Black Tangled Heart

by Samantha Young

  He turned to me before I opened the door. “I don’t care anymore about what he thinks. What the world thinks. Now that Mom is out from under his influence, I think—no, I know—things will be okay between me and her. And that’s all that matters.”

  Surprised by the random turn of conversation, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “What I’m trying to say is, we don’t have to make people think we’re dating anymore. It’s unnecessary. And maybe you could start actually dating.”

  The thought of no longer hiding behind Asher as an excuse was scary. I didn’t want to admit that to him, though. Not knowing what to say, I was dazed as Asher opened my front door. Realizing he was just trying to be a good friend, even as all this craziness was happening to him, affection filled me. I pulled him back for a hug.

  Asher’s arms tightened around me.

  “What would I do without you, huh?”

  “You’ll never have to know,” I promised him.

  As we pulled back, he brushed his thumb over my cheek.

  “Show me the dimple,” he demanded.

  I grinned as his thumb caressed the hollow in my cheek, but the sound of a woman’s giggle drew my attention from Asher.

  We both turned toward the sound coming from the apartment across the hall.

  Oh my God.

  Pressed against the doorjamb of the open apartment door was a tall blond. A very familiar, gorgeous guy crushed his body against hers as he kissed her.

  There was a moment where I forgot the last seven years had happened.

  And all I saw was the man I loved kissing another woman.

  No … devouring her.

  Jealousy, outrage, and pain were my foremost emotions. They made my skin hot, my chest ache, and my throat painfully thick.

  But then Jamie released the woman. Despite the passionate kiss, his expression was blank, unaffected. “Thanks, gorgeous. We’re done here. Leave.”

  With crashing reality, I remembered this wasn’t Jamie from my past. This was Griffin Stone. My Jamie would never talk to a woman like that.

  And what the hell was he doing in the apartment across from mine?

  The blond was breathing fast and shallow. She scowled, confused. “Your mood swings are giving me a migraine.”

  “Then go see a doctor.”

  “Asshole.” She huffed and pushed off the jamb. She faltered when she saw Asher and me, a red stain flushing her cheeks, before she disappeared downstairs. The sound of her heels clattering against the concrete steps echoed up to us. I gazed incredulously at Jamie.

  He stared back.

  “Uh. Hey,” Asher said, breaking the strained tension. He strode toward Jamie, pulling me along with him. Holding out his hand, he said, “Are you new to the building?”

  To my shock, Jamie shook his hand. “I am. I’m Griffin. Are you my neighbors?”

  “Ja—Margot is.” Asher faltered on my name and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m her friend, Asher.”

  “Asher, good to meet you.” Jamie held out his hand to me. “Margot.”

  There was a smug understanding in his eyes as he looked at me. He knew I hadn’t told Asher about him. Realizing Asher would figure out something was going on if I didn’t shake Jamie’s hand, I hesitated before letting him touch me.

  A shiver skated down my spine as his warm, strong fingers enveloped mine.

  Memories washed over me as we held each other’s gazes.

  Kisses and hugs and soft laughter in the dark.

  Jamie’s grip tightened ever so slightly before he dropped my hand like a hot potato. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” I muttered. I turned to Asher. “I’ll see you later.” I caressed his arm in affection and then tried to walk calmly back to my apartment. Thankfully, I could hear Asher and Jamie saying goodbye before I closed myself back in my apartment.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Was this part of a sick plan to torment me?

  Limbs trembling, I moved distractedly back into my bedroom and heard my phone beep. Grabbing it off my dresser, I saw it was a text from Asher.

  Holy hot chemistry. He forgot that blond as soon as he saw you. xx

  The blond. I practically hissed.

  That fucker. How many women had he had since he got out of prison?

  I couldn’t bear to let anyone that close to me again, and he’d gone back to his old ways. Except worse. My Jamie, even before we dated, didn’t treat women like they were disposable.

  I texted Asher back. He forgot that blond while he was still kissing her. Yuck. No thanks. xx

  I stared dully at my painting. My creative mood had left the building, under the weight of the many questions going around and around in my head. Adrenaline made it hard for me to sit still. Cursing Jamie under my breath, I grabbed my laundry basket and headed toward the front door. Peering through the peephole, I double-checked his door was shut before I left my apartment. Glowering at his door as I passed, I hurried downstairs. How the hell had he maneuvered himself into my building? And why?

  What was he planning?

  And did he really think I was just going to sit around and wait to see what he’d come up with?

  To my gratitude, the laundry room was empty as I crashed around inside it. I hauled out my stash of detergent and softener from my allocated locker and started separating my whites. That rat bastard. My heart raced, sweat gathered under my arms, and it agitated me. An encounter with Jamie was the equivalent of fifteen shots of caffeine.

  And I hated that he knew I was lying to Asher. Something he could easily hold over my head.

  “You are a very angry laundry doer.”

  Jamie’s deep, rich voice startled me. Trying to control my breathing, I glared over at him standing in the doorway. Arms and ankles crossed as he leaned casually against the jamb. He wore a T-shirt and jeans. Nothing had changed there.

  He was still the sexiest man I’d ever seen.

  God, I hate him.

  “What the hell are you doing in this building?” I turned my back on him, marching over to the stacked washers and dryers.

  “I had no idea you lived here,” he lied, his voice growing closer as he crossed the room toward me.

  Attempting not to react physically, to not hunch my shoulders in tension, I stared unseeing at the machines. What was I in the middle of doing again?

  “What a surprise to find out you’re my neighbor.”

  I snorted in disbelief and turned around, shocked to find him already in my personal space. “Liar.” I dragged my gaze insolently down his body and back up. “Move away. And I mean that in more ways than one.”

  “Oh, does my presence bother you?” His wicked smile caused somersaults in my belly.

  “What are you doing here?” I ignored his proximity. Okay, I tried to ignore his proximity.

  In answer, he stepped into me and I stumbled against the machines at my back. Jamie pressed the palms of his hands on the dryer, caging me in. My breath caught and held as his scent flooded me. That dark, earthy scent was enticing, and my body betrayed my emotions.

  Feeling panic rise, I pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. “Jamie?”

  Those ocean eyes wandered over my face, cold, calculating. “He doesn’t know who I am. You haven’t told him.”

  I lowered my hands. Touching him was even more discombobulating. “No.”

  He bent his head toward mine until our noses almost touched. I sucked in a breath. “I wonder why you’re keeping it from him?”

  Determined not to let him see how much he affected me, I glared up at him. He’d only have to touch me, hold my hand, to realize I was trembling. His face was so familiar. His lips were lips I’d thought I’d kiss for the rest of my life. Why did the pain of it never dull? Why did it still feel like a shard of glass through my chest? “Did you leak those tapes of Foster Steadman to Asher’s mom?”

  Something menacing flashed in his eyes before he banked it. “And if I did?”
<
br />   “Are you being smart, Jamie?”

  “Are you asking out of concern for me or for your billionaire boy toy?”

  “Jamie.”

  “Never mind. I don’t care.” The bastard dipped his nose to my throat, and I tensed against the stacked machines. He inhaled, his nose brushing my skin, and my fingers bit into the washer behind me. “You smell different,” he whispered, lifting his head to my ear. “Expensive perfume. You’ve come up in the world.”

  I felt his breath caress my skin seconds before his teeth touched my earlobe. Gasping, I instinctively pushed my palms against his stomach as he bit down hard, causing a flush of heat between my legs.

  With a dark chuckle, Jamie released my ear after one last nibble and whispered, “Is he the jealous type, Jane? Would it bother him to see you with me, knowing I’m the first man who ever slid his dick into you?”

  My body reacted to his words in opposition to my mind. While my skin flushed and heat pooled low in my belly, I despised him for throwing me away and then losing all faith in me. For talking to me like this. And that war between my physical desire and my emotions made me hate him even more. I wanted to tear him up.

  “Does he know how you like it?” His voice was thick now, hoarse, and he leaned the length of his strong body into mine, pushing me into the machines at my back. I could feel him. Throbbing. Hard. My breath skittered and my fingers curled into the cotton fabric of his T-shirt. “Does he know sweet, shy, Jane Doe loves a good, hard fucking as much as gentle lovemaking? That when the mood takes you, you like to be tied up, held down …” Jamie trailed his lips across my flushed cheek and brushed them against my mouth. “And fucked until you scream?”

  Memories assailed me. Memories of our youthful adventures in sex. How together, we were open to anything. How exciting it had been to explore that side of ourselves with someone who made us feel safe and loved.

  “Does he know you like to be fucked in public places?”

  I shivered, remembering the hottest sex we ever had in a restroom at the theater.

  “Does he hold you all night long, just the way you like?” Jamie trailed his fingertips along my collarbone, gentle, caressing. Almost loving. “Does he keep his dick buried inside you while you sleep like I did? How many nights did you want that from me? How you needed me to stay inside you, connected.”

  Tears burned in my throat.

  I’d been desperate for him. Wanted him to never leave me. To hold me always.

  No one had held me in such a long time. Not like that.

  Not since him.

  I glared at his throat, half of me wanting to lick it and the other to rip it out with my teeth.

  “Nothing to say?” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck, one hand sliding down the curve of my waist to rest on my hip. He squeezed it. “Huh?”

  Did it hurt him to be near me like it hurt me to be near him?

  Was this causing him pain, or did he only find pleasure in trying to humiliate me, trying to make me feel guilty about Asher?

  The dark ugliness he woke in me spread upward, searching for release. I turned my head toward his ear and whispered, “He likes it when I cry out his name.” I pressed a kiss to his jaw and curled my hand around the wrist of his hand resting on my hip. My nails dug into his skin as I undulated against his hard body. “Asher,” I groaned and felt Jamie stiffen. “Oh, Asher, yes, harder … Oh, Asher, I love you.”

  Jamie slammed his hand hard against the dryer beside my head, and I flinched. He glared balefully down at me, hatred pouring out of him.

  Yeah, pal, the feeling is mutual.

  He bared his teeth before he opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut. Pushing off the dryer and out of my space, the tension in my body deflated a little as Jamie retreated. Then he chuckled. A harsh, unhappy sound. His expression was mock impressed, his voice hoarse as he said, “Baby Doe knows how to play the game. Good.” Malice glittered in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to make this easy for me.”

  Turning on his heel, he strode out of the laundry room and called over his shoulder, “See you soon, neighbor.”

  It was a threat.

  Shuddering, indignation built inside me.

  When Jamie broke up with me in that letter, I thought I’d never get over it. If it hadn’t been for my friend Cassie’s no-nonsense approach to seeing me through my heartache—i.e. refusing to let me lie in a dark room alone for months like I wanted to—I might never have moved on.

  But I’d gotten on with my life because there was no other option.

  It occurred to me, despite how shaken I was by his presence, I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t anxious. No. I felt like fighting.

  I’d been dealt so many blows in my twenty-six years on this planet, I’d developed an undetectable armor. People didn’t realize it even existed until they tried to push me too far.

  Did Jamie really think I would just sit back and let him come at me?

  No way.

  Jamie was back in LA to make Steadman pay. And clearly, I was also a target.

  However, I wouldn’t sit on defense and wait for him to come get me.

  It was time to go on the offense.

  And I knew just where to start.

  20

  JAMIE

  Opening our apartment doors at the same time had just been nice timing.

  Candice showed up at the apartment on behalf of Dakota. I’d met Dakota’s cousin at a party a few weeks ago, and she’d made it clear she’d like to “get to know me better.” Her appearance at my new apartment with the last of the Steadman tapes pissed me off.

  I didn’t trust Candice. I didn’t want her in my business.

  It was clear, however, from what she had to say, that she didn’t have a clue what was on those tapes. I wondered why Dakota hadn’t brought me the tapes herself, but it didn’t matter.

  The tapes I’d already sent to Rita Steadman, along with my blackmail note, had done the job. The Steadmans’ divorce was all over the internet. Before I ushered Candice out of the apartment I was subletting at a ridiculous price to be close to dear Jane, the madam’s cousin had thrown herself at me.

  I’d not so politely declined.

  Then, just as I opened the door for her to leave, I saw Asher and Jane in her doorway, looking so cozy and in love, I could’ve knocked Asher into Timbuktu and it still wouldn’t have been far enough out of my sight.

  On impulse, I’d kissed Candice.

  And I’d impressively held my shit together when I shook that son of a bitch’s hand.

  Yet even so, despite all my maneuvering, Jane had gotten one up on me in that laundry room.

  “Oh, Asher, yes, harder … Oh, Asher, I love you.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, hurrying back to my apartment, heart hammering in my chest. The taste of her skin still lingered on my tongue, her scent thick in my nose.

  Note to self: corner Jane and her goddamn claws come out.

  Yet my body throbbed with need.

  You could cut someone out of your heart, but apparently, the dick wanted what the dick wanted. Curling my lip in outrage, feeling hot blood fill my cock as the image of fucking Jane in that laundry room filled my head, I made a decision.

  I’d have her again.

  I’d screw her until I’d had my fill. Fuck her out of my system.

  It was just another way to insinuate myself into her life. Because once I knew her again, knew what mattered most to her, I would rip it away.

  Taking a calming breath, I sat down on the couch, put in earphones, and turned on the recordings from the device I’d had planted in Asher Steadman’s car.

  I still hadn’t found anything incriminating and neither had my PI. This morning, Asher had driven to Jane’s, listening to the radio the whole time. Settling back on the couch, I listened to Steadman in his car now. Just the hum of the road filled the headphones. Not even a radio this time. Well, this is boring.

  A minute or so later, however, I heard the rin
ging of a phone, and then a man’s voice I didn’t recognize filled the car.

  “Asher, is there a problem?”

  “Do you have time for a quick phone session?” Asher asked.

  “Well, uh, yes, I can do that. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, though. What can I help you with today?”

  “Did you see the news, Dr. Jensen?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “My parents are getting divorced. They told me last night. My mother found out about the brothel.”

  I frowned and got up, moving over to my laptop to open the digital folder of information I had on Asher.

  “I see. You’re worried about her?”

  Clicking through the files, I found the report from the PI that stated Asher visited a building on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills every second Wednesday. Dr. Jensen was his therapist.

  “I think the divorce is good. I’m glad she knows some truth now. But someone sent her tapes of my father at that brothel. Someone’s been watching him.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Concerned about my mother’s safety. What she would go through if those tapes went public.”

  Now I was really confused. Wasn’t Asher in cahoots with Jane? I thought they were trying to bring down Steadman together.

  “I can assume you haven’t been able to share those exact worries with Jane.”

  I tensed. Dr. Jensen knew about Jane.

  “No. But I still have her support.”

  “At our last session, you said that you would tell Jane the truth. Does this mean you’re not ready to do that?”

  What truth?

  “I can’t. Not yet. She wouldn’t understand. I have to wait … until certain things come to fruition. I need her in my life and without being able to explain fully just yet, I might lose her.”

  “Remember, Asher, the longer you wait, the greater chance of you pushing Jane away when the truth comes out.”

  “I’m protecting her.”

  “Deliberately sabotaging her attempts to find evidence that may incriminate your father is protecting her?” The doc’s tone was neutral. No judgment.