The Ties That Bind

by Norinne, Rebecca

  I was pretty sure I knew what had to be done, but until I acted one way or the other, I could always change my mind. Until I sent the text I never in a million years thought I’d be on the verge of sending, things could always go the other way.

  And yet, they wouldn’t.

  The second I’d pulled that dusty old lock box out from under my floorboards and rifled through the contents inside, I’d as good as chosen my path. Dictated my future.

  Signed Jayce’s death warrant.

  Taking a deep swallow of the shimmering amber liquid, I mustered my resolve and, with only the briefest bit of hesitation, typed in my security code, bringing the ancient device to life.

  Back when Arabella and I had first started dating, I’d bought a phone for each of us, linked to an account that could never be traced back to me. In case it ever fell into the wrong hands, I’d populated it with the names and phone numbers of random women I’d found in the phone book, hoping her father would never know that “Juliet” was his daughter’s secret lover … the son of his biggest rival.

  The last time I’d dialed this number—the worst day of my life—it’d been hours before she’d picked up and the likelihood of Arabella doing so now was practically non-existent. Hell, who was to say she even had it anymore? And yet I’d kept my phone, hadn’t I? Something told me despite how things had ended between us, Arabella wouldn’t have severed that final tie to me, to us. That she would have kept it with her just like I’d done with mine.

  A small glimmer of hope took root and, my fingers shaking, I reached out to the source of my greatest pain.

  Juliet: If you get this message, call this number immediately: (312) 555-5610.

  And then I waited.

  When a phone trilled loudly in the silent room a few hours later, I jumped, sloshing the remaining whisky in my glass over the rim and all over my clothes. My heart in my throat, I picked up the burner only to discover it wasn’t the one ringing. Across the room, my iPhone continued to buzz and bounce on the Formica countertop, the caller on the other end of the line demanding that I pick up.

  Rubbing the groggy sleep from my eyes, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and inhaled while my head pounded, a stark reminder of the bottle I’d finished off less than an hour ago. Placing my palms on my knees, I pushed my way to my feet and ambled over to where my phone lay. Just as I picked it up, it went silent again, but not before I saw who was calling.

  With a sigh, I set it back, screen side down, and braced my hands against the counter. Staring at myself in the cracked mirror, I took a few deep breaths and willed my erratic heartbeat into a steady thrum in my veins. When I’d gained some measure of control, I turned on the sink and splashed water over my face before cupping my hands together under the faucet and glugging down as much water as I could. It’d been a long time since I’d had a hangover, much less one from day drinking, and I didn’t intend to get one now.

  Before I could finish drying my hands on the scratchy, threadbare towel hanging next to the sink, my phone started ringing again. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. I’d ignored Jayce’s latest email demanding an update, which he obviously hadn’t appreciated. Now he’d taken to calling me in hopes that he’d be able to pin me down.

  Staring down at the screen, a face so similar to mine that most people couldn’t tell the difference stared back. Marshaling my resolve, I swiped my finger across the glass and brought it to my ear.

  Before I could greet my brother, he launched into a tirade about what a useless piece of shit I was and how if he wanted anything done right, he had to do it himself. I knew he liked to think that was the case, but I’d done things he never could have stomached and I was absolutely positive that had our positions been reversed, the family would be in a much different state than it was today. I might not have the business acumen that he did, but he didn’t have my stomach for violence, nor or the constitution to mete it out. Still, I let him expend his vitriol because there was no use in trying to stop him. If I didn’t take his bullshit, one of his other employees would have to and I didn’t want that on my conscience.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “No fuck face!” he shouted into the receiver. “I do not feel better. I won’t feel better until you tell me you’ve taken care of that goddamn slut.”

  I clenched my jaw and bit down my retort. Having been there the day I’d first kissed Arabella, I’d been worried Jayce would have ratted me out to our father, but as far as I knew, he’d never figured out who the girl was. At least, he’d never said anything that lead me to believe he knew. Once, when he’d caught me sneaking into the mansion at 4 o’clock in the morning, he’d eyed me shrewdly and asked if I’d ever hooked up again with that slut from the mall. When I’d answered that I hadn’t even gotten her name, he’d dropped it and never mentioned her again.

  “I told you it’ll take some time. Do you want this done fast, or do you want it done right?”

  “I want it done now!” he screamed.

  I swore I could feel his spittle coming through with his words. Based on the way he addressed me now, without an ounce of patience or care for possible eavesdropping, I guessed Jayce was either high as a kite or coming down from a major bender. Either way, he wasn’t being careful and that annoyed me. Jayce had always been an asshole, but since he started snorting coke a couple of years ago, both his temper and his idiocy had reached epic proportions. It was a miracle he hadn’t already been arrested. Or killed.

  “Calm down,” I responded, not sure if I actually wanted him to. Maybe if I needled him enough, got him worked up nice and good, the drugs in his system would do my job for me. This conversation was a good reminder why he needed to be put down like a rabid dog that could no longer be controlled.

  “I told you I’m working on a plan that puts us in the free and clear. This can’t get tied back to us. Do you want to spend the rest of your life rotting in a frozen jail cell?”

  “Fuck you,” was his response.

  That’s what Jayce always said when he didn’t have anything smart to respond with.

  “Look,” I said, my irritation leaking out. “I have to go. I’m waiting on a call that I can’t miss.”

  “One of your fuck buddies?” he asked.

  “No, not one of my fuck buddies.”

  I don’t know why I even bothered. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to what I said if it wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

  “You know Careen?” he asked, switching topics fast enough to give me whiplash.

  Did I know Careen? Yeah, I did. And I also knew I wanted nothing to do with her. That girl was a walking nightmare.

  Without waiting for my answer, he plowed forward, his words coming fast and erratic. Yeah, definitely high.

  “So, Careen has this friend. I can’t remember her name. Jolene maybe.” Losing his train of thought, I heard him muttering under his breath, “Careen. Jolene. Careen. Jolene.” Then, turning his focus back to his story, he said, “No, not Jolene. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she’s got a body that won’t quit and she has certain … desires, shall we say … that take a special kind of man to satisfy.”

  God, I hated it when our conversations veered into this territory. I didn’t want to know what he’d done to the poor girl. I never wanted to know what he got up to behind closed doors. I’d heard the stories and it was some fucked up Joffrey Baratheon shit. Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad analogy for the rest of Jayce’s life as well. He was an over-indulged coward with a cruel streak a mile long.

  When I didn’t take the bait, he started yelling at me again. “I’m talking to you fuck face! When I speak, you answer, do you hear me? When I’m telling you about a Grade A piece of ass, it’s your job to listen. Capisce?”

  I didn’t bother reminding him that we weren’t Italian. It would have only set off another rant I didn’t want to endure. “You were saying?” I asked instead.

  It wasn’t that I minded shoot
ing the shit with friends about the women I’d fucked, or the crazy conquests I’d made, but Jayce only ever tried to connect with me on this level. It was like the only way he could speak to people outside the board room was to either boss them around or act like a complete and utter douche. Like he’d once seen a movie where this was how men bonded and he’d taken it as his gold standard model for normal male behavior.

  Seemingly pacified for the moment, he answered, “I was saying, that Jolene, or whatever the fuck that slut’s name is, likes to get pounded by two men at once.”

  Shit. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know where this was going. “And let me guess, she has a hankering for brothers?”

  “Not just brothers, asshole. She can find brothers to bang her anywhere. Twins. She wants to fuck you and me at the same time. You can have her cunt, but I’m tearing that bitch a new asshole.”

  He said it as if it was a foregone conclusion. As if DP was something we did all the goddamn time. As if I would blithely go along with it. Okay, fine. We’d fucked a girl together once but that had been a very long time ago and we’d both been very, very high. Although, technically speaking, I’d fucked her while she had sucked him off, but I was sure it was worth splitting hairs about. The reality was in one way or another, we’d been inside the same girl at the same time and for weeks afterward Jayce talked about that night like it’d been some transcendent, tantric mind fuck, but I’d just found the whole thing unsettling. I never wanted to repeat the experience and I’d told him so. Many, many times in fact.

  “No thank you,” I answered dryly before adding, “As much as I love pussy, I told you before that was a one-time deal. We were just kids.”

  “We haven’t been kids since we were fifteen and you know it.”

  That much I agreed with. At least something he’d said during this conversation wasn’t bullshit.

  “Okay, fine. We were young and stupid. Is that better?”

  “I don’t know what your problem is Xander. You not man enough?” he taunted, his voice challenging.

  I didn’t have to prove myself to Jayce. At least, not about this. He might rule my life in every other way, but what I did with my dick was my own damn business and there was no way in hell I was getting anywhere near him with it.

  “I have to go,” I sighed.

  “Fine,” came his reply after a few beats. Then, “Ten days, Xander. And if you don’t deliver, we’re doing things my way. And you won’t like my way.”

  No, I had no doubt about that. Then again, I’d probably be dead so what I liked or didn’t like wouldn’t really matter.

  4

  These violent delights have violent ends

  And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

  Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey

  Is loathsome in his own deliciousness

  And in the taste confounds the appetite.

  ROMEO & JULIET

  I camped out in that hotel room for two whole days waiting for Arabella to call. When I finally accepted she wasn’t going to, I packed up what little I’d brought and left. Lost in my thoughts, I took to the highway and flipped on the radio. I let the inane chatter of the station’s DJs wash over me until an hour later, sick of the noise, I flipped it off and let my mind wander back to happier times … back to before I’d lost my brother to his demons … before Arabella had ripped my heart in two and shoved it down my fucking throat.

  Everyone thought I was made of ice and steel, incapable of feeling, but that wasn’t true at all. The problem was I felt too damn much and so I’d learned to hide my emotions, push them down deep where they’d never see the light of day. Where I couldn’t be hurt ever again. Where the blackness of my soul would suffocate the boy I’d been, the man I wished I could be if only things had been different. I’d once been a bright and happy kid, full of promise and hope for the future. But that boy was long gone and in its place existed a hardened warrior, numb to everything.

  Or so I thought, until I heard her name and a spark of something pure and untainted flared back to life inside of me, casting light on the hollows of my cold, black heart.

  I’d taken a major highway, anxious to get back to Chicago, so I couldn’t be certain I was being tailed, but something about the distance another driver coasted behind me—far enough so that I couldn’t make him out, but close enough that I couldn’t lose him either—had the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. Ever so gently, I pressed my foot to the gas pedal and increased my speed. It wasn’t a lot, but if the car behind me also sped up and maintained the same safe distance, my suspicions would be confirmed. When the speedometer hit 80 mph, I glanced into the rearview mirror.

  Okay, definitely following me.

  This was where other men might get nervous or fear for their safety, but not me. Keeping my eyes trained on the road ahead and my left hand steady on the steering wheel, I leaned across the dash and opened the glove compartment to retrieve my gun. I flipped my wrist and the barrel came open, showing a full chamber—exactly the way I liked it. A pistol wouldn’t be much if the guy behind me decided to open fire with an assault rifle, but up close and personal it’d get the job done.

  Scanning the horizon, I located a sign ahead for the next exit. I slowed my speed and took the off-ramp toward a 24-hour truck stop. Instead of pulling in—I didn’t need witnesses to what was about to happen—I coasted by and checked out my surroundings. In my mirror I watched as the car sailed along behind me, coming closer and closer the further away from civilization I took us. This late-model Buick I was driving could never outrun a shiny new Mustang, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take the fucker on a wild ride while I tried to gain some advantage.

  Flooring the gas pedal, the sedan’s wheels squealed for a split second before the tires finally gained purchase and I rocketed forward. For 30 seconds I pushed the vehicle to its limits and when I knew it had given everything its had to offer, I slammed on the breaks and twisted the wheel to the left, sending me into a wide spin until I stopped, blocking the path of the oncoming Mustang. The smoke from my tires obscuring my position, I slid across the bench seat and out the passenger side door where I crouched and listened.

  Where I waited.

  I expected bullets to rain down any second, but for the time being things were at a standstill. All I heard was the steady thrum of the car’s engine, its 420 horses leashed and calm. Carefully, I settled into a position that kept my body mostly protected, but allowed me to see over the tail end of the vehicle. The Mustang idled about 25 feet away. For several long, tense seconds the other driver and I stared each other down across the smoky divide. Finally, the driver cut his engine and, raising his hands in the air to show he was unarmed, moved to exit. I cocked my gun and waited, my finger on the trigger. Better safe than sorry, I always say. The door opened slowly and the driver stepped out from behind the safety of the door and walked around to the front. There, my assailant leaned against the hood of the car, arms folded, a knowing smirk staring back at me. As if they had no need to fear me.

  They didn’t of course.

  Rising from my crouched position, I smirked back and engaged the gun’s safety. “Hello Arabella.”

  * * *

  “Hello Xander,” she purred. “Has anyone ever told you that you drive like shit?”

  “I might have heard that a time a two,” came my response as I fought a grin while remembering all the times she’d previously told me I was the worst goddamn driver she’d ever met.

  She’d been teasing, of course, but the thing was, Arabella was the best goddamn driver I’d ever met and everyone else paled in comparison. I’d often thought if she’d been born a boy, she could have had a career as a race car driver. Then again, if she’d been born a boy she would have been raised just like me. And if she’d been born a boy, I never would have had a chance to love her. And lose her.

  My eyes took in her curves, filled out since the last time I’d seen her. As a teenager, s
he’d had a body that drove me wild, but now with skintight leather pants disappearing into knee-high boots and a tight white v-neck that hugged her tits to perfection, I didn’t think I’d ever met a woman who looked quite as delectable as Arabella Wilson did now. I itched to run my hands over those peaks and valleys. As my cock twitched in agreement, I adjusted my stance to give it some breathing room.

  In the quiet parts of my mind, I’d imagined this moment a thousand—no, a million—times over. What I’d say or do if I ever saw her again. What our reunion would be like. How I’d kiss her tenderly until she was putty in my hands, and then I’d punish her for how she’d hurt me. How she’d made me feel. How she’d made me want.

  Yet even as I hated her for what she’d done—what she’d allowed her father to take from us—I didn’t think I’d ever been happier or more relieved than I was at this moment. But I was furious too. I didn’t know whether to shake her senseless for pursuing me so recklessly—putting us both in danger—or to crush her to my chest and never let go.

  In the end, I did neither.

  Stuffing the gun into the waistband of my jeans, I leaned against the Buick, my arms and ankles crossed. I’d adopted a casual stance but there was nothing casual about this encounter. This wasn’t a reunion; this was business.

  “How’d you find me?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Surely you don’t think you’re the only person who knows how this game is played.” She took a few seductive steps forward. “I’ve had you followed ever since you put Teagan in the hospital. Nice work, by the way,” she added offhandedly, as if she couldn’t have cared less that I’d beaten her stupid fucking cousin to within an inch of his life.