by W Winters
“The debt my sister owed,” I state, feeling a line draw across my forehead as I read his expression. No memory is worn there of the money she owed the Cross brothers. Money Jenny owed to Carter.
Jase blamed Carter, didn’t he? He said Carter wouldn’t let it go even if Jase wanted to.
“Who did she owe money to?” Carter asks and the wind leaves my lungs in a heavy pull. Drawn from me so violently, that I drop the bottle to the counter with a hard clink.
Jase lied. Staring into Carter’s clueless eyes, I see it so clearly now.
He lied to me about the debt.
About my sister owing it.
I thought so poorly of her. That she would owe so much money to men like him.
And he put that on her.
With a sudden twist, my gut wrenches with sickness and I have to focus on breathing just to keep from losing it.
He lied to me. It was all a lie.
How can I believe anything that comes out of his mouth? How many lies has he told me? How many things has he kept from me?
“Where are you going?” Carter’s voice carries down the hall, chasing after me and I ignore him. I don’t trust myself to speak.
Every step hurts more and more. I’ve fallen for him. That’s the only explanation for the way my face crumples as I storm off. The way my eyes feel hot although there’s no fucking way I’ll cry. I won’t cry for a man who lies to my face over and over again.
I let him touch me. I let him use me. Because he lied about a debt.
I’m foolish. I’m a stupid little girl in his man’s world.
“I hate him.” The words tumble out in a single breath as my hands form fists. I hate that I believed him. That I fell for him.
No… no I don’t. My throat dries at the realization.
I hate that I wanted him to treat me like he loves me. I hate that I believed he did.
You don’t lie to the ones you care for. You don’t use them.
You don’t coerce them and blackmail them.
I thought he loved me though.
Maybe he still does… the small voice whispers. The voice that’s gotten me deeper and deeper into bed with a man who tells me lies. A voice I wish would speak louder, because I desperately want it to be speaking the truth. But the rest of me knows it’s a childish wish, that I need to grow the fuck up and slap the shit out of Jase’s lying mouth.
Jase
“What did he say specifically?” I question Seth, comparing notes.
“To meet… to come alone... and that he has evidence he doesn’t want to use against us.”
Our pace is even as I walk with him from the foyer to the office. I waited for him outside after taking Bethany to bed last night. Watching the late dusk turn to fog in the early morning and preparing for what has to happen today.
I respond, “Officer Walsh is my new favorite person to hate.”
“Do you think it has to do with Jenny?” he asks.
“I doubt it. If he has something on us and if he’s going to use it to blackmail us…” My teeth clench hard as I release an agitated exhale.
“Do you think you should tell Bethany? In case this leads to something?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I think about the way Bethany’s going to react when she finds out about her sister being alive and the fact that I knew this whole time. “I want to know I’ll be able to bring her back before I tell her anything.”
“Marcus will know when we find her. I don’t see how he won’t know when we approach. Unless it’s only a few of us, but that would be suicide.”
“We’ll all go. He can know. I would think he already knows we’ve been watching.”
He stops walking and the sound of two men walking down a long hall turns to one and then none as I turn to him, waiting for him to speak.
“You think Marcus would go against us?”
“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly and feel a chill run up my spine. The silver glimmer of the scar on my knuckles shines in the dim hall lighting. “We’ve never openly been against him, but he’s never taken from us either. He has her. He knows we want her back. It was his call to decide that and ours to decide the consequence.”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know how it happened and what she’s doing with him.”
“There’s too much we don’t know, but we don’t have time to wait. If we find their lookout point or storage centers, or anything at all, we go in.” My words are final and Seth’s slight nod is in agreement.
With a tilt of his chin, we continue back to the office. Every step I take grows heavier, and the anxiousness of getting down to what we have to discuss stifles the air and coils every muscle in my body.
I force myself to stay calm with my hand on the doorknob to my office, careful not to say anything until he walks in first.
“Did you get it?” I ask him as I flick on the light. It’s still early morning and the sky’s a dark gray. Pulling back the curtains, the harsh sound of them opening is the only thing to be heard as Seth walks to the row of books on the other side of the room.
Clouds cover the sky, hanging thick and with varied shades of gray. Rain’s coming and with it, a darkness that will cover the day.
“I did,” he tells me, leaving a book he’s eyeing to come to stand where I am and hand me the box.
“What do you think?” I ask him.
“I agree with you,” he says simply. “It’s why I like working for you.”
As I’m inspecting it, he delivers news I didn’t think would come so soon. “There may be a room, or tunnel, or shelter of some kind.”
He leans his back against the leather chaise, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “The blueprints for the bridge don’t show anything. So what’s under the bridge is… we don’t know.”
“You’re sure of it?”
He bows his head in acknowledgment. “We’ve kept an eye on the people associated with Jenny being taken. They’re out there, making these rounds and going to the same spots. Last night, one disappeared. Nik was watching him, and then he was gone. There has to be some hideout there we haven’t yet found.”
Slipping the box into my pocket, I ask him, “Did he do surveillance?”
“Not yet.” Uncrossing his arms, he slips his hands into his pants pockets and glances at the unlit fireplace before turning back to me. “I wasn’t sure how you wanted to proceed.”
“You seem distracted,” I tell him, rather than giving orders. It could be a setup. It could be suicide. Carter should know before we decide anything.
“Me?” he questions.
“You didn’t think I’d noticed?”
His answer is to tilt his head. With a cluck of his tongue, he pushes off the chaise and walks to the bookshelf before confiding in me. “We’re distracted for the same reasons, I think.”
Every hair stands on end at the thought of him being distracted by Bethany. The skin across my knuckles stretches and turns white as I crack them with my thumb, one by one and consciously resist forming a fist.
“What reason is that?” I ask and my voice is low.
“A girl.”
“Bethany?” I question and now my tone is threatening.
“She’s yours and I have mine.”
“So you are seeing someone?” I ask him and the edge of jealousy seeps away, although not as easily as it came.
Instead of answering, he suggests, “You should take Bethany to the graveyard. I think it’d be good for you two.”
“You’re good at distraction,” I comment as I eye him moving down the rows of books he’s seen before.
“You go there often…” he pauses before continuing, seeming to struggle with how he wants to say what’s on his mind. Choosing a new book, one I recognize by the distinctive spine, he tells me, “I almost took her there when I picked her up a few days ago. Thought you could meet her there, but then I got your message.”
“Why would she want to go there?”
“She’s empathet
ic. She reacts to emotion. If she saw the end result of what you’ve been through… it makes things more real. To see loss.”
“She knows what a graveyard looks like. She’s been there herself a time or two.”
“She hasn’t though. She didn’t go to her sister’s funeral. I don’t know about her mother’s either. She was working a lot back then.”
The fact that Seth knows this and I don’t makes me feel a certain way; I hate him for it, but I’m grateful for the message. We work differently, we see things differently. I could have never imagined it’d work so well for so long.
“I have to tell you something before I forget.” Tapping my fingers along the hard walnut shelves, I let my gaze stray down the shelves. “You need to get rid of your shoes.”
“What?” His surprise is met with a huff of humor. “Now you’re going with the distraction method,” he jokes although he’s still waiting for me to explain what the hell I’m talking about.
“The ones you wore when you went to check on Bethany. When she thought there was a break-in.”
“I don’t even know what shoes they were.”
“White with red stripes on the sides,” I answer him and finally make my way to take a seat. “She saw them, so it’s best to get rid of them.” As I sit down, I focus on the box, thinking about it rather than Seth and the fact that Bethany saw his shoes.
“Fuck.” Seth closes the book in his hand with a thwack, lowering his head and shaking it. “That could have ended badly.”
“If she didn’t tell me, I imagine it would have if she’d seen you in them.”
“Are you going to tell her it was Marcus or Romano or some random burglars or what?”
“She’s too smart to think it was random.” Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and hate the way all this started. “I don’t know,” I answer him. “One fucking lie after the next with her.”
A creaking sound snaps my eyes to the open door of the office. The dim light behind her places a shadow of contempt across her hurt gaze and pouty lips. Her small hands are balled into fists gripping the hem of her gray sweater. Even enraged, she’s in pain. It’s etched into every detail of her. Fuck.
“Bethany.” Her name tumbles from my mouth as I stand up, feeling the thrum of disaster in my blood.
Bethany
“I can explain,” Jase repeats as he rounds the worn leather chair. Through my blurry vision I can barely make out Seth backing away from both of us as I stalk into the room.
I’m shaking, trembling, on the verge of a rage I didn’t know was possible.
“I hate you,” I sneer and how my words come out so clearly, I’ll never know. They strike him, visibly, across the face as he stops with both hands up a foot away from me.
“What did you hear?” he asks me calmly and I want to spit at him. I can already see him spinning a new lie in his head, just waiting to know what I heard so he can manipulate it. Betrayal is a nasty thing, twisting a knife deeper into my rib cage.
All I can remember is how I felt standing in the threshold of my kitchen, too afraid to speak or move, and knowing I had nowhere to run. “It was Seth? It was your men all along?”
My vision blurs with the present and the past.
“I sent him to check on you. I was with Carter and Aria; I couldn’t come so I sent Seth.”
“Seth crept into my house. It was Seth.” I repeat it and I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe it’s true.
“He was only going to stay with you because I thought someone was threatening you--”
“Someone?” I question, feeling raging tremors run through me. Even now, he hides from me.
“It doesn’t matter--”
“The fuck it doesn’t!” I scream out of nowhere, shocking both of us.
“It’s all right.” I can hear Seth but I don’t dare rip my eyes away from Jase.
“Get out,” Jase gives his partner in crime the command and I listen to his heavy footsteps as he leaves. I can’t even look him in the face. He didn’t come just to stay with me, that’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit.
“Who?” I demand.
“Marcus.” Jase’s chest rises higher and falls deeper, moving slower as he tries to stay calm and collected. I take a step to my right, and he takes a step to his left.
“So you sent your men?”
“Seth said you weren’t there, that you took off or something happened. So I sent every man I had.”
“He didn’t knock. He didn’t try calling me or saying my name when he walked in.” Shaking my head, I deny the innocence that he’s trying to portray.
“He thought he may have frightened you into hiding.”
I complete the series of events for him. “You thought that would be good. Scare me into your arms.” My glare lifts to the specks of gold in his dark eyes. “You thought it would be easier to convince me, didn’t you?”
I can hear the deep inhale he takes as he sucks in a breath. “I made a mistake.”
“One fucking lie after the next with her.” I repeat the words he used before he knew I was outside the door with a taunting flourish. “How many lies, Jase?”
He doesn’t answer me; he merely steps closer. “Can you even remember how many you told?” My voice gets louder with each question. Still, he doesn’t answer.
“How about the debt? I just found out Carter never knew about it.”
Jase doesn’t react, he doesn’t falter, still hiding behind a hard façade.
“Are you going to say there was truth to that? That my sister did what? What do you want to say she did, what did she do to rack up that debt? Tell me all the horrible things she did.”
I can’t explain how the pain flows; the best way to describe it is to say it’s like a river flowing over jagged rocks. “You’ll never know how much it hurt me to think she’d done something horrible to have a debt like that.” I can’t even speak the sentence clearly as I brace myself on the furniture.
“I’m sorry.”
“So it was a lie too?”
“Yes.”
“And the break-in? It was all you all along?”
“Yes.”
With heated cheeks and a prick at the back of my eyes, I remember how I fell out of the cabinet that night and called for him. I remember how awful I felt the next day for ever thinking poorly of him.
How stupid I was. All I am with him is a step behind and foolish.
“You held me after. You knew and you held me after.” I feel sick. My body leans to the left as my head spins and the bastard dares to reach for me.
“Get the fuck off,” I say as I shove him away with every ounce of strength I have. It does nothing but push me backward, hitting the chaise and brushing my elbow against the leather. “Stay the fuck away from me,” I grit out with disdain, pointing a finger at his chest.
He walks right into it. My finger is now touching his chest.
It’s the lack of respect for my boundaries. This is the last fucking time I let him disrespect me.
His chest is like a brick wall, hard and unmoving, even after I slam my fist into it. My throat feels raw as I scream and the sides of my hands spasm with agony as I beat them against his chest over and over. “Get away from me!” Tears stream down my face in an oh-so-familiar path.
I hate it. I hate it all.
I hate the way it hurts. I hate that he did it.
I hate that I know he’d do it again, no matter how much he insists that he’d start the story over if he could. He’d do it the same way each and every time, because he doesn’t trust me to love him.
“I hate you,” I scream at him and his idiocy. “Stay away from me!”
Jase doesn’t try to hold me back or stop me. He simply watches me lose it. The look on his face is one I recognize and it only makes my heart hurt more.
When our patients don’t want to admit they’re not okay but they’re struggling to do anything at all we tell them, sometimes you have to break. You have to let it out, you have to feel
it, you have to move through it even if you’re a sobbing mess the entire time.
Sometimes a good cry or screaming session to let the anger and sorrow out is unavoidable.
Sometimes you have to break, even if you know you won’t be put back together when you get to the other side of it all.
My body feels heavy as I drop to the floor on my knees. Struggling with the weight of it all. I can feel his hands on me, his grip to stay close to him, but I ignore it.
How many times have I held on to someone just as Jase is and told them to do it, to let it all out? To break apart. Not because you want to, not even to make anything better. Simply because you have to.
“You’re a monster.” The statement swells as it leaves me, strangling me as it goes.
Still, Jase holds on to my wrists.
The smooth wood is cold and I just want to lay my heated face against it. To let it all out, but Jase is there, not leaving me alone.
“I had to,” he says and the statement is stretched with desperation.
I can barely swallow at this point, let alone speak.
There’s no use fighting his grip on me; he’s stronger. There’s no use trying to wipe my eyes, since the tears keep coming.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers once I’ve stopped altogether, just feeling every piece of me shatter.
He didn’t mean to, but he did it anyway.
“I didn’t want to lie to you,” he says and his voice is calming as he brings me into his lap.
He didn’t want to, yet he did.
A heave of sorrow erupts from inside of me as I realize I didn’t want to love him, but I did. I didn’t want to trust him, but I did.
“There are very few things that a person has to do,” I whisper against his shirt, staring at the crack of light under the door. “You chose to do that to me. You chose to lie and scare me to get me to do what you wanted. You chose to manipulate me.”
The gentle rocking is paused and it’s then that I realize how hot I am, leaning against him and I try to pull away. This time he lets me.
The irony is that all he had to do was ask or even tell me. I was so desperate for someone and something. Him scaring me had nothing to do with it. “You didn’t have to do it.”