by Tijan
It’s too hot, but it’s better than taking the time to do something other than lie down with her.
Patting the bed, I tell her to lie down, noting how gruff my voice is. How raw.
“Are you angry?” she asks and I tell her I’ve always been.
Molding her small body to mine, she rests her hands on my chest, still wary, still exhausted. Still hoping for more. “I’m sorry,” she whispers and I tell her so am I.
Hope is a long way of saying goodbye. Even I know that.
Her hair tickles my nose when I kiss the crown of her head. The covers rustle as I move my arm around her, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
Time marches on and with it the memories of long ago play in my mind. Making me regretful. Making me question everything.
“Why did you come back?” she asks me before brushing her cheek against my chest and planting a small kiss in the dip just beneath my throat.
I confess a truth she could use against me. Even knowing that, still I admit, “I don’t want you to be alone either.”
Jase
The snow’s falling. It’s only a light dusting, but it decided to come right this moment, right as my brother leads his love across the cemetery.
One grave has been there for half her life. The one next to it has freshly upturned dirt. The snow covers each of the graves equally as Aria silently mourns, her body shaking slightly against Carter’s chest.
I spoke to her father only days before he met his death. A death he knew was coming. A death that always comes for men like us.
The powerful man asked me to find a way. Swallowing his pride when he thought his daughter was going to die because of him.
Talvery wasn’t ready to lose his daughter. She swears he was going to kill her.
That’s the irony in it all.
He was a bad man. And that’s the crux of the problem. She expected him to do bad things, even if she loved him in his last days, although I don’t believe she did love him anymore.
She swears he was going to shoot her, but there was only one gun cocked and it wasn’t her father’s. She heard it, she speaks of it, but she doesn’t realize what really happened and I don’t have the heart to tell her.
The man who pulled the trigger confessed to me. He said in the old man’s last breaths, he laid down his gun and said goodbye to his daughter. But she didn’t see, clinging to a man she loved and not to the man who gave up fighting to ensure she would be loved one more day.
That’s what this life brings. A twisted love of betrayal. A reality that is unjust and riddled with deceit.
Aria lays a single rose across her mother’s grave, but not her father’s, even though when he called me, he said he would give up everything right then and there, if I promised we’d keep her safe.
There was no negotiation we could offer.
Her father had to die. And Aria was never in harm’s way. The man had nothing to barter with, not when he knew we’d take it all. I never told Carter. And I never will. The perception that her father was a ruthless crime lord past his date of redemption is what makes it okay. It makes it righteous that she only lays a rose down for her mother, a woman who betrayed everyone to benefit herself.
Watching Carter hold her hand, kiss her hair and comfort her, only reminds me of what could have been. If the gun cocked had been Talvery’s and my brother was in that grave instead.
Bright lights reflect a section of falling snow. Headlights from a cop car pulling in across the parking lot I’m sitting in.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I take into account everyone here. It’s only me, still in the driver’s seat waiting for Carter to bring Aria back and the sole cop parking his vehicle across from mine.
Before Carter has a chance to look behind him, taking attention away from Aria, I message him. I’ve got it. Stay with her.
A second passes, and another before Carter looks down at the message, back at me, and then to the cop, who opens his door in that moment.
Officer Walsh.
The sound of his door closing echoes in the vacant air. It’s hollow and reflects its own surroundings.
As I open my car door, welcoming the cold air, breathing it in and letting it bite across my skin, I nod at Carter, who nods in return, holding Aria closer, but not making a move to leave.
The snow crunches beneath my shoes, soft and gentle as it falls. It vanishes beneath my footprints as I make my way around to the front of my car, leaning against it and waiting for him.
As I take in the officer, a crooked smile forms on my face. We’re wearing the same coat. A dark gray wool blend. “Nice coat, Officer Walsh,” I greet him and offer a hand. He’s hesitant to accept, but he does.
Meeting him toe to toe, eye to eye, his grip is strong.
“So you’ve heard of me?” he asks. I lick my lower lip, looking over my shoulder to check on Carter one more time before I answer him, “I heard someone was asking about me, someone who fit your description.”
“Funny,” he answers with a hint of humor in his voice, although his pale blue eyes are only assessing. “I heard the same about you.”
“That I was asking about you?” I ask with feigned shock as I bring my thumb up to point back at me. “I only asked who was asking about me and my club.”
“The Red Room.” The officer’s voice lowers and his gaze narrows as he speaks. He slips his hands into his coat pockets and I wait for more, simply nodding at his words.
Some cops are easy to pay off. They need money, they want power, or even just to feel like they’re high on life and fitting into a world they could only dream of running themselves.
I can spot them easily. The way they walk, talk—shit, even the clothes they wear on their time off. It’s all so fucking obvious. The only question that needs answering is: how much do I need to pay them until they’re in my back pocket?
Not Cody Walsh.
“What is it that you want, Officer?” I ask him and then add, “Anything I can help you with?”
“Anything you had in mind?” he asks in return, tilting his chin back and waiting.
The smirk on my face grows. “I don’t dislike having conversations with cops.” I follow his previous gaze just as he looks back at me and see Carter and Aria making their way back to the car that’s still running. “But I don’t really like to start a conversation either.”
He’s playing me. Thinking I’ll try to bribe him for nothing. What a fucking prick.
“Is that his wife?” he asks me, and I tell him the truth. “His fiancée.”
“Aria Talvery,” he comments.
“You know a lot of names for being new around here.”
“It’s my job,” he answers defensively.
“Is it?” I rock back on my shoes as I slip my hands into my pockets. My warm breath turns to fog in the air. “You know everyone’s name who you pull over then?” I ask him.
“Not unless their name is in the file of the case I’m working on.”
“A case?” I ask him as the cold air runs over my skin, seeping through my muscles and deep down into the marrow of my bones. I feel the shards of ice everywhere, but I don’t show it. “It’s the first time I’m hearing about a case.”
“A house burned down, killing over a dozen men, explosives.”
“Aria’s family home,” I remark, acknowledging him with a nod. “What a tragedy.”
“It was arson, and one of a string of violent crimes that leads back to you and your brothers.”
With the sound of the car door opening behind me, indicating Carter is helping Aria into the backseat, my patience is gone.
“If you have questions, you can ask my lawyer.”
“I don’t have any for you,” he tells me and I huff a humorless laugh before responding, “Then why come to pay this visit?”
“I wanted to see her reaction; if she was remorseful at all.”
“Aria?” The shock is apparent in my tone and my expression, because I didn’t hide it i
n the least. I shouldn’t be speaking her name. I shouldn’t even engage with this fucker. And that’s the only reason I’m silent when he adds, “Knowing she’s sleeping with her father’s killer…”
He shakes his head, although his eyes never leave mine.
“Is that all then?” I ask him.
A moment passes, and with it comes a gust of cold wind. Each day’s been more bitter than the last and with a snowstorm coming, the worst is yet to come.
“That’s all,” he says and then his eyes drift to my windshield before he adds, “And pay your parking tickets. Wouldn’t want that to be what gets you.”
All I give him is a short wave, right before snatching a small piece of paper off the windshield. It’s not a parking ticket, it’s a thick piece of yellow paper folded in half. It’s been here for a while, partially covered by the snow. And knowing that, I look back to see if Walsh is watching. His eyes are on Carter, not me. Thank fuck.
I don’t know who the fuck left it, but I’m not going to figure that out while under the watchful eyes of Officer Walsh.
Lacking any emotion at all, I bid the man farewell. “Have a good night, Officer.”
With my back to Walsh I share a glance with Carter, who’s waiting by the backseat door on the driver’s side, one hand on the handle, his other hand in his pocket.
“You too,” the officer calls out in the bitterly cold air, already making his way back to his car.
It’s silent when I close the door. Aria tries to speak, but I hear Carter shush her, telling her to wait for the officer to leave. Peeking at her in the rearview mirror, worry clouds her tired eyes.
“Everything’s fine,” Carter reassures her and she lays her cheek, bright red from the frigid air, onto his shoulder.
My gaze moves from the cop car, reversing out of the spot, to the note. The sound of the thick paper opening is all I pay attention to as Officer Walsh drives away, leaving us alone in the parking lot.
A sharp ringing in my ear accompanies my slow breaths and the freezing sensation that takes over when I glance at the note, a script font I recognize as Marcus’s.
How the fuck did he leave a note? And when? I read his message and then read it again. The psychopath speaks in riddles.
You took my pawn. I have another.
The game hasn’t stopped. It’s only changed slightly.
Just remember, the king can only hope to be a pawn when his queen is gone.
Every hair on my body stands on end after reading the note, knowing he was here. How the fuck did I not see him?
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks me as I reach for my phone, needing to tell Seth and everyone else what happened and get security footage immediately.
But Seth’s already texted me.
And I sit there motionless in my seat, reading what he wrote as Carter bites out my name, demanding an answer I don’t have to give.
We found the sister.
She’s alive.
Marcus has her.
Bethany
I can’t stop reading. When I do, I have to face reality and I’m not ready to face the consequences of my decisions yet. I’d rather get lost in the pages.
Every time they kiss, I think of Jase Cross.
I think I love him.
I love my enemy.
Why couldn’t I be like the characters in this book? Why couldn’t I be like Emmy and fall for the boy who loves her just as much and the only thing they have keeping them apart, is whether or not they’re both still breathing?
Why did I have to fall for a villain? Maybe that’s what I deserve. Deep down inside though, I don’t think I even deserve him.
Books are a portal to another world, but they lead to other places too. To places deep inside you still filled with hope and a desperate need for love. Places where your loneliness doesn’t exist, because you know how it can be filled.
Jase isn’t a good man, but he’s not a bad one either. I refuse to believe it. He’s a damaged man with secrets I know are lurking beneath his charming facade, a man with a dark past that threatens to dictate who he will become.
And I think I love him.
I can’t bring myself to tell him that. I just had the chance a moment ago when he told me he wasn’t able to come tonight because he was with his brother and Carter needed him.
But he still asked if I needed anything. I could have told him I miss him. I could have messaged him more. Instead, I simply told him I would be ready for him when he wanted me.
The constant thumping in my chest gets harder and rises higher. I have to swallow it down just so I can breathe. This was never supposed to happen. How could I have fallen for a man like him?
I’m drowning in the abyss, and he’s the only one there to hold me. That’s how. I need to remember that.
He made it that way, didn’t he?
The sound of the radiator kicking on disrupts the quiet living room. I take the moment to have a sip of tea, careful not to disturb the open book in my lap. The warmth of the mug against my lips is nothing compared to Jase’s kiss.
With my eyes closed, I vow to think clearly, to step back and be smart about all of this. Even though deep inside, I know there is no way that means I could ever stay with Jase Cross, and the very thought destroys something deep inside of me. Splintering it and causing a pain that forces me to put the cup down and sink back into the sofa, covering myself with the blanket and staring at the black and white words on the page.
It all hurts when I think about leaving him.
That’s how I know I’ve fallen.
The Coverless Book
Eighth Chapter
Jake’s perspective
“Kiss me again?” Emmy’s voice is soft and delicate. It fits her, but she’s so much more.
“You like it when I kiss you?” I tease her and that bright pink blush rises up her cheeks.
“Shhh, she’ll hear us,” she says as her small hands press against my chest, pushing me to the side so she can glance past me and toward the hallway to the kitchen.
“Miss Caroline knows I kiss you.” I smile as I push some strands of hair behind her ear, but it falls slowly. It should be her mother who Emmy’s afraid will catch us. But her mother is never here.
“Maybe go check on her?” Emmy asks, scooting me off the chair. “See what she’s doing and if we have a little more time?”
It’s her elation that draws me to her. There are some people in this world who you love to see smile. It makes you warm inside and it feels like everything will be all right, if only they smile.
That’s all I can think as I round the corner to the kitchen. I’ve only been here to Emmy’s house twice, but I know the help’s kitchen is through one of these two doors. I’m right on the first guess and there’s Caroline, hovering over the large pot with a skinny bottle above it. Clear liquid is being poured into the steaming pot of soup.
Although I’d planned to offer to help, just so I can gauge how much time we have, my words are stolen.
The glass bottle she’s holding doesn’t look like it belongs in a kitchen. I feel a deep crease form between my furrowed brows and I stare for far too long as she pours more and more into the pot. She’s humming as she does. A sweet tune I’m sure would lull babies to their dreams.
Emmy has soup every night. Every night the caretaker makes her soup. And Emmy stays sick, every day.
“What did you put in there?” My question comes out hard and when Miss Caroline jumps, the liquid spills over the oven and the bottle crashes onto the floor with her startled cry.
I debate on grabbing the notebook from the kitchen counter where I left it. Just so I can add to the collection of underlined sentences. I’m reading without really paying attention, just letting the time go by.
My gaze skims the page, finding four sentences underlined this time and none of the four hold any new meaning. One is the same as it’s been for a while now. I’m invincible.
If it weren’t for the distraction of this story
, the suspense and the emotion, I’d feel hopeless. I’m hopeless when it comes to Jase.
If hope is a long way of saying goodbye, hopeless can only mean one of two things. As the thought plays in my mind, my thumb brushes along my bottom lip and I stare at the page.
And that’s when I see it. What I’ve been waiting for. What I was so sure was here.
A chill spreads across my skin as the mug slips from my hand, dropping to the floor, crashing into pieces. If the letters weren’t staring right at me, I never would have seen them.
It’s not the underlined sentences. It’s the lines below them. The first letters of the sentences beneath the pen marks. C. R. O. S. S. She buried the message so deep, I didn’t see it before.
At first it hits me she left me a message, and there’s hope. And then I read the word again.
C. R. O. S. S.
“No.” The word is whispered from me, but not with conscious consent. My head shakes and my fingers tremble as I stare at the evidence.
C. R. O. S. S.
She did leave a note. My blood turns to ice at the thought. Jenny left me a message in this book, and it has to do with the Cross brothers.
“No.” I repeat the word as I lay the book down, although not gently, but forcefully, as if it will bite me if I hold it any longer. I nearly trip over the throw blanket in my rush to get off the sofa.
Thump, thump, thump. Ever present and ever painful, my bastard heart races inside of me.
My limbs are wobbly as I rush to the kitchen, searching for the notebook. I need to write it down. “Write it all down,” I speak in hushed and rushed words as I pull open one drawer in the kitchen, jostling the pens, a pair of scissors, and papers and everything else in the junk drawer. It slams shut as I bring the notebook to my chest, ready to face the book. To face the message Jenny left me.
Knowing she wrote something about the Cross brothers.