by Hannah Ford
I call her name, but she doesn’t hear me, so I grab my stuff and rush after her.
The streets are tangled with people, the lunchtime crowd in Brooklyn giving the one in Manhattan a run for its money with everyone out and about, picking up salads and sandwiches or ducking into restaurants for a quick sit-down before they have to head back to the office.
I almost lose sight of her, but the red of Grace’s hoodie stands out against the sea of black and navy blue favored by the office crowd.
She ducks in between a bodega and a Thai restaurant, and when I catch up to her, I see that the turn-off she’s taken isn’t a street, but an ally. The ground beneath my feet is rocky and pocked with puddles. I do my best to dodge them as I spot Grace a few yards ahead, on the other side of a dumpster.
“Grace!” I call.
She stops, this time looking behind her – but when she sees me, she turns and starts to hurry faster down the alley.
“Grace!” I call again, rushing after her. “Stop!””
Why is she running? I pick up my pace, stepping into a puddle that’s deeper than it looks and soaking my foot up to my ankle.
I ignore the cold wetness and start to run.
She’s stopped at a door that’s built into the side of one of the buildings, fumbling in her pocket for a key. I’ve almost reached her when she slides it into the lock and turns the handle.
“Grace, what are you doing?” I demand, but she doesn’t answer me as she slips through the door. She tries to shut it behind her, but she’s still balancing the coffees, and she’s not as quick as she should be.
I wedge my hand in between the door and the frame by instinct, not stopping to think that if she’s determined to shut the door, she could really hurt me.
“Chloe,” she says firmly, “Go home.”
“No,” I say, jamming my foot in between the door and the jamb. “I’m not going anywhere. Let me in.”
The coffees drop from her hands and splatter onto the concrete floor behind her as we fight over the door, me trying to open it and her trying to close it.
“Jesus, Grace, stop it!” I summon my strength and use my body to wedge myself into the door at the same time that she seems to give up. I push open the door and she goes flying across the room, landing hard on her butt.
“Oh my God,” I say, rushing toward her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She sits up, looking slightly dazed as she rubs her tailbone. “Shit, Chloe, did you have to push the door that hard?”
“Yes!” Now that I know she’s okay, I’m confused and exasperated. “Grace, what are you doing here? Do you know I’ve been looking for you for, like, ever? That everyone is?”
It’s a ridiculous question. Of course she knows I’ve been looking for her. But she doesn’t reply.
“Come on,” I say, helping her up. “Let’s get out of here.”
I glance around the room we’re in – it’s small and dark, the only light coming from the slit under the door that leads to the alley and a small row of track lighting that crisscrosses the middle of the ceiling, crackling and popping with electricity.
“What the fuck?” a voice demands. “What the hell is she doing here?”
A voice I recognize.
A voice dripping with anger so strong it sends a shiver running up my spine.
I already know who it is before I turn around and see Brandon MacArthur shutting the door behind him.
Chapter 3
GAGE
My foot taps quickly against the floor of the conference room, my body filled with a nervous energy I’m not used to. My phone is next to me on the table, face up, and I glance it every few seconds, waiting for a text from Chloe.
“River would like extra advisory shares,” says River’s lawyer, some prick named McLean Arthur, whose hair plugs need a serious upgrade. But I’m barely listening.
The most important meeting of my career -- of my life, actually, since I’m this close to taking control of Genovin and running it into the ground as my ultimate revenge against River -- and all I can think about is Chloe.
Why hasn’t she texted me back?
All I’ve gotten is a single message, letting me know that the interview is done. When I asked her how it went, she went silent.
“Excuse me,” I say curtly, almost enjoying the look of annoyance that passes over McLean Arthur’s face. Who the fuck gives their child a last name as a first name, especially when their last name is already a first name? “I have to make a call.”
McLean starts to open his mouth to object, but River murmurs something to him in a soothing tone, and he shuts up.
I don’t have a lawyer here. Lawyers are bullshit in meetings like this. To look over a contract before you sign it, sure. To negotiate for you? Fuck that.
Once I’m out in the hallway, I dial Chloe’s number, but it goes to voicemail.
I call her back.
Again.
And again.
Still, no answer.
So I leave a voicemail, which I hate doing.
“Chloe. It’s me. Call me back immediately.” I jam at my phone, annoyed at her for not staying in touch like I ordered her to do, and annoyed at myself for caring so much.
Where the fuck is she?
I turn to head back to the conference room, and almost collide with Willow.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, trying to keep control of my temper.
“Was that Chloe?” Willow asks. She’s looking remarkably well for someone who was just coked up out of her mind. She of course refused to stay at a rehab – it would have been her third one, and she didn’t think it would help.
I argued with her, but she wouldn’t budge.
“No,” I say, impatiently. “No, it wasn’t Chloe.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No.” I go to push by her and back into the conference room, but she speaks again.
“So you didn’t hear what happened?”
“What?” I say, turning around and taking two huge steps back toward her. “What happened?”
“She…she had her meeting with Nicholas. Apparently he told her he would hire her, but only if she used her personal relationship with River to bring Nick into Genovin.”
My stomach turns. Of course Nicholas wanted Chloe for her connection to River – I’d told Chloe that. What I hadn’t considered was that he would be so blatant as to put it right out there.
And then something else occurs to me. This is why she isn’t getting back to me – she’s decided that the internship is more important than our relationship. And why wouldn’t she? Last night I told her straight out that I was going to ruin River and Genovin.
I let her see exactly what it is that’s inside of me.
And once she saw it, she decided she wanted nothing to do with me.
“Thank you, Willow,” I say shortly, and get ready to head back into the meeting. Get it together, I tell myself. Get your shit together and finish this.
But for the first time, I’m having second thoughts. If destroying River causes me to lose the love of my life, is it even worth it?
She doesn’t want you.
She saw inside of you, she saw what you are, and she doesn’t want you.
Move on, Stratford.
But the hurt I’m feeling is making me breathless. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before, sharp and deliberate, so strong it’s almost overwhelming. It’s like I’ve been living my life covered in plastic wrap, and now it’s been removed, and I can feel every emotion cutting through me like a knife.
The world seems to shrink away, the hallway around me becoming dark around the edges.
I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. I take a deep breath, but all I can think about is her. How nothing matters without her. How it won’t matter if I destroy River, it won’t matter if he agrees to give me Genovin, it won’t matter if I’m able to finally make him pay for what he’s done.
Nothing will matter.
&n
bsp; My life won’t matter.
And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I look up, startled.
Willow is standing there, looking at me with concern in her eyes.
“She said no.”
“What?”
“Chloe. She said no.”
“What do you mean?” Slowly, the hallway starts to come back into focus.
“Chloe said no. She said she wouldn’t do it, that she…that she didn’t want the job if it was dependent on her bringing River in.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “Yes. I talked to Nicholas’s assistant, Sarah. She was in the meeting. She said Chloe was firm about it.” Willow blinks, and I realize her eyes are shiny with tears as she answers the question I haven’t asked. “Because of you, Gage. She loves you.”
Her words shoot into my heart like an arrow exploding and leaving hope in its wake. Could it be true? That Chloe said no because of me? That she loves me even after what I told her last night?
And if that’s true, can you really be that bad? Would someone as good as Chloe give up a something like that for you if you were all bad?
“But then why isn’t she answering my calls?” I ask out loud. It doesn’t make sense – if Chloe isn’t mad at me, if she turned down Nicholas’s offer, then why would she be avoiding my calls?
“I don’t know.” Willow swallows, and I curse myself for not installing a tracker on Chloe’s phone like I wanted to. My hands tighten into fists as I begin to pace the hallway. “But I think I know where she is.”
I glance up sharply. “What?”
“I, um…that first night at the party at your apartment. I slipped a GPS tracker in her bag. I just…I um…” Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I realize she did it so that she could keep track of where Chloe was at all times, to see if Chloe was with me.
Now it makes sense why Willow showed up at the restaurant Chloe and I were at.
But I don’t have it in me to be mad at Willow right now. I can deal with her later. Right now the only thing that matters is finding Chloe.
And when Willow pulls up the tracking app on her phone and I see where Chloe is, my heart clenches.
Fuck.
I have to get to her.
Now.
Chapter 4
CHLOE
“Grace,” Brandon says, and now he’s closing the door behind him, throwing the small space into semi-darkness. “Answer me. What the hell is she doing here?”
The bulb overhead struggles to throw dim light across the room, crackling and buzzing so loud I’m afraid it’s going to burn out.
I turn to Grace and grab her arm, pulling her toward me.
But to my surprise, she shakes me off. And instead of looking at Brandon in fear, or trying to get away from him, she rolls her eyes.
“She was looking for me,” Grace says. “She didn’t want to stop until she found me.” She looks at me with an expression I can’t quite make out, an expression that’s halfway between awe and gratitude. But there’s something else there too – annoyance?
My head is spinning as my hand reaches for my bag, groping around inside for my cell phone. But Brandon reaches out and pulls the strap off my arm roughly, wrenching something in my shoulder as he does. Pain flares through me, throbbing and dull, and I can only watch as he reaches into my bag, pulls out my phone, sets it on the floor and stomps on it.
I watch as he pulls out my wallet and grabs the small amount of cash I have in there, shoving the bills into his pocket before tossing my bag into the corner, where it hits the concrete, its contents spilling out in a clatter.
“I thought you took care of her,” Brandon says to Grace.
Grace winces. “I did… I mean, I didn’t…” She trails off, bites her lip and looks away.
“Fuck, Grace, didn’t you make up a lie about where you were?”
Grace throws her hands up in frustration. “What was I supposed to tell her?”
“I don’t know.” He rakes his hands through his hair. He looks different than the pictures I’ve seen of him in the newspaper. I’d never met him in person when he was dating Cassidy. But in the pictures, he was muscular, smiling and tan. Now his skin looks sallow, his face slightly puffy, his t-shirt and jeans hanging off his frame like they don’t quite fit. “You could have told her you were staying with a friend or some shit.”
“She wouldn’t have believed that.” Grace shakes her head. “She would have come looking for me.”
“So you just made it seem like you disappeared?” Brandon looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Jesus, Grace, you need to think.” He taps a finger against the side of his head, then starts pacing back and forth now, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to work out a problem.
“What’s going on?” I say to Grace softly.
She glances at Brandon, but he’s ignoring us.
My hand grips Grace’s forearm, my fingers sliding into her flesh until she pulls away. “Grace?” I say. “Please, what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“You didn’t know what was going to happen?” Panic is rising up in my throat, leaving a sour taste in the back of my mouth.
“I didn’t know you were going to find me. I thought we’d… I thought we had more time.”
“Grace.” I struggle to keep my voice steady and strong, hoping that the serious tone will compel her to answer me. “You have to tell me what the hell is going on.”
“She loves me,” Brandon says, turning around and giving me a self-satisfied smirk. “She wants to be with me, what do you think about that?”
“What?” I look at Grace. “But how… “
“He wrote to me,” Grace says. “From prison. He remembered Cassidy talking about me when they were together, and he wrote to me.”
“And you wrote him back.” Now the panic swirling inside of me is mixing together with a sense of sickness.
“Not at first,” she says, as if that makes it any better. “But eventually, yes. He said he didn’t do it, and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to find out …for you.”
“But Grace, you knew he was writing to me too! And you knew I wasn’t writing him back.”
“I know,” she says, and now her eyes are filled with tears, and yet they look kind of glassy at the same time. “I knew you weren’t writing him back, and I understood why, but I wanted to find out if maybe he was telling the truth, if maybe he hadn’t killed Cassidy.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Brandon is saying, but he’s mumbling it softly, almost like he’s talking to himself. I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye, while also trying to keep an eye on Grace, because right now I can’t figure out which one of them I should be worried about.
“So you started writing to him,” I repeat, trying to keep her talking.
Grace nods. “Yes.” She swallows, then sucks on her bottom lip. “And then I started visiting him.”
“Grace!”
“I know,” she says. “But I… I couldn’t… I mean, I…” She glances at him. “I love him.”
“Oh, Grace.” I feel like there’s nothing else I can say. She’s obviously lost her mind. “And he’s convinced you he’s innocent?”
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently, like saying she doesn’t believe he’s innocent somehow makes what she’s done okay. “I mean, yes. Not innocent, but just… it was an accident.”
“He killed my sister by accident?”
“Yes, I fucking killed her by accident,” Brandon says, turning his attention back to us. His teeth still work as his bottom lip, and his eyes are glassy, like Grace’s. I wonder if they’re both on something, if he’s drugged Grace into believing he’s something that he’s not. “Cassidy wouldn’t listen and she was supposed to be mine, do you understand that?” He’s gone from whispering to himself to screaming right at me, little flecks of spittle flying from his mouth.
“Yes,” I say, even though I don’t. Even though I know that the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with my sister, even if it was a Dom/sub relationship, wasn’t supposed to be the kind where she blindly did whatever he wanted and then somehow ended up dead.
“But she just kept saying no no no!” he says.
I glance at Grace, but if she’s surprised by this outburst, she’s not showing it. Instead, she leans back against the wall, her eyes now focusing on some point in the distance.
I nod. Keep him calm, I tell myself. Don’t let him escalate. “That must have been very hard for you.”
“It wasn’t hard for me,” he says. “It was fucking disobedient of her.”
“Right.” I nod quickly in agreement, seizing him up. He’s bigger than me, but he also seems to be on some kind of drugs, and he’s further from the door than I am. If he starts pacing again I might be able to get a head start while he’s turned away.
I glance at the door to gage the distance, but he notices me looking and grins. His teeth, which were perfectly white and straight in the pictures the press printed of him, now look dull and mossy.
His hand slips down to his pocket and he pulls out a gun.
He points it at me.
“Brandon!” Grace says, but her voice sounds weak and half-hearted. She’s definitely on something, and whatever it is seems to be kicking in.
“She can’t leave,” Brandon says, and now he sounds excited at the possibility that he might get to do something to keep that from happening. “There’s no way we can let her leave.”
Panic seizes me like a vice, and for a moment, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. My vision starts to go dark around the edges, and my stomach tightens with nausea. I’m tempted to give into it, to pass out and leave the nightmare that is my reality.
But I push through the panic as best I can, push through the nausea and take deep breaths until the blackness starts to fade and the whole horrible scene comes back into sharp focus.
“Look,” I say, holding my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It’s fine. I don’t know what you want, but I’m not going to tell anyone that I saw you.”
