“Past experience.”
Jaxon looks even more jittery than before. He’s a hairsbreadth away from a full-fledged breakdown. “I told you before — I helped her tonight! I saved her! I’m the good guy here, Archer.”
Maybe he’s telling the truth.
Maybe not.
I can’t bring myself to care. An all-consuming rage is rising inside me, blotting out every other emotion. For the first time in my life, I understand the term blind rage. My anger has sharpened to such an extreme, the rest of the world is blurry in comparison.
“Oh, spare me,” I snarl. “You’re no saint. You saw an opportunity and you took it.”
Jax fidgets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” I take a step into his path, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Tell me — did you think you could kidnap her? Hold her for a hefty ransom?” I tilt my head. “Or did you plan to hand her directly over to the Kings and let them do the dirty work for you?”
“No…” he says weakly. “That’s not true…”
“As long as your scorecard is clear, who cares what they do to her, right?” I take another step, my every atom vibrating with rage. “Even if they kill her…”
He flinches.
“Torture her…”
He flinches again.
“Rape her…”
And another.
“That’s just collateral damage, right? A justifiable cost of your freedom.”
“No, Archer!” Jaxon’s voice breaks on my name. “You’ve got it all twisted. I wasn’t going to hurt Jo. I’d never give her to them. I just… I thought maybe she could get the cash for me. The Valentines have more money than Zuckerberg! Fifty grand is pocket change to people like that.”
Before I’m conscious of moving, I’ve crossed the terrace, grabbed him by the throat, and pinned him up against the stone wall. Leaning forward, I bring my face within an inch of his. My grip around his throat tightens until he’s gasping for air.
“You will never touch Josephine Valentine again,” I say, each word crystallizing in the night. “Do you understand me?”
Jaxon wheezes something indecipherable. The whites of his eyes flash with panic.
“Sorry, what was that?” My brows lift. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Won’t—touch—her,” he gasps. “Swear.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled.”
The instant I release him, he doubles over, desperately sucking oxygen into his lungs. When he’s breathing normally again, he looks up at me with an expression that’s almost smug.
“Seems I’m not the only Reyes who can’t control his temper,” he rasps. “Maybe you’re more like me than you thought, little brother.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“Is that so?”
With effort, I get ahold of myself, tamping down the boiling rage to a bubbling simmer. Lashing out again won’t do me any favors. To Jaxon Reyes, life is one long game of poker. A series of bluffs and discards. He plays people like hands of Texas Hold’Em, using whatever he’s dealt to win. Adapting his strategies for maximum personal gain.
I’ve already revealed far too many of my own cards by letting my temper get the best of me. I should’ve played it cool. Kept my vulnerabilities hidden.
“You’ve changed, Archer. You’re much more violent than I remember.” He pauses, head tilting in thought. “Or is this rage only triggered because I threatened your pretty little girlfriend?”
My muscles tense, but I manage to keep my expression empty.
He thinks he can wield Jo against me like a weapon?
I’ll just have to take that weapon away.
“She isn’t my girlfriend.” I force a laugh. “Don’t tell me that’s why you thought she’d help you? You’re even dumber than I thought.”
He stares at me for a long beat. “Dating or not, that girl will do anything for you. Anything.”
“Maybe back when we were kids. You’ve been away a long time, Jaxon. Things change. People grow apart.”
“Bullshit,” he mutters. “I was gone two years, but I haven’t forgotten the way you look at that girl.”
“How’s that?”
“Like she’s the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.”
“God, you really must be high.” I roll my eyes, selling the lie with every fiber of my being. “You think I actually like being her friend? I tolerate her for exactly one reason: her parents paid my tuition to Exeter. As soon as I walk across that graduation stage, I plan to keep on walking, right out of her life.”
Jaxon’s eyes flicker back and forth across my face, attempting to discern fact from fiction. I make sure to keep my expression clear of every emotion but one.
Indifference.
Inside my chest, my heart pounds twice its normal speed. My voice is eerily level as I speak the greatest lie of my life.
“Jo Valentine means nothing to me. Nothing.”
There’s a long moment of silence. Jaxon weighs my words, doubt scored deeply across his features.
“If she’s nothing to you, why did you come here looking for her?” he asks slowly. “Why did you just throw me against a wall for coming near her?”
Damn it.
He may be high, but he’s not a total idiot.
I shrug. “I heard you took her from the party. I thought I might be able to intervene before you did something to land yourself back in jail — not to mention, get our family tossed out on the streets.” I pause. “You realize Vincent Valentine is close friends with the State Police Superintendent and more than a few members of foreign intelligence, don’t you? Kidnapping his only daughter isn’t a smart move if you want to stay on the right side of the law. And what do you think will happen to Ma and Pa if you piss off their employers?”
Jaxon pales. “I didn’t think…”
“Of course you didn’t. You never think.” I shake my head. “I just hope you didn’t do anything to harm her. For your sake.”
“I didn’t touch her! I swear!”
“Then where did you take her?”
“She’s down at the boathouse. She said she wanted to look at the stars for awhile.” He sucks in a jagged breath. “I walked her there to be nice. I was on my way back to my car when I saw you up here on the terrace.”
Relief floods me; I’m careful not to let it show. But deep inside my heart, where Jaxon cannot see, two words chase one another back and forth through every chamber — a thudding underscore to every beat.
She’s safe.
She’s safe.
She’s safe.
Chapter Seventeen
JOSEPHINE
The moon crawls across the sky in slow degrees. I lay on the dock, flat on my back, staring up at it as waves roll gently beneath me. Trying to sort out my thoughts.
They feel as unfathomable as those distant stars; a lightyear away from reality.
It’s been a strange night, to say the least. I’m not sure what’s a greater surprise — Ryan Snyder turning out to be the biggest asshole on planet earth, or Jaxon Reyes swooping in as my unexpected knight-in-tattooed-armor.
I haven’t seen Jax since he went to prison. I didn’t even know he was out on parole. Apparently, Archer didn’t feel the need to inform me of his early release. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting to realize I’m no longer the person he confides in.
There was a time he told me every thought inside his head, every secret of his heart, every longing within his soul.
After Jaxon came to my rescue at the party, he drove me home in a beat-up maroon sedan I’ve never seen before. It’s bumper hung so low, it scraped the curb with a shower of sparks every time we went up a hill.
He was mostly silent as we wound through the dark streets toward Cormorant House. I was equally quiet, caught up in my own head, too consumed by the memory of Ryan’s reaching hands to make much small talk. I tried not to glance too often in his direction, feeling somewhat awkward in
his presence despite our long history.
I’ve known Jaxon since I was an infant. He’s Archer’s older brother — and his spitting image, surplus a few tattoos. But we’ve never been particularly close. Four years is a big age gap when you’re young. And by the time we were all teenagers, Jaxon was already heading down a very different path. One of overdoses and rehab stints and, eventually, a three-year sentence at Cedar-Junction.
Despite his time behind bars, Jaxon doesn’t seem any worse for wear. He still has that sly smile, that darting gaze that never lingers long enough to get a proper read on his thoughts. When he walked me to the boathouse, he ruffled my hair like a little sister as we said our goodbyes.
Like old times.
That was almost an hour ago. It’s nearly midnight, now. I shiver against the wood planks, chilled to the bone. The warmth of the day has long since faded. My shorts and t-shirt offer little protection from the wind whipping off the water. Goosebumps break out across my skin; I rub my arms to subdue them, a futile task.
I should go inside. Climb into bed, shut my eyes, reset the day. But, looming emptily behind me, Cormorant House feels just as cold as the night. An inhospitable specter, devoid of life. I don’t want to walk its vacant halls alone. Doing so makes me feel like a ghost. As though, at any given moment, I could simply…
Disappear.
The sound of raised voices drifts to me on the wind. I sit up, glancing around for the source. Straining my ears, I realize it’s coming from the house.
Two men, speaking rapidly.
They’re too far away to make out any of their words. I should probably feel fear as I climb to my feet, but I’m too numb from cold to feel much of anything. Bested by my own incorrigible curiosity, I move quietly down the dock, toward solid ground.
I follow the voices up the path to the estate, my footfalls silent against the grass. My hand curls tightly around my keys, the only weapon at my disposal. Their metal edges dig sharply into my palm.
I keep to the shadows — an unseen eavesdropper in the dark. The argument grows louder as I approach the house. I’m nearly to the terrace when one of the voices becomes identifiable.
I stop in my tracks.
“She isn’t my girlfriend.” I hear Archer scoff. “Don’t tell my that’s why you thought she’d help you? You’re even dumber than I thought.”
I duck instinctually behind a maple tree, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Who is he talking about?
I strain to catch more of their conversation. My eyes widen when I recognize Jaxon’s voice, responding. “That girl will do anything for you. Anything.”
“Maybe back when we were kids,” Archer volleys back. “You’ve been away a long time, Jaxon. Things change. People grow apart.”
“Bullshit. I was gone two years, but I haven’t forgotten the way you look at that girl.”
How’s that? I think hopefully.
“How’s that?” Archer asks flatly.
“Like she’s the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.”
My heart lurches into my throat and lodges there. Breath becomes an impossibility.
“God, you really must be high.” Archer’s cold laugh sends shrapnel into the fabric of my soul. “You think I actually like being her friend? I tolerate her for exactly one reason: her parents paid my tuition to Exeter. As soon as I walk across that graduation stage, I plan to keep on walking, right out of her life.”
My eyes are stinging from the wind. That’s why I’m crying.
The wind.
Just the wind.
I brush the tears off my face, but they keep coming. The pain inside my chest is crippling. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me. I reach for the tree trunk to steady myself.
“Jo Valentine means nothing to me,” Archer tells Jaxon. There’s not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Nothing.”
A fissure erupts beneath my ribs, tearing through the fragile cartilage. Breaking me open, into fragments.
I can’t listen anymore. I can’t bear to hear another word from his cruel, contemptuous mouth.
Tears blind me as I dodge into the dark. I don’t bother wiping them. Stumbling sightlessly through garden beds, I circle around to the front door, shove my key into the lock, and fall across the threshold. A pained sob chokes out of my throat as I hit the floor, echoing back at me in the vaulted atrium.
Lying there on the cold marble, the estate’s vastness presses in at me from all sides… it’s empty rooms a perfect reflection of the hollow panging inside my heart.
The following morning, I stagger into the kitchen after a sleepless night and stop cold at the sight that greets me. Surely, I must be hallucinating from sheer exhaustion. Because sitting at the island countertop, sipping mugs of coffee and swapping sections of The Boston Globe, are my parents.
They glance up when I walk in, matching smiles spreading across their faces.
“Good morning, Josephine,” Vincent says casually. As though he’s just come back from an hour-long trip to the grocery store, not a monthlong walkabout through Sub-Saharan Africa.
“You’re back early.”
“Are we not allowed to return to our home without advanced notice?” A light laugh titters out of Blair’s mouth. “We wanted to surprise you, so we moved up our flight plan by a few days.”
“Best part of having a private jet.” Vincent grins. “No airline fees for changing your itinerary.”
My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. “When did you arrive?”
“About an hour ago. We decided to let you sleep in. Though I must say, it doesn’t appear to have done much good. You look tired, Josephine. A wrinkle appears between my mother’s brows as she examines me. “Did you sleep well?”
“I’m fine.”
“There are circles under your eyes. Maybe I should make a call to my dermatologist. There’s a wonderful cream he could give you to—”
“Mom.” My teeth grind together. “I said I’m fine.”
“Well, then get over here and give us a hug. It’s been two weeks since we’ve seen you!”
“Three,” I murmur under my breath, crossing the room to them.
Neither stands up. From their stools, they half-turn and extend their arms out for an embrace. I step forward like a good soldier and allow them to enfold me in a group hug. In my head, I count out exactly five seconds before they disengage.
“Have you lost weight?” Blair asks, leaning back to examine me with a critical eye. “You look thinner.”
I take a deep breath and swallow down the useless words that claw at the back of my throat. Walking around to the other side of the island, I sit on a stool and try not to slouch beneath the weight of their stares.
“You know, darling…” My mother folds her hands on the countertop — a practiced move I recognize from press junkets and publicity tours. “You don’t seem very happy to see us.”
“Of course I’m happy to see you.” I pause. “It’s just… June 5th isn’t for another week. Remember?”
They trade a bewildered glance.
A fissure of concern shoots through me. “You are planning to be home for my birthday, aren’t you?”
“Ah! Right. Your birthday.” Vincent nods. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Blair is giving me her most soothing smile — the one she uses on frazzled employees. “Things have just been so busy at VALENT lately, we wanted to make sure we got a chance to see you before your graduation. Can you believe, in just three short weeks, you’ll be done with high school?”
“Two weeks, actually. The ceremony is June 10th. I already reserved your tickets.”
“Of course, of course. That’s what I meant to say.” She presses a hand apologetically to her temple. “Jetlag.”
“Mmm.”
“How are your classes going?” Vincent steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. “GPA still holding strong?”
My lips tug up at the corners. “Strong enough to make me t
he Valedictorian of my class.”
“With the intelligence we passed down to you, I’d expect nothing less.” My father grins. “You were predisposed to brilliance.”
My lips flatten.
Blair’s expression turns quizzical. “That means you’ll give a speech, doesn’t it, darling? At the commencement?”
“Yes.”
“Have you finished writing it yet?” She tucks a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. “I’d be happy to run my eyes over it for you. Offer some constructive critique. I’ve given my fair share of speeches over the years.”
“Your mother truly is a gifted public speaker.” Vincent glances warmly at his wife. “An inspiration to hear.“
“Actually…” I chew on my bottom lip. “I haven’t started writing it, yet.”
“Josephine!” Blair gasps. “That is inexcusable. What on earth have you been doing with your free time?”
“I’ve been busy studying for the AP exams.” I try not to sound defensive. “They start on Monday. I want to do well.”
“That’s no excuse. Your mother is right. A speech isn’t something to be whipped together overnight.” My father’s eyes, blue like my own, narrow sternly. “Your words will be embedded in the memories of your peers for the rest of their lives. Whenever they think back to their graduation day, they’ll recall whether you were inspiring or insipid. You owe it to them to deliver a message worth remembering.”
“I’m just…” I clear my throat. “I’m struggling a bit with selecting the right topic.”
Vincent’s eyes narrow even further. “Then I suggest you stop joyriding around town in my Porsche and start prioritizing your academics.”
“I’m not joyriding,” I grumble. “I only use it to get to school.”
“So Miguel said.”
“Because it’s the truth! Why would he lie about something like that?”
“He’d better not.” Vincent chortles. “Not when I’m the one signing his paychecks.”
I inhale sharply, trying to remain calm. “It’s not like you’re even around enough to drive the Porsche, Dad. I could steer it off a cliff, shatter it to bits, and have it rebuilt from scratch without you ever noticing.”
We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet Book 1) Page 16
