“Droite. Deux lampadaires. Gauche.” Right. Two lights. Left.
“Où allons-nous ? Que s’est-il passé?” Where are we going? What happened?
Ignoring the onslaught of questions, I concentrate on my task.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Droite.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Tourne à droite ici!” Take a right here!
He speeds down the narrow road as I open my eyes and search for any sign, praying I didn’t miss a turn. Claude’s remarks seem distant as I sift through the path that led us here, step by step.
“Tu es complètement taré. Tu le sais?” You’re fucking crazy, you know that?
“Tais-toi! Arrête-toi ici.” Shut up! Stop here.
The sight of a construction zone yards away, and the gate next to it elates me, and I exit Claude’s car and nod toward the road.
“Go.”
He glances around the abandoned street.
“Nous sommes au milieu de nulle part!” We aren’t anywhere!
If you didn’t believe in ghosts before you came here tonight, he is proof.
And for a second, I visualize what Claude sees. An abandoned street time has forgotten, not a building in sight.
“Go, now.” His eyes shift in fear as he studies my bloody shirt and the raging knot at my temple. “Moins tu poseras de questions et plus tôt tu partiras, plus tu seras en sécurité.” The less questions you ask and the sooner you leave, the safer you are. Guys like Claude need little coaxing when it comes to self-preservation, and he’s as self-serving as they come.
“Je déménage.” I’m moving out!
I slam the door as he speeds away and dial Dominic, who picks up on the first ring.
“’Sup?”
I rattle off an address. “I need details of what and who, and I need them now. Dom, dig deep.”
“On it. I’ll text you.”
“You’ll what?”
“Jesus,” Dominic hangs up as I start a slow walk toward the gate, willing my phone to ring. If they spot me before he gets back to me, it might not be enough.
The more time that passes without a word, the more the hairs on my neck stand on end. Frantically staring at the cell phone he sent hours before, I begin to backtrack, knowing I’m a sitting duck without the information I need. Instead of ringing, the phone vibrates in my hand. I press the cue to get to the message that comes across the screen.
Relief fills me as I glance up at the gate just ahead, armed with the information I need. When I make it to the entrance, I lift my chin to the camera angled just beneath the top of the gate and lift my hands. My first text message might’ve just saved my life…or ended it. Time will tell, and I don’t have a lot of it because seconds later, the flaming red faces of two men who assaulted me appear behind the gate, their voices booming as they approach.
“C’est quoi ce bordel?!” What the fuck!?
“Tu viens de signer ton arrêt de mort, imbécile!” You just killed yourself, imbecile!
Once escorted inside the gate, I recognize looks are deceiving and see it’s more of a compound—a cluster of one-story, red-clay buildings that once thrived in a different time. I find the idea smart, much like the street vendor game of shuffling cups to find the red ball. The tactic gives him ample time to escape if need be, but I can see the flaws. Scenarios flit through my brain as I’m led to one of three buildings fifty yards from the gate, and this time, I’m taken upstairs before being shoved into an office and onto my knees.
Behind an oak desk sits the sharply dressed man. He scrutinizes me as I do him. It’s clear he’s fatigued from a long night, and I do my best not to celebrate the mild surprise in his eyes. It’s dawning on him at this moment that I fully meant to get captured last night. It’s taken me the better part of a year to get this man’s attention, and that was easy compared to finding out who he was because I never could until just moments ago—known for being unknown but so notorious in reputation that no one dares to seek him out. It’s skills like this I need in order to carry out my plans to become a worthy opponent. Whispers and murmurs are all that exist about him and his organization, but no one really knows who heads it, and if they do see his face, it’s the last thing they see.
The press of a gun being cocked at my temple brings that knowledge home.
Mother, greet me. Father, keep me.
After a minute-long assessment of me, he lights a cigarette and takes a deep inhale, his exhale clouding my face before he speaks.
“All right, Ezekiel. You found me. How?”
“First mistake, they faced me forward on the seat. From then on, it was a matter of tuning them out and keeping up with the turns, light counts, the time between them, and speed.”
“Like you, I don’t make the same mistake twice.” He lifts a blistering gaze to the two men on both sides of me, and I know I might have cost them. He squares his shoulders, but I can see the sting in his eyes and some of the contempt I’ve earned with my stunt. “Ego can be dangerous. Maybe I should have asked who you are.”
With the lift of his chin, the men at my side bring me to my feet before closing the door behind them.
Once alone, we stare at each other for several seconds, and I know my time is limited.
“It was your reputation that had me seeking you out. I don’t sell people, drugs, or guns, and never will. Who am I? For the moment, I’m an orphan and penniless thief, and my ambitions don’t suit yours. However, I’m thinking maybe we can help each other, Antoine.”
Gunning the gas, I race down the deserted roads next to Cecelia’s house, sorting through the details of that day and the decisions of the years after. Did I distort all our futures that night? That move was my first on a new board and gave me my first real taste for the game.
Was it the beginning or the end?
I was desperate enough to associate myself with dangerous allies back then, but I had no idea the true cost. The tradeoff.
Those who have trusted me in the past—who shared my vision—eventually ran out of loyalty for me, and it’s no mystery why. I can’t blame them, any of them, for their flailing allegiance, or Cecelia now for her mistrust. All I can do is try to believe the woman who came back to me, who once believed in me. A woman who, not long ago, fought me, challenged me to be the man I was. But that man was deceptive, destructive, and fucking dangerous to the people he loved. And when he lost them, he gave himself permission to run rampant. Now that I’ve been derailed again by the possibility of a different life, I’m being forced to confront his demons.
I downshift, the Camaro needle slanting past the hundred mark as I try to escape the ache, the burn of my mistakes. The image of Sean, Dom, and Tyler’s firelit faces the night I told them about Roman—about the truth of what happened to our parents—and about my plans to bring him down. As their trusting faces come more into focus, I know no amount of speed will ever erase that memory.
After another shift, I pull up to see Tobias washing Dom’s Camaro in my driveway. Dazed by the sight of him shirtless, taut, ripped, he raises his head when he hears me approach and gives me the slight lift of his thick lips from where he squats, scrubbing mud off the side of the car. From the looks of it, he’s put all the horses under the hood to work. But the idea of his joyride takes a back seat to any other thought when he stands covered in the afternoon sun. His skin is glistening, beckoning, his jeans riding dangerously low on his hips, showcasing his clear-cut V, just before it disappears into his dark-washed jeans. Exiting the car, I walk over to where he works, intent on his task.
“Hey,” he greets me, his voice chalky as though he’s been shouting for most of the day.
“Hey back,” I reply, looking at the car. “I see you went for a ride.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while since I let loose.”
Something’s wrong. It’s so clear to see in the light creases next to his eyes, the weight on his shoulders.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he toss
es his sponge in a bucket before pressing a kiss to my temple. Retrieving the hose from the ground, he pauses his spray and shakes his head in afterthought. “I mean, no, not really okay, not today. But can we table this particular talk for later?”
“Sure,” I offer easily, leaving him to it just before he snatches me by the wrist and pulls me toward him. His eyes bore into mine as he crowds me next to the car. He dips and kisses me, and I allow it, my heart thundering into the moment. My body begs me to relieve it of the ache, but my mind still forbids me from stepping into the free fall I’ve allowed myself one too many times before. It’s not a matter of falling, but a matter of making sure I know how to land at this point. Denying I love him, am still in love with him, is pointless. Denying he’s here and sincerely wants this to work is taking effort on my part. But forgiving him, that’s what’s stifling our progress. It’s still too soon to embrace it—embrace him fully. Yet in those few seconds, he separates my lips with his tongue, tasting me thoroughly, and I can’t help but feed my greed. He kisses me for long minutes, and I drop my purse, my appetite begging me for a minute more before he pulls away and presses his forehead to mine.
“I said I wouldn’t hide anything from you, and I won’t. I have these bad days, sometimes.”
“What’s bad about them?”
He pulls my hand from around his neck and kisses the back of it before pressing my fingers to his temple. “Here.”
“Does it have to do with Dominic?”
“A lot of the time, yeah. Driving his car…I don’t know, I got lost in my head a little.”
“I’m sorry. I just, I thought you might want to drive it instead of my Audi.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Maybe it was good for me.”
“Not by the looks of it.”
All I can feel is the ache seeping from him and my instinctual need to comfort him. “Sometimes I wish,” he exhales. “Sometimes I wish I dreamed the way you do, so I could exorcise my thoughts that way, and maybe I wouldn’t have these days.”
“No, you don’t, Tobias. I promise you that you don’t.” I dart my eyes away. “I should let Beau out. I need a shower.”
He nods and releases me. Shutting the front door behind me, I push out a long breath. Being in the same space with him again, there’s no denying the sheer force of what his presence does to me. I’m still breathless from his kiss, core throbbing from the need thrumming between us, but his pain overshadows all of that. So much of me wants to give in, hear his words, take them to heart and truly let go of all of the grudges so we can start to heal together—in a way that brings us closer.
I have to try. I have to give in, meet him halfway at some point.
It’s clear we’re living the opposite of what we collectively pictured after our reunion in the parking lot, and I can physically feel the disappointment in both of us every time we lock eyes.
I’ve barely let him touch me or given him a chance to explain himself. But I can’t lose myself in him again, at least not completely. Getting physical with Tobias is not simply sex. It’s close to a religious experience. I’m not in denial so much that I don’t realize that I’m the one preventing our progress.
I head to the fridge to grab a water bottle and decide on something stronger. Maybe a drink will help relax me to the point of starting a conversation. Reaching for my whiskey tumbler, I open the freezer for some ice and see that he’s grocery shopped, and not only that, he’s zip-locked red grapes for me and frozen them. Visions of the days where I lounged by the pool at my father’s mansion sucking on them while he swam laps run through my mind. Though our history was brief, we were together twenty-four-seven for weeks, studying each other’s habits, learning each other’s bodies, falling crazy in love. Then, he’d used my brand of toothpaste. And despite my resentment-filled comment, I do know him, his habits, his moods, and it was jealousy from my dream that told me otherwise.
The devil is in the details, and I remember my devil well. It’s gestures like this that brings me back to that time he doted on me endlessly. The dinners he used to cook for me, the baths he drew that we took together, and our long talks during. The long hours playing chess, our time in the clearing drinking Louis Latour while stargazing. Making love for hours and hours, covered in sweat, eyes locked, bodies humming, before we fell into an exhausted sleep just to wake up and do it all over again.
Closing my eyes, I fight the urge to go to him, to bridge the gap. Every night we seem to call a truce, and he wraps around me, dragging me into his body, waiting for me to ask questions, to start a conversation, but I haven’t. I’m still trying to give myself permission to be happy about it, to let my guard down, to embrace him here, permanently.
“Just one, okay?”
I jump. “Will you stop sneaking up behind me?!”
“I didn’t sneak up on you. You’ve been staring into the freezer since I came into the room.”
I shut the door. His eyes drop to the frozen grapes I hadn’t realized I pulled from the bag. “You used to drive me crazy sucking on those while you were reading.”
I toss a few in my glass along with some ice and turn back to the counter to pour my drink. “Why only one?”
“We have plans tonight, and I need you alert.” He opens the back door to let Beau out. “I’ve got somewhere I need to take you.”
“Where are we going?”
“A meetup,” he answers simply.
I reel on him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s just to introduce you to those looking out for us here in Virginia.”
Simmering, I toss back the whiskey. “I thought you said no one was looking for me.”
“They aren’t looking for you,” he answers, his eyes conveying the rest. The fact that he needs protection should scare me, but it doesn’t. “I was going to take a quick shower.”
“Then I’ll take a quick bath.” By the time I finish my drink, he’s already in the shower, no doubt to grant me space. Undressing, I see him watching me in the mirror from where he stands, lathering up his body. Eyes locked, I pull off my T-shirt and bra, my skin pinkening from the blush creeping up my neck. He smirks, and I lift my chin, taking my painstaking time to bend, lowering both my jeans and panties. I don’t bother to look back because I know how cruel the act was. I can’t help but bite my lips at his watered-down curse. Stepping into my clawfoot tub, I admire him through the clear shower door as he runs a sponge down his body. The bathroom is the only room I fully remodeled when I bought the house because it was the size of a closet, and though now it’s doubled in size, it still seems small with his proximity.
Ezekiel Tobias King is devilishly dark perfection, especially when wet.
And he claims he’s mine. Forever mine.
Sinking into the tub, I watch him shamelessly as he discards his sponge and runs a handful of shampoo through his dark mane before lifting fiery eyes to mine.
Wet lashes accentuate the surreal color of his eyes. Through the stream of water, I see it so clearly. I’m twenty again and reaching for him just as he meets me halfway into the shower before kissing me senseless while impaling me on his cock. A cock that has stirred to life fully now as the seconds pass and we stare off, both engulfed by memories and coming unglued with need. He’s engorged now, thick, veiny, the sight of his tip, mouthwatering. In an act of cruelty, he turns his back, letting the spray wash over the heavily inked wings stretched out along his shoulders. It’s then I see the distortion, the clear interruption of the pattern I’ve traced with my lips so many times before. Exit wounds.
One just beneath his right shoulder blade and one above his right hip.
Instant tears emerge at the sight of them and what it means. He was gravely injured while we were apart. Hazy images of the night he took me so unforgivingly at my father’s mansion emerge, and I can’t at all recall feeling them, but they could have been there.
“Tobias,” I whisper hoarsely, the blood draining from my face, but he doesn’t hear me.
It’s everything I can do to keep from going to him, to demand answers, but there’s a partition far thicker than the glass and porcelain between us. He doesn’t want to push me, and I don’t want to be pushed. He seems just as reluctant at this point to get physical with me for a reason I can’t pinpoint, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. As if reading my thoughts, he turns to me, weighing my expression before ripping his gaze away, another curse leaving him as he turns off the shower, grabs a towel, and leaves the bathroom soaking wet.
Fear.
That’s all I saw through the glass door of the shower.
That, combined with the fact that she doesn’t fucking trust me, is enough to have me questioning my renewed presence in her life. That’s the second edge of the sword that grates the most. And it’s the sick feeling of that truth, a continual slow pour of the acid constantly churning in my chest, in my gut. The fear in her eyes isn’t because she’s afraid of me. She’s afraid of what being part of us can and has done to her. Still, she holds her head regally high on her slender neck as she rides next to me toward our arranged meeting. Hair still wet, she glosses her lips before smoothing and securing it back into a ponytail. Staring out the window, she remains mute as I grip her hand and bring it to my mouth, pressing my lips against the back of it.
“We have to do this, Cecelia. But I’m hoping this doesn’t encroach much on our life here.”
“I know.”
“We can’t negotiate this.”
“I know.”
“I promised you would be in the know every step of the way.”
“I want that.”
I glance her way, briefly taking my eyes off the road. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says icily. “In the know is a luxury I paid for a long time ago.”
“You’ll have it, but it’s not going to pay off the way you want, at least not at first.”
The Finish Line Page 12
