Rule of Thirds (A Mirror Novel Book 1)

by Stephanie Tyler

  To wit, she’d extended his stay in the hotel for seven days but left after four…

  “He said he was unconscious for a lot of it,” Bren was telling him, his voice almost a monotone, like it would help him separate himself from the emotions. He was failing though, if his shaking hands were any indication. “He was left scarred but alive. How can anyone survive that? And why didn’t she just kill him?”

  “Did you ask him that?”

  Bren nodded. “He said, ‘We’re family.’” And then he paled and ran to the bathroom. Jacoby could hear him retch behind the closed doors.

  When Bren came out, he looked done. Exhausted. But Jacoby knew from experience that neither of them would be able to sleep tonight. When they slept again, they’d be peppered by nightmares.

  “Aren’t you going to ask if I’m really going to write this book?” Bren asked hollowly.

  “Why stop now? It’s going to be a bestseller.”

  “And it’s never going to leave my conscience.”

  “I’m more worried about your life at this point,” Jacoby said. “But even if you backed out now, maybe even especially if you backed out now, Jasper or Jessica would come after you.”

  “Why hasn’t she gone after him?”

  “She has…every time he looks in the mirror, or dreams about that night. She comes after him every minute of every day. Killing him would make it easy on him—keeping him alive is the real torture.”

  *

  “Jesus.” Bren went back into the bathroom and gagged again. Afterward, he splashed his face with cold water and stared at himself in the mirror. He almost didn’t recognize himself. He’d lost weight, his cheeks were sunken and he looked sad. Older too.

  Jacoby was right—Bren was now as much Jessica’s victim as Jasper was.

  He wondered if he had the guts to ask Jasper if that was his intention all along. He wasn’t even sure at this point if he had the guts to come out of the bathroom, but finally he did, and with a decision made. “Look,” he told Jacoby. “I’ll let you listen to my conversations with Jasper, past and present, but under the condition that I’m still moving ahead with this book. That you and Ward can’t do anything to ruin that.”

  “If we capture Jessica, it’ll only add to your sales,” Jacoby told him.

  And maybe that was true. “You’ll make sure Jasper doesn’t know you’re listening?”

  “Do you put the phone on speaker when you talk?”

  “Yes, I do. I take notes.” He didn’t tell Jacoby that he taped the stories too. He wasn’t going to give away the farm if he didn’t have to.

  Jacoby slid a square piece of electronics toward him. “It looks like a tape recorder, but it’s not. It’s attached to my phone. When you’re on with Jasper, press the on button. It sends a signal to my phone and I can listen in. He can’t hear anything that goes on from my side.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Jacoby’s next words—delivered on his way out the door—were fiercer than maybe they should’ve been, but Bren appreciated them nonetheless. “I’d never put you in that kind of danger, Bren. Never.”

  No, Jacoby wouldn’t—Bren had done a good enough job of that all on his own, no matter how hard he’d argued that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  He hadn’t—not from the start. There were specific reasons he’d moved here, things that Ward and Jacoby, his agents and editors had no idea about…like when the calls had actually started.

  There was no turning back now, no retelling the lies into truths. He’d twisted things to suit his needs, the same way Jasper might be doing.

  When he’d first gotten the call from Jasper, he hadn’t believed him or his story—all he’d known about Jessica at that point was that she was a serial killer, and when he’d done a quick Google search, with Jasper on the line, Bren had discovered that the FBI purported to know nothing about the woman’s family, going so far as to insinuate she didn’t have one.

  So yes, having Jessica’s brother come forward randomly, wanting to tell Bren everything, had been more than a stretch. “According to the internet, you don’t even exist and yet you want to tell me everything about a serial killer at large. I wasn’t born yesterday,” Bren recalled telling Jasper.

  “But you also weren’t born the brother of a serial killer—that you know of.”

  That I know of…something about that statement chilled Bren, probably because he was adopted. And because he’d always had a hell of an imagination. “Why me, Jasper? Out of all the authors in the goddamned world, why me? Why not write this yourself? Go to the press? Get yourself on TV and become a star?”

  Jasper had let out a short laugh. “I have no interest in becoming a star. I’m not an author. And I know your books. I thought you’d be the right person to write the story I need told.”

  “Your story?”

  “Mine,” Jasper had said firmly, and then he’d laughed, but it wasn’t lighthearted. “It’s never been about me before. It’s always been about her.”

  “You condone her killing?”

  “No.”

  “Then hang up with me, call the police and turn her in.”

  “I’ve done that, years ago. They can’t catch her.”

  “And you want my help with that?”

  “I want to explain about her early life. To try to make sense about how—why—this could happen to one family member and not another.

  It had been a compelling argument. It still was. And after the news broke about Bren’s deal and the FBI got involved, it gave Bren’s story a new structure. He’d planned on including his new FBI surveillance status—almost framing Jessica’s story around it. Because at this point, Bren felt hunted. Boxed in. Watched. He wondered if that’s how Jessica felt…or if that’s how she made her victims feel.

  He was arguably more of a prisoner than she was. She was free and he was watched, hemmed in. The FBI was suspicious of him and his motives. And Jessica might be watching him too. He wasn’t dumb, had known that was a possibility, but he’d learned a long time ago that playing dumb gave him an advantage. No one overestimated him, and he liked it that way.

  But looking over his notes now gave him the uncomfortable knowledge that he might have just enough knowledge to get himself killed.

  You’ve turned into one of your characters. And most of them ended up dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was Jacoby’s turn to throw up after he left Bren’s, but he had nothing in his goddamned stomach, so he ended up dry heaving instead. His hands shook as he grabbed the bars of his bike. He’d miscalculated his own tolerance—he’d never figured that hearing about his life the way he just had would shake him so badly.

  Because it reminds you that Ward went through the same damned thing.

  Because it reminds you that you and Ward have never addressed it…

  Because it reminded him that he was ruining Ward’s life. Again.

  He steered the bike onto the highway and headed to Ward’s.

  Ward was waiting for him, again, drawled dryly, “Let me guess—you’re coming from Bren’s,” as Jacoby walked in without warning.

  “You pissed he doesn’t call Daddy for help anytime he sees me?” Jacoby asked.

  “Keep pushing the daddy thing,” Ward told him. “What happened? You’re spinning.”

  Jacoby couldn’t deny it. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “I got the impression that Jasper—or whoever the hell Bren’s source really is—is fuzzy about whether or not I went to you at all. I don’t think Bren was being purposely vague. He was too upset when he told me the story about how Jasper—fuck, about how I found the body.”

  Ward frowned. “What else did you and Bren talk about?”

  “Bren learned all about what happened in that hotel room.”

  “Accurate?” Ward asked carefully.

  “No mention of the syringe. Just the Taser. Most of the carvings, but anyone who knows Jessica at all could guess at some of them. Ward, fuck, if this book get
s published—”

  “When, J,” Ward corrected gently. “It’s a matter of time. Maybe it’s better the book comes from Bren—at least he understands now.”

  “I don’t know what to think. All I know is if I don’t stop him, I ruined another life.”

  “Jessica does all the ruining. And she’s moved beyond killing.” At first, they’d surmised Jessica was simply pulling in female rape victims to take credit for killings they hadn’t done in order to ‘empower them.’ Those were her words to the women, most of whom finally admitted they hadn’t committed the crimes and were moved into WITSEC for their own protection. But now, Ward was forced to admit, “She’s mentoring, just as we suspected.”

  “We’ve got proof she’s training killers?” Jacoby asked uncertainly, like he wanted Ward to say no, and badly.

  “Training. Befriending. Using.” Ward spoke as gently as he could.

  “No wonder she’s been even harder to track.” She’d had more help than either man could’ve ever imagined. “Ward…you have to let me know what you told her.”

  Ward glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

  “Because she’s going to use it against you. And she’s going to make sure all of those she’s training do too.”

  Ward went cold at Jacoby’s words. He’d gone so long pushing his own needs back and only worrying about everyone else’s that he’d never let himself consider this fatal weakness seriously. At least not for long. In the back of his mind, he’d thought about it too, in the dead of night when he was alone. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “You can’t brush this off.”

  “Watch me. And if you can’t? Then get out of my way and take yourself off my case.”

  “Your case?” Jacoby asked incredulously, then slammed both palms against Ward’s shoulders. “My life.”

  “You think you can come back here and fuck with me again?”

  “Fuck with you? My life is being made into a major motion picture.”

  “And you don’t think I’m going to be your co-star?” Ward demanded. “You always were too selfish to see beyond yourself.”

  It wasn’t true but it would sting, and Ward knew it. A low blow, designed to make Jacoby react—lose it—but to what end?

  So Ward won’t. Because deflection was Ward’s best defense. But Jacoby could make him, and he would. “You don’t want to hear about the scenes where the great FBI investigator was tied up in his own house and tortured? At least I was just a defenseless kid. You were supposed to know better.”

  Ward pointed a finger at him. “Don’t.”

  “I mean, do you think you’ll get stopped for autographs?”

  Ward lunged. Jacoby was surprised at the ferocity of the attack, had pushed too far, as he often had. Now he’d have to live with the results.

  He grabbed onto Ward to stop himself from falling to the ground and they both stumbled. He managed to hit Ward once, and then again in quick succession.

  Ward had stumbled back from the force of the first punch but the second threatened to take him down hard if he didn’t regain his balance quickly.

  He grabbed onto one of the heavy leather side chairs for support. But Jacoby wouldn’t be deterred. He came after him, a battering ram who knew many of Ward’s foibles in the field.

  Jacoby was a dirty fighter—against someone trained more in the art of fighting—and it was both an advantage and not.

  Evenly matched—they could inflict a world of pain on each other, but they never had…before this. Jessica had done this to them. Ruined them. And Jacoby and Ward had been letting her win.

  “No,” Jacoby said fiercely. “She doesn’t get you. I get you. You’re mine.”

  “Until you run again.”

  “You pushed me away.”

  “You went willingly. You could’ve pushed back,” Ward stared and then, just like that, the fight in him was gone. He rolled off Jacoby onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “You should go now. I need you to go.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Jacoby muttered, turned, ready to do battle again.

  Ward blocked the first punch and Jacoby was so busy with his arms that Ward took advantage, using his legs to throw Jacoby off-balance. It worked—Jacoby cursed as he went down. Ward kneed him in the gut to take him all the way down, pushing him down, holding him with the weight of his body, grabbing Jacoby’s wrists and holding them tight.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” he managed through clenched teeth.

  “The man who almost got you killed,” Jacoby yelled, then looked stunned like he hadn’t meant to say that at all, out loud, ever.

  Ward answered him with a fierce, openmouthed kiss that sucked the breath out of Jacoby, that showed him Ward was here, breathing.

  And wanting to be with him, in spite of…maybe even because of everything that had happened.

  When he pulled away, Ward told him, “You’ve said it. I’m telling you that you’re wrong. And I don’t say what I don’t mean, so throw that thought away and wrap yourself around me. Now.”

  *

  Fighting was always their foreplay, because fucking and fighting were two sides of the same coin.

  Jacoby loved that goddamned coin.

  “You realize…every time we do this…we’re…fighting ourselves?” Jacoby managed.

  “From the first,” Ward told him.

  Jacoby wouldn’t go down easily, but still, Ward held the advantage, holding him flat on his back, holding him down. “I’m not that easy,” he managed through gritted teeth.

  “For me you are. You were…” Ward trailed off.

  “You let me go,” Jacoby spat.

  Ward stared at him steadily. “You stayed away.”

  “You wanted me to stay away.” Jacoby threw his hands up in frustration. “This is the most dysfunctional conversation I’ve ever fucking had, Ward. If you wanted to be the king of mixed signals, you’ve got it.”

  Before he could turn to leave, Ward was crowding him, something Jacoby normally didn’t do well with. But Ward calmed him, like a goddamned lion tamer, and whether it was his scent, his touch, his tone—what the fuck did it even matter? Ward still held a sway over him that he couldn’t explain.

  Never wanted to, either.

  He couldn’t breathe when Ward was this close, but he was conversely calmer than he’d been in a long while.

  “You stayed away,” Ward repeated.

  “You wanted me to,” Jacoby answered stubbornly, standing his ground. “I wanted to be with you. But—”

  When he stopped, Ward urged, “But what, J?”

  “I did that to you.”

  “No, you didn’t have anything to do with that,” Ward told him fiercely.

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. I never blamed you. Never will,” Ward continued. Jacoby blinked. “I will spend as long as it takes to make you believe it.” Without further talking, Ward bent his head and kissed Jacoby. “You’re going to do what I asked now?”

  He let go of Jacoby’s wrists, and Jacoby’s arms immediately wrapped around his shoulders, legs around Ward’s hips.

  “Gonna make you come in your pants,” he promised Jacoby. “Then you’ll come again and again. And you won’t stop.”

  Jacoby groaned, his body loose and wanton at Ward’s words. “Make me.”

  Ward shifted. Jacoby held his gaze and fuck, the man was handsome. His body was strong, his movements fluid…but his hands…God yes, his hands made Jacoby’s body go into overdrive. Even just looking at Ward’s hands was sometimes enough to make him blush, and definitely enough to make him hard.

  Right now, those hands were working his ass, Ward’s fingers preparing him, although not enough to take away the beautiful bite of pain when Ward’s cock pressed into him.

  And he wasn’t using lube, which meant… “God, Ward,” he moaned, sucked in a surprised breath as Ward moved down between his legs in a single movement. Instead of taking Jacoby’s cock into his mouth, he p
ushed Jacoby’s legs open wide and began to rim him. It was always enough to make Jacoby blush and yell, but this time, Jacoby watched and the only sound he managed was a keening cry as his body rocked against Ward’s tongue as it speared inside of him.

  Ward buried his face deeper in Jacoby’s ass and Jacoby grabbed his own cock and began to tug. Ward immediately slapped his hands away, but remained where he was, tonguing Jacoby, forcing him to fuck the air. “I can’t—not like this,” Jacoby protested, but Ward wasn’t stopping.

  Jacoby didn’t want him to. His cock began to spurt over his belly and chest as Ward continued laving him. At some point, Ward worked his way up Jacoby’s body, licking away Jacoby’s come as he did while Jacoby watched him through his orgasmic haze, his cock hardening again.

  Time passed, but Jacoby had no idea of how long it was before Ward whispered, “Not done yet, babe,” and brushed some hair off Jacoby’s forehead.

  “Don’t want to be.” Jacoby spread his legs to take Ward inside, then wrapped himself back around the taller man. “Fuck. Missed you and missed this.” Jacoby gripped Ward’s shoulders, his body undulating to the rhythm of Ward’s touches. “Don’t stop.”

  Ward’s expression was taut with a predatory pleasure when he confirmed, “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” and with two more hard thrusts made Jacoby come, yelling Ward’s name loud enough to wake the neighbors.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jacoby watched as Ward’s fingertips traced the words carved all over Jacoby’s body, paying particular attention to the phrase on his chest. He’d done it from the first time they’d fucked, and it took Jacoby a little while to understand why. He’d never asked, but he’d come to the assumption that it was Ward’s way of taking away Jessica’s power—of owning Jacoby’s skin, taking the sting of the words away by loving them…by loving every fucking inch of Jacoby.