Epoch (The Transcend Duet Book 2)

by Jewel E. Ann

  You could fry an egg on my face. I’m so flushed with embarrassment. I don’t like being the center of attention, and Griffin just said I spook easily, which is not true. Well, not entirely true. He introduced me as Samantha when I was only trying on that name for a day.

  However, the most cringe-worthy part of this situation is he has me positioned so I’m hiding his wet shirt, but my shirt is wet and my nipples are hard because whatever he had in his cup was cold.

  Griffin releases me and I curl my shoulders inward to hide my nipple issue. “I gotta go.” I start to brush past him.

  He grabs my hand and yanks me to the left, straight into his bedroom.

  “I need to change my shirt!”

  He shuts the door and brings a finger to his lips. I pull the wet material away from my chest.

  “You can’t leave until you tell me why you came to my apartment.” He shrugs off his wet shirt.

  I stare. And stare. And … stare.

  “You’ve seen it all before.” He yanks a clean tee off a hanger.

  I shrug. “Never gets old.”

  He grins. “Why did you come by? Besides you finally opened the envelope and found my address.”

  My goofy smile comes out.

  “But I still haven’t seen the check clear the bank.”

  “Samantha Samuels. Really?”

  “That’s what it said on the back of the receipt.”

  “I can’t even cash it.”

  “Why did you come by?” He steps in front of me and grabs the hem of my shirt.

  I squeeze my arms to my body. “Um … what are you doing?”

  “You can slip on a clean shirt of mine.”

  I stare at him unblinkingly with a death grip on my shirt.

  “I’ve seen it all before. Arms up.”

  As I relax my grip, he peels the shirt over my head. His gaze goes to my birthmark, something else he’s seen a hundred times before. I’ve never seen him focus on it like this except for the very first time he saw it.

  “Why did you come by?” he whispers, keeping a focused eye on my birthmark, like he’s mesmerized by it. I’ve never felt self-conscious about it … until now.

  “I … uh … wanted to talk to you.” I cross my arms over my stomach to hide the birthmark.

  He kneels in front of me. “About?”

  What is he doing? His eyes never leave my stomach.

  “Doug.”

  Whisky eyes flick up to meet my gaze for two seconds. He nods and returns his attention to my stomach.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he pulls my arms away.

  “Shh …” He presses his lips to the bottom of my birthmark.

  Tears burn my eyes. I don’t know why. His touch is so incredibly tender, reverent, and haunting. Ever so slowly, he moves his lips up a tiny fraction, like he’s trying to … I don’t know.

  “He killed Daisy,” he whispers over my skin. “But he cut her first … from here…” he presses his lips to the very bottom again and ghosts them to the top, just on the underside of my breast “…to here.”

  No …

  “Not now …” I beg, fighting this miserable reality—this haunting revelation.

  “Now,” he says.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Griffin

  “I said I would protect you. I promised to keep you safe. You were my world, even if I wasn’t yours.”

  Her body shakes with emotion as I wrap my arms around her waist, resting my cheek on her birthmark.

  “I woke up early that morning before the sun. And I watched you sleep. All I wanted was to scoop you up in my arms and take you with me. I wanted to chase darkness where we could hide beneath the shadows of a million sunsets. If you could transcend time, why couldn’t we stop it? Why couldn’t our love be immortal?”

  “Griff …” she weeps.

  I don’t want to hurt her. I want to love her. But I took another life and mine will never be the same. For us to love, for us to live, this has to be our burden to bear. I take it to my grave. She takes it to hers. And we both leave it behind in this life. We leave no stones unturned between us.

  We have to be all or nothing.

  “Jett used to be in the Special Forces. He has certain skills and knowledge he shared with me. I didn’t have a single weapon. I didn’t need one. Nothing to hide. Less accountability. I knocked on Doug’s door while blocking the peephole with my other gloved hand. He was fearless, like all idiots are, and he opened the door.”

  “What the fu—”

  I pushed him inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.

  “Get the fuck out of here before I call the police.”

  “Morgan Daisy Gallagher.”

  He narrowed his eyes, taking backwards steps until his legs hit the sofa.

  “Did you kill her?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  My lips twisted to the side. “I’m on a tight schedule today. Just indulge me. It will be less painful if you do.”

  “Think you’re going to beat me up again?”

  “God no.” I shook my head, taking a step closer. “You’re going to hang yourself.”

  He released a nervous laugh. “Fuck you.”

  “The only question is … why? Hmm … do you suppose it’s the scar on your face that makes you look creepy as fuck? Is it possible that one day you woke up and couldn’t stand to look at yourself in the mirror any longer? Maybe out of sheer anger and self-destructive insanity you cut open that scar. A cleansing of your past, your sins. And then you hung yourself.”

  I stepped closer.

  He fell back into the sofa.

  “What do you want? Is this about my accident prone neighbor?”

  I shook my head. “I want to know about Morgan Daisy Gallagher. I want to know about that scar on your face.”

  “It’s none of your fucking business.”

  “Just how much of a sick fuck are you?” I moved toward his kitchen. “Are we talking body parts in your freezer?”

  He jumped up from the sofa and came at me. I slammed him into the wall. Not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to restrain him and maneuver him where I wanted him, where my hold on him controlled all oxygen to his brain.

  “The scar?” I increased the pressure, using my arms where they wouldn’t leave a mark. “One … two … three …”

  He flailed. I let up just enough to give him a quick breath.

  “The scar? One … two … three …” I let up.

  We did this several times until he talked.

  “She cut me …” He coughed. “So I cut her.”

  “Where?”

  He coughed. I applied pressure again. “One … two … three …”

  More coughing when I let up. His hand went from clutching my immovable arm to drawing an invisible line on his chest. “I cut her with the same piece of metal she used to cut me—”

  “WHERE?” My patience waned.

  “H-here.” His finger pressed to his ribs and straight up.

  The birthmark. He fucking drew the exact path of the birthmark. My jaw clenched. “How many?”

  More coughing. More pressure until he clawed at my arm again.

  “How many girls? How many? Last chance before I cut. Your. Fucking. Face. Open.”

  “I-I … don’t know.”

  I closed my eyes. “I don’t know” meant there were many. Too many to count. I didn’t open my eyes again. My arms applied more pressure. I counted.

  He flailed.

  I needed him unconscious, not dead.

  When his body relaxed at ten seconds. I let go, eased him to the floor and retrieved the paracord from inside my jacket. I made slip knots at both ends of the cord—one for his head, one for the doorknob—and hoisted him up to hang him. I set a stool nearby. And I left.

  No knife.

  No gun.

  No sign of injuries or a struggle.

  Then I drove west. Leaving my whole fucking world in Madi
son. But …

  I kiss her birthmark again. And again. And again. “You were safe.”

  “Griff …” My name rips from her chest.

  “I believed you … ninety-nine percent. But before I took a man’s life, I had to know with complete certainty.”

  I hold her while she grieves. I can’t entirely imagine what it must be like to hear details of your own death. So … I just hold her.

  After long minutes, her labored breaths and jerky sobs fade to a silent stillness. She cups my face, forcing me to look up at her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I let her go.”

  I nod and turn my head to kiss the inside of her wrist.

  “I let him go.”

  “I know,” I say with my lips relishing the feel of her soft skin.

  If she didn’t let Daisy and Nate go, she wouldn’t be here.

  “But my heart … it never let you go.”

  My gaze finds hers, holding it while I stand. “I know.”

  She smiles. “All.”

  I squint.

  “You said we’re all or nothing.”

  I grin. “All.” Then I grab her a clean shirt and slip it over her head.

  “It’s a little big.” She pinches the front of it and brings it to her nose. “But it smells like Griffin.”

  I chuckle. “It’s a clean shirt.”

  She shrugs.

  I take her hand. “Come on, Samantha. Let’s grab some food.”

  She pulls in the opposite direction. I stop.

  Her expression falls serious again. “You took a life.”

  I took a life.

  And while I need her to share some of the burden, I will never tell her that every day for the rest of my life I will think about how it felt to be judge, jury, and executioner. I will never tell her that no matter how much he deserved to die, it’s impossible to kill someone without letting go of a piece of your own soul.

  “I saved a life. Many lives.”

  I’ll tell myself that every day too. I have to think that. I have to believe it.

  “How many? How many do you think he killed?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Why?” she whispers.

  I don’t answer. I know her question is rhetorical. Sane people can’t explain what exactly makes a serial killer.

  “He always had these women coming and going from his apartment. I assumed they had to be hookers.”

  “Could have been. People like him don’t kill everyone they associate with. Think of the fucked-up serial killers who have had wives and children.”

  “So who does he choose? Why Daisy? Why Erica?”

  I shake my head. “I really don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. He was clearly upset with Daisy for cutting his face. Did he kidnap her? How long was she missing before they found her body? Did her slashing his face thwart other plans he had for her? He was a sick fuck.”

  “Other plans?”

  “Let’s just drop it. It doesn’t matter.”

  She pulls her hand out of mine, hugging herself. “You think he did stuff to her or was planning on it?”

  I rub the back of my neck. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t deserve our thoughts.”

  “How can you say it doesn’t matter? How can you believe that I was her, yet say it doesn’t matter if that sick bastard did unthinkable things to her—to me.”

  I hold my tongue for a few seconds. She’s here. Alone. She walked away from Nate and that life. She walked away from the past. But she’s right. It will always be with her, just beneath the surface.

  Just like I will always think of Doug’s lifeless body hanging from a noose. And she will always think of dying tragically.

  “He’s dead. You can’t change what happened. So it doesn’t matter.” I grab her face and lean down until my nose brushes hers, until we share the same breath. “We will bear each other’s burdens forever. But for us to have everything, the burdens have to live in silence. We can never give them a voice.” I close my eyes. “And I want everything with you.”

  She drifts forward to kiss me. I pull back, releasing her.

  “Let’s live in the now. And right now I want food.” I take her hand again and lead her to the door.

  “It’s Swayze.”

  I open the door and shoot her a confused look.

  “Not Samantha.”

  I grin. “Are you sure?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yes. And so is my bank. You owe me grocery money.”

  “I’ll work it off later.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Swayze

  After the race ends, I manage to get shoved into the hallway with the rest of the departing crowd. Lifting on to my tiptoes, I try to see Griffin. He’s right inside the doorway, chatting it up with some of his friends.

  On a defeated sigh, I head to the stairs and back down to my apartment. It’s almost ten. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted.

  After I get my face washed and teeth brushed, I lift my shirt and stare at my refection in the mirror. He cut me with the jagged piece of metal I used to cut him. I shake my head.

  “Unbelievable,” I whisper.

  Investigators probably dismissed it as a cut from the dock or the boat in my struggle. I don’t know. But all this time I’ve worn my past on my chest.

  I crawl into bed. The second I get the light shut off, there’s a knock at my door.

  “Really?” I throw back the covers and turn on the light.

  No surprise, or maybe the best surprise of my life, Griffin’s on the opposite side of the peephole. I open the door.

  He inspects my nightshirt which happens to be his shirt. “Nice shirt.”

  “I think so.”

  He steps toward me. I step back. The door shuts behind him. He locks it.

  I raise a single eyebrow. “Are you staying?”

  Griffin exchanged his jeans and boots for exercise shorts and untied running shoes, no socks. “Do you want me to stay?” He takes another step toward me.

  This time I don’t step back. “Wanna crawl under the sheets with me and hide out for the night?” I shrug. “Not because we have to … just because we want to?”

  He ditches his shirt. I ditch mine. He slips off his shoes and gazes upon me expectantly. My eyes rove along his chest, jerking to meet his gaze again when he clears his throat.

  “Panties. Off.”

  “You’re still wearing two things. I only have one.”

  “Do I really still have two items of clothing on?”

  Of course … he’s not wearing briefs under those shorts.

  I rub my lips together. He still hasn’t kissed my lips. It’s been seven months. I’m dying. It’s a brutal replay of when we first started dating.

  “You’re toying with me.”

  Trapping his lower lip between his teeth, he inspects me for a few long seconds. “Am I?”

  “The way you toyed with me on our third date.”

  “Ah … our third date.” He smirks. “It was a really good one as I recall.”

  I nod, hating the rush of insecurities. How many dates did he have with Ginny? Three? More than three?

  It’s none of my business.

  Will he compare me to her now? Was she better in bed?

  It’s none of my business.

  I hate when shit’s not my business, but I need to know.

  “All,” he says.

  My mind rebounds back to the present.

  He steps toward me. I back up. We do this dance until the back of my legs hit the bed.

  “I said we have to be all or nothing. There’s not a middle for us. To be all …” He curls my hair behind my ear.

  I shiver.

  “Or everything … That means I accept your past and you accept mine. And that past includes the months we’ve been apart.”

  How does he read my mind?

  “I left. You stayed. And life went on for both of us.”

  I know what he’s implying. He thought we were over.
So did I. But it still stings.

  “I didn’t have sex with Nate.”

  Tension settles along his forehead. “You don’t have to tell me that.” His fingers ghost up my arm.

  “I need you to know.”

  “I already knew.”

  “You …” My jaw unhinges and I scoff in disbelief as I sit on the end of the bed, grabbing a blanket to hold over my bared chest. “How could you know? Were you in touch with Nate behind my back? Is this what he meant when he said you told him to keep an eye on me? Is this how he knew you were the one who killed Doug?”

  Griffin pushes a heavy breath out of his nose. “Before I left town, I paid him a visit. Yes, I told him to keep an eye on you. I told him to take care of you. And then I told him you were safe.”

  “You told him you killed Doug. Because he knew. That’s how I knew.”

  Griffin nods.

  “What did he say? You told him you killed a man. He could have turned you in. You could have been arrested for murder.”

  Griffin shakes his head. “I knew he wouldn’t. We both wanted the same thing—you safe.”

  “Nothing? He said nothing? Asked no questions?”

  “He said ‘thank you.’ And before I walked out the door, he asked me why I was leaving you.”

  God, my heart hurts hearing this. “What did you say?” I whisper.

  The pads of his fingers brush the angle of my jaw. “I said you weren’t mine. And the pain on his face told me you weren’t his either.”

  You’re not mine to kiss.

  My head bows in shame. Such a painful irony. I’ve been loved by two men, neither feeling they were the worthy one, when the truth is I’m the one not worthy of this kind of love from them.

  In another life, I let Nate go when I should have fought for us. I went to the abandoned property when he told me not to go. Why? I don’t know. I may never know why. But for over two decades, he’s lived with the guilt.

  “I needed to know … everything. How Daisy died. How she felt. Why she went to the property alone. The unknown consumed me like a cancer. Just this …” I grimace. “This unnerving need. A drug. An addiction stronger than anything.”

  “What changed?”

  My gaze inches up to meet his. “You.”

  His face wrinkles with confusion.

  “Doug was the driving force. But when I found out he was dead and I couldn’t call you or text you, I felt so fucking empty. I felt dead.” I shake my head slowly. “I no longer cared. The addiction was gone. The fear was gone. You were gone. So I just … stopped.