by Harlow Stone
His hands pull strong and I know for a fact that if I let up and attempt to kill him by snapping his neck, he will get the upper hand.
I can’t let him beat me.
Now it’s all about avenging my family, and getting some justice for the lifeless and innocent man that lay on the floor in front of us.
I don't look at Andrew.
I look at Cory.
I squeeze my leg as tight as I can. After what feels like hours, but is most like a minute or two I feel his body start to go slack.
His limp body is slowly overtaking mine to the point that my arms holding onto the beam are now carrying our weight.
I don’t let go until long after his hands have fell to his sides, and my arms can’t bear the brunt of our combined weight any longer. I loosen my legs from their hold on his neck and haul myself upward at the same time.
I watch his body drop to the concrete and his head thwap against the hard concrete floor.
I have no idea if I killed him, but I know I need to move fast.
I use what little strength I have left and swing my legs up a few times, unsuccessfully, trying to get them around the beam so I can swing myself over.
After the third try, I’m almost ready to give up. The blood that has dripped down my legs has made the beam slippery. I give it one last go while clutching the prickly rope and manage to get one leg over.
I pull with everything I have and don't stop for one second as I allow myself to freefall ungracefully over the other side.
I wail in pain when my back comes into contact, half with the floor, and half with Cory’s body.
I don't have much time!
I reach out to push myself up and encounter longer, shaggy hair.
Cory’s hair is short, so is Andrew’s.
I turn my head to the side and study what should be Cory’s body. Only it’s not my daughter’s wonderful father. Those dark now dead eyes stare back at me. His dark longer hair falling over his face and blood running out from under his chest.
No, No, No!
Ryder!
* * *
“Elle wake up!”
My eyes shoot open and I take in the beautiful man hovering above me. His hands are pushing my shoulders into the bed and I can feel the sweat that is coating my body.
He’s alive.
I don’t care what I look like, I don't care what I smell like or how slippery my skin is from the terrible dream I had that was mostly reality, except this beautiful man took the place of the dead body on the floor.
I reach my hands out and throw myself into his body, burying my face in his neck. I kiss him under his ear and hold on for dear life since I feel like I may never see him again.
Dreams are funny like that, and in this moment I am going to hold onto him as tightly as I can while I have him.
He wraps his arms equally tight around my small frame and holds onto the back of my head. His warm voice washes over me.
“Just a dream beautiful”
He rolls us to our sides and holds me close to him. I haven’t let go of my death grip on his body and I’m not ready to yet when he loosens his hold on my head put his face close to mine.
“Tell me Elle; tell me what that was about.”
He says softly into my hair as his hands begin stroking my back. I shake my head into his chest. I don't want to talk about it; I don't want to relive it. I just want to feel him, right here, right now, and not let go.
“Tell me, I’m not going anywhere beautiful.”
I take a few deep breaths and speak just above a whisper.
“He killed you.”
I shudder and he squeezes me closer if that's possible.
“Not going anywhere babe. I’ve survived the jungle, many tours in Iraq, and numerous missions breaking up some of the world’s worst cartels in Mexico. If I can survive that shit, I can survive one man hell bent on making your life miserable. I promise you Elle, I’m not going anywhere you don’t. And I’ll make damn fucking sure that we both make it out alive on the other side.”
His declaration has relaxed my arms enough that he’s able to pull back and claim my mouth. He doesn't stop there, and neither do I.
This is one of those do or die moments.
Take the opportunity before it leaves you.
Take what's in front of you, before you never have the chance to experience it again.
So here, in the middle of the night, we take it.
Twice.
Chapter Twenty-six
I wake to the smell of coffee and warmth surrounding me. I don’t open my eyes yet, since I’m not much of a morning person regardless of whether I get up early or not.
I’m too blessed in the cocoon warming my body and the smell of coffee waiting to want to move. I’d say it’s a tossup, being as I usually like my coffee more than anything or anybody in the morning. But the feel of Ryder's arms surrounding me right now is the most humble and warming thing I have felt in longer than I can remember.
Warm lips touch the back of my neck and I feel his scruff along with it before his deep morning voice vibrates through my ears.
“You awake beautiful.”
His lips begin a pleasure filled journey down the back of my neck and across my shoulder blade.
“Ummhmmmm.” Is all I manage to get out.
His arm moves around in front of me and holds my back tight to his front. I feel the evidence of his morning arousal and can’t help but press my body into it, regardless of how tender I am from overusing a body part that hasn’t been had a good pounding in a long time.
“Babe, as much as I would love to ravish you right now, I am pretty damn certain you need a break. And if your life back in the Carolina’s was any indication, you’re going to go into shock if you don’t hit the coffee pot in the next five minutes.”
I whine in protest which earns me a chuckle.
“Tell you what, we get up, do coffee and eat. Then we’ll take our time in the shower. I have something I want to talk to you about, and I’d rather get it done sooner than later. I’ll wait until you’re caffeinated before I start though.”
My body goes stiff at his declaration and I know he notices because his lips seal back onto my neck and his arms go tighter around my body.
“Not what you think beautiful, but I have something I want to run by you about your case. I think it’s a good lead.”
I swing my head around to look at his disheveled, but beautiful morning appearance.
“A lead?”
I question. I haven’t had one of those in a long time and frankly, anything or any idea coming out of Ryder Callaghan is not something to take lightly. I know he wouldn't bring this up without being completely serious about what he found.
Does it suck that it’s the morning after? Absolutely. He gives me one last squeeze on the hip before placing a quick kiss to my lips.
“Meet you in the kitchen babe.”
Is all I get before he leaps out of bed, jeans already on, and heads out the door.
I get through my bathroom routine quickly before throwing on my robe and making my way towards the kitchen. I would love a shower after my nightmare last night, however the smell of Ryder left on me is enough to calm my nerves on the subject and wait until later.
Ryder isn’t in the kitchen, but my coffee waits for me on the counter, as do my smokes.
I find him at the picnic table with a stack of papers spread out before him.
My casework.
I noticed it was nine in the morning when I came out here, so I wonder how long he’s been at this since I smelled the coffee when he woke me up.
“How long have you been awake Ryder?”
I ask as I settle next to him at the picnic table. Upon closer inspection I notice the papers in front of him are mostly witness accounts and the description of the life and times of one Andrew Roberts.
He looks at me and settles a hand on my thigh. It seems to be a comforting gesture, not only for me, but for him.
>
“A few hours babe. I don't usually sleep late, especially if something is on my mind.”
He leans in and places a kiss to my forehead.
“Have you had enough coffee yet for me to dig into this, or do you need more before I start?”
Shit he’s kind.
How many women in this world could say the man next to them asked if they are ready to talk and if they have had enough coffee yet?
This is one of those moments I know I need to hold onto, and as much as I want to dive deep into this pile of shit I want to enjoy this moment a little bit longer.
Old me would say I am betraying the memory of my loved ones by taking more time procrastinating and not doing. But at this very moment in time I feel sane. I feel half normal and I have someone next to me that is going to hold onto the load while I get my head straight and caffeine in my veins before bombarding me with the bad.
That’s the kind of man Ryder is, and I am going to hold onto him in this moment until my first cup of coffee is finished.
I set my cup down and reach up to cradle his handsome face with both of my hands. I feel his scruff on my palms and watch his long lashes over his dark eyes before I slowly and lightly touch my mouth to his.
“Handsome, if you can wait until I finish my coffee that would be great. Because I want nothing more right now than to sit here, with you, at my picnic table and pretend for just five minutes that my life isn’t as fucked up as it is, and that the wonderful person sitting next to me is willing to give me just a little bit more time to feel normal before analyzing the bomb that is my past.”
Ryder brings his arms up around my back and pulls me into his chest. It’s a familiar position now and I revel in it. It’s warm, it’s inviting, and regardless of the fact that he has not showered yet this morning he still smells like home.
I feel his lips in my hair before he settles me back and grabs his own cup of java.
“I told you babe, all the time you need. I’ll still be here.”
With one last chaste kiss, on the mouth this time, we both settle in and finish our morning brew.
* * *
After many moments of silence and Ryder transferring his attention between his iPad and my case files I can’t take it any longer.
I’ve drunk my coffee and smoked my cigarettes and now it’s time. I know it is. I also know whatever he tells me is going to blow me out of the fucking water.
A man with the intelligence and expertise such as Ryder Callaghan does not just call a pow wow to talk about the weather. He also wouldn't call it to talk about or ask something as simple as the “why did Andrew do this” or “how did you feel about that?”
Ryder doesn't need my answers; he doesn't need to ask questions at this point in time because whatever he is about to throw at me is something he figured out all on his own, with the information that was available to him.
I know the questions will come, but much like last night on the couch, when we had our come to Jesus about why I am so messed up with those I lost, or more importantly, who it was that I lost. I know Ryder would not be so careless with a moment of questioning, case in point the way he approached me this morning.
He approached me in bed with a revelation, I felt it.
If he had personal questions we would be huddled together right now on the couch, and I would have his undivided attention. He would not be staring at papers and an iPad if it were something so personal and perhaps upsetting.
I take a deep breath a rest my hand on his arm that is currently shuffling through papers.
Now or never.
“Lay it on me, and rip the band aid off. Fast.”
He lets go of everything in front of him and stands up to straddle the bench before sitting back down again. This time, closer to me. He reaches his hands out to my hips and pulls me closer to him. Enough distance to have a conversation, but not enough that we’re breathing on each other.
Those intriguing dark eyes of his stare back into mine and his hands flex on my hips. He’s almost nervous, or maybe on an adrenaline high from whatever revelation he has come to. Either way I am intrigued and I need to know.
I place my hands on his arms and squeeze lightly, letting him know that I’m ready.
“The detectives were not wrong in their assessment, neither was the forensic team.”
I jolt backwards ready to bolt from the picnic table.
How fucking dare he!
“No Elle! You’re not wrong either babe. You. Are. Not. Wrong.”
I don't understand where he is going with this. I don't get it. My mind is already going a million miles an hour and I need to know what the hell he is talking about.
“Listen babe. Listen to me.”
His hands come up and trap the sides of my face, forcefully not painfully. Making sure my eyes are on his and he has my attention.
“There were only two sets of DNA found in the basement. One was yours; the other belonged to Andrew Roberts.”
“Want to tell me something I don't know handsome, because I’m pretty fucking sure I told you to rip the band aid off. This, right here, is not ripping it off seeing as I’ve heard this stupid fucking spiel before!”
I’m angry, I can’t stop it and he needs to get to the point.
“Monozygotic, that’s me, ripping it off. And it’s not the first time I’ve dealt with the term. Are you familiar with it, Elle?”
“No I’m not familiar with it Mr. Security specialist and former fucking Rambo! Just fucking spit it out! In English Ryder, dammit!”
I slam my hand on the picnic table.
He grabs it before I can lose my shit and do damage, nobody ever said I had patience.
His strong hands take my wrist and he jerks me to him much like he did the last time we sat here, only this time he is not angry with me. He’s not as upset. His features are hard, determined.
He hauls me further into him so that our faces are inches apart. His eyes hold promise and I steady mine on to his. Warm hands work their way up to hold onto the sides of my face as his thumbs gently caress my cheeks.
This is it.
“Monozygotic means ‘Identical’, babe. It means twins, fertilized from the same egg; therefore they share the same DNA.”
What?
No, no fucking way.
I remember the report, I remember his background.
Only child, raised by grandmother since birth when mother abandoned him. Lived a normal life, mid class. Scholarship to the University of Toronto, same as me. Lived alone for the past ten years since graduating and worked at the same office for the past eight.
Fuck.
The basement.
His mood swings, the few times I opened my eyes to a bottle of water being given to me.
But he wasn’t angry when he handed me the water? He wanted me to die but he sustained my life for a few days?
The murmured voices when Cory’s body was dumped like a sack of grain onto the floor, but I wouldn’t open my eyes.
Monozygotic.
Identical twins.
Same DNA.
It all leads to the same conclusion; it’s all coming to light.
Andrew Roberts has a brother.
And he wants me dead.
Author Notes
I hope you enjoyed reading ‘Frayed Rope’ as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please be sure to check out my Facebook page for updates and teasers regarding book two in The Ugly Roses Series CONCEALED AFFLICTION; which should be released early spring 2015.
www.facebook.com/harlow.stone.author
Email: [email protected]
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