by W Winters
Her chestnut hair falls in wavy locks around her face. She brushes the fallen strands back to peek up at me.
“Yes?” she questions, and my lips threaten to twitch into a smirk.
“Bethany?”
Her weight shifts behind the door as her gaze travels down the length of my body and then back up before she answers me.
The amber in her hazel eyes swirls with distrust as she tells me, “My friends call me Beth.”
“Sorry, I’m Jase. Jase Cross. We haven’t met before... but I’ll happily call you Beth.” The flirtatious words slip from me easily, and slowly her guard falls although what’s left behind is a mix of worry and agony. She doesn’t answer or respond in any way other than to tighten her grip on the door.
“Mind if I have a minute?”
She purses her full lips slightly as the cracked door opens just an inch more, enough for her to cautiously reply, “Depends on what you’re here for.”
My pulse quickens. I’m here to give her a single warning. Just one chance to stay the hell away from The Red Room and to get over whatever ill wishes she has for my brothers and me.
It’s a shame, really; she’s fucking gorgeous. There’s an innocence, yet a fight in her that’s just as evident and even more alluring. Had I met her on other terms, I would do just about anything to get her under me and screaming my name.
But after this past week with Carter and all that bullshit, I made my decision. No distractions.
The swirling colors in her eyes darken as her gaze dances over mine. As if she can read my thoughts, and knows the wicked things I’d do to her that no one else ever could. But that’s not why I’m here, and my perversions will have to wait for someone else.
I lean my shoulder against her front door and slip my shoe through the gap in the doorway, making sure she can’t slam it shut. Instead of the slight fear I thought would flash in her eyes as my expression hardens, her eyes narrow with hate and I see the gorgeous hue of pink in her pale skin brighten to red, but not with a blush, with animosity.
“You need to stay out of the Cross business, Beth.” I lean in closer, my voice low and even. My hard gaze meets her narrowed one, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead she clenches her teeth so hard I think they’ll crack.
With the palm of my hand carefully placed on the doorjamb and the other splayed against her door, I lean in to tell her that there are no answers for her in The Red Room. I want to tell her that my brother isn’t the man she’s after, but before I can say a word she hisses at me, “I know all about Marcus and the drugs and why you assholes had her killed.”
The change in her tone, her expression is instant.
My pulse hammers in my ears but even over it, I hear the strained pain etched in her voice. Her breathing shudders as she adds, “You’ll all pay for what you did to my sister.” Her voice cracks as her eyes gloss over and tears gather in the corners of her eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her as the rage gathers inside of me. Marcus. Just the name makes every muscle inside of my body tighten and coil.
The drugs.
Marcus.
Before I can even tie what she’s said together, I hear the click of a gun and she lets the door swing open, throwing me off-balance.
Shock makes my stomach churn as the barrel of a gun flashes in front of my eyes. She leans back, moving to hold the heavy metal piece with both hands.
Fuck! Lunging forward, still unsteady as dread threatens to take over, I grip the barrel and raise it above her head, shoving her small body back until it hits the wall in her foyer and she continues to struggle, pushing away from me and getting out of my grasp.
Bang!
The gun goes off and the flash of heat makes the skin of my hand holding the barrel burn and singe with a raw pain. Her lower back crashes into a narrow table, a row of books toppling over and a pile of mail falling onto the floor as I stumble into her and finally pin her to the wall.
My chest rises and falls chaotically. My body temperature heats with the adrenaline racing through me.
Her small shriek of terror is muted when I bring my right hand to her delicate throat. My left still grips the gun. I can’t swallow yet, I can’t do anything but press her harder against the wall, smothering the fight in her as best as I can.
She struggles beneath me, but with a foot on her height and muscle she couldn’t match no matter how hard she tried, it’s pointless. Her heart pounds hard, and I feel it matching mine.
“Knock it the fuck off,” I grit between my teeth.
She yelps as I lift the gun higher, ripping it from her grasp. Both of her hands fly to the one I have tightening on her throat. On instinct, like I knew she would. Did she really think she could get one over on me?
“You tried to shoot me.” I practically snarl the words, although they’re nearly inaudible.
Struggling to catch my breath, I don’t let anything show except the absolute control I have over her. The door is wide open and I’m certain someone could have heard, although it’s a Monday and during work hours. It’s why I chose this time to pay her a visit.
A faint breeze carries in from behind and I take a step back, pulling her with me just enough so I can kick the door shut and then press her back to the wall. Her pulse slows beneath my grip and her eyes beg me for mercy as her sharp nails dig into my fingers.
The way she looks at me, her hazel eyes swirling with a mix of pain, fear and anger still, makes my chest ache for her, because I see something else. Something that fucking hurts.
She doesn’t want mercy. She wants it to end. I can see it so clearly. I’ve seen it before, and the unwanted memory is jarring in this moment.
A second passes before I loosen my grip just enough so she can breathe freely.
Through her frantic intake, I lean forward, crushing my body against hers until she’s still. Until her eyes are wide and staring straight into mine. The sight of her, the fear, the desperation... I know I’m not letting her go. Not yet.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Marcus.” I lower my lips to the shell of her ear, letting my rough stubble rub along her cheek. “And everything you know about the drugs.”
My mind is whirling with every reason I should walk away. Every reason I should simply kill her and leave this mess behind. She tried to kill me; that’s reason enough.
But I don’t want to. I need more.
With a steadying breath, my lungs fill with the sweet smell of her soft hair that brushes against my nose.
I comb my fingers through her hair and let my thumb run along her slender neck before I lean into her, letting her feel how hard I am just to be alive. Just to have her at my mercy.
“And because of that little stunt you just pulled, I’m not letting you go.”
Jase
Fuck! The palm of my hand bangs on the steering wheel, sending a sharp pain radiating up my arm. Fuck! Over and over I slam my hand against the wheel while gritting my teeth to keep from screaming out profanities.
Even with the adrenaline still racing and the anger still present, I force myself to sit back in the car, listening to the dull thuds coming from the trunk.
I shouldn’t have done that. What the fuck was I thinking?
I put cuffs around her wrists, her ankles too, and then gagged her to keep any more screams for help from crying out between those beautiful lips of hers.
I backed my car into her garage and dealt with the kicks and her feeble attempt to fight back as I forced her into the tight space.
I can only imagine what she’s thinking with the handcuffs digging into her wrists as she’s trapped, dark and alone and having no idea what’s going to happen.
Thump. The sound reminds me—I shouldn’t have done that shit.
Her garage door opens with an abrupt, jerky motion and then slowly rises, bringing with it a vision of the suburban street, lit by the warm glow of the inevitable evening. A sarcastic huff leaves my lips as I pull
away, gently stepping down on the gas and blending in.
Knowing she’s bound and gagged in the trunk, unable to do a damn thing until I decide what to do with her, time slips by as I drive down her street, thinking about how the hell I’m going to fix this shit.
The second I give her freedom again, she’ll go to the cops, which is fine, since they’re in our back pocket.
Every way I look at this, I know she’s going to have to go. A threat is a threat is a threat. I underestimated her, but now that I know what she’s willing to do, there’s no excuse for keeping her alive.
No reason except for that look in her eyes.
The blinker ticks as I round the corner, turning right out of her neighborhood and down the main drag. I’m not taking her to the back of The Red Room. I don’t want a damn soul to know about her pulling out a weapon. She’s merely a nuisance, nothing more.
No one can know. If they find out and I don’t silence her, they will.
“Call Seth.” I give the command and instantly the cabin of the sedan fills with the sound of a phone ringing. Before it finishes the second ring, Seth answers.
“Boss,” he greets me.
“I need you to do something.”
“I’m listening.” I can hear the shuffle of papers in the background and then it goes quiet on the other line.
“Drive out to the address you gave me yesterday. You know which one?” I ask him and keep my words vague. I’m careful not to risk a damn thing, not when calls can be recorded and used against me.
“Of course,” he answers and I can practically see him nodding his head in the way that he does. Short and quick, with his eyes never leaving mine.
“I went over there and I may have made a mess.”
“Just clean it up?” he asks. “Anything in particular to look out for?”
“The hinge on her door broke, and there’s a bullet hole in her ceiling, but everything’s fine otherwise. No one will be there, so lock it on your way out.” A thought hits me as I get closer to my own home and my fingers slide down to my house key, dangling from the ignition. “I’m going to need you to make me a copy of a key too.”
“For the address I gave you yesterday?” he clarifies and I nod while answering, “Yes.”
“Anything else?” he asks and I’m silent for a moment, thinking about the next step and the one after it.
Seth is a fixer. Every fuckup I make, or better yet, any fuckups from my brothers, he cleans up. He’s also my right-hand man when I want to keep things from Carter.
“If anyone asks or comes looking, let them know you were hired to fix it.”
“No problem.”
Thump, thump, THUMP! My gaze lifts to the rearview mirror as I listen to Beth trying to escape. The trunk can’t be opened from the inside; she’ll learn I’m smarter than that. She caught me off guard once, but it won’t happen again.
Bethany
My heart won’t stop racing. It’s pounding hard and fighting back from inside my chest; I can’t imagine I’ll survive this.
It’s throbbing so loud, it takes me a moment to realize the car’s stopped. The hum of the engine has vanished and there isn’t a damn sound other than my own chaotic heartbeat.
I hear a crunch, I think, and my head whips around to the side, so sharply it sends a bolt of pain down my already aching shoulder. Traveling up and down my shoulders is a dull fire that blazes. Between the way I was forced in here, practically thrown in, and lying on my arms with them cuffed behind my back, my shoulders are in absolute agony. The metal bites into my wrists and ankles, and I know I’ll have bruises on my knees from slamming them as hard as I could into the top of the trunk. My entire body is cramping.
Every trunk has a latch somewhere on the inside. It’s to save children from being locked within and trapped. I know because I once played hide-and-seek with my sister and tried to get in the trunk, only to have my mother scream at me. She said it was dangerous, and the neighbor girl we were playing with told my mother what her mother had told her. That there was a latch on the inside. Sure enough, there was. My mother still didn’t let me hide in the trunk though and after she grabbed me by the hand and brought me inside, I didn’t want to play anymore.
Since being dumped in here, I’ve spent all my energy maneuvering through the pain to search for the latch. I can’t fucking find it. So I resorted to bucking my body in a desperate attempt to force the trunk open or to kick out a taillight. Anything. Anything at all to get the hell out of here.
No luck. And now it’s too late.
It’s funny what you think of while you’re waiting for the inevitable. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, a way to take your mind elsewhere when darkness is looming. Or maybe my memory was simply triggered by the lack of a handle and how I learned such a thing should be here because of hide-and-seek. Maybe that’s why as I close my eyes and listen for something, for anything at all, my mind takes me elsewhere. I hear my sister call my name down the hall of our childhood home.
I’m in the closet upstairs, and it’s so hot. I buried myself under all the blankets my mother stored on the floor in there and carefully laid them on top of me, hoping that when Jenny opened the door, searching for me, she wouldn’t see me.
She was always better than me at everything—every game, every sport, every class. But today, when she opened that door, and I waited with bated breath, she closed it and continued silently searching the house.
With the smugness to keep me company, I stayed there under those blankets and I must have fallen asleep. It was Jenny’s voice that woke me and when I came to, I felt so hot. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and the blankets felt so much heavier than they did before.
“Jenny,” I cried out for her, feeling an overwhelming fear that didn’t seem to make sense, but I knew I needed to get out from under the blankets. I couldn’t shove them forward though, the door was closed and I couldn’t lift them up because a shelf was above me. “Jenny!” I cried out again. Louder this time, as I tried to wiggle my way free under the weight of the pile. I didn’t have to free myself alone though; Jenny opened the door and helped me out, telling me I was okay all the while and when I did crawl out into the hallway, I knew I was okay, but it didn’t feel like I was.
I never hid there again. I don’t think I ever played hide-and-seek again at all.
There’s another loud crunch, and another. My eyes pop open and suddenly I am very much in the present, leaving the memory behind. I’m listening to the sound of shoes walking along small pieces of gravel maybe. The beating in my chest intensifies and I can’t breathe as I hear the steps get closer. I even squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could make myself disappear, or go somewhere else. Like I used to do when I was a child. As if this could all just be a dream or I had somehow gained impossible abilities.
I would try to scream, but the balled-up shirt in my mouth is already threatening to choke me as every small movement sends it farther into my mouth. Any farther, and I think I’ll throw up.
When the trunk swings open so loud that my instincts force me to look up, the light’s bright, almost blinding.
I wish I could beg; I wish I could yell. I wish I could fight back when I see him towering over me and taking his time to consider me.
“That looks like it hurt,” he says as if he finds it funny. The words come out with condescension as he reaches down to let his fingertips glide over my already bruised knees. Even the small movement makes me buckle, forcing my weight back onto my shoulders and it starts a series of aches cascading throughout my body all over again.
The agony begs me to cry, but in place of tears, I find myself screaming the words, “Fuck you,” over the gag in my mouth. The soft cotton nearly touches the back of my throat, and for a moment I think, if I were to vomit right now, I’d choke on it.
I won’t die like this. Not like this.
My gaze doesn’t leave his as he angles his head, reaching up to grip the hood of the trunk with both of his hands. The sun’s g
one down and wherever we are, there are trees. Lots of trees.
Staring up at him, searching for a clue as to where we are, it’s hopeless. Yellow light slips through the crisp dead leaves above us, giving way to a deep blue sky that’ll soon turn to black night, and there isn’t a damn thing else to see.
Nothing but his handsome face, and the way his broad shoulders pull that jacket a little too tight.
Let him think you’ve given up. Don’t die like this. Use him. Use him to find out what happened to your sister.
The voice in my head comes out as a hiss. And with the reminder of Jenny, tears prick at my eyes. Through the glossy haze, I see the man’s expression change. Jase’s hardness, his cockiness, it all dims to something else.
My breathing slows, and the adrenaline wanes.
My fight isn’t over, but I’ll give in for now.
“We’re going to have a conversation, Bethany.” Jase’s words sound ominous and they come with a cold gust of wind from the late fall air. Both send a chill down my spine and leave goosebumps in their wake.
“Nod if you understand.” His hardened voice rises as he gives me the command. Loathing him and everything he stands for, I keep perfectly still, feeling the rage take over anything else. His eyes blaze with anger as he grips the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my head back with a slight sting of pain and forcing me to look at him. “You need to play nice, Bethany.” If I could punch him in the throat right now, I would. That’s how nice I’m willing to play.
He lowers his head into the darkness of the trunk, sending shadows across his face that darken his stubbled jaw and force his piercing gaze to appear that much more dominating.
A heat flows in my blood as my breathing stutters and he brings his lips down to my neck. They gently caress my skin and with the simple touch, a spark ignites down my body. A spark I hate even more than I hate Jase himself.