by Nicole Snow
If only I could ignore that damn letter.
Another minute passes, wrestling myself the whole time. Then I drag myself across the room, stoop next to the trash, and rescue the crumpled mess from oblivion. Familiar, shameful outrage storms my blood while I iron the letter smooth again with my elbow.
God, do I hate this.
Hate how I can't get him out of my head.
Hate how he's managed to turn my life upside down. Again.
Probably in ways I don't even notice yet, depending on what's happening to Jace this second.
Hate, hate, hate how he makes me feel small and scorned and iced all over. Turning me into a heart-stung, swindled little girl without a clue about the world must be his superpower. And if the kryptonite exists somewhere on this earth to make it stop, I haven't found it.
It took years to find my way back from his desolation.
My twenties are more than half over, the best decade of my life, or so everybody says. What have I done? Except for dropping out of Stanford my first year and running east of the Cascades, where I used my trust fund to jump start a chain of inns that's a hollow shadow of every business triumph my family ever had.
Some years still aren't breaking a healthy profit. I'm throwing my own money into the upkeep.
Trying like hell to forget the man who won't stay forgotten.
If I wasn't so used to disappointment by now, so numb to it, I might've sold the chain off a long time ago. Learned to walk away. I could take my failures as a learning lesson like a normal person, lick my wounds, and move on.
But he doesn't let that happen.
Trent fucking Usher condensed a lifetime of killing let downs into a few hazy weeks. He stole my heart and dropped me on my head with no apology, no explanation, and no remorse. He made his smirking memory impossible to bury.
You're not family, asshole. You never were. Jace's furious words echo in my head from the dream, clear as day, like an angry phantom materializing after six dire years.
I wish Trent were family. It would've been easier.
I never would've fallen so deep, so hard, so soon.
He never would've trampled my heart in the muck of his lies. All the crap I swallowed. Experienced. Believed.
It wasn't long after the morning that still hurts like hell, when he destroyed my shiny new convertible outside Olympia. But hijacking my car and leaving it a shattered wreck wasn't even the worst part.
Not even when the casualty was us.
It was what they found inside.
8
False Promises (Trent)
It's the longest damn day of my life.
Correction: second longest.
Second and worst after the dark day that brought me back here in the first place, obsessed with driving a stake through the heart of the vampire asshole who ruined me.
Jace should dominate my thoughts. If only.
Truth is, I haven't stopped thinking about Amy Kay since the minute the fire crew rushed me out of the stairwell. How could I? There was plenty of time to dwell on everything after I crossed the street, parked myself at a coffee shop, and waited several hours to see if the prick I came to see would show up.
Jace never showed. His sister, on the other hand...
Fuck.
I can't evict her from my mind. Every time I look at the streets, I'm back in that elevator. Locked in a war with my own memory, and it's one I always lose.
There's no way I'll ever win her back.
That's not what I came to do. Everything that happened while we were stranded changes nothing. I want revenge. Same thing I've been after for years.
Too bad a dark, beat up part of me calls 'bullshit.'
A part of me that knows if I had another way to make this right, I'd have my mouth on hers again in a single heartbeat. I can't shake her taste, even now.
The kiss we shared before the old venom set in and pulled us away is probably the worst part.
Probably, I say, because her eyes were up there, too.
I'll never forget gazing into them. Bright, green, beautiful.
Never forget how she looked back. Shocked, guarded, hurt.
Did I do that? Bring so much pain?
Is this what Jace fucking made me do?
I don't know. I don't care. If I do what I came here for, it'll be a mute point. One more pile of burning debris gone. Incinerated in the ashes of that asshole's life.
I'm in my hotel room, catching up on business, waiting for a few choice texts to hit my phone. The next phase of vengeance is due anytime.
Just when I start wondering what the fuck is taking so long, I get a call. And not from a name I'm expecting.
"Pops. What's happening? Checking in?" My fingers clench. I hope to holy hell that's the only reason dad's calling.
"You're in Seattle. I'd be insane not to. Son, I'm only asking once: are you really there for business?"
Shit. The old man knows me too well, like any good father should.
He knows when the truth is something else. Always had a scary ability to read my mind nobody else ever matched except Ma. "Seriously? What do you think it is? Me coming out here to settle an old score and throw away a billion-dollar company? You're too worried. Wish you'd use some of that energy for planning your next fishing trip to Alaska."
"I know you, Trent. It's been six years. I've got a sneaking suspicion you're not up in Seattle again for the – what did you call it?" He snorts lightly into the phone.
"Emerging energies conference. And it's actually about to start up again." I grab the TV remote, flip to the new station were some jackoff politician is giving a speech, and crank up the volume, trying to make it sound like I'm not far from the presenter. "You hear that? Got to go."
There's a long pause. Don't have a clue of who'll buy it until he finally talks to me again. “I'm warning you, son. For the love of your Ma, for me, tell me you haven't gone up there to get yourself in trouble. It'd break her heart to know everything we did couldn't keep you away. We gave up everything, son.”
I know.
That blinding, brutal fact hits me in the gut every day.
So does the fact that she's gone. The exile killed her. Being away from this city she loved, her dogs, the fresh air of the Cascades.
And all because of me.
All because of Jace.
I don't say anything. We both know his atrocities broke mom's heart years ago.
A broken heart technically isn't why her health gave out, and she went to an early grave, but I know.
We both do.
She never settled in Portland. Shit, the cost of living wouldn't even let her buy fast food off their pensions and a little Social Security.
"That's not what I'm here for, Pops. Hope you know it. It's business. Serious cutting edge business. Didn't come up here to play vigilante." I hope like hell I sound convincing.
"Last warning, son. If I didn't care so damn much, I'd leave you to make your own mistakes. You're a grown man. But if anything happens again, those blue blooded bastards won't let you off a second time so easy. Sure, you can probably buy yourself a lawyer as good as theirs now, but that won't matter if they decide to dredge up old dirt." He takes a deep breath, probably saying a quiet prayer that some of this will get through to me. “You promised me you'd let it go, Trent. Keep your word. No visits to old friends. No detours. Especially no Chenocott girl. Tell me when you're home in one piece."
"Pops, pops, calm the hell down. I'll be back in a couple days and you'll be the first to –" I'm talking to dead air. He's said his piece and ended the call like he always does in his wise-ass way.
I throw the phone down, feeling like shit for the second time in twenty-four hours.
My lies are catching up with me. The trickle becoming an acid drip.
I said just enough to Presh, leaving her pissed and confused. Didn't have a better option.
I hope it'll make her back off and let me do what I need to with Jace. As for my old man, it's just
a fucking tragedy.
Having to BS the man who gave me everything. Who sacrificed so much to keep me away from here, away from this suicide run that might torch everything I've built since leaving Seattle the first time.
But I can't walk away. Can't give up on payback. Not now.
Can't forget Ma, God rest her soul. Lost too young because I loved the wrong woman.
Because I made friends with the wrong backstabbing fuck.
Nothing changes my resolve. Not even her big green eyes, stuck in my head on loop.
The suffering in her sweet face is just another reason Jace Chenocott deserves hell.
My phone pings again. This time, it's one of the texts I've been waiting for – the first of many arrows meant to bleed the snake dry.
Smiling, I rub the drowsiness from my eyes. I probably haven't nodded off for more than a few hours since the incident on the elevator.
Now, I wouldn't dream of it. The wheels are turning.
I force myself up, shake off my exhaustion, and grab my briefcase.
However this thing ends, it starts with paying my old pal a visit.
There it is. I've only seen my tormenter's house in pictures before.
It's one of the new gated communities that's sprung up on the city outskirts. A grand old house he's probably leveraged himself to the hilt to buy, dwarfing the luxury condo I keep back home even though I'm certain my fortune could crush his.
Irony churns in my guts. The place screams Jace.
It's ugly, all manufactured finishes and sterile looking windows big enough to drive a car through. A rich person's idea of what they think they've earned. Better for impressing company like a fancy museum piece, rather than a real home to live in.
Pathetic. Still doesn't do anything to lessen the hellfire in my fists now that they're almost in striking range.
Six years ago, the asshole threatened to knock my teeth out. We came close to blows that day so many times. I wish to hell we had. Wish I'd knocked him out cold. Wish I'd pounded some permanent sense through his skull.
Maybe it would've stopped the insanity that came later.
Whatever happens here, I can't get physical. Assaulting this prick is the surest way to buy myself a cell behind bars, plus a whole lot of grief for Pops.
"Wait here," I tell the driver, popping the door and stepping out.
I'm sure he wonders what I'm doing, sneaking around the back of the house, carefully avoiding the motion lights. Good thing I'm paying him plenty not to ask questions. My briefcase suddenly weighs a ton, swaying against my leg while I try to find a good entry point.
People in neighborhoods like this are sloppier than most would think with locking their doors. The private security guards and gates keep common vandals away. For most situations, that's enough.
Street thugs can't buy my appearance – the right one.
No one gave us a second thought when I told the man at the guard shack we were here for a dinner party. He was bored out of his mind and knows you don't delay a man who shows up in a polished Lincoln with the chauffeur, asking for ID.
There's a side door leading into the seven car garage. I try the handle, and it gives way automatically.
I'm in, slipping to the front door, which is also unlocked just like I hoped.
I'm expecting icy silence, I need to be very careful with what I say and do if I don't want to give myself away too soon.
That might be easier than I'd hoped, judging by the screams assaulting my ears the second I press the door shut behind me.
“Baby, baby, baby, sit down! For the last fucking time, this isn't what it looks like.” Even after years away, I know he's lying. Incredible he hasn't gotten better at it.
“I'm not stupid, Jace. I saw the texts, the photos. You, with her. And the other one. Hell, how many were there? I couldn't force myself to flip through the rest of the file. Too many photos – all sick! So many women, you lying prick.” I can't tell whether Lindsey sounds defeated or if she's gearing up to explode.
A nasty guilt roils my blood. This is the part I hate, dragging her into this, but doesn't a woman deserve to know what her shit of a husband gets up to when he's 'working late?'
There's another roar from Jace, louder and incoherent. Several fists smashing against a door, eager to knock it down. A quick look at the woodwork tells me it's expensive and Brazilian. A little more resilient than the flimsy doors in most homes.
Good. He'll risk a fracture if he really wants to get to her.
Fuck.
I expected fireworks, but I don't want this getting dangerous. The cops are a phone call away, if this domestic dispute turns into death threats, but I'm hoping it won't.
The fists ramming the door half a house away are already running out of steam. Even if he's pissed, he can't keep this up forever.
“Come the fuck out so we can talk about this! Please, Linds. I love you. You've got to believe –”
“Love? Don't you dare lie to me again. I'm not opening this door. Go tell Amy Kay where to stick the load of crap you said she fed you. If only you hadn't made it up! Trent Usher, back in town, back to hurt you. Jesus. What kind of idiot do you think I am?”
Fists ball at my sides. I can't help joining in the fury, hearing Presh sold me out. Goddamn, what did she tell him?
“He hates me like nobody else, Linds. He's loaded. They can do anything with computers today, fabricate all kinds of fucking baloney. Those pictures aren't real. I swear. I'm telling you, I never did a thing. Nothing you didn't already know about.” His panicked denial puts a tiny dent in my rage.
I have to settle down. See how this plays out. There's a scraping sound in the corner. My heart beats a thousand miles per hour. Is there a dog I don't know about?
No. It's just a robo-vacuum, skimming across the floor to clean. I shake my fist at the Roomba, cursing underneath my breath.
Don't be so fucking jumpy. This is what you wanted, I tell myself, nodding.
“Linds? Jesus Christ, open this door!” His fists bash the door again when she doesn't answer. “What are you gonna do about this then? Walk away? Divorce? Suck me dry so you can keep yourself in heels and imported wine? Shit. You'll probably drive me right back to the bottle, when I was doing so well –”
“You were hiding that, too, asshole. Don't even try to deny it. And don't you ever blame your demons on me.” I'm waiting for another explosion from Jace, but he says nothing. “I found your bottles out back, buried by the fire pit, just a couple weeks ago. You've been drunk or high ever since you started screwing up the firm.”
“I was working. Bitch.”
“You were in over your head. We both know it. You should've just sold the place, lived off the trust fund you keep burning through like crazy, and let me go a long, long time ago.” Sensible advice.
Not something I expected to find in this house.
The breath she drags in is so ragged I can almost hear it. “Amy tried to warn me. Years ago. Jesus, if I'd just taken off with Trent on Bainbridge that day, none of this would've happened. Whatever he did, it can't be worse than you.”
Icicles hit my blood. She's pushing buttons that will get somebody killed, dredging up the past, taunting the unpredictable Satan who's probably gearing up to kick down the door.
Ignoring my own gut-wrenching worry, I dig for my phone, ready in an instant to skip out the door and call the damn cops. Or fuck, rush up there myself as a last resort, and knock him out before he can do any damage.
But there's a sound I don't expect. Like something heavy and wet hitting the floor, followed by the most horrific sobs I've ever heard.
The kind of shit I've only heard in nightmares. Whenever I think how Amy Kay and her parents reacted after they found her car and the filth inside.
“Just get it the fuck over with, then. Just fucking leave. Do it.” I don't realize Jace is the one bawling his eyes out until I hear him straining to speak through his shredded grief. “Walk out and ruin me like I know you always
wanted! You'll get your piece of my ass, gold digger, and I hope you choke!”
“Jace...Jace?” Lindsey has to call him several times, her voice like stone. “If you've got any sense, sell your stake in the firm. Alimony won't be kind. I'm taking the house, the car, the boat, and then whatever else I can get my hands on. Only fair. I can't believe I wasted so many years on you.”
Brutal. And well deserved.
My breath stops. Feels like an eternity of icy silence passes. I push forward, peering around the corner. It's clear. I walk to the edge of the other massive sitting room, stand on the stonework of the massive fireplace, just to get a better look.
I see a crumpled form at the end of the hall upstairs, next to a shuttered door. Several gouges are in the wood, probably left by his watch when he tried to beat it down. He's slumped over, twitching like somebody kicked him in the ribs, face in his hands.
Is this what poor Maxwell felt when he thought I'd kicked him in the balls, after his concession?
Is it how Amy Kay cried the night she knew I wasn't coming back?
I don't fucking know, but it's a dagger through my ribs. I'm still afraid for Lindsey, however destroyed Jace looks.
That's why I hang around for five, maybe ten more minutes, waiting to get the hell away from his misery.
Brutal fucking misery I inflicted. Awful as it is, there's no regret. Some confusion, some uncertainty, maybe, which causes me to react too slow.
Jace springs up off the floor and beats his feet down the winding stairs like a soldier who's been licked. He takes each step two at a time, too fast for me to go anywhere.
Shit.
I hold my breath, waiting to be charged by a very mad bull. We're roughly the same size, broad shouldered, and whatever he's been up to since we turned into enemies, he hasn't stopped lifting. There's a rare unease, imagining how I'll take this asshole down.
But there's no rage, no scream, no ambush.
He tears down the hall as soon as he's on this floor, not even stopping to give the fireplace a second glance. I hear a vehicle start and then one of the huge garage doors open. Tires screech down the long driveway and a powerful engine growls, rocketing the car down the road.