The VIOLENT Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Linnea May

  "What?"

  I can practically feel myself going pale as he speaks.

  "What the fuck are you talking about, Silas?"

  He looks at me, biting his lip and turning around to close the door before he deigns me with an explanation.

  "You know, I've had my doubts about her, as have you, with her being a reporter and all," he starts. "I didn't trust her, and I didn't like the way you were with her. She grew to be a little too special to you, Jared, and that could pose an actual problem, if she can't be trusted."

  I glare at him, twirling my hand to beckon him to go on when he adds an unnecessary pause for emphasis.

  "So I wanted to make sure that she could be trusted and that she was sticking to the contract, even if someone presented her with a pretty lucrative opportunity, offering more than you were willing to offer her, a temptation that would be impossible to refuse if she was the person I thought she was," he continues.

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "I staged it," he says. "I hired a guy to make her believe there was money to be made, a financial gain bigger than what you've promised her, if she was ready to betray you. We did some research on her. I even sent the guy by her old office. It was a pure coincidence that she showed up that same day, getting into that argument with one of her colleagues. Our guy saw it, and we thought it was time to make our move. She seemed unstable and troubled."

  My blood is boiling. She never told me about this. I know that she went back to her co-working office a while ago because she had to clear her desk. But she never mentioned that she ran into any trouble that day.

  My heart is racing, beating in loud and aggravated beats against my rib cage. I doubt that a person could feel any more betrayed than I do right now.

  "You paid someone to trap her?" I ask.

  Silas sighs. I growl with anger, jumping up from my seat ready to storm the fuck out - or to burn this entire place down.

  "Look, I knew you'd be mad," he says, raising his hand in a placatory gesture. "But let me finish because I'm pretty sure you're going to like this last part."

  "Oh, you think?" I bark at him. "Why is that? Because now at least we know that she's a fucking traitor?"

  "No, no, no," he hurries to say, shaking his head. "Because she didn't take the bait."

  I freeze, staring at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

  "I just heard from my contact, the guy I hired," he says. "I mean, it didn't look like she was going to take it to begin with. When he first talked to her at that event, she basically told him to fuck off and leave her alone. But she appeared shocked and confused. The fact that she took his business card left us with a hint of doubt."

  "She took his business card?"

  "She did," Silas confirms. "But as it turns out, it was only to tell him to fuck off again and make it very clear that she was not interested. And this time, she was very firm about it."

  We remain in a silent stare, Silas waiting for a reaction and me trying to process what he just told me.

  "But... you never set her up in the first place?" I want to know. "You just sent this guy?"

  He nods. "I don't know what else has been going on between you two, but all I can say is that she didn't bite. It didn't sound like she was considering it for even a second."

  I huff. "Yet she waited until this morning to call him."

  "To tell him again," Silas clarifies.

  I turn away from him, sighing and rubbing my temples.

  I need to go home. Right fucking now.

  Chapter 39

  Jared

  I find her curled up in the armchair. She has moved it next to the window, with its back turned halfway toward the elevator and facing the window in front of her. It's still early in the day and the sun is bathing the city skyline below in a blazing light.

  I can't see her face, and while I know that she must have heard the elevator, she doesn't move an inch, not acknowledging my presence whatsoever. Instead, she keeps her eyes glued to the window, watching the city breathing below her.

  The elevator doors close noisily behind me, and I wait, burying my hands in my pants' pockets while I slowly approach her. She still doesn't move, doesn't even turn her head when I stop right next to her. She tries to look calm and unfazed, but I can tell by the way she’s breathing that she's tense.

  "What now?" she asks, still not looking at me. "Are you kicking me out? Is that it?"

  I'm standing next to her, my stance wide and close to the floor-length window. There's a certain thrill to standing so close to the edge and looking right into the abyss at the tip of my feet, despite the lack of actual danger. I know I couldn't break this glass and fall even if I tried. But it looks like I could, and that's enough to make my heart race at the thought of it.

  "Why did you write these things?"

  I'm keeping my eyes away from her, fixating on the view below. Despite everything that Silas told me, I still need to know why she wrote those words. Even if she refused to fall for his bait, she may still have other plans that no one knows about.

  Button sighs next to me, clinging to the blanket wrapped around herself.

  "Writing is an outlet for me," she says. "It always has been. And you never told me that I couldn't write. You just made me promise not to publish it."

  "I didn't make you promise, I made you sign a contract forbidding you to publish anything," I correct her. "But okay, writing is your outlet. Whatever. I can get that. What I don't get is the way you write. That passage didn't read like a fucking diary-"

  "Because it isn't," she says, cutting me off. "I don't keep a diary. That's not what I do. I write stories, non-fictional stories."

  "Non-fictional stories that you sell to the press."

  She sighs.

  "Yes. That's my job," she says. "Or rather, it used to be. But it's hard to break out of this habit. It's my style. Everything I write sounds like it belongs in an article or an editorial. It's how I write. I can’t help it."

  "You can't fucking tell me that you never even considered selling that stuff, Button."

  I tear my eyes away from the view and turn to her, meeting her eyes for the first time since I've walked in. She looks exhausted, her face smeared with the leftovers of yesterday's make-up. She has cried, a lot. Her eyes are red and puffy, speaking of pain as much or more than fatigue.

  "I'm not saying that," she says in a low voice. "It would be a lie."

  My chest tightens. "So you did consider it."

  It's not a question, but she nods, lowering her eyes for a moment.

  "At some point, I did, yes," she says. "When this was still strictly business. And long before that guy showed up. I never considered selling to him."

  "I know."

  Her eyes dart up at me, widened in surprise. "You know?"

  I sigh, raising my eyebrows at the memory. I will still have to have a word with Silas about this. Despite his noble intentions, that move was not okay. It was more than not okay. He really overstepped his boundaries.

  "He was bait," I simply tell her. "Paid by my team to tempt you to betray me. Without my knowledge."

  "Great," she snorts. "So you weren't the only one who couldn't trust me."

  "Can you blame them?" I want to know. "Or me?"

  She shakes her head.

  "No, not really," she admits. "But... if he was paid, you must know what I told him? You must know that I said no. Twice, actually."

  Our eyes meet again, and I see a cautious smile playing at the corners of her mouth when she adds, "I was very adamant."

  "So I've heard."

  She peels herself out of the blanket and gets up from the armchair, stepping closer to me. Her body is wrapped in a white silk robe, hiding very little of her limber frame. I want to touch her, to wrap my arms around her, and feel her soft skin against mine. But I'm not sure if I can, if I should.

  She seems to feel the same way.

  Her approach is hesitant and overly cautious, her hand barely touchin
g mine when she reaches for me.

  "You know who I am," she whispers. "You know I'd be lying if I said I had never considered any of this."

  She looks up at me, but we let our fingers intertwine.

  "I'm the kind of woman who signs up to be a high-class escort because she no longer wants to work for money by the time she's thirty," she reminds me. "I mean... who does that?"

  I can't help but join her little chuckle.

  "You," I say.

  She nods. "If you'd ever read any of my pieces, you'd also know that I don't shy away from nasty stories. Those that expose or shine a light on the darker side of society."

  "Like an agency called Violent Delights," I complete her reasoning.

  She smiles at me.

  "Exactly," she agrees. "But you have to know, I've never enjoyed hurting anybody, especially you. I never wanted to hurt you - and by now I'd even go a lot further."

  I cast her a questioning look.

  "By now, I want to protect you," she clarifies. "And destroy everyone who ever tries to hurt you."

  She lets out a sad chuckle, and it’s overridden by sorrow. "Though if that's true, I would have to start with myself."

  "Why are you saying that?"

  "Because I fucking hurt you, Jared," she says. "I thought that I let you go for my most vulnerable part every time we played. But I was wrong."

  I catch my breath when she slowly lifts her hand up to my throat, placing her fingers around it as if she was to choke me.

  "I don't think the throat is where we are most vulnerable," she whispers. "I think it's the heart instead. And I hit yours pretty hard."

  She lets go of my neck and lets her hand travel down to my chest, placing her palm on the left side.

  "I'm sorry."

  I place my hand on top of hers and beckon her to meet my gaze with the other, by tilting her head up with my index finger below her chin.

  "I'm sure my heart isn't the only thing that's been in a lot of pain recently," I tell her. "I didn't exactly treat yours fairly either."

  She smirks at me, a single tear rolling slowly down her cheek as a deep sense of relief takes over, eliminating the tense aching that must have been torturing her this past night just as much as it tortured me.

  "I guess we're even then?" she breathes.

  I have never seen my Button like this. It's almost as if I'm seeing her for the first time, really fucking seeing her. Just her, with all her flaws, her pain, her brilliance, her raw beauty when her face lights up, as I lean down for a kiss.

  I don't crave for us to be even.

  I yearn for us to be together. Because that's when we're at our fucking best.

  Partners. A team.

  Epilogue

  Ann

  ~ One year later ~

  I often wonder how differently things could have turned out.

  What if I had never decided to write that story about Violent Delights? What if I had never decided to sign up for their catalog?

  What if I had never met Jared King on that fateful day?

  What if he had never met me?

  Would he be a Congressman today? Maybe. Maybe he would have followed through with his plan to take on something new, to make his voice heard on a new playing field. If he didn't have to worry about his character credentials as much, if he hadn't been haunted by those demeaning rumors again and again. If politics was less about kissing ass left and right, less about making the right friends and displaying a proper but false picture of yourself, and more about substance, maybe he would have gone through with it.

  But it isn't, and Jared is too much of a self-dependent businessman to comply with a set of rules that inherently forces him to do nothing but appear to be someone he isn't, until he's finally allowed to make his voice heard where it matters.

  We talked about this a lot. After all, our whole arrangement was based on this campaign he was about to embark on. The campaign and preserving his public image were the main reasons for me to become part of his life. But neither one of us saw this coming.

  Jared and I, we have a lot in common. Unfortunately, we also share a number of negative traits. We've both been lone fighters as long as we can remember, and neither one of us is used to taking another person into consideration when it comes to making big life decisions.

  That's why I didn't find out about Jared's decision until after he finalized it. He no longer wanted to run for office, and instead focused on his business - and he made that decision all by himself.

  "Letting go of my company didn't feel right from the start," he told me. "I guess in the end I am more of a businessman than a politician."

  I will never forget the day he said that to me. It was a few weeks after he thought I'd be able to sell him out. Things were still shaky between us, but progressively moving forward, mainly because we both held on to that one goal.

  To get him elected to Congress.

  And then he pronounced that goal was dead, and all of a sudden, my position in his home was no longer dependent on a contract.

  "What about us?" I asked him, fearing his answer.

  And he just looked at me, raising his eyebrows in question. "What do you mean?"

  I was so startled that I got mad at him for not understanding what I was asking.

  "I'm here on contract, to help you become a Congressman," I said. "If you no longer plan to do that, then..."

  He looked at me, standing there in his unbuttoned shirt, his tie loosened after a long day, his hair ruffled because I greeted him with a passionate kiss as soon as he walked through the door, and looking utterly confused. It's as if he completely forgot about our deal.

  "I mean, you don't need me anymore, do you?"

  I felt silly for saying it because I knew that it wasn't that easy. But I still needed him to say it.

  Jared came over to me, and if he'd be any other man or we'd be any other couple, he would have given me a hug at that point, or a kiss. Instead, he reached up for my throat, not really choking me, but threatening to do so, and a dark smile graced his handsome face.

  "You're not going anywhere," he whispered. "And if you try, I'll just have to tie you to the bed until you understand just how much I need you, Button."

  I smiled at him then, and he closed his hand around my throat, squeezing gently.

  "I don't think that'll be necessary, Sir."

  And that was that. Neither of us is very good or practiced at talking about our feelings, especially toward each other. We worked around the L word for months, even though we both knew how we felt. When it finally did slip from my lips, it was right after he'd made me come, my hands tied at my back while he had his way with me, a collar closing in around my neck instead of his hand. He pulled at it, and when my climax hit me, the words followed on instinct. I was more shocked at it than he was. His only response was a repetition of the same, a whisper, heavy with meaning. "I love you, too, my little Button."

  That was about three months ago, and since then, we've been acting like the most obnoxious couple in love, walking around with a silly smile and giving way to our insane desire for each other.

  The fact the he's no longer running his political campaign had another pleasant side effect for me: I was able to work as a journalist again.

  However, it wasn't easy to get back in the game, despite my initial excitement to do so. I'd only been out for a few months, but for a lot of newspapers and journals, that was long enough to forget about me. In some aspects, it was almost as hard as if I was starting out again, a completely fresh start. I no longer have to work for money, but I have to pick up stories that may not excite me, but could be crucial for bringing my name back into the game.

  Jared has always been as supportive as he can be the entire time.

  But I wonder what he will think about this one. I just finished up a phone call that could change my life, an opportunity so big that I never even dreamed of it. It was a pure coincidence, really, but I'm sure the fact that my name was brought into pl
ay can also be linked to my activities during the past year at the side of Jared King, the business prodigy who dipped his toe in the murky water of politics, just to realize that it wasn't for him.

  I was asked to join the press team of yet another promising political figure, a candidate who's running for a much higher office than what Jared strived for. It's actually the highest office.

  I was offered a chance to write for a presidential campaign. Of course, this is gigantic news, great news, but it comes with its own hardships and conditions. Traveling, for example. Working in an environment that Jared has actively secluded himself from. I'd be busy as hell, leaving less time to be with him, at least for a while. It would put our young relationship to a test, and I don't know what he'll think about it or how he’ll react.

  It doesn't help that we're celebrating our anniversary today. We never had something that we'd classify as "the talk,” but both Jared and I agreed that the day he came home to me, finally realizing that I was not out to get him, and I had come to a similar realization of my own, that that day would be our day. It has been exactly one year since then, and it feels like almost a farce that I received this offer now. It's been in the talks for a few days, and being who I am, I didn't share any of it with Jared until now. I received the actual offer today. All I had to do was to say yes.

  If only it was that easy.

  Jared is at the office all day, but he's made reservations for us at the same restaurant where we met for the very first time. It's a special day, so I took extra effort to look good for him, wearing a new purple Gucci dress, and letting my long hair fall down over my shoulders in elegant curls. He loves it when I wear my hair down, and I'm sure he'll appreciate the work I put into making my hair curl this way.

  I'm nervously pressing my purse against my abdomen, as if it was a barrier for protection. My nerves calm down a little, when I see the look on his face as I walk through the door.

  "You look stunning," he greets me, getting up from his seat and placing his hands on my hips as he pulls me in for a kiss that may be a little too sensual for a public place. It does wonders for my shaky emotional state. I instantly feel calm and protected, confident that he'll support me no matter what.