Schooled in Revenge

by Lasky, Jesse

  Rage shrieked through Reena’s brain at the sight of him, the man who had paid for the murder of her mother.

  But it wasn’t just rage. It was pain, too. The same crushing pain that had made Reena wonder if she would survive it in the months after her mother’s death. She’d thought it was long dead, replaced by the vengeance she’d learned on Rebun Island. But seeing Jacob Wells brought it all back: the tumultuous relationship with her mother that was supposed to last a lifetime, the loss of the one person who had always been there for her, the person who had taught Reena how to be a fighter, a survivor. In the aftermath of her mother’s murder, she’d come to realize that they only fought like they did because they were so alike.

  She returned her attention to the knife, reaching for it again, as Wells moved into the room. Gripping the weapon, she considered her options. To kill Reinhardt and Wells now would satisfy her primal urge to see them pay, but it wouldn’t free Simon. And Reena in prison wasn’t what her mother would have wanted.

  Instead, Reena pricked her thigh lightly with its blade, the self-inflicted pain snapping her out of the sea of emotion brought on by the appearance of Wells.

  She needed to focus. She wasn’t Reena Fuller anymore. Not tonight. She was Kandi with a K and an i.

  Noticing Reena on the bed, Wells looked her up and down. “Who’s this, William?”

  Reinhardt winked. “Kandi here was just keeping me company while I waited for Cain. I haven’t heard back from him since yesterday. Don’t know where he could be.”

  Wells’s gaze settled on Reena. She tried to stay calm, reminding herself that she didn’t look anything like Senator Fuller’s spoiled daughter.

  Not tonight. Not anymore.

  “I don’t think we should be discussing business in front of your friend here,” Wells finally said.

  Reinhardt tipped his head to the adjoining bathroom. “Freshen up in the powder room. And don’t come out until I call you.”

  Playing the part of the obedient floozy, Reena crossed the gleaming wood floors to the bathroom. Now that she was so close, she expected to be afraid. Instead, she was more resolved than ever. Reinhardt and Wells were pigs. She was going to cut deeply into their lives and make them bleed.

  And if she had to die in the process, so be it.

  She entered the bathroom, closing the door all the way for show. She waited a couple of minutes before easing it open just a crack.

  “I haven’t heard from him, either,” Wells was saying. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. Or worse, his tune.”

  “You’re being paranoid,” Reinhardt said, pouring himself a drink.

  “There’s a difference between paranoia and caution,” Wells argued. “And being cautious, covering our tracks, is why we’ve been so successful.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “I remember when you decided to refurbish this room,” Charlie said, looking around the renovated wine cellar. “You were so excited.”

  Ava followed his gaze, her sadness reborn. She never got the chance to finish it.

  “It made me feel better to be down here,” she said. “You made me feel better, too, back before I realized it was all an act.”

  He moved closer to her. “It wasn’t all an act, Ava. I cared about you. I still do.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “Just tell me why? Why did you do it?”

  He shrugged. “It was a business proposition. One I couldn’t pass up.”

  Ava stroked the dark wood paneling. She’d spent hours picking it out, and now it did nothing but collect dust beneath her fallen kingdom.

  “So you got control of the estate and Reinhardt paid you handsomely,” she said. “Win-win.”

  “It wasn’t a win-win. Because you lost. I see that now.” His voice was sincere.

  Then again, it always had been.

  She pinned him with her eyes. “Save it, Charlie. You didn’t just steal my estate. You put it in the hands of the one man my family wanted to keep it from.”

  She moved in on him, grabbing the lapels of his suit and shoving him forcefully against the wall. It felt good to use Takeda’s training in such a physical way. To use her newfound strength to subdue the man who had traded her love for money. She could hold her own now with almost anyone—and certainly with someone like Charlie.

  And yet, standing so close, her body pressed against his, the smell of wine on his breath, she wanted not only to rip out his heart but in a strange and terrible way to rip off his clothes.

  She shook her head. Why did he have to do this to her?

  “Jesus, Charlie,” she finally managed to say. “We weren’t even married. How could you deceive me like that?”

  But she was as mad at herself as she was at him. Maybe if she’d looked harder she would have seen Reinhardt’s strings on his shoulders.

  “You have to know that his plan to take Starling was in effect long before I came into the fold,” he said.

  “And that makes it okay? Everything you did to me?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? Reinhardt was going to get Starling one way or another. Sylvie could never be convinced. Could never be taken, either. He knew that. But without her in the picture, Reinhardt saw a rich target in your hopelessly romantic heart.”

  Dread dropped like a stone in her stomach. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, Ava, that the only way to get Starling was to remove your grandmother from the equation.”

  Ava stepped back, letting go of him. She shook her head. “My grandmother died of a heart attack.”

  Charlie shook his head. “You, more than anyone, should know that things aren’t always as they seem.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Ava didn’t know how long they stood there, Charlie’s revelation ringing through her ears like a bad song.

  She was torn between wanting to guzzle the wine around her and wanting to smash the bottles wildly, destroying what was left of the grapes harvested under her family’s careful watch.

  As if that could somehow erase everything that had happened. As if by getting rid of the wine, she might be another Ava. An Ava who didn’t own something worth so much that someone would kill for it.

  She caressed a bottle of vintage red, the glass smooth and cool to the touch. Older wines were an intriguing beast. More delicious and vibrant than the younger breeds, old wine had a vastly shortened life span once opened. Like a dark secret, an old wine had to be handled with care. Otherwise, it would leave a terrible taste in the mouth of whomever consumed it.

  Now it was time to serve Charlie his drink.

  “You stole my world, Charlie Bay. It’s only fair that you should lose yours.”

  “You can’t do anything to me,” Charlie scoffed. “I could have you removed from the premises with a flick of my wrist.”

  “The thing is,” Ava continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you’ve had every opportunity to come clean, but we both know that’s something you’ll never do. You don’t want to lose that Rolex on your wrist, the Benz in your driveway.”

  He considered her words, her calm demeanor causing a spark of fear to light his eyes. “I’ll write you a check,” he said. His tone was conciliatory. “It’s only fair.”

  She ambled slowly around the cellar, gazing at the different wines. “You don’t want redemption. You just want to put your sins to bed so you can sleep, too.” She came to a stop in front of the portrait. “Tell me why you saved it.”

  “Why do you think?” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “Ava, I still—”

  “Don’t.” She stopped him. “Just tell me what they did to my grandmother. Tell me or I swear I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Charlie said with a fresh show of fight. “You have no leverage over me. I mean, bloody hell, I’d tell you to go home but you don’t even have that anymore. Just leave, Ava.”

  She moved toward her clutch, still on the shelf where she’d put it when she came down to meet Charlie. She turn
ed to face him.

  “Say good-bye to your world, Charlie. But not Napa Valley. This isn’t your real life. Your real life was a blue-collar family in London, your father a history teacher with all of your good looks and none of your tact, your mother a florist who wishes you would call more.”

  Charlie was visibly thrown. Ava had expected it. He’d told her his parents had died when he was young.

  She handed him the manila envelope.

  “What is this?” Charlie said, trepidation in his voice.

  Ava continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your dad’s quite the ladies’ man, isn’t he? Like you. Only it seems he likes them a tad younger.” She watched as he stared at the pictures inside the envelope. “Don’t bother tearing them up. I’ve got copies.”

  He looked up at her with horror in his eyes. “Where did you get these?”

  “That doesn’t really matter, now does it? You took all that I had left of my family, Charlie. Why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand… My mother’s a good person. This will destroy her.”

  “You knew all along,” Ava said. “You knew what your father was doing and never said a word.”

  “I discovered the truth when I was eighteen,” he explained. “I begged my father to stop. And when the police got involved—”

  “Your dad paid them to keep the records sealed.” Ava handed Charlie wire receipts from his father’s checking to a dummy account set up by the three officers who originally arrested him. “Another piece of information I assume you don’t want going public.”

  Charlie grabbed on to one of the wine racks to steady himself. “What are you going to do with all of this?”

  Ava shrugged. “I’m more interested in how your mother is going to react when she learns she’s been married to a pedophile for the past thirty-one years. And just imagine what the head of the school district will say—”

  “You can’t,” Charlie protested. “My mother… She won’t be able to handle it. And my father… He’s sick, Ava. He needs help.”

  “You should have done something about that before, Charlie. Or should I say Edward? Edward Charles Bayley.”

  “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

  “Tell me what Reinhardt did to my grandmother and maybe I’ll consider it.”

  Charlie spoke fast. “All I know is that someone told Reinhardt there was no way Sylvie would sell, especially not to him. Whoever it was said that you could be manipulated, but only if Sylvie was out of the picture.”

  Ava’s mind reeled as she processed the implications. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Reinhardt never told me who it was, but I assumed it was someone who knew your family—and Sylvie—well. Someone who could get close enough to Sylvie to take her out.”

  She looked at him in horror. “Marie?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Reena listened carefully through the crack in the door.

  “I can’t just sit around waiting for him,” Wells said. “Just being here makes me susceptible to public scrutiny.”

  Reinhardt set down his glass. “Fine. Tell me where Marcus is and I’ll relay the information.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Reena saw Wells walk to the window, but she didn’t know what he was doing until Reinhardt spoke a second later.

  “I’ve already tried calling him,” Reinhardt protested. “If he doesn’t answer this time, you give me the information, and we go forward with our plans.”

  An electronic beep sounded through the room as Wells disconnected the call. He sighed. “Darren Marcus is living in Sacramento, in an apartment above a Thai restaurant called Lu’s Palace. Tell Cain to make it look like a suicide.”

  “The guy’s totally under the radar, Jacob. We don’t need to be that careful,” Reinhardt insisted.

  It was a reckless assertion, in stark contrast to Wells’s paranoia. Reena tattooed the information on her memory like the circle on her neck.

  “Actually, I’d rather not know how he’s taken care of,” Wells decided. “I’m just glad she found him. Once again, she’s proven herself useful. Last time, we wrote her a check. I think it’s only fitting we do the same this time around, don’t you?”

  Reena watched as Reinhardt walked over to the oak dresser. He pulled open the top drawer, removing a checkbook.

  “I hadn’t even realized you asked her to find him,” Reinhardt said as he wrote.

  Wells shook his head. “I didn’t. She approached me. Wanted to know what else she could do to make sure Ava Winters never redeems the keys to her castle.”

  Reena stepped back from the door, leaning against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. Someone had it out for Ava. Someone was feeding Reinhardt and Wells information to keep Ava from reclaiming Starling.

  She filed the information away and moved back to the door, scanning the room until she found Reinhardt. He was standing near the dresser, holding a small silver picture frame. Reena couldn’t see the photograph inside it, but it seemed to hold Reinhardt captive.

  “Put that away,” Wells said with a hint of exasperation. “You did what had to be done. We all did. Self-preservation is worth a thousand lives.”

  “I didn’t care about a thousand lives,” Reinhardt growled. “I only cared about one.”

  Reena jockeyed for a better view, trying to figure out who was in Reinhardt’s picture frame. Anyone Reinhardt cared about was a potential weakness, something to be exploited in their quest for revenge.

  “Yes, well, you only go around once. Damn the people who get in your way. Isn’t that what you used to say?” Wells asked his former college roommate. “And we’ve done better than most. We have everything we ever wanted.”

  “Do we, Jacob?” Reinhardt asked, his temper exploding. “Do we have everything we ever wanted? And if so, at what cost?” He continued without waiting for Wells to answer. “No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. The only thing my money can’t buy. My little girl.”

  Reinhardt threw the photograph maniacally against the wall, the glass frame shattering on impact. It skidded across the wood floor, coming to rest near the bathroom door.

  Reena moved around, adjusting her vantage point through the narrow opening, hoping for a clear look at the picture lying on the floor, covered in shards of broken glass.

  And then she saw it: a picture of William Reinhardt with a young woman. Reinhardt had his arm wrapped around the woman, the smile on his face making him almost unrecognizable as the monster who had slobbered all over her in the bedroom.

  But it wasn’t William’s face that drew Reena’s gaze. It was the engaging, bright-eyed beauty beside him, her long blond hair falling in a glossy sheet around delicate features that Reena would recognize anywhere.

  The young woman next to William Reinhardt was Jane.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Jane eased out of the car, offering a silent apology to Shay, slumped over in the seat with an already-swelling welt on his head. She hadn’t wanted to knock him unconscious, but it was the only way she was going to get the answers she needed.

  She hurried down the road, watching as groups of people exited the estate and a few late arrivals made their way to the main house. The valets hustled back and forth, bringing some cars and parking others, as guests stood around in dresses and tuxedos.

  Jane stepped onto the grounds and walked toward the front door.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “My family isn’t responsible for the things I’ve done,” Charlie said. “You don’t have to do this to them.”

  Still reeling from the suspicion that Marie had been helping Reinhardt, Ava’s resolve began to soften under Charlie’s pleading. Ava wasn’t a bad person. In fact, she had always gone out of her way to help other people. Maybe Charlie was right.

  Maybe this was revenge taken too far. After all, she’d made her point.

  Charlie moved closer, reaching up to touch her face. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I…” H
e shook his head. “I wish I could take it all back.”

  The moment their bodies were in orbit, the pull was too great to fight. All at once, Ava wasn’t remembering the pain and heartache of the weeks following Charlie’s betrayal, the stinging shame of her naïveté. She was transported instead to the picnics she and Charlie had, hours spent talking and laughing under the warm Napa sun. She remembered lying in bed, planning their future, naming their children, feeling that nothing in the world could ever hurt her as long as Charlie was by her side.

  He ran his hand through her hair, her head tipping involuntarily into his palm. She closed her eyes, desperately clinging to the possibility that he had changed. He had saved the painting. Maybe he was trying to save his soul, too.

  “Ava…,” he murmured.

  And then, her greatest betrayal as Charlie lowered his lips to hers, capturing her mouth, desire licking like fire through her body. For a moment there was nothing else. No lies. No past. No hurt. Just his tongue exploring her mouth, his body pressed against hers like a treasured memory.

  And then, from the clutch in her hand, something jabbed her palm. She hesitated, breaking their kiss.

  “What is it?” Charlie asked, his breath coming fast and heavy.

  Opening the clutch, she found the jagged piece of Acala’s flame. She remembered Takeda’s words. Burning away all weaknesses is the only way to find enlightenment.

  To become the warrior she needed to be. To truly enact fukushuu against this man who took her home. Her family. Her life. And yes, her heart.

  Charlie waits anxiously under an impressive arch adorned with white calla lilies, watching Ava saunter down the aisle in an elegant Vera Wang peau de soie gown. It’s a small gathering—tasteful and intimate, exactly what Ava wants. Pachelbel’s Canon in D resounds from the tiny iPod speakers Daniella has set up between masses of white hydrangeas.

  Ava’s sparkling sapphire necklace glitters in the sunlight—her something blue. The aging grapes of Starling Vineyards create a stunning backdrop—her something old. Ava is blissful. It’s a perfect day to get married and she’s marrying the perfect guy.