Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series

by Johnson, Leslie

  Crash!

  I crouch on the floor. What’s happening? What was that? I look up and see the chair I’d been sitting in lying on top of the computer, the screen shattered and the drive smoking. Did I do that? I look at my hands to see if they’ll answer me. They don’t. I look around the room. There’s no one here except me. I’m completely alone.

  It must have been me. I did it. I did it?

  I smashed the computer screen, I realize, and can’t watch the show. I turn to the other desk and touch the mouse, bringing that computer to life. I log in, a desperate tapping of the keys. Hurry. Hurry. I log onto the live screen again and…

  I exhale. They’re both still there.

  Shuddering and shaking, I lean over and puke into the trashcan, heaving until my stomach’s on fire. I need to calm down. I need to think. I hear the fireman’s voice say, “I’m not scared.”

  Abram says, “Now?”

  The fireman says, “Ten.”

  The violence in my gut finishes working its way out and I use my shirt to wipe my mouth and forehead. Sweat is pouring off me, I smell the stink of it when I lift my arms. When did I last shower? I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.

  But her.

  I remember Stephanie and how she felt in my arms. I remember the way she used to look at me with love in her eyes. How she held my hand when we drove to the mountains. How her lips looked when she moaned my name.

  “Stephanie, I’m sorry,” I yell at the screen. “I never meant to hurt you. I only wanted to love you. Why couldn’t you love me? Why did you make this happen?”

  Tears course down my face, mourning the loss of her already. I loved her so much. I love her so much. Even as she sits there with the fireman, I love her.

  “I know. It’s an oldie but a goody,” Abram says, right on script. Just yesterday, we laughed at how funny it would be to fuck with the two of them, make it all a game. It’s not funny now.

  I watch the fireman raise Stephanie’s hand to his lips. The cocksucker is kissing my girl. My girl. My girl. MY girl. The last few weeks have been torment. Watching him kissing her, fucking her, holding her while they slept. That had been the worst. The tenderness between them.

  Sex. I can understand sex. Two horn-dogs getting off with each other, filling primal physical needs. It’s not like I hadn’t stepped out on Stephanie once or twice… okay, maybe six or seven times. But that was different. It was just sex with those women. Not making love. Gross.

  The tenderness… my mind slurs the word with disgust. The way Stephanie would do the little happy dance anytime her phone beeped and it was him. She is happy with him. Happy with him. She is happy with the fireman, but not me.

  “Eenie, meeny…”

  “Kill them!” I scream at the computer, willing this to be over with. I want to watch it happen. I want this torment to end. As long as she’s alive, I will mourn the loss of her every day; it will haunt me. If she’s dead, I’ll mourn her once. Much better. Yes. Much better.

  “…Miney, moe…”

  “No, don’t kill her!” I scream at Abram, changing my mind. I can’t live without her. I can’t. “Don’t kill her,” I scream again. I know Abram can’t hear me, but he should be able to hear the force of my will.

  I’m desperate now, my hands in my hair. What was the plan? I need to follow the plan. I don’t remember it. I reach in my pocket to pop another pill.

  “Enough!”

  I stop as I hear her voice and the click of the shoes walking up behind me. I sink to the floor, head bowed and almost cry out as her fingernails dig into my scalp and my head is wrenched up.

  “Watch!” I’m commanded, and I look back at the screen.

  The fireman is looking at Stephanie. I watch his mouth open and I listen to him say, “I love you, Stephanie.”

  My body twitches and my hair is pulled harder. I cry out as the woman behind me says, “Remember the plan.”

  The plan. What was the plan? Why is there a plan? I’m still wondering as Abram says, “If he hollers, let him go.”

  I watch Stephanie open her mouth. No. No. No. No. No. “I love you too, Ken,” my girl says to the other man.

  No!

  I wrench away from the hand holding me down. I wrench away from the control being held over me. I lunge for the computer screen. “Kill them!” I scream, my hands banging on the desk, causing the computer monitor to fall over.

  “Eenie…” I hear as arms wrap around me from behind and teeth clamp down on my ear.

  “Sshhh, it’s okay. Patience. Remember the big picture.” The voice is so soothing, the fingernails digging in my chest cause a flair of pain that brings me back to reality.

  “Meeny…”

  Yes, the plan. I remember now. The tongue on my ear strokes down my neck and I shudder, relaxing into the arms surrounding me.

  “Miney…”

  My head is pulled back and soft lips press onto mine and a tongue delves into my mouth. I turn into the arms holding me. Why was I so worried? Nothing matters but this, my new reality. Our tongues give and take, and are at war with each other as I hear the final word.

  “Moe.”

  Chapter 2 - Ken

  “Bang!”

  I dive over Stephanie, waiting for the bullet to strike, waiting for the pain to begin or everything to end. What happens when a person dies anyways? Is it as simple as lights out? Or is it more like the sun setting in the west? What does a bullet feel like? I tense, sure that I’m about to find out.

  Instead of an explosion, instead of pain, there’s laughter. What the fuck? I look up and see the motherfucker laughing. When my eyes meet his, he brings the barrel of the gun to his lips and blows across it before twirling it on his finger like he’s in a freakin’ John Wayne western.

  The bastard stands up and I feel Stephanie uncurl beneath me. She’s shuddering, shaking so hard I think that she must have been the one to take the bullet.

  I’m up and off of her, looking for blood. There’s nothing. She’s simply sobbing uncontrollably. I look back at the goon and get it. The gun didn’t go off. There was no bang, there’s a fuckin’ silencer on the tip. The bastard has been fucking with us all along.

  I dive across the table, hitting him below the knees, taking the motherfucker down before he even knows what hit him. His reaction is quick though and my head explodes as he brings the gun down hard against my skull. The world dims as unconsciousness tries to creep up on me.

  No!

  I fight to stay awake and succeed, but the bastard has moved away from my grasp and is back on his feet. I lunge, but I’m not fast enough. He kicks me in the ribs and I crumple. Another kick to the gut takes the breath from me. I don’t care. This fucker is going down. I’m on my knees, ready to lunge again when I hear a scream and see Stephanie launching herself at the man, blonde hair flying behind her.

  While he’s distracted with her, I go for his knees again, bringing them both toppling to the floor.

  Ping.

  Pain sears across my ear. Holy fuck. The gun was loaded after all. The zing of a bullet flew right by my head, burning the lobe of my ear before shattering something behind me.

  “Gun!” I yell at Steph who’s clawing at the man’s face. She’s still screaming, not in terror but fury this time. She grabs his wrist, pinning it to the floor as another bullet pings from the gun. Wood splinters behind me. Fuck, that one was close too. I’ve got to move. I’m a direct target.

  Stephanie cries out in pain as the goon strikes her on the side of the head with his free fist, but she doesn’t let go. Both of her hands are on his wrist while she straddles his chest. She bounces her ass onto the guy’s ribs and I hear a whoosh go out of him. She bounces on him again.

  I roll away from the barrel of the gun and turn, bringing my foot down on his hand. The goon screams as my heel crushes his fingers against the metal. I bring it down again, ignoring the pain it causes in my wound. The moment the goon’s fingers open, I kick the gun away and watch Stephanie star
t beating on the guy’s face again.

  That’s my girl.

  Rolling toward the gun, I grab it while getting to my feet. The goon hits Stephanie again, another fist to the side of the head. Her neck whiplashes and I kick the bastard in the balls, wishing to God I had my steel-toed boots on.

  The kick takes some of the life from him, but he’s still clawing at Stephanie and his hands close around her throat. She turns her head and sinks her teeth into his arm. The goon screams and tries to strike out at her again. Before he can, I drop to the floor and press the barrel of the gun against his forehead. The goon freezes and his hands fall from her neck. Steph looks up to me, her face red from exertion and wheezes as she tries to catch her breath.

  “Who sent you?” I yell at him, pressing the gun harder into his skin. To Stephanie, I say, “Call 911.”

  She smacks the bastard across the face, but he only smiles, the blood on his teeth a ghastly presence. “This isn’t over, you know,” the goon says to her, his head tilting to the side, his eyes so wide the whites show all around the irises. She pulls her hand back to smack him again and he stops her with another smile. He says, “There are worse things than death, Stephanie. Just wait, you’re going to find out.”

  She stares at him, her hand still raised in the air while fear and hurt and rage compete for space on her expressive face. I press the gun harder into the other man’s forehead.

  “Steph. Baby,” I say to her and it’s long moments before she raises her green eyes to meet mine. Her face shifts again, this time sagging in relief. “Call 911.”

  Standing, Steph steps over the man and begins the search for her phone. It had been on the coffee table earlier, but the room is a wreck. She finds it under the chair.

  “Who sent you?” I ask the man.

  The goon laughs—and says, “Fuck you” just before he wraps his hands around my hands.

  I drop a knee into his chest and hear a rib or two break as the air whooshes out of his lungs. His legs curl up and he tries to turn to his side, coughing and heaving for air.

  “I said, who sent you? I don’t like repeating myself.”

  Tears are flooding from the creep’s eyes and he’s coughing like crazy. For the first time, I notice how strange his skin looks. As a matter of fact, his hair is pretty fucked up too. Reaching down, I pull at it and it comes off in my hand. A wig. The goon has bright blonde hair beneath it. I look closer at the skin on his face and realize he’s wearing a seriously good mask. Professional. Like the kind you see actors wear in a movie.

  The goon bucks beneath me while I’m distracted, but I don’t lose grip of the gun. I press harder, unable to believe this guy is still trying to fight me. It’s like he’s wanting me to pull the trigger. No way in hell am I letting him off that easy.

  I try another question. “Why are you here?”

  He coughs again and manages out, “The girl. It’s my turn to fuck her.” He laughs and I almost do shoot him. “Nice pussy on that one. She’s becoming a favorite.”

  Favorite?

  “They’re coming,” Stephanie says. I listen and can hear the faint sound of sirens. “A neighbor had already called. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  I look down at the guy. “There won’t be any pussy where you’re going,” I snarl and grab his jaw with my free hand. “Talk about favorites, I bet you’ll be a favorite behind bars. Sweet little mouth you’ve got on you. Yeah, you’ll be a favorite for sure.”

  The guy bucks under me again and grabs for the gun, wrestling until his finger is over mine. The guy stills, a wide grin spreading across his face as his eyes flick over to where Stephanie stands.

  “This isn’t over,” he says and fights me for possession.

  “No!” I yell, fighting back, not wanting him dead.

  “Yes,” he whispers and pulls the trigger.

  Ping.

  Blood pools beneath his head. The bastard still has a grin on his face.

  Chapter 3 - Stephanie

  I watch Ken toss the gun to the side and push himself to his feet. What just happened? Then I see the blood.

  I kneel down and touch my fingers to the man’s throat. Dead. Good. I resist the urge to spit in his face.

  This isn’t over.

  Those were his last words, said directly to me. A shiver runs through me, knowing he was telling the truth. But what is ‘this’? Why me? I’m a favorite? To whom? Surely only to Jerome. Surely.

  I look around and see my laptop lying on its side. Rage. Fury. The deepest anger I’ve ever known passes through me. I crawl over to the computer and set it upright on the floor. The video stream is still live; I see my actions being captured on the screen.

  “I hate you,” I say to the camera, hoping to God Jerome is still listening and watching on the other end.

  If it’s him, the little voice of doubt whispers to me and I ignore it.

  “You’re a coward,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “A coward hiding behind a computer, having other people do your dirty work for you.” I stare into the black eye of the camera lens. “Aren’t you embarrassed for being so afraid? For not having the guts to do this on your own? I always knew you were a coward underneath it all. A sniveling little piece of shit with only enough guts to hurt girls smaller than you. This is proof.”

  I wave my hand toward the dead man. “Proof that you don’t have what it takes to be a real man. You had to send someone to do your dirty work, didn’t you?” I turn the laptop so that the camera captures the dead body. “Is that the best you got?”

  I laugh and have to clamp my mouth shut before it gives rise to the hysteria bubbling beneath it.

  “Guess what?” I sneer and turn the laptop back to face me. I stare into the black lens again. “You lose. You lose me. You lose what little self-respect you have hidden in that narrow minded brain of yours.” I shake my head. “I hate you. And even if you try this again, if you send another ‘real man’ to scare me or hurt me or kill me… I’ll hate you past the grave and for all eternity.”

  A hand clamps on my shoulder, but I shake it off. I’m not done yet.

  “I’ll haunt you, do you know that? Every time you close your eyes, I’ll be there. You’ll breathe me in and I’ll cause cancer to grow in your cells. I’ll make it hard for you to breathe because I’ll clog your throat. I’ll grasp your heart between my hands and squeeze. You’ll beg for death, but I won’t give it to you. You’ll be afraid to go to sleep.”

  I pause and stare into the camera, absolute certainty and calm stiffening my spine. “In the future, if you have something you want to say to me, say it to me. Can you be man enough for that?” I laugh, because I already know the answer and I know that what I’m saying now is dangerous. “Come get me. Me! Not my lover. Not my friends. Me. If you dare, you little pussy man.”

  Warmth presses against my back. It’s Ken, settling down behind me. He pushes my hair back from my face and pulls me backward against his chest, his arms curling around me.

  “She’s right, you know,” Ken says to the laptop, before kissing the top of my head. “You are a pussy. But you don’t have to come find her. I’m going to find you. And when I do, I’m going to…”

  The laptop screen goes black and I sag against Ken in relief before reaching out and snapping the lid shut, then kicking it away.

  “You okay?” Ken whispers into my hair.

  I nod and turn in his arms, pressing my face into his chest and inhale his scent. I fist my fingers into his shirt, realizing how close I came to losing him. I look up at him and see blood dripping from his ear. He winces when I reach up to touch it.

  “Flesh wound, it’s nothing,” he says and I shiver.

  “Oh my god, a bullet hit you?”

  He laughs and pulls me closer. “Nah. Mike Tyson got me.”

  I look at him, confused. What does Mike Tyson have to do with anything? Before I can ask, fists hammer on the door, scaring the crap out of me.

  “Police. Open the door.”


  “I’ve got it,” I say and jump up, but Ken grabs my hand and yells for me to stop.

  “That bastard had an FBI badge,” Ken says, nodding at the dead man. Shit. He did. Now what? Who can we trust?

  Ken’s off the floor in an instant and limps his way to the door. He looks through the peephole, then looks at me. He nods, flips the locks and opens the door. “It’s okay, we’re okay,” Ken says, his hands in the air as the armed cops rush inside.

  “Against the wall. Now!” screams the first cop through the door. Ken turns and puts his hands high on the wall. I hold my hands up and look around. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

  The first cop is frisking Ken while the other comes further into the room. He looks at me and then the body on the floor. “You okay?” he asks me and reaches down to feel for a pulse.

  “Yes,” I say with a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

  “Is there anyone else in this apartment?” he asks and heads toward the kitchen.

  “No.”

  “Do I have your permission to check?”

  “Yes.”

  A moment later he disappears into my bedroom. I turn my head to look at Ken, who’s still facing the wall. The officer finishes frisking him and tells him to turn around. I see the moment of recognition when the officer says, “Ken? Shit, man. Didn’t realize it was you. What’s going on?”

  From that moment on, my apartment becomes a barrage of policeman, the coroner and FBI. We repeat the sequence of events over and over while pictures are taken of the body and everything else in the room. My computer is bagged while bullets are dug out of the wall.

  Octavio is one of the paramedics on duty. He just shakes his head and gives me a huge hug when he walks in the door.

  “I’m okay,” I tell him. “Check out Ken. He was shot through the ear.”

  Octavio lifts my chin and touches the side of my face. “This causing much pain?”

  I work my jaw open and closed. It hurts, but not too bad. “I’m okay, I promise. Go look at Ken, please.” He gives me a little smile and heads over to where Ken is sitting, having his fingers swiped with little white cloths by a detective. It’s for gun residue, I think.