by Elena Monroe
“More like brandings. The Clave logo is mandatory.”
“Where…?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t tell me. It was worth trying.
Flicking his blinker on, he sped past the few cars on the highway as he got off the exit. He was flirting with death and it made me hate everyone who didn’t keep him safe for me.
“Somewhere no one will go. Good enough for you and your twenty-one questions? I’m dropping you off. I have work shit to handle.”
My eyes snapped into questioning slits at the thought of him having to go to work this late again. None of his world made sense and Denmark didn’t account for any of it.
He burned off the angelic parts of me with his searing glare to push me into silence. The Pretty Princess parts had run away, and I was left with the desire to crack through to the Bowen I used to know.
Crossing my arms and legs, I sat back. “I’m not going home; I’m going with you. You’ve been drinking and it’s my responsibility to care when you don’t.”
It was always my responsibility to care, always had been, even with a world between us.
He actually laughed, grappling the parts of me that were stern. “Your responsibility? That’s real fucking precious. I’ve been taking care of myself since the second you left and Braeden died.” His mouth tightened and his jaw ticked, trying to control whatever emotion was left in him. His face was tortured with too much that the bottle helped him chase away.
I wasn’t sure what to say in a rebuttal to his statement. Even though he and Braeden weren’t close, they were twins, and I knew that kind of loss would eat away at the Bowen I used to know. And I did leave, but not by choice. Either way, I’m sure that left him with zero lifelines.
If only he knew I didn’t have any either.
Reaching over the dash while going 80 MPH down side streets, I felt his knuckles brush over my skin. He wasn’t fucking my halo crooked; he was melting it down to tension that was slowly killing me. My knees were practically touching the glove box as his hand pushed my crossed legs apart, and I opened them automatically.
“Bowen,” I was begging him to stop making it worse in a breathy moan of his name.
“Eve,” was all he said when he fished out another nip from the compartment, not even noticing my legs or the heat coming from between them. “You’re staying in the car the entire time.”
Piquing my interest, I responded, “What if I have to use the bathroom or need water?” Still trying to ignore the heat between my legs, I watched him chug the nip down while behind the wheel.
“Hold it, Princess.” Leaving the keys in the cup holder between us, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.
I crossed my arms, annoyed that he would even have the balls to keep secrets from me of all people. What he did, where he went at night, and everything leading back to the Clave was off limits in ways we never allowed before. We never had secrets or boundaries, and to have them now felt like spitting on our past selves.
I didn’t know how much time passed before I gave up on playing nice, playing it the princess way that he hated so much.
Getting out of the car, I headed for the door right below the exit sign, glowing in red. The door got stuck on itself, making me bare down in my heels and use every ounce of strength I had to yank it open. When I finally did, the entire room was pitch black, and I realized all the light was being blocked by a set of thick, black curtains at the end of the short hallway.
There was this eerie feeling like when you look for trouble, find it, and quickly regret it.
Whatever was behind the curtain was going to be the source of my regret. Or Bowen’s wrath. Either way, I was fucked.
The space was huge and barely filled, all open floor concept and looked like it could be a club when it wasn’t empty.
What the fuck was Bowen doing here when it’s clearly closed?
Was his drinking so bad he made pit stops for more liquor?
A long bar with stools lining one side sat to the left of me, all shrouded in black. The bottles on the wall behind the bar all glowed in a dull white like it was the only purity in the room. I was now really in search of water since my mouth went dry the moment I realized whatever Bowen did wasn’t trouble but probably dangerous.
Emptied out clubs are normally the start or end of mafia movies.
Behind the bar, I searched for bottled water when I finally found a small fridge stocked with some fancy Ph kind. Snagging one of the bottles, I twisted the cap off, wondering where he disappeared to when my eyes landed on a cage.
A black, iron cage that matched the two Bowen owned.
My gut wrenched, and my perfect posture deflated. I felt myself being magnetized by the iron bars, running my fingers along them while I sipped my water.
What are you doing, Bowey?
My shoulders jumped, and my fingers dropped the water when a door slammed, and a loud pop rang in my ears. There was no time to flee as a man in a very neat Burberry coat came walking out of the dark parts of the club in front of me with a cloth, cleansing his hands stained with red.
Was that blood?
He wasn’t looking at me, but already talking like he assumed if there was life here that it must be Bowen. “That’s taken care of. She won’t be making it to the Kiddie Stroll. Romeo is going to be pissed. Don’t forget-” his words sliced off mid-sentence when he saw me.
Everything in me stopped working except my chest that was so tight I felt my other senses actually give my racing heartbeat the spotlight.
Still pushing forward towards me and not stopping until it was uncomfortable, I felt the back of his fingers brush down my cheek. “They really do all look like you, don’t they?” Slapping his hand away, he didn’t give me any more space than what I already had. “Feisty like them too.”
Pushing past him, I headed towards where the sound came from, determined to comprehend what had unfolded in front of me. Whatever the sound was could redeem my Bowey.
I wouldn’t love him any less, even if it was actually what it sounded like—a gunshot.
The guy at my back chuckled like it was humorous that I cared enough to seek out the truth in the dark of this empty bar.
Before I could make it down another hallway, strong arms wrapped around my waist, dragging me backwards before I could gain any traction to stand my ground. An angry, unmistakable voice, hummed in my ear, “What did I tell you? Stay. In. The. Car.”
My shoulders relaxed, realizing it was Bowey who had his hold on me when I squirmed trying to get out of his grasp. “What was that? Is that blood on his hands, Bowen?” I had more questions but those were the two that won as he dragged me out to the parking lot where his car was sitting pretty the way he hoped I would.
Finally letting go, he didn’t even try to keep me on a leash as he fished out a pack of cigarettes and pinched one between his lips. He kept me waiting while he pushed the lighter to the end, slowly inhaling and exhaling before pushing his eyes up to mine.
He knew I would be forgiving, but wouldn’t forget, so he avoids looking at me. That kind of truth is painful.
Someone who doesn’t let you forget? Torture only fit for masochist.
“I told you to stay in the car.” After the dramatics of keeping me waiting, that’s all his voice could boast.
I could feel my anger choke my delicate features into something unpleasant. “That’s all you have to say to me? There’s a fucking guy inside with blood on his goddamn hands who told me I look like them. Who’s them? What the fuck does that mean, Bowen?”
He didn’t tense or flinch one bit when he dragged the cigarette from his lips again. “Who am I speaking with right now? Is this Pretty Princess or Eve? I’m having trouble deciphering.”
“Does that change your fucking answer?” I felt my fingers curl under just to keep them from beating his ass like I really wanted to.
A heavy sigh later, he dragged out his words, “Pretty Princess can’t handle the truth. And as far as I’m con
cerned, shit isn’t her business. Eve… she can handle it. So who is it today, sweetheart?”
I was seeing every color of wrath that had me thinking violence was, in fact, the answer.
“I’ll tell you once you tell me. Are you the Bowen who doesn’t care about me at all or the one who gets hard-ons and a beautiful, custom diamond ring for me?” I quipped, knowing we were both two feet between two different personalities, trying to see which one would be accepted after all these years.
A silent chuckle left his full lips with that deep cupid’s bow as he smirked. The way it made me feel was more forgiving and forgetful than I wanted to be.
He could set the world on fire and smile like that after—I would still be his.
For better or for worse, right?
“Okay, Eve. You win.” With his hands up, he leaned against the door of his car letting me win when I hadn’t truly won anything. I still didn’t have any answers.
“I didn’t win anything.”
Flicking the cigarette end, he stood up, the cracked sneer gone without a trace and a look replacing it that said run while you still can. Standing my ground, I waited for the retort as he stepped so close, I could smell the mixture of his bad habits hit me in the face.
“You really want to know all the ways I’m fucked? Let’s see if you can really handle it.” He only paused for a moment, assessing my damage before causing any more. “Donte killed a girl in there because she bit him. She was one of the many girls that I oversee. Girls who will all go through a Romeo for grooming and out the other end to whoever pays the most. That’s Famine—not what we assumed when we were kids, huh? I get to feel empty, numb, starved and on the brink of death while my life keeps moving, but their lives don’t. This is what I have to fucking do for the Clave, Eve. Happy now?”
I wanted to scream, to fight—anything that let the emotions leak out so I could go back to when our lives were normal.
“Bowey.” Was all I could manage when he scoffed at my attempt to comfort him. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but I also knew better than to think he had a choice in any of this.
“Pick a lane. My Evey or Pretty Princess so I know what to divulge.” Rounding the car to the passenger side, he pulled on the handle and disappeared inside. I took him not reappearing as a request to drive even though last time I did, it didn’t go smoothly.
Climbing behind the wheel, I heard the familiar crack of a cap when I snagged the nip and tossed it out the window. He was drunk enough without the possibility of alcohol poisoning.
“Bitch,” he muttered the words under his breath.
“Drunk.”
It didn’t take long for Bowen’s head to fall and his breathing to sound too smooth for him to be awake when I glanced to my side. He was asleep against his hand and couldn’t have looked more
broken under all his circumstances. His exterior was beautiful, stoic and designer, but I saw right through all the filters down to the trauma sitting inside his heart.
My happiness wasn’t sinking past his cloudy skies.
The word Romeo kept floating around in my head. It wasn’t a popular name outside of Shakespeare yet my stepbrother, the one torturing me daily in Denmark, was oddly nicknamed the same thing.
I used to fantasize about his mom, who had passed away, choosing that nickname because of the love she had for his father. Maybe she wanted him to be an icon of love.
He wasn’t.
He was a spawn of the underworld, but thankfully my soon-to-be husband was the king of hell. Elias was going to have to kiss his ring if he ever showed up in my life again.
Shaking him from my happy ending, I tried to focus on the road ahead when a memory tore through the present.
Denmark.
Fourteen.
I had been in Denmark the entire year, pretending I was happy for my mom who was marrying some king.
Not my king.
Breakfast was mandatory every morning even though I had permanently lost my appetite. I had been on a liquid diet for pretty much the entire year, shedding weight I didn’t need to lose. Baby fat that would have disappeared when my hormones evened out.
Now my arms and legs matched in size, and people kept telling me how wonderful I looked for starved.
“You’ll be able to meet your stepbrother tonight when he’s back. He’ll be thrilled to meet his new sister,” the false king spoke at the head of the table instead of my mother. My mother barely spoke now, her small smiles and gentle touches said enough.
I cringed on the inside. I didn’t want to meet anyone new, especially anyone that came from the guy at the head of the table.
I didn’t have any choices here.
Denmark was all demands, all the time.
I strategized how I would run away, go back home and beg the Astors to take me in. It was the fantasy that got me through my days now besides painting in the sunroom that overlooked mountains, covering the city behind them.
I spent the entire day painting until I could barely see the difference in the shades of blues ahead of me when one of the various maids found me to tell me that dinner was ready. Wiping off my hands, I followed her lead and walked into the dining room set for four instead of three.
Stepbrother must have arrived.
With an eye roll, I took the furthest seat on purpose when his dad and my mom sat down. They always greeted each other like strangers even though they dated in LA before he demanded we pick up our life in exchange for his royal one.
Crossing my arms across my chest, a body dropped down beside me and a hand brushed my upper thigh when trying to lay the cloth napkin over his leg. My entire body shook into an awareness I had turned off since being here. “Must be Eve, my new sister. Elias, but call me Romeo,” his voice was shrill and penetrating.
I shifted my eyes, barely, not offering anything in return when my mom directed me to not be rude.
“Eve, hostage, and apparently your new stepsister.”
He offered his one hand above the table for me to shake, and the other hand hiding under the table reached for my thigh again, giving it a lingering squeeze. His fingertips gripped the inside of my thigh, too high up to just be friendly. No, this was enemy territory, and Bowen wasn’t here to fight off the trespassers.
Nothing he did was on accident and his smile proved it. “Nice to meet you, Eve. Can’t wait to get to know you.”
His fingers nearly slipped under the hem of my overall shorts when I pushed myself back into the chair, trying to place all the displaced features on him.
Elias was a nightmare just like Denmark was.
BOWEN
They always tell you to look for the signs—the warning signs, but there rarely are any. Not when you’re comfortable being this sad.
Being sad was my profession, and I was nothing but professional.
I could tell I didn't put my own sorry ass to bed because I was still fully clothed, and the curtains weren’t pulled in a way that blocked out the sun how I liked. There was a drool stain on my pillow that had the back of my hand rubbing against the corner of my mouth.
It’s a special feeling when you are constantly waking up still intoxicated. It’s unlike anything else to be this close to death and not actually be dead. Having your body seem heavy and your head feel so light at the same time felt like a privilege more than a pain.
Last night wasn’t lost to a black out or hangover, I didn’t do those. Alcohol was a flirtation that I danced with often enough to know the limits. None of those limits changed the reality of telling Eve what I do for the Clave and the cause for new blood on my hands.
Donte killed another girl, and yet I was the one who felt the effects of it.
Eve was always going to find out what I do for a living, that wasn’t the source of my regret, it was telling her we kill without any apologies.
Standing up, I kicked off my boots, yanking off the shiny, blue bomber jacket and the destroyed shirt under it before stepping out of my plaid pants. My normal attire s
omehow always involved plaid and enough material to cover my arms.
Padding to the bathroom, I caught a reflection of a man worn down… by almost everything surrounding me. My pale skin looked cold, my eyes looked witchy, and my scars screamed ugly. I didn’t care what they screamed as long as they matched my insides.
I had scars sneaking out from under my arms, thick scars healed from a dull blade running through my skin like butter.
They were well hidden and physically marked each trauma in my life for me to see when I needed to be reminded why I’m here. Alive.
Normally, I would climb into bed to perform how I repent. Now shit was more difficult. Eve was a permanent fixture in my life, holding me accountable in being her protector.
Soon-to-be husband.
Best friend.
All the things I couldn’t be while being the evil that I have to be.
Opening my dresser drawer, I cracked another nip before carefully unwrapping the blade that shined in a way that made my mouth salivate for the pain. Stepping out of my boxer briefs, I caught a glimpse at myself again, the part of me Eve was blinded by, disgusted by my own reflection.
Nothing about me was desirable.
Nothing about me was whole.
I was a bundle of raw nerves that had been sandpapered down to whatever was left.
Tilting my head back, I poured the contents into my mouth before stepping into the cold shower and twisting it to boiling. I let it wash over me and my sins until I stilled, getting used to the burn that kissed my skin in a different way than she did.
I wanted all of Eve, but she deserves someone better than me. I just couldn’t accept that enough to let her be someone else’s. So, I wrote a large check and doomed her own fate to be the woman I love yet won’t allow myself to sink into.