by Amber Bardan
Me, I’m going to go save my brother. Then I’m going to leave here and forget all about Julius fucking King.
Chapter Twenty-One
Him
I lie on my back—cock hard, heart empty.
“You’re out of your mind.”
Her response echoes the caverns of my mind. I’m further out of my mind than she could imagine. The stifled sobs recede, but each muffled sound stays with me. Each cry is a new wound on top of an old. She can’t hide from me completely, those sounds revealed her secrets.
She’s as lost as I am.
I thump the tips of my fingers hard on my sternum, again and again, reminding myself to breathe. My head fills with her. Every moment that I’ve loved her.
And I’ve loved her for so long.
Loved her without her understanding how or why. Loved her when there was hope and when there was not. Loved her even when loving meant destroying everything else.
I swipe my hands over my face, then flatten them both on my chest.
My fingers brush the scars on my left side. The ridges and bumps are a branding truth, a deep undeniable certainty. The million reasons why this way is the only way rise to smother me in a blanket of hate-filled clarity.
I shut my eyes, then open them and roll up, and walk over to the side table to open the drawer. I take out four things and lay them out on the varnished surface.
Two cigars.
A lighter.
A handgun.
I pick up one of the cigars, biting off the end as I sit on the bed. Then flick open the lighter and suck on the end of the cigar. The flame sweeps up to set it on fire.
A lungful of poison collects in my chest. I turn the cigar to look at the charred end. I’ll give her a head start.
Won’t even call the boys. This is between us.
I breathe out, then take another drag. The creamy fumes expel a little of her taste from my mouth. Not that I think that taste will ever completely leave me.
I slide the laptop closer and lift the screen. Stare at the surveillance footage that showed me my girl kissing another man not minutes before she came to my room and fed me her pussy.
White air creeps out from between my lips and hazes my vision.
Pain collects under my ribs. Fuck. I smoke the cigar and empty my mind. Concentrate on the noxious burn filling out the aching spaces in my chest.
If only I could trust you, baby.
* * *
I creep through the shadows to the king-size bed and crawl beside my brother, lost in a mountain of blankets and sheets. I set my hand on his shoulder.
“Thomas,” I whisper.
He snorts, and snuggles deeper into his pillow.
“Thomas.”
He huffs and rolls onto his back. “Sarah?”
“Shh.” I press three fingers to his lips.
I draw back the blankets, and guide him out of bed. Thomas sways on his feet. I fish around on his floor and find his slippers, and help him into them.
“What are you doing?”
I push up from my knees and face him. There’s no way I can explain. “I need your help, Thomas, we’re in trouble. Can you do as I say?”
Thomas nods, and grabs my hand. I lead him to the window. His room is on the opposite side to Julius, only a short drop to the ground. I undo the lock and tug open the window. The frame squeaks and I freeze, then inch it little by little until it’s open as wide as it will go. I push on the fly screen. It doesn’t budge. I lean my shoulder into the screen and thrust my body against it. The fly screen pops out. I stumble, then catch myself and turn to Thomas.
“I’ll help you out first.”
Thomas doesn’t move. “What about Julius? Shouldn’t we get him?”
I take his smooth face in my hands. “Honey, I need you to trust me. I’ll tell you everything once we’re safe.”
“Okay.” His voice is so small and shaken I almost cry again. Until a week and a half ago Thomas had lost everyone. His parents. Me. Right or wrong, Julius has been his world and now he’s going to lose him too.
I help him out the window and hold on to his arms until he’s safely on the ground. My descent is less graceful. I tumble onto the grass, scramble to my feet, and take Thomas’s hand again. The moment we reach the trees, I lead him faster down the path. This time I don’t care about the abrasion of gravel giving way to sand, searing my bare feet, we just need to get to the bungalow.
The scent of frangipani fills my heaving chest as we reach the steps to my room.
“Ash?” I whisper, scanning the veranda.
Footsteps shuffle from around the side of the small building. “Here.”
I guide Thomas to the front of the bungalow nearest the beach. Ash reaches us and takes my free hand. The moment my palm connects with his, adrenaline rushes through me. We run down the beach. It’s such a long way all around the island to the back pier if we want to avoid the paths through the middle. If it were low tide we might make it the other way in front of the mangroves—but not at night.
Thomas stumbles. I wrench my hand from Ash and grab Thomas’s arm urging him faster past the section of beach visible to the main house. My feet sink into sand. Every step gets heavier.
Thomas stumbles again. “My slippers.”
I glance at his feet. The slippers slow him down. I crouch in front of him and yank them off, then drag him back into a labored jog. My lungs burn as we run the long but private stretch past the main docks toward the rear of the island.
My shoulder strains where Thomas drags behind me. We reach the back of the island. The dark wood of the pier is almost lost in the moonlight, but Julius’s old, docked speedboat gleams iridescent beside it.
My pulse leaps.
Ash slows as he reaches the generators and huge warehouse sheds. He walks out across the pier to the speedboat.
“Come on.” I tug Thomas forward.
We step onto the first of the wooden planks. Unlike the majestic pier at the front of the island designed for tourists, this one was thrown together for cargo. The crude slats wobble under our feet. Angry black waves spray foam up the sides, sloshing water over us. My toes curl against the slick surface. I grip Thomas, fighting for traction on slime. We stumble to the speedboat. Ash reaches for me. I grip his fingers and take the step down, pressure releasing from my ribs. The boat veers up on a wave. Ash grabs my waist. I clutch his shoulder, lower my other leg into the speedboat, then turn to my brother.
His eyes are two pale disks in the moonlight.
“It’s okay.” I nod, and stretch my arms out to him.
“Thomas!” Wind whips the sound toward us.
Ash’s steadying touch evaporates.
My attention snaps to a figure hurtling down the beach.
Fuck—no.
“Quickly.” I stretch my arms toward my brother.
Thomas glances at Julius now stalking down the jetty.
I lean up and lunge for him, catch his small hand, then tug.
“Thomas.” The booming voice closes in on us.
The engine roars to life. The boat sways. I stumble. Thomas wrenches his fingers from mine. A burning scream tears from my throat. My feet skid, and I slip, knees hitting the bottom step. Pain shoots deep into my hips.
I come eye level with worn-denim-covered thighs. Julius dressed to hunt. His hand closes over Thomas’s shoulder. My brother curls into Julius’s side the way a puppy curls into its mother.
Pain grips my chest, more shattering than from falling.
“Thomas,” I cry.
Julius reaches out to me. I stare at him. His features contort, but there in the deep grooves and lines of rage is something desperate. The same desperation in his outstretched hand.
Last chance.
“Sarah!”
I glance over my shoulder. Ash leans against the wheel, fingers clutching the throttle. I turn back to my brother and Julius. The world narrows, and there’s nothing but the two of them and that hand reaching for me. I mount the steps. The engine flares, but I don’t stop moving, I keep flying toward that hand.
My foot touches down on the edge of the boat as it surges from the jetty.
I leap.
Revving boat and crashing waves thunder in my ears, but one thing fills my vision and it’s not the water about to devour me whole.
Julius.
His hand swallows mine. He tugs me through the air as though I were a flag in the wind. I crash into his chest. Impact shudders through my breasts, cracking my ribs. I gasp, arms wrapping around his neck, feet never touching the ground.
Water sprays my back in ice lashings.
His arms clench around me and my bones groan. I don’t let go. Don’t look back at the boat fading away.
Whatever awaits me now, it all lies here.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He puts Thomas to bed across the hall. I stumble into Julius’s suite. The lamp’s still on, but now the room is filled with a vaguely familiar musk it didn’t have before. I wrap my arms under my breasts and glance around. The luxurious stretch of the bed dominates the room. I circle the bed and head to the shadows of the alcove, then lower myself onto the wingback chair in the corner. My head spins, thoughts disjointed as though I’ve had too much to drink—I’m wasted on the aftermath of adrenaline.
I grip the arms of the chair. The door creaks then clicks and footsteps hit the carpet, one dull thud at a time.
Julius reaches my corner. Everything in me braces and pulls tight. I stare down at his boots. He wore them inside. He never wears his boots inside. He’s a weirdo like that.
The man likes some things just as clean as he likes others filthy.
“What do I do?” he whispers.
I glance up. I’ve never heard his rough voice so quiet. His tongue darts out, and I’m hit with the memory of that same tongue stroking between my thighs. He meets my gaze and the memory is in his eyes too.
His features reset. His brows hunch over shining eyes, lips pulled back, short breaths hissing between his teeth. The devil can bleed and I’ve wounded him.
He hurts, I’ve hurt him. There’s not even a bit of me that’s satisfied.
I’ve done a terrible, nasty thing tonight.
Now I’ll pay.
I drop my focus to his jeans. His hand slips to his belt, just holds the buckle as though he needs something tangible to grip.
“How do I prove to you that this isn’t a game?” His voice has strength again. Steel cool strength like that buckle. “That there’s a price we both must pay if you break your word?”
I take a breath. If there’s an answer to that question, it doesn’t come to me. I grip the arms of the chair. Logic wants me to offer up something—like maybe I could suggest something that might not be worse than what he’ll come up with.
He steps back. My shoulders roll forward. He sits in the love seat in front of me. A metallic click, then a hollow flick fill the room. I look at him. His lips close around a cigar, and the end flares deadly red.
I lean back in the seat, then freeze.
The lid snaps shut, then he pushes the lighter into his back pocket.
I’ve seen him smoke only once before. That time, things didn’t turn out so well for me. He opens his mouth and smoke curls out until the white tendrils bleed into a haze.
Air slides between my parted lips, the creamy taste of the cigar coats my tongue. Now I know what that scent was when I walked in his room. He’s already smoked once in here tonight.
Before he came after me.
My heart thunks under my breast.
He knew exactly what I was doing the entire time.
Julius drags on the cigar. He exhales, and the sound and taste of everything around me fill me up and command my attention. I never knew you could hear a cigar burning, but you can, and I’m poised to hear it.
He knocks ash onto the floor, lets soot settle right on top of the plush cream pile.
His breath rushes out, then he looks up. “If I’d have fucked you tonight, would you still have run away?”
My hands drop into my lap. This isn’t what I thought he’d ask. Pressure flares at the entrance of my vagina. The memory of his cock pressing there. How close we’d come. What would that final step have changed?
I lick my lips. “I don’t know.”
Julius cups the cigar in his palm and takes one final drag on the stump, then leans forward and stubs it out on the pretty little side table.
My attention fixes on the ruined varnish.
“If only we could be so honest all of the time.” He moves forward, and the last of the tobacco smoke rolls from his lungs into my face.
He crouches in front of me. I make myself look at him. His face is even now. Blank. The hands in my lap get slick.
“Do you have any idea how different things would be if I could trust you?”
I stare into ice blue, and not for the first time, get the sense I see such a small part of a whole. “What are you going to do?”
The question throbs between us.
Pounding seconds pass.
“I’m going to hold you to your word.” His hands cover mine, dry as mine are sticky. “There’s no getting away.”
I tug my hands, but he’s right—I’m stuck. My lungs squeeze, my breath trapped.
“Thomas goes back.”
A protest breaks from my lips, but I clamp my teeth shut. It’s the least of what he could do.
“I can’t trust you with him.”
I close my eyes. Tighten every muscle in my face and head to keep tears in. What he says is true. He can’t trust me with Thomas. Not at all. I’d try to take him again in a red-hot minute.
“You’ve had three years to get ready for this, baby.”
Fingers brush my cheek.
I flinch at the soft touch. My teeth grind.
“You’ll have the next three days in this room to accept it.”
My eyes fly open.
My jaw creaks. Darkness clouds my vision. Somehow Julius shines before my eyes. The light from the bedroom illuminates his right side. Half of him clean, half of him another man.
Who is he?
I don’t look at the shadows, don’t look at the tattoos, I look at the other man and a question burns through me. “What happened to your wife?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
I squint—he blurs. He hasn’t ever lied. Yet now I sit here whole and unharmed after breaking his trust, my promises, betraying him. It’s not even the first time I’ve betrayed him. His consequences, although real, although terrible, are nothing.
His hand moves to the back of my neck, and his mouth covers mine. I’m caught in a kiss. Dark and desperate. I grab his shoulders, my elbows lock as his tongue crowds the space in my mouth. My arms won’t move, not to draw him closer, not to shove him away.
Heat swamps me. Lustful fury incinerates my bones. He pulls back, curling his fingers in the back of my hair.
I gulp in air. Stare into his gripping gaze.
This is the beginning and the end.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bloody Birthday
2:29 p.m.
I’m sitting at the table in the same seat as before. Except this time there’s a dead body in our backyard and my dad’s being tied into a chair. Mrs. Carlisle is “helped” into the seat next to Dad, her face so white there’s an outline where the rouge cakes on her cheeks. The liner placed outside her lips does nothing to hide the way her mouth has thinned, wrinkles sinking in at the corners.
“You can’t do this,” Dad shouts. “You can’t, you know you can’t.”
Julius takes his place once more at the head of the table while his team of masked thugs corral Dad’s staff against the wall of the house.
“It’s too late.” Dad struggles in his bonds. “Listen, Julius. No matter what you think, doing this will only cause more harm.”
Julius’s head jerks toward Dad and one of the men works a gag between his teeth.
“You shouldn’t be here, Silvia.”
Mrs. Carlisle scoots in closer to the table and lifts her chin. “I could say the same for you.”
Julius reaches inside his jacket and withdraws the yellow envelope. He places it lightly on the table.
Dad’s eyes are wide, too much white around the rich brown of his irises.
“I thought we had a deal.” Julius strokes the top of the envelope with two fingers.
Mrs. Carlisle glances across the yard to her son positioned against the wall with the rest of the men. “We still do.”
Julius opens his jacket again and takes out a cigar and a beaten silver lighter.
“No, our arrangement was exclusive.” He bites the end off the cigar and spits it out onto the table, then flicks open the lighter. “This fucks with my plans.”
His thumb knocks down on the lighter, then he curls his free hand around the flame. He looks up at me. “In fact, all of my plans seem to have been properly fucked today.” He bends his head to his cupped hands. The snake on his neck cranes in my direction, the red of its eyes flashing and far too focused.
He sits back and tucks his lighter away, then lifts his chin and expels smoke out into the air. He rotates his head toward Dad. “I don’t suppose there’s copies?”
Dad growls into his gag.
Julius takes another suck on the cigar. “You can just nod or shake your head, Anthony, it’s not that complicated. Are there copies?”
Dad strains against the ropes, his jaw works, then he looks at me. His head drops and he slumps, then shakes his head.
“I thought as much.” His chin lifts again and the lower part of his jaw pops, smoke leaving his lips in perfect rings. He brings the cigar back to his mouth. It’s only that action, the way he draws smoke into his lungs like medicine, that tells me he’s not as calm as he seems. That something has gone so horribly wrong today that maybe, just maybe, he can’t handle.