The Finish Line

by Stewart , Kate

  “Yeah, well, since we’re in the business of honesty, when are you going to put our cook out of his misery?”

  She glances back to Travis and wrinkles her nose. “I can’t go there. I dated his brother in high school.”

  When I wince, she misinterprets. “Exactly. I mean, how can you date a man’s brother and then—”

  “Marissa, order up,” Travis calls, and I’m thankful for the interference.

  I glance at Tobias, and he reads my expression. When I retreat to my office, he’s right behind me before I get a chance to close the door.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Look, our…drama is distracting the staff.”

  “Our drama is distracting you,” he corrects and crowds me against my office door, so I’m forced to look up at him.

  “Tobias, you’re making it hard for me to work.” And sleep. And think.

  He nods. “We’ve established that. I was just about to take off. Just wanted to let you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what I am right now.”

  “You feel ambushed. We’ve got a lot to sort through, but until then, I’m here if you need me to be. And,” he leans in, encasing me in his arms, his hands caressing the wings on my back, “we have a lot to look forward to.” He brushes my lips with his. “I’ll see you at home.”

  Home.

  “Okay. Thanks again for helping today.”

  His reply is a brief kiss to my lips. Releasing me, he shoves his hand in his jeans and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket, folding my hand around it. “For Marissa.”

  That afternoon, I return home to see a note from Tobias that he went for a run. After a scalding shower, I stand in front of my mirror and wipe the moisture away, jumping when Tobias appears behind me, his eyes rolling down my naked form before returning to mine. His hair completely damp and disheveled, his shirt soaked, he leans in and presses a kiss to my shoulder before snaking an arm around my waist and pulling my back to him. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he runs the pads of his fingers along my stomach. “Small talk is stupid, don’t you think? Especially when you need to have big conversations.”

  He pushes the bulk of my soaked hair to the opposite shoulder before pressing his lips to my exposed neck, laving up droplets of water with his tongue. The sight of the act draws me back, so familiar, so intimate, it has me weakening in the knees.

  I re-live the first time he did this, kissed me this way. It was the first night we were intimate. I bite my lip, remembering the sight of his cock as he pushed into me, the stretch, the fit, the intensity of that moment, and the recognition in his eyes.

  But it wasn’t just the feel. It was the emotion attached to it, emotions neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

  “But I know why we aren’t talking, Cecelia. I can wait,” he murmurs as our eyes catch in the reflection. “Because I’m not going to walk around here chatting about the fucking weather, or the café—a business you can run with your eyes closed, or about what you’re planting in your garden because I really don’t give a fuck as long as it makes you happy. I can wait for a lot,” he pulls his mouth from me, “but I’m not going to let you deny that I’m here much longer.” Erection pressing into my back, he leans in again, biting the nape of my neck before soothing it with his lips and tongue. Thoroughly soaked and needy, I fight to keep from rubbing my thighs together. “I’ll talk to you about whatever you want, as long as we’re having a conversation. But I do hear everything you’re not saying, too. I’ll always hear you.” He studies me, watching my expression and reaction to him, my body blooming fully under his touch before his eyes close, and a curse leaves him. His expression pained like he’s just seen something he can’t handle before he releases me and shuts the door behind him.

  My heart lurches after him, but my mind refuses to allow me to move. For the first time since he arrived, a thought occurs to me…

  What if I’m incapable of forgiving him?

  Age Twenty

  Heavy bass thumps from the club to my right as I walk through a cloud of cigarette smoke. I cruise by while taking note of a guy tongue fucking a brunette he has plastered to the side of the building, his hand disappearing beneath her skirt. Envy eats at me as she tosses her head back before biting down on the shoulder of her captor. When she opens her eyes, her lips part when she zeroes in on me. The sight of the dare inside them, pure temptation.

  Come and get me.

  Ignoring the blatant taunt, I pass the club, irritated I can’t indulge. I can’t remember the last time I sated myself with a girl or did anything considered normal. Would it hurt, just once, to spend a Saturday night at a club? To reward myself with a long, thorough fuck to take the edge off?

  It’s then I recognize a fellow student from one of my classes. I keep my eyes lowered so he doesn’t stop me, not that he would. Since I started HEC, I’ve made it clear with my conduct that no one should attempt to. Aside from my new slob of a roommate, Claude, a roommate I was forced to take on due to finances, I haven’t socialized at my new school. I make sure Claude is wary of me by silent communication and body language. He keeps the hours of a student, often away on the weekends, giving me privacy while I continually burn the candle at both ends.

  With graduation years ahead, I have no plans of changing any part of my stance. No one can know me to a personal extent. But a small part of me wishes that—like most students—the only pressures I had were passing grades and simple decisions of which party to attend and which pussy to devour. Since prep, I’ve made it my mission to remain incognito, and so far, there have only been a few coeds brave enough to challenge me in that department. Their reward was a rude wake-up call, which is necessary to ensure I remain just another faceless student no one can remember details about. But after years abroad, even in a city as large as Paris, it’s becoming a smaller world.

  Fumbling with the new cell phone Dominic overnighted me, the line trills as I step around another crowd lining the sidewalk. He answers on the second ring.

  “You’re supposed to be on a plane.”

  “I have exams,” I lie.

  “You’re lying,” Dominic argues. “How do you expect me to help you when you don’t tell me what’s happening?”

  The almost six-year age difference between us used to seem like eons in maturity not long ago. Although, after my last visit to Triple Falls, it’s clear I severely underestimated them—Dom especially—and because of that, it’s almost impossible to get anything past him. Surrounded by firelight six weeks ago, I found out just how ready he was.

  “What’s going on in France?” Sean asks from his camping chair.

  “School,” I reply curtly.

  “That’s not exactly true, is it, brother?” Dom speaks up, looking between Tyler and Sean. “He left to find help. Everyone at the meetings got scared when my parents were killed, and all they do now is bitch.” He kicks back in his seat. “My parents were revolutionaries at one point, extremists at another, and my brother here wants to enlist people who know what the fuck they’re doing.” He looks over to me. “Isn’t that right, brother?”

  He knows far more than I’m comfortable with. The idea that he’s been playing oblivious for this long rattles me to my core. He’s good at deception, too good. “Why have you played fucking ignorant this whole time?”

  His firelit face remains impassive. “I find it helps to be in the know, without anyone else knowing.”

  A genius sort of deception. A manipulation that he even fooled me with, playing uninterested for the most part, and clueless at other times.

  “I’m lost,” Tyler says, glancing between us.

  Sean speaks up, his eyes darting between Dom and me. “I believe the short version is, Dominic is done playing dumb.”

  I scrutinize my brother and then Sean. “This won’t work if we’re keeping secrets.”

  “Says the blackest pot,” Dom adds bitterly.

  While I’ve been away, Dom’s been piecing it to
gether. My secrecy has spiked his curiosity, and he’s just made it clear he isn’t about to let me get away with it any longer without letting me know he’s onto me.

  “Right now, there’s nothing to tell. And this isn’t going to happen overnight.”

  “But this isn’t just a conversation anymore,” Dominic says definitively, “And you know it. We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s going on over there.”

  “What is it you think you can do?”

  Silence is my answer.

  “Exactly, you stay out of this until it’s time.”

  “You’re living in fucking France, alone. You think that’s smart?”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Take me with you.”

  “Not a fucking chance. You know why I’m there, so there’s no point in arguing about it. We need to focus on what’s important, and right now, that’s money.”

  Dom breaks our gaze, his eyes drifting back to the fire. “I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  I didn’t and still don’t, which is why I refused to let him jeopardize himself in any way before his time. I want him as far away as possible from what I’m trying to accomplish here in France.

  “I’m tied up with something I don’t want to discuss now.” Gripping my backpack tightly to me, I crane my neck, keeping my phone cradled to my ear as music bursts from an opening door. “Can we argue about this later? I’ve got somewhere to be. I just wanted to check in.”

  “Whatever.” There’s a dejection in his tone, and I know it’s not only about me missing my flight. I’ve maintained my promise to fly back every six weeks up until now, but things are starting to move in the direction I need them to, and I can’t afford to waste more time, literally. The trips are only getting more expensive. “What’s going on?”

  “Forget it. I guess I’ll see you whenever.”

  “Dom, I don’t have the patience to coax it gently from you, out with it.”

  “We’re fucking broke.”

  Pausing my walk, I run a hand down my face. The last time I was in Triple Falls, I taught them how to ‘borrow’ what they needed from those who’d gained their standing by playing and taking from others less fortunate. It was a code I invented shortly after my run-in with the knife-wielding thief last year. They’d run with it, and Dom being Dom, had thought of a few ideas of his own on how to increase our take.

  “It’s time to make some changes.”

  By changes, he means it’s time to incriminate himself in a way that can’t be reversed if he’s caught. My lesson in petty theft turned into me getting schooled by my younger brother on more efficient ways to get fast cash. It was both amazing and terrifying to find out just how much he knows bordering fifteen years old.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I offer.

  “No time for that, either.” His tone is grave, but he’s still young and becoming more arrogant by the day, especially with his innate knowledge of all the technological advances.

  “If you fuck up—”

  “Have some faith, brother.” The excitement in his voice is more alarming than anything. But the fact that he’s been waiting for the green light from me has to be enough. I have to trust him. I have to trust them all to carry the weight until I accomplish what I set out to do here.

  “Do it. And Dom, don’t fucking think I won’t snatch the toy from your hands if you get stupid with it.”

  “As if you could. I’m outgrowing you.”

  “Maybe so,” I say with pride, “but let’s not forget the rules.”

  “I’ll hit you up when it’s done.”

  “You do that and keep your fucking nose clean otherwise.”

  “Trust me, brother.”

  “I do.”

  We end the call, and I turn the corner, leaving room for a guy standing on the edge of the alley.

  “Auriez-vous une cigarette?”

  “Non,” I answer without bothering to glance his way.

  “Sure?”

  “Sorry.”

  “American?”

  “Non.”

  “That’s not true, is it, Ezekiel?”

  I’m already sprinting, but it’s too late. Within seconds, I’m hooded and riding in the back of a van. I remain completely silent as a barrage of questions in English and scattered French come at me from all sides while my backpack is ripped from my arm and unzipped, but I know I’m safe there. I’ve rid myself of anything that indicates I’m anything other than a college student, but these guys know better. I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, and I will either die for it tonight, or I’ll be warned in a way I’m probably not going to like.

  “Should have stayed in America,” one of them grunts as I maintain my count, tapping my thigh with my finger.

  “How is American pussy?” One of them fires from my left. My silence buys me a busted lip, but I maintain, clearing my head from their distraction and keep counting.

  From what I can tell, there are two of them, aside from the driver. Ignoring the noise, I tap my fingers on the leather behind me.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Sometime later, we slow, and I note the noise of construction to our left, despite the time of night. I hear the distinct clang of a gate when one of them exits the van before we drive through. In the next minute, I’m whisked out and dragged through a gravel parking lot, a doorway, and hauled down some steep steps. When a door closes behind me, the overpowering smell of urine hits while the hood is ripped from my head. Blinking to adjust to the light, a man comes into focus a foot away, older, early-fifties, his more salt than pepper hair neatly trimmed, face impassive, eyes dull. Just behind him stands Palo, the man I inquired about at the strip club last winter, and I see no recognition in his eyes for me. My attention flits back to the man in front of me as he inspects me carefully.

  “You’re better looking than your father.”

  I can only assume it’s Abijah he’s speaking of. Beau was far less radical, and I can’t imagine him tied to the man standing in front of me.

  “Speak.”

  “I don’t remember Abijah.”

  “He was a good soldier. It’s a shame his mind betrayed him.”

  “My mother hated him. I’m loyal to her.”

  “I was very unhappy to hear of Celine’s passing. Tragic. She was beautiful.”

  “She was murdered.”

  His face remains impassive, but in his eyes, I see a shift.

  He’s sharply dressed, his taste expensive. I’ve never owned a suit, but if all goes well—and this isn’t my last night alive—I’m determined to get one of my own. My thoughts drift briefly toward Dominic and the idea that call may be our last conversation. I touch my index finger and thumb together.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Pourquoi es-tu en France?”

  “Here for school. Just a student.”

  “Tell me what need a student has in recruiting my men?”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “I didn’t know they were your men.”

  “Ignorance is not an excuse.”

  “Je ne fais pas la même erreur deux fois.” I don’t make the same mistake twice.

  He mulls it over as if deciding how he wants his steak cooked, but it’s my life on the line. But it’s traits like these, his body language, his ability to exude strength with presence alone, the consideration of his words before he speaks, and the even tone in which he speaks them that keeps me fully engaged. That and his fucking suit—double-breasted, flawlessly tailored.

  He’s given me next to nothing, aside from the fact he was an acquaintance of my parents, and I’m willing to bet he’s this controlled in every situation—threat or none.

  “No. Not just a student. And from what I’ve been told, these plans you have—”

  “Don’t include you.” The burn in my temple from the brute force of the gun lets me know interrupting him isn’t a mistake I should make twice. Blood pours freely from my temple
as I stare straight ahead at my captor, saving my wrath for the motherfucker behind me for a later date.

  “So, you believe there’s room for all of us, do you?”

  “I’m not that ambitious.”

  “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

  “La France n’est pas le pays où mes projets se réaliseront.” France is not the country where my plans will be carried out. I consider my next declaration and decide I have nothing to lose with the truth. “The man who murdered them owns the town, the police. He is the reason I’m in France, to enlist my family for help.”

  “You have no family left here.”

  “I know that, now.”

  He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the silk-lined pocket of his suit jacket, lights one up, and blows the smoke toward me. Blood glides down my neck as I maintain eye contact.

  “You still haven’t asked who I am.” He cocks his head. “I feel you are more Abijah than Celine’s son.”

  I don’t bother replying but briefly wonder if it’s true.

  “You’re going to need to let me in on your plans if you want my help.”

  “I don’t want your help. This is a family matter.”

  “Everyone wants my help,” he muses and glances at the man at my back as if he’s made his decision about me, but I can’t read it.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  My thoughts drift to Dom and how aggressive he will be in coming after me, to Paris, to seek the truth about why I disappeared by inserting himself into this same situation. Will we all die out this way? At the hands of powerful men who decide our fates—or can we become the same type of men, change our fate, flip the script?

  “As I said, I’m not interested in your help, but I would love the name of your tailor.”

  “Slow down,” Claude begs as I cut a hand through the air to silence him. After our conversation and ample warning, I was freed solely because I’m Celine’s son. When the man tired of me, I was again hooded and set free two blocks from the Eiffel Tower. Dawn breaking, I ran the six miles back to my apartment to wake my roommate Claude and demand his car. He insisted on coming with me, and instead of wasting time, I allowed him in the passenger seat as I hauled ass back to the alley I was abducted from just hours before. Once there, I made him take the wheel and closed my eyes, demanding his silence, starting the slow tap of my fingers just as he hit the gas.