poor girl.

  When I’m finished, I clear my throat and stand. “I need to call Elliot,” I say to him. “He’ll be going out of his mind with worry.”

  Jase’s hand shoots out, surprising me as he clamps his fingers around my arm and drags me back down.

  “No,” he says. “We’re not finished yet.”

  I sit and stare at the floor. “We’ll never be finished,” I whisper. “Not until he’s dead.”

  He scoots his chair closer, his hand clamping around the back of my neck as I watch him try to fight the dueling emotions of rage and affection written clearly over his face. At first the gesture seems almost violent, possessive, but his hand is warm and loose. I lean into his touch, a small reprieve against the fall breeze that chills me as it blows straight in from the ocean.

  “You remember last time we were here? Six years ago?”

  I nod, enjoying the feeling of his fingers as they rub up and down my neck. A flash of the past comes to me then—Jase and I sitting inside on the couch, holding sweat-slicked hands tightly together as my father and Jase’s surrogate stepmother laid out a plan of escape from the Gypsy Brothers and every awful thing they stood for.

  “They didn’t get out,” Jase says solemnly. I let out a quick breath, almost like a sigh but with more force, more emotion.

  “I know,” I reply, my eyes suddenly swimming again.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “You probably hoped they got away the same way you did.”

  I shrug. “I guess a little part of me always hoped. But I know inside. They didn’t make it.” That last sentence a whisper that I can’t even hear.

  “Were you there when he died?” I ask.

  Jase’s face fills with sorrow. He lets go of my neck and takes my hand, squeezing it.

  “Yes.”

  I swallow thickly, closing my eyes as relived horrors dance across my darkened eyelids.

  “Did he suffer?”

  Another squeeze. He pauses a fraction too long. “No.”

  “You’re not a very good liar,” I say brokenly, opening my eyes to look at him.

  He sags visibly in his chair, eyes to the floor, shoulders hunched.

  “No,” he says sadly, “I’m not.”

  ***

  Knocking. Distant and low at first, but quickly ratchets up, until it sounds like someone is pounding on the front door to Jase’s apartment.

  Our eyes meet; Jase’s expression mirrors the panic I’m feeling in my chest.

  “Did you tell anyone you were here?”

  I shake my head, and then I remember the guy at the hospital. “Do you think someone saw you shoot Jimmy?”

  Jase’s face blanches, before returning back to the cold, angry exterior I’m so used to. “I doubt it. I’m meant to be at the clubhouse, though, so there’s that.”

  I bite my lip, looking toward the door as the knocking stops, just as suddenly as it began.

  “Wait here,” Jase says, withdrawing a gun from his waistband and cocking it. I raise my eyebrows as if to say I’m not waiting here, but he waves a hand at me in frustration.

  “I mean it!” he hisses. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, do you at least have a gun for me to protect myself?”

  He glances at me, seemingly unsure. “How do I know you won’t shoot me?”

  I almost fall off my chair. “It’s ME. If I wanted to shoot you, you’d be fucking dead right now.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, good point. There’s a piece under the middle couch cushion. Get it and then stay out here, you hear?”

  I almost say yes, Dad, but that’s kind of not cool given our current situation with me screwing his father and all. Instead, I just nod, following him into the house. He goes for the front door while I veer off into the living room, dropping to my knees in front of the couch. I grab the lip of the middle couch cushion, lifting it slightly as I stuff my other hand in. After a few sweeps, my fingers brush against something cold and metallic. I carefully feel for the grip and press my palm around it, careful it isn’t aimed my way. When I pull it out I see it’s a snub-nosed revolver, safety on. I unclick the safety mechanism and open the chamber, relieved to see each space stuffed full with shiny brass-colored bullets. With a flick of my wrist the chamber closes again, engaging against itself so that it’s literally ready to go whenever I pull the trigger.

  Although, I hope it won’t come to that. Because if there are Gypsy Brothers at the front door who want us, six bullets aren’t going to get me very far.

  I creep back to the balcony as instructed, keeping my ear out for Jase. It’s hard—my hearing is still terrible, with the ringing in my ears still shrill and constant. I half close the sliding door so that I’m alone on the balcony, with nothing but a gun in my hand and a table at my back. I glance uneasily at the balcony edge. It comes up to my navel, but I’m betting if someone shot me in the top half of my body, I’d be thrown straight off onto the asphalt below. It isn’t a settling thought. I opt to crouch.

  I’m listening intently for anything coming from the front door … so intently, that I don’t realize someone is descending upon me, literally from above.

  A guy dressed entirely in black and sporting a black ski mask over his face flashes before my eyes, landing next to me on the balcony. What the fuck? He goes for the gun in my hands and I panic, screaming as I take aim.

  “Don’t shoot!” he hisses, a voice I’d know anywhere. I lower the gun as he peels the ski mask off, his hair wild and his eyes alight with excitement and worry.

  “I almost fucking killed you!” I whisper-scream at Elliot, my arms flying as I scold him like a child. I look closer, seeing he’s attached to a thick black ski rope that’s dangling down from the apartment above.

  “You abseiled in here?” I ask, impressed.

  He unclips himself from the line and surges forward. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  I take a moment to think about that. “Who?” I ask dumbly. “Dornan?”

  “Jase,” he hisses, looking toward the door. It’s partially obscured by the hallway, and I wonder if Jase can hear us right now.

  “No,” I say emphatically, shaking my head. “He figured it out, El. He knows who I am.”

  “You didn’t take him out,” Elliot says, glancing between the line of sight to the front door and me.

  I shake my head. “I was never going to.”

  He looks disgusted. “He’s going to be the death of you, you know that, right?”

  I shrug. “He’s not like them, Elliot.” As I’m speaking, a thought suddenly occurs to me. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

  He doesn’t answer, but there’s a telling look on his face. My stomach does a flip as a fresh suspicion wedges itself uncomfortably in my mind.

  “That phone,” I whisper conspiratorially. “You’ve been tracking me?”

  He doesn’t say anything, but his face belies the truth. He has. I don’t know if I feel angry or relieved.

  Inside the
apartment, there’s a flash of dark clothing, and the front door slams shut.

  Elliot jumps into motion, replacing his mask and withdrawing a large pistol from his belt. He takes my elbow and pulls me along, opening the sliding door as quietly as possible. Like he’s trained for this his entire life, he enters the house without a sound, his boots soft on the tiled floor as he tucks me behind him with one arm, his own gun in front of him.

  Jase must be in the living room, and I desperately hope that he isn’t with any Gypsy Brothers. Elliot is going to be hard enough to explain to Jase. The front door is closed, but around the corner I can see the living room window is wide open, sending the curtains billowing into the room like crazy, dancing ghosts.

  And then, Jase is in front of us, his own gun outstretched. It’s probably a really stupid thing to do, but I act on impulse, jumping between the two of them as some sort of human shield or negotiator.

  “Don’t shoot!” I scream at both of them, jumping in front of Elliot, who looks more like Batman right now.

  Jase looks pissed. “Get out of the way, Julz,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “He’s a friend,” I say desperately, glancing over my shoulder at Elliot. “Elliot, take your fucking mask off so he can see your face.”

  Jase’s hair is still damp, his arm straight as a rod as he holds his aim steady. Neither of them have lowered their weapons, but Elliot has taken his ski mask off, and he looks pissed.

  His jaw bunches as he looks from Jase to me, the bitter assumption in his eyes as clear as day. We’re both freshly showered and I’m wearing Jase’s clothes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he thinks we’ve been doing. And it couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Well,” Elliot begins—

  “Don’t start,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t even start.”

  Some of the bitterness fades, but he doesn’t lower his gun.

  “The cop himself.” Jase sneers over my shoulder as my gaze darts between the two. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right here where you stand. You’d shoot me dead the first chance you got.”

  “Give me your guns,” I say forcefully, holding my palms flat between the two of them. “Or you’re both going to end up shooting through me to get to each other.”

  They both seem to think that over as the moments drag by painfully.

  “We all have a common interest,” I press. “Making sure Dornan doesn’t hurt anybody else.”

  Elliot snickers, slapping his gun into my left palm. He doesn’t let go, though, not until Jase reluctantly does the same.

  “I think you’ll find the common interest is you,” Elliot says scathingly, letting me take the gun from his hand. Jase also lets me have his gun and I immediately locate the unloading mechanism for each one, sending two bullet magazines crashing to the floor and rendering the weapons useless. Tossing them onto the couch, I round on the two men who I have loved more than anything else in the world at varying stages in my life. Them, and my father.

  Did he suffer?

  No.

  You’re not a very good liar.

  My heart aches.

  I pull out my own gun, the only one that’s useful at this point, and gesture for both of them to sit down on the couch.

  “Take a seat, boys. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  Jase looks at me incredulously. “You’ve got to be fucking with me, right?”

  Elliot mumbles something under his breath.

  “Pardon?” I ask him, my nerves fraying and my ears pounding.

  He shoots me a shithead smile and repeats loudly, “I said, that’s what it looks like.”

  “Looks like what?” I ask, suddenly irritated by the both of them.

  “Like you’re fucking with me,” Jase says, looking bored as he takes a seat on the far end of the couch. “I think lover boy is a little jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” Elliot shoots back, still seemingly reluctant to sit down anywhere near Jase.

  “Dude, you are so fucking jealous,” Jase says. “Don’t worry. I haven’t touched her. My dad has, though.” He glares at me and something painful socks me in the chest as I try to put myself in his shoes.

  I am so screwed up.

  “So,” Jase says, propping his feet on the coffee table. “You’re a cop, huh?”

  “Ex-cop,” Elliot bites back, hovering at the opposite end of the couch.

  “Right,” Jase sneers, obviously not believing him. “Whatever. What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

  Elliot’s fists squeeze tight. “El,” I say softly, a warning and a plea in one.

  “I’m making sure you’re not killing my girl.”

  Jase laughs bitterly, looking at me. “So he is your boyfriend.”

  Irritated, I stare at Elliot. “Ex,” I say forcefully. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Huh,” Jase replies. “Did he think you were dead for six years, too? Or is that a special hell reserved just for me?”

  That pain again, squeezing at my chest like a viper around my cold, dead heart. Oh, Jesus. This is so hard. Jase’s face is full of anger and hurt and I just want to take it all away, but I can’t.

  I just seem to make it worse.

  “I’m the one who saved her from your fucked-up family,” Elliot interjects forcefully, staring Jase down. Jase rises from his spot on the couch and the two face off, fists curled tight, eyes burning.

  “Couldn’t stop her from coming back, though, could you, lover boy?” Jase retorts. They’re rapidly closing the gap between them, pulled together by some magnetic rage that is commanding them to take each other’s heads off.

  “Stop!” I scream.

  They both look at me like they’ve momentarily forgotten that I’m here.

  “Please,” I implore. “Please can we just talk instead of all of this macho crap?”

  Jase cocks an eyebrow but takes a step back from Elliot. “You’ve just killed four people, and now you want to sit down and talk?”

  “Guy has a point,” Elliot says, rubbing his jaw. “You’re kind of bossy.”

  “Extremely bossy,” Jase agrees, taking up his spot on the couch.

  “Well,” I say sarcastically, a fake smile plastered onto my face. “Aren’t you two just best friends all of a sudden?”

  Elliot laughs bitterly and perches on the other end of the couch, on the arm, as far away as he can get from Jase yet still technically sitting down. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead park my butt on the coffee table, my feet resting on the edge of the couch. I’m facing both of them, and this way, I’ll be able to shove myself in between them if another pissing contest gets out of hand. They’re both still clearly on high alert, but at least they aren’t throwing punches. For now.

  I bite my lip as I stare at the back of the couch, trying to think of the best tack to take.

  “You’re awfully quiet for a girl who wants to talk,” Jase says.

  I swivel my gaze to him. “Just trying to find the right words, is all.”

  “How’d you know it was her?” Elliot asks Jase suddenly, talking straight past me as if I don’t exist.

  “You got a phone call,” I say suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Who was it? Do they know who I am?”

  Jase puts his hands out in front of him, clearly annoyed by the barrage of questions. “Whoa. You’ve been dead for six years, and now you’re back fucking my dad, and you’re interrogating me?”

  I slump again. He’s right.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “I had a friend look into some things. Into you, actually,” he says, looking at Elliot. “The trail led to that night at the hospital where Juliette supposedly died.”

  Elliot’s eyebrows rise impossibly high. “So, based on that, you figured out who she was? That seems like a pretty fucking big leap.”

  Jase’s jaw tightens and he appears to be gathering his thoughts.

  “I didn’t mean to look,” he says, his cheeks flushing ever so sl
ightly. He ignores Elliot and instead addresses me directly. “That night when my dad … stabbed you.”

  Elliot sucks in a loud breath when Jase says stabbed and I hold my index finger up to him, motioning him to stay silent. He still doesn’t know about that night when Dornan tied me up and stuck his face between my legs before deciding to plunge a knife into my thigh.

  Well. He does now.

  “You were … hurt,” Jase continues, “and your clothes had blood all over them. I swear, I wasn’t trying to find anything … but I saw your tattoo … and for a second there, I thought I saw what it was hiding.”

  Of course. My scars. I’ll never be rid of them.

  “It was just a second, you know?” Jase says, his voice close to breaking. “I told myself it was nothing. That I was just imagining things. You were dead! And you don’t look like you. I made myself forget about it. And then when I got that call … I had to look again. I had to know.”

  His face is lined with our horrid past. “You’ve been right under my nose this whole time.”

  I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself together. I’m cracking, breaking under my deceit. What does he think of me?

  God, he must hate me so much for the things I’ve done.

  Elliot breaks the thick tension by adding some more of his own.

  “She’s been under your nose for a few months. Your father and your brothers? They’ve been under your nose for six fucking years. And you haven’t tried to get away? You haven’t tried to kill any of them? After what they did to her? After what they put inside her?”

  Jase’s face pales at the same time that my head whips around, my pleading gaze meeting Elliot’s. “El, don’t,” I say, panic bubbling up into my throat. “Not that.”

  Elliot stands. “I held her hand while they fucking raped her all over again!” He’s got tears in his eyes and Jase is staring at us with his mouth open, gasping like a goldfish.

  “What is he saying, Julz?” Jase says, his skin suddenly the color of a sack of flour. Drained, devoid of any color, warmth or energy.

  “She was fucking pregnant because of what they did!” Elliot yells, pointing at me while he addresses Jase.