Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “Fine,” he spat. “Now get out.”

  Trufant nodded and left.

  When he was again alone, Elah unclenched his hands, released some of the tension that had him bunching his shoulders. He’d gone back on his word, let down his father, dishonored his memory, effectively condoned his murder. A tidal wave of guilt rushed over him, hot and piercing, so strong that his heart pounded and stomach roiled.

  But that feeling paled in comparison to thoughts of Charlotte, her sweet smile, her teasing, her warm, welcoming heat, the way her eyes lit up as he loved her. The way she’d made him believe, for the first time in as long as he could remember, that there was more to life than money or revenge.

  The way she’d made him believe that love was real.

  Charlotte crowded out everything and even if it made him weak, even if it required him to lay down a lifetime mission—forgo the justice and revenge his father deserved—he’d do it for her.

  He’d do anything for her.

  Chapter Twenty

  She’d been back in her apartment for three days now, and the walls were closing in on her. The mint-green walls were still those that she’d pestered Isis to help her paint, the couch still just the right shade of blue-gray to complement the walls and the whitewashed wood floors. Most of her adult life had been lived here, but it was no longer her home. Her home was with him. Sure, she missed his house, that beautiful kitchen, the ridiculously large bed, but most of all, she missed him. It didn’t seem possible, and at the very least it was improbable, but she’d fallen in love. The implacable, irritating man had stolen her heart, had taken it with the same ruthlessness with which he’d taken her hand in marriage. She’d picked up the phone to call him a thousand times and put it back down each one.

  A sorry state of affairs, really. She realized how irrevocably she loved him after she’d ripped out his heart. She may have been giving herself too much credit. Elah had never said the words, might still think of her as a tool of vengeance against her father, but some part of her rejected the idea. His touch, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, but always reverent, betrayed his emotion. And so did that look she’d seen in his eyes, the very fact that he’d opened up to her, shown her the deepest, most private side of himself.

  God, why hadn’t she trusted her gut, trusted him? She’d known, had felt it to the core of her being, that Elah would never lie to her. But still… Her father was her father, and Elah was, no matter how deeply she had come to feel for him, virtually a stranger. Logic had dictated she go with the known quantity. Of course, now that she was here, alone, logic was nowhere to be found.

  Her humorless chuckle was interrupted by a knock at the door. On automatic pilot, Lottie went to the door and looked through the peephole, sighing when she saw Greg, pensive and anxious-looking on the other side. She was in no mood to deal with Greg, no doubt a proxy for her father.

  As she slid the chain off and unlocked the door, she said, “Greg, now’s not a good—”

  But he entered without waiting for her to finish, acting as the old friend and not the unwanted and unwelcome guest. Her father was the only reason Greg would be here, and Lottie had no desire to see him, speak to him—even think of him. Doing so inevitably led to thoughts of Elah, and thoughts of Elah inevitably led to sadness, to bitter regret, her constant companions these days.

  “Lottie, did you hear me?” Greg asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared at her.

  She hadn’t; she’d actually forgotten he was there, another testament to the degree the loss of Elah had upended her.

  “No,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t. What did you say?”

  Not that she cared, but asking was the path of least resistance. She’d let him say his peace and then get him out of here.

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true, Greg?” she asked, irritation clear in her voice and no doubt in the rigid stance of her body. Her patience was frayed to the point of breaking, and trying to decipher Greg’s riddles was a task far beyond her at this moment.

  “You’re here, so it must be. Avakian let you out?” he said, peering at her intently with his ever-assessing eyes.

  “Greg, my personal affairs are none of your concern,” she said, voice tight with the rage she could barely restrain. It wasn’t directed at Greg, not all of it anyway, but for him to try to probe her, get information about her and Elah…

  There is no you and Elah, her mind whispered, and that realization helped bank some of the anger roiling her insides, just looking for an excuse to come out.

  “Personal affairs? I hadn’t realized you considered our little problem with him a personal affair,” he said as he raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  That anger leaped again, and he must have seen something in her eyes, for he raised a hand in placation and shrugged.

  “Sorry. No offense intended.”

  “What do you want, Greg?” she asked, hard and low.

  “Did you manage to help those papers find their way into Avakian’s files?”

  Greg and those damned papers! They were the very reason she was here instead of at home with Elah, instead of where she knew she belonged but would never again be.

  “You need to leave,” she said and for once, it seemed Greg heard her. He stood straighter, his gaze going serious.

  “Fine, but if you could maybe plan to see him, drop by his office and leave them, something. This is too good a chance to pass up. Your father needs this.”

  “Greg, Elah has the stupid papers!”

  “What, you mean you already dropped them?” His eyes flashed with something like excitement.

  “No, I mean he has them. He found them. So there’s no way for me to help them ‘find’ their way into his books. It’s done, Greg. Over.”

  For a moment, he looked almost despondent, but then she saw the wheels of his mind begin to turn behind his eyes.

  “That’s unfortunate, but there may be a way yet. Come to think of it, this might just be a good thing. Yeah,” he brightened considerably as he spoke, “this will work great. He knows about the documents, but no one else does. So we tell him unless he backs off, we’ll leak those papers. I can see it now, the kind, sweet daughter of a beloved public figure recounting how that horrible man forced her to marry him and made up terrible lies about her father, threatened to spread those lies unless she complied. It’s gold! And even if he does release his ‘evidence,’ he’ll be so tainted, no one will care.”

  He smiled gleefully, looking as happy as she thought she’d ever seen him before.

  “So after all this, you want me to frame and blackmail him?” Lottie said incredulously. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s a good idea, and it’ll help the councilman. He needs us; he needs you,” Greg said earnestly.

  “He’s a monster! Do you have any idea of the things he’s done? The pain he’s left in his wake?” She let her voice go soft, trying to implore him. “Greg, your loyalty to him is admirable, but he’s not worth it. Please, just let it go. You could do good things in this world if you got away from him. And you should; let him take care of himself.”

  Greg sobered, and a strange little smile curved his lips.

  “Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked.

  Lottie paused as she considered his question, taken off guard by the swift change of subjects.

  “At the campaign office?” she asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Far, far before that. But there’s no reason you should remember. You were living the life, Daddy’s little girl, while I was in the projects. You’d sweep in on Christmas, drop by to visit the lowly peasants, and then go back to your fairy-tale life.”

  His words, harsh but almost wistful, triggered childhood memories of how, every Christmas, she and her parents would visit a different shelter or community dinner to work. Her dad had always preached service, and Lottie had loved it, found it exciting to meet new people and spend part of the day with lots of other kids.


  “Service Day, right?” she asked.

  “Yep. We were nine, maybe ten. I don’t remember how, but we ended up sitting together. We talked about what we got for Christmas, and you were so excited because of some toy your daddy had given you. You said he’d picked it out himself. I was so nervous, so jealous, I could barely talk.

  “We met again years later at the campaign office. You were there holding court. We even shook hands, not that there was any reason for you to pay special attention to me. You said your good-byes and swept away. I stayed all day; I think I stuffed envelopes or something. Later that night, I came back after everyone had left, went to his personal office.”

  A grimace passed his face, and his eyes took on a heartbroken quality, a sheen of tears pooling at the corners.

  “Everywhere I looked, you were there. Lottie with Santa. Lottie at Little League. Lottie at high school graduation. Lottie. Lottie. Lottie. He never even spent a birthday with me, not a single one! But you, his precious baby girl…”

  Greg looked at her again, his eyes wet and sadder than she could fully accept. “I never have figured out why he loves you so much and not me. But don’t you see, Lottie? This is my shot. If I fix this for him, I’ll finally prove myself, finally show him that I’m worthy.”

  The pieces clicked into place, and Lottie had to sit down.

  “Does he know he’s your father?” she asked after a long moment.

  “He knows,” Greg said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she watched his face. “Truly. I never knew.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Not your fault. But you can help me now. And you may not believe it, but you’ll remember how much you love him sooner or later, be sorry if you’ve caused him to suffer. You can’t just turn it off. Trust me. I know. Think about it, Lottie. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  ••••

  Those words haunted her late into the night and through the next day. The right thing. Like she had any clue what that was. But maybe Greg was right. Elah was hell-bent on this path of destruction and she knew he wouldn’t stop. And that worried her. Not for her father, not even for herself, but for him. What would become of Elah once he finally got his revenge? Would it satisfy him, make him think it had all been worth it, or would he be despondent, feel adrift, like his life was empty? She shouldn’t care; there was no chance for them, not anymore. She’d betrayed his trust, and Elah could never forgive that. But she did care, and she did want him to be happy, and maybe freeing him from his predetermined path would be the first step in helping get him there.

  If she weren’t so sad, she would laugh at the irony of how the tables had turned. Her blackmailing him to have him not blackmail her father. The idea was ridiculous on its face, but it might be the only way to achieve some peace, something that Elah deserved, even if he didn’t know it.

  There was a knock at her door, probably Isis come to commiserate, and she was a little happy at the thought of company. Brooding only accomplished so much, and she welcomed a break from her swirling thoughts. But when she looked through the peephole, her smiling friend bearing booze and snacks was not the sight that greeted her. She closed her eyes and looked again to confirm what she’d seen.

  It was him.

  Elah had come to her, and she practically tripped over herself opening the door. Her heart soared but came crashing down as he walked in. His face, always mysterious, was unreadable, and it occurred to her this wasn’t a reunion. It couldn’t be, not after what she’d done to him, not after she’d betrayed him and broken his heart. More likely, he’d come to tell her exactly what he planned to do to her father, maybe even have her sign divorce papers. Those thoughts left her completely despondent.

  She glanced up at him, resisting the urge to run to him, wrap her arms around him and hold him close. It didn’t matter; she wouldn’t miss this chance, and in a blink, she’d wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close, leaning them against the door, and buried her face again his chest as she breathed deep, trying to memorize his smell, the feel of his body against hers this one last time. He held himself tense at first, but as she stroked her hands up the hard planes of his chest through his dress shirt, he responded, leaned in and lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her face up. She met his gaze, searching for something, but nothing was revealed.

  Stretched up on her tiptoes, she closed her eyes and leaned to kiss him, and the first touch of their mouths was like the strike of a match. He kissed her hard, tongue dueling with hers as he stroked her body, hands kneading and molding her flesh with an urgency that gave lie to his placid facade. Anger, hurt, betrayal aside, neither of them could deny the passion between them. So she acted on it, unbuckled and slid down his pants as he did hers, releasing his cock, which stood hard and ready. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, again marveling at his strength.

  But all thoughts scattered as he entered her, his flesh parting hers, moving into her until he was seated fully. And then they moved, him thrusting his hips erratically, her doing the same, their coupling a frenzied coming together that said everything words couldn’t. Her walls clamped down tight on him, triggering his release, and they rode the waves of pleasure together, holding each other close until they came down.

  “That wasn’t what I came here for,” he said quietly after he’d lowered her to the floor and they’d fixed their clothing.

  “I know,” she said, unable to look at him. “I’m sorry. I just needed…”

  He didn’t say anything, but she refused to feel guilty about what had happened.

  “I read the papers, Charlotte.”

  Her shoulders dropped, and sadness again flared. She’d known he hadn’t come for her, but she wasn’t yet ready to let go of the moment they’d just shared.

  “I’m supposed to blackmail you with those,” she said, finally looking at him.

  “I gathered,” he said, voice and face still unreadable. “Will you?”

  “Maybe I should.”

  That earned her a look of surprise that was quickly suppressed.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “If it’ll keep you from destroying my father, it might be worth it.”

  “You still want to protect him after all this?” There was no judgment in the question, just curiosity.

  “I don’t know what I want,” she said truthfully. “Well, except for one thing,” she added a moment later.

  “And you can’t have it, this one thing you want?” he asked.

  She sighed deeply. “Apparently not, not without people getting hurt.”

  “You’re wrong, Charlotte,” he said, and the soft earnestness in his voice had her staring up at him. “You can have it. All you have to do is admit that you love me and come home.”

  “But what about—”

  “Nothing else matters.” He cupped her cheeks with his hands, looked deeply into her eyes, and then leaned down and kissed her softly. “Just admit you love me and come home,” he said and then he left.

  It couldn’t be that simple. What about her father, Greg, Elah? Could she live with herself if something happened to them? Could Elah live with himself if nothing did?

  She didn’t know, and the questions tortured her all night. And then, as the first rays of sun lit her bedroom, the answer came to her in a flash.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Daddy,” she called.

  Her father looked up, seemingly surprised at the sound of her voice, but the confusion on his face was instantly replaced with a broad smile that beamed his happiness. She’d seen that expression a million times before, but now, the joy it used to inspire was a faint memory and in its place acid bile burned bitter at the back of her throat. She looked at him, examined his features for any hint of the man she’d known and loved, but the person who stared back at her was a stranger.

  “Lottie,” he said as he stood and approached her, wrapping her in a big hug.

  Though she wanted to pull away, she di
dn’t; no matter what happened, she was certain she wouldn’t be hugging him again for a very long time, and it seemed cruel to deny him this final embrace.

  “What’s wrong, baby girl?” he asked, his smile dropping as concern entered his eyes.

  “A lot, but a lot less than there was yesterday,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, brows bunched in confusion.

  “I believed in you, Daddy. I loved you with all my heart. And everything I loved was a lie.”

  To his credit, he didn’t try to pretend. “No, not everything,” he said.

  “Just the important stuff, the stuff about service, responsibility…honor.”

  Her voice rose an octave and she took a deep breath. Her father heaved a great sigh and looked away from her, his scrunched mouth a reflection of his heavy thoughts.

  “I like to think I did some good, even if only by accident.”

  “No matter the lives you destroyed in the process?”

  He shrugged. “The past is past, Lottie. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. You won’t be able to undo even a fraction of the wrongs, but you can dedicate yourself to trying. And the first thing you’re going to do is acknowledge your son.”

  Her father’s brows shot up in surprise, and then he sighed again.

  “That boy can’t keep his mouth shut,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Don’t you dare,” she said, voice rising again. “Do you have any idea how much pain he’s in, how you’ve destroyed him?”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Charlotte. Sure, I wasn’t around as much when he was younger, but since he’s grown up, I’ve given him every advantage. What more could he want?”

  “For some sick reason, all he wants is his father’s love and approval; he hasn’t figured out that it’s worthless. But I hope he will.”

  Her father’s expression turned riotous, and she knew that he was about to launch into a speech about respect.

  “Save it, Daddy.” The word was ash on her tongue. “I’ve listened to you for the last time. Now I’m going to talk.”