Many measures were taken to find out what had happened. Dulcie’s mother admitted that her daughter had come to her on the day of the fires and had been acting strangely. That her son had said some strange things about the couple, as well. The state police were brought in, but to no avail. While it was determined that both the Masters fire and the train station fire were intentional, there were no other clues as to what had happened to the young couple.
Of course, there were whispers. That it was all a drug deal gone bad. That Con had gone crazy and killed Dulcie, then killed himself, leaving their bodies for the bears. Or that he’d buried her in the woods and then ran; both his and his father’s bank accounts had been cleaned out. It seemed like the most likely scenario.
The town was shaken up for a long time, but as summer turned into fall without any answers, and fall turned into winter, it faded away. The Masters’ home was torn down, and by the next summer, the train station had gained a reputation of being haunted. People were coming from all over the state to see if they could catch sight of a young woman’s ghost. A restless spirit, doomed to wander the station after her lover had murdered her.
Right after the fires, Jared Foster quietly got divorced. He gained custody of his daughter and moved them into a small apartment. Later, he took custody of his newborn son. Then he saved his money, and by the following summer, he had enough to move. He was getting out of Fuller. What he should’ve done right after graduation. What Dulcie should have done.
And as he drove past that old train station, he let his eyes wander over it. Let his foot ease off the gas pedal. There was a window on the second floor, and for just a moment, he thought he saw someone standing there. Someone with dark blonde hair and light amber eyes. Someone who’d always existed on another plane from him.
I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Dulcie, but for what it’s worth … thank you for helping me.
Epilogue
“Stop it.”
“You stop.”
“I’m not doing anything. Stop it!”
“I can’t help it that you’re ticklish.”
“I swear to god, if you don’t -”
“There you are!” a shrill voice shouted. A brunette in a flowing maxi dress was hurrying towards them, waving her hand. A man followed in her wake.
“Uh oh, we’re busted.”
“Mr. Ford, this lovely woman is Shannon Cork,” the brunette, Carmen Enger, introduced them. “And this is her husband, Michael Cork.”
The woman who’d been introduced as Shannon gave a big smile, shaking hands with Mr. Ford. The man claiming the title of husband smiled as well, but didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist.
“Such a pleasure! I’m so happy to meet you, Mrs. Cork. I have to tell you, I just adore -” the man started going on, but her husband held up his hand.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, but could you excuse us for just a second? I forgot something I needed to tell my wife,” he apologized, pulling at her as he tried to step backwards. She held her ground.
“But babe, Carmen just brought him over here, we can’t -”
“Please, Shannon.”
She stared at him for a second, her lips pursed together tightly, then she sighed and turned back to their guests. Made apologies and assured them they’d be back. Then she followed him out of the room. He held onto her arm and dragged her around the building, hauling her outside and onto the beach.
“What was that?” she hissed, slapping at his hand when they were well out of sight of other people.
“When I tell you I want to talk to you, it means I want to talk to you right now,” he explained. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not talking about that.”
“Then what?”
“I hate it when you call me Shannon.”
Constantine burst out laughing. That loud laugh that she loved so much.
“What do you want me to do? I can’t exactly call you by your real name.”
Dulcie sighed and walked away from him, moving to where a palm tree had fallen at the edge of the beach. She sat down in the sand and leaned against its trunk.
“God, why did I ever agree to Shannon. It sounds so … girly,” she complained. He laughed again and sat down next to her.
“Hey, I like Shannon. We were in a hurry. Next time we have to evade the law, we’ll plan it out better and you can pick whatever name you want.”
It was only about a twelve hour drive from Fuller to Miami. They’d had to stop in Roanoke, Virginia to get her some much needed stitches. He’d kept the stab close to the side of her torso, nowhere near any organs, but it had still bled like a bitch.
Con had bought their new identities in Miami. She’d been stoned out of her mind on pain pills at the time, and it wasn’t till they were landing on the French island of Martinique that she even knew she had a new name.
Though really, living a whole new life in the Caribbean, with the man she loved, where no one knew the old Dulcie, where she could be whoever the fuck she wanted to be, was a pretty fair trade for having a name she didn’t care for.
“So what’s the emergency? Why’d you drag me out here? That guy was gonna buy something,” she said, gesturing with her head to the building they’d walked away from. Lights and conversation poured out into the night air. It was an art show, being hosted by one of the top galleries in Martinique. Dulcie was the featured artist.
“So? We don’t need the money,” Con reminded her, then he scooted lower down in the sand so he was stretched out next to her.
“It’s not about the money, Con. It’s also nice knowing my art is hanging in someone’s home,” she tried to explain. He snorted and pulled at her gauzy dress, dragging it up her body and revealing the white bikini she was wearing underneath.
“You mean Shannon Cork’s art is hanging in someone’s home,” he corrected her. She smacked him in the back of the head.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Oh, keep talking like that and we’ll never make it back to the party.”
He planted kisses along the edge of her hip, working his way to the nasty scar on her side. It had been a year, but it was still sensitive. It stood out starkly against the dark tan she now permanently wore. The tan that went so well with the new brunette dye job she always sported. He kissed the scar, too.
“You had to make it so big,” she sighed, combing her fingers through his hair.
“Thank god Matt brought that knife – the puny little pocket knife I was gonna use wouldn’t have left nearly so beautiful a mark.”
“Beautiful? Con, it’s huge, and I didn’t think it would ever stop bleeding.”
“That was the whole point – they had to believe you were dead, that I killed you,” he explained for the hundredth time.
“Last I saw online, they still consider the case open,” she told him. He snorted.
“Yeah, and last I saw, your ghost is roaming the halls of West Virginia’s newest haunted attraction. Mission fucking accomplished, Dulcie.”
She laughed and moved so she was even with him on the ground.
“Pretty amazing. We are pretty amazing,” she sighed, smoothing her hand over the mark on her skin.
“We shine like stars, little girl,” he agreed, his fingers moving alongside hers.
“And you know, I actually like the scar,” she admitted.
“Good. It took that stab to get you to admit you love me,” he reminded her.
“It needed to be said in blood,” she whispered.
“Well, you certainly gave a lot that night.”
“That’s how much I love you.”
He kissed her then. Even after a year. Even after fires and murders and dwelling in darkness, loving in darkness, kissing him still felt exactly the same as it had when she was seventeen years old. Like all her favorites things, rolled into one. Like every dream, every nightmare, she’d ever had.
Still feels like that fairy tale.
“I di
d actually want to ask you something,” he whispered, shifting around so he was on top of her.
“Hmmm, and what was that?” she asked, tilting her head back so he could kiss her exposed neck.
“I want to know,” he breathed, his tongue moving between her breasts. “When do we get to be bad again?”
She smiled big.
“Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”
SOUNDTRACK
Songs that I listened to while writing, songs that made me think of the story, and a couple that inspired actual scenes.
● Secret – The Pierces
● Teenage Dream – Katy Perry
● Little Red Riding Hood – Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs
● Can’t Get You Outta My Head – Kylie Minogue
● People Are Strange – The Doors
● Psycho Killer – Talking Heads
● Suicide Blonde – INXS
● I Touch Myself – Divinyls
● Bad Things – by Jace Everett
● Song 2 – Blur
● SAIL – Awolnation
● Animal – Chase Holfelder (Neon Trees cover)
● My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark – Fall Out Boy
● Bleeding Love – Leona Lewis
● Kokomo – The Beach Boys
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This wasn’t one of those books I had in the back of my mind, or on the back burner ready to go, or anything like that – it was really as simple as I saw a house.
Okay, maybe not that simple.
Many months ago (a year, maybe?) Jennifer L. encouraged me to sign up for the Rebels & Readers Author Event in West Virginia. So I did it. I love going to places I’ve never been before, so I thought of it as like an adventure.
I absolutely fell IN LOVE with West Virginia. It was November, but for this Alaskan chick, the weather was still warm, just perfect for me. The town was quaint and lovely, and the countryside absolutely stunning. I brought a friend with me and we decided to drive around for an entire day, going out to see our first ever Piggly Wiggly’s, some covered bridges, and the super spooky Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum.
While on the highway, I spotted this large house in a town somewhat below us. It stood out simply because it was the largest dwelling, but also because it was all white, with dark shutters and roofing. Very nice, with columns in the front. Then maybe a mile or two down the way, on the opposite side of the highway, there was a small trailer park. My friend and I started joking about how the mayor lived in the “fancy house”, and how his son was probably the star quarterback, and how he had a crush on one of the “weird chicks” from the trailer park. It was really that simple. Standard N.A.
So I don’t know where Dulcie and Con came from, but I’m very glad for them, and even more glad that Jennifer thought of me for that signing event.
This book was truly like one long, 80,000 word, primal scream therapy. Frustrations with the writing world, with the industry, with my personal life, all of it kind of came out in this book. I told my critique partner I didn’t think I had enough for a “full novel”, but I didn’t care. I said “I’m just going to write whatever comes out of me, then if it’s 50,000 words, so be it, I have a novella. If it’s 130,000, whatever, I wrote War and Peace, I don’t care. I’m just going to write the shit out of this.”
And so Constantine Masters was born.
So many people to thank. Of course, Ratula, for my eight million messages about Tiny Dog and random thoughts and how best to deal with crazy husbands and the random projectile vomit. Sunny, for always making me laugh and loving Con quite possibly more than I do. Jo and Beatriz and Rebeka, for our group chats and silliness.
My beta readers and all they do – Angie, I would be lost with you. Rebecca, Rebeka, and Rebecca! This is getting out of control. Letty and Jo and Sunny and Ratula, I simply couldn’t do it without all your feedback and help.
Christine at Shh Mom’s Reading, for handling ALL my tours, over a year and a half later! I adore you and the way you handle your business. Thanks for always making it easy for me, because I know it’s not easy for you, and it really means a lot.
Najla Qamber, who has made every single book cover, every single Facebook banner, and every single professional teaser. Two years running – I’m not going away any time soon! Thanks for your amazing attention to detail and the stunning covers you turn out.
To all the blogs that share and promote and read and do all that you do – to the events, to Teaser Tuesdays, to reviews, to … everything. You are everything. Thank you for helping me do what I love.
To the readers – your kind words and thoughts mean everything. It’s been an interesting journey! Thanks for keeping life adventurous. I hope I keep bringing you stories that you enjoy.
To my friends – it’s been an interesting year. Thanks for sticking with me and letting me do my thing. I’m not the easiest person at the best of times. At challenging times? Well …. just …. thank you. So much.
And to Mr. F. Seventeen years we’ve known each other. Here’s to seventeen more. Thanks for being you, and for letting me be me. Two of the most important things in my world. Words aren’t enough to express how important you’ve been in my journey.
The Kane Trilogy
DEGRADATION
Available Now
If you haven’t met Jameson Kane yet, read below for a sneak peek …
excerpt
Tatum plucked at her shirt in a nervous manner. She had tucked it into a tight pencil skirt and even put on a pair of sling back stilettos. If someone had personally requested her, she wanted to make an effort to look nice. She had blown out her hair and put curls in the ends, and toned down her make up. Even she had to admit it, she looked presentable.
For once.
Men in expensive business suits began to file into the conference room and she stood still, giving a polite smile to everyone who entered. A team of lawyers was meeting with their client. Six chairs were lined up on one side of a long table, with just a single chair on the other side.
Tate had been positioned at the back of the room, next to a sideboard filled with goodies and coffee and water. She fussed about, straightening napkins and setting up the glasses. When all six chairs were filled on the one side, she stared at their backs, wondering who the big shot was that got to stare them all down. The person who would be facing her. A door at the back of the room swung open and her breath caught in her threat.
Holy. Shit.
Jameson Kane strode into the room, only offering a curt smile to his lawyers. His eyes flashed to her for just a second, then he looked back. His smile became genuine and he tipped his head towards her, almost like a bow.
She gaped back at him, positive that her mouth was hanging open. What was he doing there!? Had he known she would be there? Had he been the one to request her? Impossible, he didn’t know what temp agency she worked for – but what would be the chances? She hadn’t seen him in seven years, and now twice in two days.
Tate felt like swallowing her tongue.
“Gentlemen,” Jameson began, seating himself across from the lawyers. “Thanks for meeting with me today. Would anyone care for any coffee? Water? The lovely Ms. O’Shea will be helping us today.” He gestured towards Tate, but no one turned around. Several people asked for coffee. Jameson asked for water, his smile still in place. It was almost a smirk. Like he knew something she didn’t.
She began to grind her teeth.
She delivered everyone’s drinks, then carried around a tray of snacks. No one took anything. She moved to the back of the room, refilled the water pitcher. Tidied up. Felt Jameson staring at her.
This is ridiculous. You’re Tatum O’Shea. You eat boys for breakfast.
But thinking that made her remember when he had said something very similar to her, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks.
She was pretty much ignored the whole time. They all argued back and forth about what business decisions Jameson should, or sho
uldn’t, make. He was very keen on dismantling struggling companies and selling them off. They tried to curb his desires. His tax lawyer explained how his tax shelter in Hong Kong was doing. Another lawyer gave him a run down on property law in Switzerland. Tate tried to hide her yawns.
They took a five minute break after an hour had passed. Tate had her back to the room, rearranging some muffins on a tray, when she felt the hair on the back of her neck start to stand up. She turned around in slow motion, taking in Jameson as he walked up to her.
“Surprised?” he asked, smiling down at her.
“Very. Did you ask for me?” she questioned. He nodded.
“Yes. You ran away so quickly the other night. I wanted to get reacquainted,” he explained. She laughed.
“Maybe I didn’t,” she responded. He shrugged.
“That doesn’t really matter to me. What are you doing tonight?” he asked. She was a little caught off guard.
“Are you asking me out, Kane?” she blurted out. He threw back his head and laughed.
“Oh god, still a little girl. No. I don’t ask people out. I was asking what you were doing tonight,” Jameson replied.
She willed away the blush she felt coming on. He still had the ability to make her feel so stupid. She had been through so much since him, come so far with her esteem and her life. It wasn’t fair that he could still make her feel so small. She wanted to return the favor. She cleared her throat.
“I’m working.”
“Where?”
“At a bar.”
“What bar?”
“A bar you don’t know.”
“And tomorrow night?”
“Busy.”
“And the night after that?”
“Every night after that,” Tate informed him, crossing her arms. He narrowed his eyes, but continued smiling.
“Surely you can find some time to meet up with an old friend,” he said. She shook her head.
“We were never friends, Kane,” she pointed out. He laughed.
“Then what is it? Are you scared of me? Scared I’ll eat you alive?” he asked. She stepped closer to him, refusing to be intimidated.
The Bad Ones Page 24