Vengeful Eyes: A Cane Novel 3

by Hart, Charlotte E

  That’s what I did. With a gun in my hand.

  I play with my beads and glare at the building, trying to work out what I’m going to say. This feeling is new to me, like something is eating up my insides and cutting fissures in my guts. I feel lost without knowing she’ll come back, and I don’t even fucking know if that’s missing her, refusing to have her go, or God forbid, being in love with her.

  A light goes out in the main lounge, the faint glimmer of it disappearing along with the moon in the sky. Clouds, heavy and dark, have come with me. No fucking light to show the way now, just the gloom above me, one probably in there waiting for me, and the continued echo of her words in my ear.

  “Should have known you’d pick them over me. History repeats itself.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  All day I’ve been thinking about those words. They make no fucking sense at all. Pick them over her? I haven’t picked them over her, not until this shit started anyway. She’s been all over the goddamn place. The Hope I know doesn’t do any of what she did last night. She’s exact. Perfect. Precise and always in control. That, last night, was like she’d lost it. And while I still don’t trust the bitch, this isn’t over until I say it is. I want answers first, and then I’ll make a decision.

  Who is she anyway?

  At the moment, I don't know.

  I cut the engine and open the door, frustrated. All this fucking time together, and for once, I don’t have a goddamn clue what’s going on in her head. I damn well knew she’d come here, though. Something in my gut told me, drove me here the moment I gave in to searching her down. Answers are all I want.

  The steps seem endless as I climb them. I’m not going to like what I hear in here. I know that much. Fucking secrets and hiding shit. I thought we were past that, thought she knew better than to try that on with me. Maybe not, though.

  Waves crash in the distance. I smile at their memories and turn the key in the lock, listening to them as I push in and close the door behind me. Silence sounds then. No music. No television. Nothing but the bare bones of the house creaking and groaning under the wind around us. I start through to the main lounge and flick on a lamp, searching the outlines of the space to find her, and walk through to the kitchen. It’s as dark in here, too. It’s only when a blast of cold air hits me that I realise the doors to the back are open. I peer out through the glass as I wander towards it, and see her head resting back on a chair.

  “You drinking?” I ask, stepping out onto the deck beside her. She doesn’t look at me, just keeps staring at the black abyss leading to the ocean, gripping her drink tightly in her hand.

  “It’s all there is left.”

  I frown and slip my hands into my pockets, taking a step forward to stare out at the view with her. All there is left? That’s not like her either. She doesn’t do that morose kinda shit. She rules her kingdom, not letting a damn thing get in her way.

  Apart from me.

  “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Why should I bother?” she mumbles. “You’ll never understand.” Not likely to either unless she talks.

  I glance back at her, noting the redness in her eyes. Tears long since cried by the look of them. “You could try me, Hope. I’m not all monster.” My tone is softer than I feel. Anger burns to let loose but seeing her shifts something inside of me.

  Her head lifts towards me, her chin resting against the cushions she’s leaning on, and a sigh whispers from her lips.

  “Aren’t you?”

  I smile a little and go to the rails surrounding the deck, my ass leaning on them so I can look at her straight on. She’s still so goddamn pretty, regardless of the old tears in her eyes. Blanket wrapped over her, a blank expression on her face. Part of me wants to haul her up and kiss her, hold her. Wipe the remnants of those tired eyes away. But then, answers. I stand firm and stare, waiting.

  “What are you even doing here, Benjamin?” she asks wearily.

  “I want the truth.”

  “No, you don’t. You’ve never wanted my truths. You’ve only ever wanted me to do as you bid, no feelings involved. Obedience and fucking. Wasn’t that the deal?” She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing me up, and then stares back out at the ocean. “Not that they’re truths you’ll accept anyway. So, again, what’s the fucking point?”

  My frown drops further. She’s right. I’ve got no comeback at all other than forcing her to tell me, but for once, I don’t want that. I didn’t when I left the apartment, and I don’t now that I’m here on my mother’s deck. This place always was for truths. Trust. Perhaps that's why I gave it to her, an offer of part of me reserved for no one else. I want her to tell me because she wants to. Nothing more than that. And I want loyalty because of this emotion inside us this time, not just because of who I am.

  “Try me, Hope,” I mutter, digging deep for the patience I need.

  “You’ll kill me if I tell you,” she says flatly. My frown turns to a scowl directed solely at her, one that brings with it thoughts of betrayal and hatred. “See? It’s already there on your brow.” She chuckles softly and drinks again. “Not that it matters now anyway. I know there’s no coming back from last night.”

  “Talk,” I snap, now pissed at the dismissive tone she’s carrying on with and suspicious of what it means. “And enough with the bullshit. Tell me.” She doesn’t. She just stares back out into the void in front of her, barely seeing me in her eyeline. “Hope?”

  “Do you know I love you?” she suddenly asks. She does? The question takes me by surprise given my tone, not that she seems to be listening. “I do. After everything. I fell in love with a gangster, just like my mother. Shame, isn’t it?” What the fuck? “I didn’t mean to, Benjamin.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Do you love me?”

  My mouth clamps closed, eyes staring at her in disbelief. I come here looking for an argument, a war even, and she brings this out? “You tell me the truth and then we’ll talk.”

  “We won’t talk about anything after I’ve told you the truth, Benjamin,” she says quietly, getting up from her position on the deck couch and walking back into the house. “There’ll be nothing left to talk about as far as you’re concerned.”

  I follow and grab her by the arm, knocking the light on and swinging her back to me. Now I really want to know. I shake her, trying to snap her out of whatever place she’s in. I don’t like it. It reeks of surrender and defeat, neither things I know from her. She hangs limply in my grip, though, like all the fight she had last night has evaporated into thin air. She just stares and lifts her hand slowly to run it through my hair, her eyes looking straight into a soul she’s found glimpses of in our time together. Such pretty eyes. I frown at them and watch as they bore into me some more, feeling them down in the pit of my guts again.

  “They’re my brothers,” she says quietly, sighing. “Quinn and Nathan. My brothers.”

  The sharp inhale I take, together with the shock, makes me shove her away from me. She careers backwards into the table, hardly bothering to stop herself before she hits the wood. I glare, pissed at her deceit. Not that I fucking understand it.

  “The hell did you say?”

  Her body slides down the table leg, collapsing onto the floor beneath it. “You weren’t supposed to mean something to me,” she says, a quiver in her voice now. She’s right to fucking have it if this shit is true. All this time, the things I asked her to do, and they’re family?

  “I needed to get to them, Benjamin. Needed to…” Her hands go to her head, covering her eyes as she shakes it back and forth. “I wasn’t supposed to…”

  I back away a step before I drag her up and show her all the truths I’ve got to give her for such treachery. What the fuck else is she hiding?

  “How the fuck are they your brothers?”

  “Their father,” she mutters, lifting her eyes back to me. “Him and my mother.” Fucking whores and their gangsters. I halt, all s
orts of deceit flying through my head now.

  “They both know?” Because I swear, I'll fucking kill—

  “No,” she says, moving towards me. “They’ve never known.”

  My gaze flicks around the room, searching for something to help me understand this. There’s nothing but the lying bitch in front of me. “They had everything, Benjamin. Everything. And I had nothing because of them,” she shrieks. I walk away another step, aiming back through to the lounge. A drink. A big one. I need to calm the tirade that’s brewing. She talks of love and then delivers this to me? “I couldn’t get to them without you. It's all been me. I'm your leak.”

  Whatever the fuck that last sentence was has me storming back towards her, temper and ire shifting all my weight to my hands to grab at her.

  “You fucking used me?” Tears spring in her eyes, body not even trying to get away from me. I snatch at her wrists, ensuring she can’t escape. My hands burn as I grip her.

  “I. . . No. . . It wasn’t meant to be like this. I hate them. I can't. . . You don't understand, and. . .”

  “All of it was for them? Some fucking game?” She buckles in my hands, knees giving way to my continued pressure.

  “No, Benjamin, please. . . I—”

  “Bitch,” I snap, slinging her away from me again. I’m done here. Finished.

  My strides lead me to the door before I do kill her, but the anger and hatred and betrayal keep barreling into me with every footfall. My Hope. Mine. And now it’s all a lie?

  My hands swipe the long hall table, sending whatever the fuck is on it crashing to the ground. “Fuck you!” I bellow as my fist smashes into the mirror above it. Shards split out of it, spreading out under me as I crunch over them and head for another surface. All of it goes, all of it, clashing and clattering as I send more of it to the floor, upturning anything else that dares get in my fucking way. Anger and hurt meld into each other, somehow becoming more fucking sinister as the two combine.

  “I wanted to punish them,” she shouts. Them? I spin on her, throwing whatever is in my hand straight through the fucking window behind her head.

  “You’ve fucking punished me, Hope.” She quivers there, her fingers by her mouth as she looks at me and tears pour from her eyes. “I gave you everything and you’ve—” My mouth stops, breath heaving in and out. What has she done? She’s lied. Schemed. Used me like no one has ever dared before.

  A ragged breath comes back out, barely level, as I fall back against a wall and glower at her. Still so fucking pretty. But deceit. So much fucking deceit. And from the one person I trusted. Loved, even. I half laugh, a surprise at my admittance to myself. Love? I damn well love her. Too fucking late for that now, though.

  Too late.

  “Please, Benjamin. I…”

  “You what?”

  She takes a brave fucking step forward again, then another around the upturned coffee table. “I love you.”

  I snarl at that. This isn’t what love does. Not that I’d fucking know, but it’s not my version of what the word should mean. I look away from her towards the stairs, remembering her giggle as I bit into her ass on the way up them. “I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry and now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Stay away from me, Hope.” I can feel it now. The hatred. The animosity. Destroying this room's contents hasn't dampened any of my rage. If anything, it’s just woken it up, told it to forget the niceties we were trying for before all this shit began. “What was the fucking plan anyway? Make them pay?” Silence as she stares at me, lips moving around words she can’t find. I grunt at her wide eyes. Fear. She should hold that thought inside a while longer, let it bleed through her until she gets her ass out this door and runs for her life. “Make us all pay for our sins?”

  She comes closer and drops her head, fingers reaching out for me. I watch, both disgusted and desperate for her touch as she grasps for me. Her hands travel up the front of my jacket and it sets a warning off inside my chest, like a bullet traveling through my skin. It pisses me off further, elevating the war that's fucking waging inside of me.

  “Them. Yes,” she says. “Only them. Never you. Please, Benjamin.” Her eyes look up at me, glassy and so damn pretty as she begs. Fuck those eyes. Fuck her and her scheming. “I love you. I had to tell you. It’s the only way. Don't you see? Please. I'm on your side. I am. I know what saying all this could mean, but. . .”

  I shove her hands away, backing her up against the wall and pinning her shoulders. I’m so damn close to strangling the bitch. I could. Should.

  “What? What does it mean, Hope?” My teeth clench, jaw aching as I increase the pressure.

  “That you’ll kill me. You’ve threatened it. I’ve seen you do it for so much less.”

  Her words slay me more than they should, and I glare at the sensation they rile in me. She’s told me the truth knowing I might kill her for it, and what the fuck do I do now? I should. She's right. That's what I'd normally do for this type of betrayal. My memory casts back to the night I bruised her face with the barrel of the gun. The threats I made. It causes my fingers to tighten, confusion rendering me fucking useless in my own head. Kill her. Don’t fucking kill her.

  My head pulls me out of the goddamn mess I’m in, and I back away from her before I put more pressure on her. The distance gives me some room to temper this mood back to controllable.

  “The Yakuza?” I ask. Her nod confirms it, big fucking eyes lost as she looks to me and sobs out more tears. Fuck those tears. They confirm the treachery, show her as a person I don't know, never damn well have. Lies and deceit. From her. None of this has been real, other than the continued lies she’s managed so fucking well.

  I can’t process it. Any of it.

  I close my eyes and step back until I hit a wall. My head bangs against it, twice, hoping to find fucking sense as she keeps begging. My head slams harder as her moans and pleading continue, until the song of them makes me glare back at her again.

  “I love you. I love you. Please.” She crawls to me across the broken debris of the room, uncaring and crazed in her frenzy to plead her case.

  My damn fingers find their way to her hair of their own accord, itching to dig harder, pull tighter and show her the fury she’s unleashed. But they hover there as she keeps talking, barely touching her but unable to back off. “That’s what I’ve hidden, Benjamin. All of it. There's nothing else. Please, think about us.”

  Try as I might, there’s still so much fucking rage inside me. I shake my head, knocking it again. So much hate and revenge snakes over my skin and through my blood. It’s pulsing with energy, like a bomb about to detonate in my mind. I can’t just let this go. What would we be if I did? She lied to me. Used me. No one gets away with that in my world, and she knows that. I'll kill her. I will.

  “You wanted it. It’s there. I’ve told you,” she says, finality in her voice. “Do what you want with the truth, Benjamin. I'm done now.”

  I look down at her, the hopelessness in her voice making me feel fucking sick for some reason, but she’s an unknown to me now. A person I’ve never known.

  I force my hands away from her, shoving them into my pockets where they're safe and contained before I pull the beads around her neck and strangle her. The pounding in my ears rings through my mind. Why? I need to hear more. “Keep talking, Hope. Why?” I need to understand, because right now, I haven’t got a damned clue.

  About any of her truths.

  “My mother was a social girl,” she says, falling onto her ass like she's given up. My eyes close again at the vision, annoyed with it. “Maybe an escort, I don't really know, but she found love in the arms of Quinton Cane senior.” She chuckles, a hollow sounding attempt. “He promised her the world, then she fell pregnant. He told her to leave. Turned his back on her.” I nod, letting her words sink in behind the mist of rage that’s in front of me.

  Standard procedure for men who have mistresses on the side. “She never got over him. He poison
ed her heart, and that same heart filled my head with the same poison. The need to seek revenge, that it was all their fault. And then she… we needed money. Bills had to be paid. She couldn’t get out of her own drunken slumber, so she made me…”

  My eyes finally open. “She sent you to the streets.”

  Her small nod is filled with shame, but it barely registers.

  The story continues. How her plan brought her to New York, how she worked her way into the graces of men like me with the sole intention of getting close to Cane. The years of planning. The time she took deliberating her next moves. The pain and suffering she and her mother went through, the life she had to lead to make ends meet in desperation. The hatred she took from her dying mother because of them, because of the loss of a man she loved. The whoring. The endless nights, some of which I knew about. And the way she felt when she first saw them at that dining table, laughing with us. The way her skin crawled as mine is doing now, knowing she was finally sitting in front of the men who had everything—finery, schools, a life of luxury—when she’d been given nothing but sadness and the scum of the streets. In my city. My city. A city I almost held in my control by the time I hit twenty-five.

  The words and the tears still, but my mind and chest wage war.

  “You haven’t said much.” She looks to me.

  I breathe in, not ready to form words, and walk past her towards the doors leading to the deck outside. Cane. Hope Cane. She suits the family name well.

  But Hope Cane isn’t mine. Hope Winters is mine.

  MINE.

  My eyes watch on for a while as she sits on the floor, cuts and scrapes on her knees. She seems calmer under my stare, less edgy and more like her old self. Perhaps she’s purged herself of the horrors she had to share. I don't know, but I do know I needed to hear them from her, too. It's helped me to see a sliver of sense amongst the sea of hatred I was feeling. Helped to sate something inside of me.

  My fingers roll over my beads in thought. So clever. Talented, really. To have played me so long, managed me, all the time hoping to destroy an enemy when the time came. It’s worthy of my respect on some level, rather than my gun. Not that my hand isn't still twitching like hell.