The ground was soft, the soil crumbling and dry, any tiny roots that would have held it together long since killed off by the chemicals. It was easy digging and that was bad, because it went fast. The spades made that unmistakable metal shh as they slid into the ground, and then there was the soft patter of earth as we flung it over our shoulders. There’s no sound in the world as frightening as someone digging a grave.
Maybe you wonder why I did it. Why I didn’t run at my dad with the shovel and cave his skull in, or why I didn’t take my gun at home and shoot him in his bed. It’s the same reason why you can’t cut your own leg off, even if you’re pinned under a girder in a burning building and you’re going to die.
But that didn’t stop me loathing myself. It built inside me with every push of the spade into the ground, a deep black hatred of what I’d become. The sort of hatred that makes you want to become someone else.
When the hole was about four feet deep, my dad told us to stop. Then he lifted the man up and set him down again on his knees, facing the hole. He pumped the slide on the shotgun and I saw the man’s shoulders tense. That’s when I knew he was aware of all this. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him, even if he was long past being able to stop it.
My dad raised the shotgun.
I felt as if my whole body, beneath my skin, had turned into a solid lump of ice so cold it burned. “No,” I croaked.
My dad wrapped his finger around the trigger.
My cheeks were wet. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “No!” I said again.
My dad pressed the muzzle of the shotgun against the man’s head.
“You don’t have to kill him,” I begged. “You already hurt him. He knows. He won’t do it again!”
“Other people will,” my dad told me. “If they think we’re weak. They’ll think they can just walk away from us.” He shook his head, staring right at me. “No one walks away from this family.”
There was an explosion like the end of the world. I screamed and screwed my eyes tight shut. There was a dull thump as the body fell into the grave.
I turned to the side and threw up.
“You ever get any stupid ideas of going to the cops,” said my dad, “and you remember this. I’ll do this to you. I’ll do this to anyone you love. And if you try to run, there’s nowhere you can go where I won’t find you.” He tossed me a shovel. “Cover him up.”
***
When we got home, my dad ripped all the garbage bags off the back seat of his truck. He sent Nick off upstairs and then caught me by the arm before I could follow.
“You’re mine, now,” he told me. “And you’re going to start making yourself useful.”
His hand squeezed harder on my arm, his fingertips like iron.
“Tomorrow, you go buy yourself a dress. You’re going to start coming with me, when we meet to set up the big loans.”
No. God, no, he can’t mean—
I honestly thought I must be wrong but he leered at me as he confirmed it. “See, the muscle I have around, like Thomas? That’s the stick. That’s what they get if they don’t pay. But you? You can be the carrot. You can be what they’ll get if they do.”
I did something stupid—I shook my head. It wasn’t a conscious move; it was instinctual horror at what he was saying.
He pushed me, hard enough to send me staggering into the wall. I had to put my hands behind me to stop me, which left me vulnerable. So, when he slammed his fist into my belly, there was nothing I could do.
I folded almost in half. He brought his knee up under my chin and I tasted blood. The pain followed a second later.
“Don’t ever say no to me!” he screamed—that sudden, vicious anger, and my insides turned to water because I knew this was going to be a bad one. Something—his fist, I guess-caught me on the side of the head and I went down, instinctively wrapping myself into a tight little ball as he started kicking me.
***
Afterwards, I could barely stand without the pain sending me back to my knees. I dragged myself upstairs and took a shower, my movements tentative and slow. I scrubbed until the dirt had come out from under my fingernails and I could no longer smell cordite and blood. But there was a deeper stain on my soul that wouldn’t come out.
I huddled on my bed, unable to sleep. My dad thought he’d trapped me. He knew that, now I’d witnessed that, I’d never dare go to the cops. But in a way, he’d freed me. The horror of what he’d done and the thought of what would happen to me next—maybe as soon as that night—made me think about taking risks I’d never have dared take before.
What if I did run? He’d said he could find me anywhere, but what if there was no me to find? What if Emma disappeared?
What if I became someone else?
An image floated into my head. New York. Yellow cabs and the Statue of Liberty and pretzels, and a magical place called Fenbrook Academy. A stupid, childish dream.
Unless I made it a reality.
I opened my eyes and got up off the bed, wincing in pain.
I’d need money—much more than my meager savings. That meant stealing from my dad. The consequences if I was caught were simple and clear.
Everyone else was out. Once I made the decision, it wasn’t difficult to find the crowbar in the garage and break the lock on the lock box my dad kept under his bed. It was a small stash, compared to what he had hidden away in other places, but it would be enough to see me through my first term at Fenbrook.
I filled a backpack with clothes and rolls of cash, pulled up my hood and walked out on my old life. I thought it would never catch up with me.
But, after three years, it finally did.
Chapter 60
Jasmine
When I’d finished being sick, my dad grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me through to the living room, then tossed me onto the couch. He still had all his strength. That had always fooled people, the layer of sickly, pale fat that covered his muscles. They didn’t know how strong he was underneath until it was too late.
My dad pulled a kitchen chair into the middle of the room and sat down on it backwards, facing me. “Someone bought up that whole area,” he told me. “Including the woods. Started doing construction.” He pulled out a pack of smokes, shoved one between his lips, and lit it. “I couldn’t get in to move the body. I knew it was only a matter of time, once they started digging foundations. When they found it, the cops started building a case.” He looked right at me. “They know I did it, Emma. They’ve known it ever since Oaks disappeared. But without a body, there was no case.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke, making me cough. “They’re going to pick me up anytime now. Might even be today. The DA has wanted my ass for years so they’re going to take it to court and see if they can make it stick. They don’t have much. I got rid of the gun. The truck was clean. It’ll come down to my alibi, and your testimonies.”
If we both told the truth, he’d go down for murder.
“They’ll come and talk to you,” he said. “They’ll find you even with your damn name change.” He leaned close and blew out a cloud of choking cigarette smoke. “You’ll say we were all at the bar all night. Won’t you?”
I nodded quickly.
“Because I’m a little worried about where your loyalties lie,” he said. “Since you started fucking cops.” And he spat his burning cigarette right at my eye.
I screamed and twisted. Pain exploded on my cheek, an inch from my eyeball. I could feel blisters forming. “I’ll lie to them!” I sobbed. “I promise!”
“You cross me again and I’ll have people find you and take you to the darkest, shittiest place you can imagine and fuck you until there’s nothing left. And I’ll make your boyfriend watch and then kill him, too.”
I couldn’t breathe. My insides had shrunk down to a tiny black hole of numb terror.
“But you lie for me like a good little girl, and we’ll be square. I’ll go back to Chicago and you go back to your TV show and we never have to se
e each other again.”
I knew he was probably lying. When this was over, he could just as easily drag me back to Chicago with him to whore for him. But I was ready to grasp at any straw that was offered. I wanted to scream from the pain in my cheek, but I’d had a lot of practice in bearing pain silently. I nodded dumbly, eyes on the floor.
My dad moved away. I didn’t dare look up until I heard both him and Nick leave. Then I slid forward off the couch and curled up in a ball on the floor, my arms around my head. I’d reached the point where I just wanted the world to stop kicking me.
I thought I’d escaped my dad, three years ago, but he was right back in my life. And he’d taken Nick with him. Even if I testified against him—which he knew I wouldn’t—there was no one to corroborate my story. He could keep Nick doped up and helpless for as long as it took. Maybe even scare him into backing up his story, pitting him against me in the courtroom. Nick was his insurance policy.
But there was a way out. I could do as my dad wanted. A few more lies on top of the hundreds I’d already told and my dad would go home to Chicago, taking Nick with him. Maybe he’d let me go back to my life. My dream would be intact.
I couldn’t do it as Emma. No way could I lie to cops in my current state. I needed a shield to hide behind, I needed to put some emotional distance between myself and the horrors that happened in Chicago.
If I was going to survive, I had to throw away all the progress I’d made. I had to become Jasmine again.
Chapter 61
Jasmine
I called Ryan and canceled our date, telling him I had a thing with Karen I’d forgotten about. And then I turned off my phone, got in the shower and tried to put Jasmine back together again.
She was shattered and broken. Pieces that had once felt as solid as iron had been revealed to be as thin as paper. Jasmine had felt like reality, with Emma just a distant memory, but now it was Jasmine that felt like an act. And after experiencing emotions as Emma, going back to feeling everything through a second skin was hard. Numbing.
But also safer.
I went around the apartment hiding any evidence of Emma. I stuffed the globe I’d bought in a wardrobe. I took off the necklace Ryan had bought me and put it away in a drawer. Then I spritzed perfume over myself and put on a silver, strappy top and a short skirt as if I was getting ready for a night out. I poured myself a shot of vodka, drank it, poured another, and left it and the bottle on the table.
And then I settled down to wait.
The cops were efficient. Just as my dad had said, they’d been building a case and they must have had my name change records unsealed by a judge. Murder, especially murder of a cop, trumps everything else.
They came to my door around ten that evening. They held their badges up to the door’s spyhole: detectives Lassiter and Banks from the Chicago PD.
I took a deep breath and went into full Jasmine mode.
***
Lassiter was nice—a dark-haired guy in his thirties with a soft voice. Banks was older and married, with a thick jungle of silver hair and a mustache to match. He was the angry one. I wondered if he’d known Oaks personally.
They told me that they’d arrested my dad that afternoon—only hours after he’d come to my apartment. They told me he was going to be charged with the murder of a cop, and watched me carefully for my reaction.
I told them, nausea rising in my belly, what a good man my dad was. The life and soul of that part of Chicago, always helping families who needed a little extra cash. I played it as if I was the typical oblivious daughter, completely unaware of what her daddy got up to.
Banks showed me a photo of Oaks. A smiling photo, with his wife and kids. I knew he’d picked that one deliberately, to make me break. “He was a good family man,” said Banks. “Been on the force a long time.”
Hux. He was just like Hux. And my dad had killed him and now I was going to cover it up.
“Do you recognize him?” asked Lassiter, leaning closer.
It would be a mistake to lie. They’d know that Oaks used to come into my dad’s bar a lot. “I think so,” I said, making it a little hesitant.
And then they asked me about that night. And I told them I remembered because my dad, my brother, and I had all stayed in the bar together, after he’d closed up, and drank.
“You were drinking?” asked Banks. “You were underage, back then.”
I nodded. And glanced at the open bottle of vodka on the table. “I started young,” I said. Let them think I was an alcoholic, an unreliable witness who they wouldn’t want to testify even if they could persuade me.
“You were there all night?” asked Lassiter.
“We watched the sunrise over the city,” I said determinedly. “It was beautiful.”
They both stared at me. They knew I was lying, but it wasn’t about convincing them. They knew he did the murder. I just had to make them understand that I wasn’t going to tell the truth. I leaned forward, letting my strappy top show off my boobs, and poured myself another vodka, deliberately spilling some. Just a dumb, slightly slutty twenty-something who drinks too much and is loyal to her dad.
Banks threw his card onto the table. “If you remember anything,” he said without much hope, “call me.”
And they left. With my alibi and without any testimony, they wouldn’t be able to hold my dad for long. It was over. I’d done it.
I had my perfect life back. Everything was great. I’d got Fenbrook and the girls and the show and, most importantly, Ryan. Everything could go back to exactly how it was.
I slumped to my knees and began to cry.
I’d got my life back...and paid for it in blood. My dad was going to go free, Oaks’s family would never get justice and who knows how many more people my dad would hurt or kill before he got caught for something else. I was responsible. I’d sold out because I was selfish enough to want friends and a job...and love.
Emma was twisting and dying inside me. I knew there was no way I could let her out again. I had to push her far, far down inside me, just like when I’d first arrived in New York, until Jasmine was the real me and she was just a distant memory. I’d have to get used to being emotionally numb again, feeling everything through a layer of padding. But I knew I could act like that, if the series got picked up. And I knew my friends would accept it, because that was all they’d ever known. I’d be able to live with the guilt, if I was Jasmine. I realized, finally, that that’s why I created her.
When I’d arrived in New York, I’d hated myself. I’d been unable to live with what I’d done: first being too scared to go to the police about my rape, then being too scared to stop him killing Oaks, and finally being too scared to kill him in his sleep. Other people would suffer because of my cowardice. So I’d buried Emma down deep and become Jasmine. I’d thought that I was hiding from my dad. I was really hiding from myself.
And now I had to do it again. But….
I sobbed and sobbed and, when the tears wouldn’t come anymore, I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling and just howled until my throat was raw.
There was one thing I couldn’t have, as Jasmine. I couldn’t have Ryan. He’d know, if I went back to being Jasmine. It was Emma he loved, and Emma couldn’t face him anymore. She’d let a killer get away with murdering a cop. A cop just like Hux. And now she’d covered for him again.
I knew what I had to do.
Lying on my back, I summoned up all the strength I had left and got ready to act like I’d never acted before, to lie to the one man who’d always been able to see through my deceptions.
Chapter 62
Ryan
I’d been sort of at a loose end since Jasmine rain-checked on our date. I tried watching a movie on TV, but found I couldn’t sit still. I wound up cleaning up the apartment, even though it was late at night. I figured I’d ask her round the next evening, cook her dinner...hell, maybe we’d even try dancing again.
I was grinning. I couldn’t stop grinning.
; There was still the uncertainty over whether I’d be allowed back onto the force, but that was easing a little. I hadn’t gotten angry again since I’d smashed the patrol car window. Maybe I wasn’t a lost hope. Maybe, with time—
My phone rang. I snatched it up, my grin growing even wider when I saw it was Jasmine. “Hey! Did you change your mind?”
She didn’t say anything for a second. When her voice came, it was broken and heavy with tears. “R—Ryan?”
My heart jumped into my mouth. “What’s wrong?” I could feel the anger awakening in my belly like a beast that had been slumbering. If someone had hurt her….
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
I sat slowly down on the couch. There was something in her tone, an unmistakable sadness and regret. I knew instantly what she was going to say.
“I have to stop seeing you,” she said.
I swallowed. This thing was unfolding so fast, my mind was still playing catch-up. Seconds ago, I’d been thinking about what I’d cook for her, how I’d kiss her, how we’d have sex. “What?”
“I can’t be with you anymore.”
“Why?” I started to get my arguments ready. Did she need more time—had we moved to sex too soon, after all? Fine! I’d give her as much time as she needed. Was it something to do with the show? With me being a cop? Whatever it was, I’d change it. I’d give up anything she wanted, just to be with her.
The answer, when it came, was the last thing I expected.
“There’s someone else,” she said. “I slept with someone else.”
“What?!” The anger didn’t come. Not yet. I was still in disbelief.
“Tyler,” she said in a tiny voice.
And now I did believe it. The looks he’d given her. The kiss. The fact he was a proper actor, not just some dumb cop. They have more in common. I’d been right all along, since the first moment I heard he had to kiss her. “But you said—you said it didn’t mean anything!”
Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3 - New Adult Romance) Page 36