by Robinson, M.
In ways his brother never had been.
Never could have been.
His brother had my heart, we were best friends, he made me laugh, he made me feel safe.
Romeo made me feel unhinged, crazy like I was seconds away from strangling him then kissing him. He was dangerous, not a sure thing, and yet knowing what I now know…
He was surer than the sun rising every day.
More than the moon in the sky every night.
More constant than breathing.
Romeo, for all of his faults, thought of others before himself; he was fiercely loyal, sacrificial almost to a fault.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat, stepping into the penthouse hallway, and walked toward his solid black door.
I shoved the key in and turned.
The memories were like ghosts, lurking, haunting with each step into the darkness. They washed over me like a holy baptism that had me frozen in place.
This man.
This place.
I sucked in a shaky breath and squeezed my eyes shut. How had we ended up like this? And how the hell did we even begin to fix it?
No time to open up Pandora’s Box, I finally found the strength to move through the apartment and start my search, and I knew just where to start.
His office.
My white Adidas tennis sneakers squeaked against the black marble floor that was so clean a person could eat off it. I guess one got good at cleaning when blood was a daily thing.
Stupidly, that thought had my lips twitching at the times he’d come home covered in blood, not lipstick, like he wanted to prove to me that he was on a different path, one of revenge and retribution.
Not of seduction.
Sex.
Fucking.
His office door was open. I walked in and flicked on the light.
Had I not known him, I’d think the office belonged to some old man with a whiskey fetish. I walked by the crystal decanters that were filled with the brown liquor that used to make me want to vomit. For some reason, in this office, in this scenario, I smiled.
Maybe because they were full.
My fingers trailed the simple wood until I reached the stained black table.
It was massive but clean.
His desktop computer was asleep; his chair had clearly not been sat in for a while.
The blinds were closed.
The room was somewhat dark, making this entire moment seem that much more unnerving.
I moved to sit in his chair and did a small spin, stopping myself with my shoe as something caught my eye.
A USB drive was shoved into his computer.
Narrowing my eyes, I grabbed the mouse and woke up the screen.
Password protected, of course.
On a whim, I typed in my name, thinking it a bit vain and stupid, and nearly fell out of the chair when the computer roared to life.
The desktop showed file after file of things I probably shouldn’t be looking at.
But the USB?
It was labeled: Finished contracts.
Curious, I double-clicked several names, and aliases started appearing on the screen, pictures, names, ages, families they were a part of, and most importantly, the cost of the contract.
When it was finally done loading, I clicked on the last month.
Hands shaking, I slowly read through the contracts and landed on Tristian Sinacore.
Dead.
Knife.
Contract: Closed.
Amount: Undisclosed.
Before I could investigate it further, a shadow fell over the desk.
“The hell are you doing, Red?” Romeo roared in a deadly voice. “Because to me, it looks like you broke into my computer. You don’t trust me? Why dig around for what’s already been solved?”
Slowly, I lifted my chin. “You took any evidence of his death away. Why wouldn’t I be curious?”
He snapped, “Do yourself a favor, Eden. Stay out of the fucking family business before you get yourself hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” I gasped.
Eyes cold, he just shook his head, answering, “It could be, to the right people, but never to me.” He moved, and I flinched away.
With a frown, he continued raising his hand until he lifted my chin and then tilted my head to the side.
Below my ear was the only bruise I still held, the only one I knew he hadn’t seen after washing off my makeup that night.
I’d done a good job with waterproof foundation. I’d done an even better job keeping my hair down. “What the fuck is this?” he hissed.
“As you said…” I jerked away from him and stood, hovering over his desk, my hands pressed into the wood, “Mind your own business before you get hurt.”
“You flinched,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you.”
I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. “And yet, it seems to be the only thing you’re good at, hurting me, hurting yourself. Maybe one day you’ll decide what you want, but I doubt it.” I slammed the keys onto the desk, hating his hurt expression after I shoved past him, leaving him alone in that empty office, that empty penthouse with his dark thoughts.
With his truth.
He’d just awakened the one person he could never say no to.
Me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Being a villain is great. Even though I’ve only gotten to do it a few times.” —Shawn Ashmore
Eden
Then: One year later
The last year was a rollercoaster of emotions, to say the least. Twelve months had come and gone since the evening Tristian held a gun over my heart, and since then, he’d changed again. Although his moods shifted rather quickly. He at least tried to resemble the man I once knew.
We both did.
For Naz.
For us.
For our family to stay together.
I started having intense flashes and sparks of emotion when it came to certain things. It mostly happened when I was around Tristian. The sentiments he sparked within me were familiar yet foreign.
But I swear it was so much more than that.
I began having dreams about him in ways I never had. Horrible dreams where I woke up panting and breathless. He never noticed, or if he did, he pretended like he didn’t. I’d stumble out of bed, walking around the house in a daze, unable to find sleep again.
The dreams were different every night. Sometimes, I relived that evening we didn’t talk about. Except, it would end with Tristian actually pulling the trigger into my heart. What was scarier was that I felt the bullet pierce through my chest.
It felt real.
Every. Time.
Night after night, I dreamed about the same thing, only different. The dream that terrified me the most was Naz walking in a few minutes prior to when he did, seeing his father aiming a gun at his mother. When Tristian saw him barreling into the living room, it didn’t stop him from pulling the trigger. Naz watched me die. I bolted straight up on our bed, sweat dripping off every inch of my skin.
That nightmare wasn’t the worst one I’d had. The dream that didn’t allow me to find sleep for days was the one where Tristian aimed the gun at our son instead. My mind wouldn’t go any further. I’d wake up before Tristian even had the chance to pull the trigger on our boy, and then I’d go puke my guts out in fear that I was seeing a future I couldn’t prevent. A future where me and my only reason for living were in danger.
Each nightmare felt more real than the last, making it hard to decipher what was my reality or just an illusion in my own head. It was all-consuming, almost unbearable some nights. To wake up in pure panic and sweat, sitting up in my bed, panting.
Hyperventilating.
Feeling as if I was dying inside.
Remembering what my soul wanted me to forget. There were times I’d lie back in bed and hug my pillow, pressing it tight against my body, immediately feeling comfort like I was embracing an actual person.
Which didn’t make any sense when my
husband was soundly sleeping beside me. Other times it felt like I was going crazy, my mind battling within itself. It was becoming nearly impossible to avoid the nightmares. Nothing worked.
Not warm milk.
Not exhausting my mind and body until I couldn’t stand anymore, and I’d pass out instantly once my head hit the pillow.
I’d still find myself in that same spot in the living room with Tristian pointing his Glock at me. It was overpowering to experience, not knowing if it was real or imaginary.
I was extremely grateful that one thing had returned to normal, though. Tristian didn’t drink at home or in my presence. I welcomed him back with open arms, trying for the life of me to make us work.
The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to just go and be with him. Wanting to feel safe, secure, wanted. Needing to feel some sort of light in this darkness we had created. At least when he was with me. When we were together, I thought about the old Tristian, seeing glimpses of him. Often wondering if he was truly there or if I was imagining that too. I hated that I second-guessed myself, wondering if he’d always been like this, but I hadn’t seen it, or worse, thinking that I was the one that caused him to change.
I worked so hard to keep Romeo out of my mind. Other than that evening last year, it was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth. I debated on texting him more often than not, just to know that he was all right. Also, resisting the urge several times to ask his mother if she’d heard from him, afraid of the response I’d get. Was he with someone? And why did it feel like a knife was getting shoved into my chest whenever I thought about it? There were times when I would catch myself thinking about Romeo, hoping he was safe. Praying he was alive.
And not in some woman’s arms.
It was a selfish thought; he deserved to be happy. I couldn’t help it like I couldn’t control my nightmares of Tristian. They were there.
I was stuck.
Frozen.
Standing in the living room, a huge part of me never left.
Pieces of me were scattered around our home.
Tristian’s office.
The living room.
Even our bedroom.
Our bed.
We hadn’t made love in I didn’t know how long. We hadn’t had sex, and he hadn’t pushed me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. He was being patient with me, and I thought that was the old Tristian rearing his head, but he’d changed so much I was afraid to hope for that, afraid to believe that the old Tristian was back.
There I was, waiting for him to come home. Wearing a pretty yellow sundress, his favorite color, and style on me. It was our anniversary.
Our fifth anniversary.
What milestone had we reached?
Silver? Or was it gold?
I had to do something to get me out of this heavy place.
I left Naz with my parents, wanting to have the evening alone with Tristian. It was way past dark by the time he opened the front door, and I was waiting in the same haunted living room for him. Desperately trying to knock away the memories in this room like I’d done the past year alone.
“Hey,” I announced, causing him to lift his gaze and lock eyes with me.
I could tell he was a little taken back by the way I was dressed, and I silently hoped he couldn’t smell the bottle of wine I’d downed and hid to be able to go through with this.
Narrowing his eyes at me, he searched my face, for what I didn’t know.
“You’re late,” I declared, not knowing what else to say.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt that he’d shown up this late into the night.
Did he remember?
Did he forget?
I couldn’t tell anymore.
Why should being married for five years feel like talking to a stranger?
He just nodded while walking toward me. In five long strides, he was standing right in front of me. Reaching up to sweep my hair away from my face, never letting his eyes waver from mine. It was only then that I smelled women’s perfume.
Simultaneously, he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a distinctive teardrop-shaped blue bottle. “Do you think I’m like my brother now? For you,” he stated, reading my mind and where it went. Handing me the fragrance I must have smelled. “Happy anniversary, Eden Sinacore.”
I breathed a sigh a relief, not hesitating for one second, fully aware if I did. I wouldn’t go through with this.
Leaning in, I kissed his lips. Softly at first, wanting, needing to take away the memory of that night when he’d held a gun over my heart.
We were standing in the same spot, and the irony wasn’t lost on me. Deep in the core of my being, I knew it wouldn’t matter.
That night would forever haunt me.
And possibly him.
I felt as though it was the least I could do was to try.
Allowing my touch to speak for itself.
In a matter of seconds, my kiss turned into something else entirely. Something we both wanted but had yet to make happen.
“Eden,” he rasped against my mouth. “What are you doing?” Feeling the urgency of my lips claiming his for the first time in, I didn’t know how long.
“Happy anniversary,” I simply stated in between kisses. Not wanting to stop the emotional havoc I was inflicting. “My gift to you… is me.”
“Eden…” he groaned in a husky tone.
“Take me to bed,” I demanded before I lost the nerve.
I didn’t have to tell him twice. He scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me into our bedroom, where he laid me down on the bed, hovering his huge frame over mine.
Looking deep into my eyes, he breathed out, “I’ve missed you. Please tell me you know that?”
A sharp pain stabbed my chest where my heart used to be, the space he had once shared with his brother and then owned, only to forget again. “I think I do.”
He winced.
“It’s been a hard year. A rough few years.”
“I know, Eden.” Laying his forehead on top of mine, he asked, “Where did we go wrong?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“I truly am sorry about that night.” He shook his head while I held onto the sides of his face.
“I don’t want to talk about that. Just make love to me.”
I let him go to sit up enough to take my dress off, throwing it onto the floor. Leaving me topless and exposed, wearing only my panties.
He’d seen me naked before, but right now, it felt like the first time all over again. I was so anxious lying there, waiting for him to do what he pleased with me. My heart sped up to an insanely rapid pace, threatening to erupt from my chest. Maybe it was the lost expression on his face or the fact that I was in his arms; it also could have been from knowing he was going to touch me, feel me, see me for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
“I’ve always loved you, Eden,” he praised in a sincere tone, now standing above me at the edge of the bed. Pulling his shirt over his head, he revealed his hard, toned, muscular body.
His eyes shifted, taking in every last inch of my body. Getting a good look at me. Really studying me. “Spread your legs for me, honey.”
I timidly obeyed, willing my already shaking legs to move.
To open.
For him.
Anxiously waiting for what I knew was to come. He released a loud growl that escaped from the back of his throat, adding fuel to the flames already burning inside me.
Dragging us both with me.
Grabbing onto my thighs, he pulled me to the edge of the mattress. With one hand, he grabbed the back of my neck, keeping me close to his body. Exactly where he wanted me to be. I moaned when his lips crashed into mine, bucking my hips off the bed, arching my back. Silently requesting him to keep going. He smiled against my mouth, pleased by my subtle request.
Willing to give me what he wanted, what I craved, what I had been waiting for. Kissing me long and
hard. My hands shook when I moved hastily to his belt, undoing it as fast as I could. Shifting my hands to unbutton his slacks next. Using my feet to help him slide them down, along with his boxers.
He caged me in with his arms around my face, gripping the back of my neck again, not wanting to lose our connection.
“I’ll always love you, Eden. No matter what, I’ll always love you.”
I closed my eyes, my mind and heart battling against each other. His hold tightened on my neck as he angled his dick into my opening with his other hand. Gently, he began to thrust inside of me, resting his forehead on mine, causing our mouths to part in sync from the feeling of becoming one.
He stopped when he was fully inside of me. My arms went around his neck as he slowly started to thrust in and out.
“Fuck… you feel good,” he groaned, thrusting harder. “Mine. You’re mine… do you understand me?”
I grimaced, but he didn’t see it, too caught up in the moment, in us. Everything he was saying was like hell on earth.
I had asked him to make love.
Not claim what was already his.
Tears welled.
My throat ached.
I would always and forever be merely a possession to him, and it felt like he was pointing the gun at me all over again.
You can do this, Eden. He’s your husband. You’re a family. Naz deserves a family.
I repeated it again and again in my head. Hoping, praying, begging it to be true.
That it would feel right.
Nothing about this felt that way.
Tristian grabbed my leg, angling it higher. He was much deeper this way, making me clench and tighten around his shaft, which earned me another loud, ravenous growl in return. He never once let up his hold, continuing to move at a hard and fast pace that had me weakening beneath him. Feeling every last inch of him moving in and out of me. His hitting my G-spot perfectly had me panting, moaning, screaming…
All at once.
I tried to push through the unease my mind was conjuring up. Struggling to push away the thoughts of someone who wasn’t there.
Someone I envisioned.
Pretended to be with.
In this moment, it was Tristian who was making love to me.
