Black Tangled Heart

by Samantha Young

  Jamie gave a bark of dark laughter as he pulled open the apartment door. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  I flinched when the door slammed behind him.

  As I returned to the bedroom, tears slipping down my cheeks, I knew I should jump in the shower and wash the smell of him off me.

  Instead, I curled on the bed, on top of the duvet, and closed my eyes, remembering the overwhelming feel of him pushing inside me. The pleasure burn that soon turned to rapture. Jamie’s ocean eyes blazing with lust.

  I grieved for the love in his eyes when he looked at me.

  But it was with a dark smile of satisfaction that I finally drifted to sleep.

  If tonight had proven anything, it was that I was still under his skin, just as much as he was under mine.

  And I kind of liked being there.

  Twisted little Jane Doe.

  Guess Jamie’s heart wasn’t the only one all tangled up.

  Filming was only halfway done with Patel Smith’s musical, and he’d decided to make a big change to one of the sets. Which meant I’d barely had an hour’s sleep after Jamie left when I got the call from Sandy that I was needed in the studio. By some miracle we’d managed to pull the changes together in time for filming later that day.

  I was just breathing a sigh of relief as Patel gave the changes his approval when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Since Patel was deep in conversation with Sandy, I stepped away from the set, thinking it was probably Asher texting me. He’d already called that morning to see how I was feeling.

  The urge to tell him everything was growing stronger. I needed to be there for my friend, and I couldn’t because of the lies between us.

  To protect Jamie, I’d kept my mouth shut and stewed in my crappy friend guilt.

  The text wasn’t from Asher.

  Jane, it’s Lincoln. I had a great time meeting you last night. Would you still like to go to dinner with me?

  Work had done little to get my mind off the nightclub or the events with Jamie after it.

  The events.

  I laughed at myself.

  The screwing.

  The screwing with Jamie.

  Skin flushing, I pushed away those unhelpful images and texted Lincoln back that I would love to. We arranged to meet for dinner at an Italian place I liked downtown the following Thursday, his one of two nights off. At this rate, it would take months to infiltrate his friendship with Ethan Wright and use it to get what we needed.

  On that thought, I realized I hadn’t even asked Jamie what happened when he followed Wright after he’d left the club.

  My hands shook as I shot Jamie a text to update him about Gaines.

  He didn’t respond.

  Irritated, I tried to throw myself back into work, but my mind kept drifting to my ex and the bitter exchanges between us. We seemed at once incapable of letting go but also of forgiving each other.

  An hour later Jamie still hadn’t texted back, which bothered me more than I’d like. This was his grand plan, after all. He couldn’t leave me hanging.

  It was a surprise, then, when I got a call from security to say “Jamie Stone” was here to see me again. I told them to let him in, my heart pounding, my belly fluttering. It was a cruel fate that would make Jamie McKenna the only man who inspired such exhilaration.

  “Is it your lunch break yet?” Jamie asked without preamble as I walked out of the soundstage to meet him by his car.

  I wanted to pull my elbow back and then let my fist fly at his face. It didn’t shock me that Jamie incited that violent passion in me.

  He was seriously going to come here and just pretend like we didn’t have sex?

  “Earth to Jane,” he said. “Come in, Jane.”

  He was!

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “We have somewhere to be.” He opened the passenger side door. “Are you getting in? Or are you backing out of helping me Count of Monte Cristo the shit out of LA?”

  I would not laugh or smile or be even remotely amused.

  Fine.

  If he wanted to play it that way, I could do that.

  In fact, it was better. Pretending like it didn’t happen was for the best. “Give me five minutes.”

  I returned a few minutes later with my purse after telling Lea I was taking my lunch break off the lot. Having gone from someone who lived and breathed every minute on the set to someone constantly distracted and taking lunch breaks, Jamie might just inadvertently ruin my career. Yay for him. Something to cross off that list of his.

  Bastard.

  Well, you didn’t have to get in the car, Jane, I reminded myself.

  True. Hello, self-sabotage.

  As I got in, I tried to ignore how much the Porsche smelled like Jamie. When my gaze moved to his hands as he shifted into drive, I quickly wrenched my eyes away. All I saw were those gorgeous hands on me. I could still feel them wrapped tight around my wrists, pinning me to the bed while his hips thrust against mine.

  Flushing hot, I stared out the passenger window. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He drove across the river, past Universal City, heading south. His mysteriousness was making my irritation increase by the second. Moreover, I was hungry. I’d been promised a lunch break. As if reading my mind, Jamie drove the car off Barham Boulevard and pulled up to drive-thru at a sub place. “What do you want?” He flicked his finger at the small restaurant.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Right now, we’re grabbing some food.” He pulled up to the outside menu. “What do you want?” Annoyingly, he read it to me. Every item, in detail, as if he were being paid to do it.

  “I’ll have the veggie sub,” I cut him off, if only to make it end.

  Jamie shot me a confused look. “You a vegetarian now?”

  “No.”

  Not responding to my curtness, Jamie ordered our food and paid for it, handing over the bags to me as he drove back onto the main road and turned left, heading farther south.

  Ten minutes from the studio lot, he parked along the sidewalk across from the hospital.

  “Now will you tell me what we’re doing here?”

  He pointed down the street. “That yellow building is owned by a group of therapists who work at the hospital too. They host different therapy groups, including one called Coping with Cancer.” The building was small compared to the others on this street; only two stories and painted a vibrant, sunny yellow.

  Confused, I turned to him. “And we’re here why?”

  “You’ll see. Keep your eyes on the door.” He took his sub and drink from me and began eating. Casually. Like we were on a stakeout and this was an everyday occurrence for him.

  Even though I was pissed at the subterfuge and drama, I was also hungry, so I ate as we waited. Ten minutes later, food gone, and tension still unbearably thick between us, I was about to complain when the door to the center swung open.

  A few people stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I searched their faces for someone familiar.

  Finally, a woman with short, silver-gray hair appeared and stopped to talk with a younger man. I recognized her from Jamie’s surveillance shots. I recognized her from court. My heart sped up.

  I turned to Jamie. “Elena Marshall.”

  He was already looking at me, expression unreadable. “I checked everyone’s financial records, and there were a lot of medical bills on Elena’s. Considering how much money Foster Steadman must have paid her, that woman is up to her eyeballs in debt. Turns out she had breast cancer a few years ago. Now she volunteers and runs this support group for people suffering with cancer or who have lost a loved one to cancer.”

  Uneasiness churned in my gut as I watched Elena Marshall. She crossed the street, seeming in good health now, as she got into a small car. I was conflicted.

  This woman had helped frame Jamie for a crime he didn’t commit.

  I hated her.

  But I wondered if perhaps Karma ha
dn’t already dealt with Elena Marshall. Cancer was no joke, and neither were the medical bills that came with it.

  As if he could read my mind, Jamie spoke, his voice soft but hard at the same time. “Cancer happens to all kinds of people, Jane. It doesn’t discriminate. Good, bad, and all in between. It doesn’t exonerate her from what she did to me. She took five years of my life.”

  “Jamie …” I thought I could do this, mete out a little justice, but maybe I wasn’t built for it, after all.

  “Do you know I can’t go to the movies anymore? Something about the darkness and being trapped in a row of seats fucks me up.”

  Surprised he was telling me that, I turned to him.

  His eyes were hard, filled with bitterness. “I don’t like elevators. I can’t stand being stuck in traffic. Flights are a nightmare. I need the windows open in my bedroom at night, and, even then, after years of being unable to sleep in that cell, it still takes me forever to fall asleep. I get a couple hours a night at most.”

  Prison had made Jamie claustrophobic and an insomniac.

  Anguish filled me. “What else happened to you in there, Jamie?”

  His ocean eyes turned stormy. “Not that. But there was nothing I could do when it happened to other guys. Guys younger than me, with no one to protect them. Irwin kept me safe, but the price of that was keeping my nose clean and out of everyone else’s business. I didn’t …” Jamie wrenched his gaze away, probably because the haunted look on his face was bringing tears to my eyes. “Steadman made me realize there were evil bastards out there … but there were a few prisoners who made me realize there are people in the world who take it to the next level. They take what they want, and they don’t care who they hurt, as long as their needs are satisfied. Spending five years avoiding scum of the earth and feeling guilty for not doing anything to protect guys more vulnerable than me, it screws with your head …”

  My heart was breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me this back then?”

  His expression flattened. He scoffed. “Because I thought I was protecting you.”

  “Jamie—”

  “Elena Marshall is one reason I lost five years of my life. That I now have a criminal record. If I didn’t have my writing, I’d be struggling below minimum wage, doing shitty jobs under shitty employers willing to look the other way regarding my record so they could justify their shittiness.” His tone was cold again, controlled. “I need you to attend the support group and connect with Elena. You’ll find out personal details of her life, and we’ll use that information to hit her where it hurts.”

  Hearing just a generalized summary of what Jamie had gone through, what he’d seen, I knew the details were probably much worse. My anger for him chipped away at my uncertainty. But using a cancer support group made my stomach lurch. “Jamie, you cannot think that it’s okay to use people going through what they’re going through to get to Elena. I know you can’t.”

  “Of course, I don’t,” he spat. “But I’m willing to do what it takes to get this done. I’m willing to bear the burden of my actions. Are you? Are you in or are you out, Jane?”

  “Spending five years avoiding scum of the earth and feeling guilty for not doing anything to protect guys more vulnerable than me, it screws with your head …”

  Suddenly, I was nineteen again and looking at Jamie through Plexiglas.

  “I need to know you’re okay.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “You know I do. You’re my everything.”

  “Then I’m okay. He thought he took everything from me … but he didn’t take you, and you’re all that fucking matters. So I’m okay. It’ll get easier, Doe.”

  He had lied. To protect me.

  I nodded, despite the nausea in my gut. “I’m in.”

  The tension drained out of Jamie, and he turned the ignition. Strained silence settled between us as he drove back toward the studio. Jake, the security guard, waved us through. Jamie parked near the soundstage door.

  I unclipped my seat belt.

  “If you tell me why you and Asher Steadman have been pretending to be in a relationship, maybe I can try to trust you again.”

  Disbelief stopped my departure. It really felt like Jamie had rewritten our history. He acted like I was the one who had broken up with him. “It’s not my secret to tell. And I’m not the one in this relationship that broke us. I don’t need to win back your trust. It’s the other way around, Jamie.”

  His eyebrows hit his hairline and he let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “I broke your trust? You want me to trust you when you’re protecting Asher Steadman over me?”

  I shook my head at the childish dig. “It’s not like that. I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to, but because it’s not my right to tell you.”

  Jamie considered this. “Are you his beard? Is he gay?”

  “No,” I answered honestly.

  “Then what is it?”

  “Jamie—”

  “You think you can trust this guy more than you can trust me?”

  Was he serious? “You haven’t given me any reason to trust you. You have me on your Monte Cristo hit list. Asher has been like family to me these past three years.”

  He sneered. “Asher Steadman is screwing with you, Jane. He told you he was helping you, right? That he would find something on his father that would help bring him down?”

  “How did you know that?” How had he known I was going after Steadman in the first place?

  “Am I right?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Jamie leaned toward me, his voice lowered to a deep growl. “You put all your trust in that bastard, but he’s never been helping you. He’s been deliberately sabotaging your attempts.”

  Nausea rose inside me at the accusation, and I could feel the color draining from my face. No. No way. Jamie was just saying that to mess with my head. Asher was my friend. He was the one person in my life I could count on.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Fine. If you’re so sure, why don’t you ask him.”

  Needing to get away from him, I threw open the passenger door and practically jumped out, slamming it shut as hard as I could. I didn’t waste another glance on Jamie as I hurried into the hangar.

  I loved Asher.

  He would never hurt me like Jamie had hurt me.

  JAMIE

  Watching Jane disappear into the studio, my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

  That morning, I’d woken up thinking about her. She was the first thing that popped into my head. I could even smell her on me.

  Probably because I hadn’t showered, not wanting to wash her away just yet.

  Jane was messing everything up.

  My focus was shot to pieces.

  It was like we were kids again, and all I could think about was her. From the moment I realized I wanted her, that’s how it had been between us. She was a constant thought in the back of my head, my every decision orbiting around her. And when she was in the room, I was aware of her every move.

  I wanted to hate her.

  Needed to.

  Yet, I couldn’t stop remembering that moment of peace as I melted inside her.

  Everything had been quiet and pain-free—perfect—for the first time in seven years.

  Skye warned me that needing someone the way I needed Jane would only cause sorrow in the end.

  She was right.

  Because I wanted that feeling of peace back. I wanted another taste.

  And I was afraid I might do anything for it.

  Something stupid. Something that would ruin everything.

  Something like forgiving her.

  26

  JANE

  Headlights flared, passing me on the 101 as I drove to Asher’s Malibu beach house. Work had kept me at the studio late, so the highway wasn’t clogged with traffic, but it was still busy.

  I wondered where the strangers who passed me were going, and if they were just as afraid of their
destination as I was. I hoped not. My palms were sweaty around the steering wheel and I couldn’t get my heart to slow. I didn’t want to believe Jamie was right. It was easier to think he was just trying to wound me again than to imagine that Asher had been playing me the whole time.

  If one more person I loved screwed me over, I didn’t know how I’d handle it.

  Would I break?

  My grip tightened on the wheel.

  Or would I go numb?

  Neither possibility sounded appealing.

  Pulling up to the gates, I hit the clicker Asher had given me. The gates swung slowly open; I drove in as a tall figure stepped out of the open front door. The house was built in the 1950s and was of typical mid-century architecture. It sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean and had a private path that led down onto the beach.

  Getting out of my car, my knees shook a little as I walked toward my best friend. His brow furrowed, most likely because I hadn’t texted him to let him know I was on my way.

  “Hey, baby.” His tone was cautious, as though he could read my reason for being there in my body language.

  “Have you been sabotaging my efforts to find incriminating evidence on Foster?”

  Asher’s eyes widened slightly.

  Then I saw something in them that made me want to throw up.

  Fear.

  Guilt.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, tears thick in my throat.

  No, please, no.

  “Jane, come in so I can explain.” I felt him take my arm and then I was stumbling into the house.

  The open-plan living space, the sunken living room that led into the kitchen, and the long bank of bifold doors that opened to a deck overlooking the ocean, suddenly didn’t feel like the safe place it had felt for me these past few years.

  I’d loved spending time at Asher’s. He’d even given me my own room.

  Wrenching my elbow out of his grip, I spun on him. “Tell me everything.”

  “Will you sit down?” Asher gestured to the sofa. “Please.”