BROKEN: A Dark Mystery Romance (LOVE IS WAR Book 2)

by Shayne Ford

  My mind starts looking for answers. They are all laughable.

  Phone. Oh, no. He must’ve called me.

  I scoop it out of my pocket. Three missed calls, and two text messages.

  A shiver falls through me, a bad sensation creeping up on me. Heart pulsing in my throat, I slide my finger onto the screen and read.

  Allan: Where are you?

  The second text message pops in five minutes later.

  Allan: Give me a call when you get these messages. I’ll start eating without you. I’m really hungry.

  I stare at the patch of light and re-read his message.

  He doesn’t seem to be angry. He’s not even worried.

  The wind slaps my cheeks, nipping at my skin, sending another shiver through me. I gather my coat closer when I remember. All I have underneath is my pants and my ripped blouse.

  This is a disaster.

  Thoughts start spinning in my head.

  I check the time. It’s late. Where can I go now?

  Anna? No. Danny must be home. It would be not only embarrassing but also unfair to drag him into this story.

  Viola?

  She might still be awake.

  I call her.

  “Hey. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Nah-huh. What’s going on?” she asks munching on food. “Allan called me. He was looking for you.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit what? What happened?” she asks, concern flashing in her voice.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you probably ran away with some young stud,” she says, chuckling softly.

  Any other time I would’ve laughed, but not now.

  “Viola?”

  She laughs some more.

  “I told him that I had no idea, but he shouldn’t get worried. You were probably taking a stroll, or cruising the art galleries, or went to the movies.”

  “Did he say why he came home earlier than it was planned?”

  “Um... Yeah. He said it was because of the weather forecast. A snowstorm was forecast to barrel the coast this weekend, so everybody flew back home earlier than planned.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where were you anyway?”

  “Long story. Can I come to your place before I go home?”

  “Sure.”

  Cursing the weather and the snowstorm, I make the trip back downtown. There’s no one on foot at this hour with the nasty weather and all.

  Ten minutes later, I knock at her door. Clad in a flannel pajama, colorful robe, and bunny shaped slippers she greets me with a big smile on her face.

  “What happened to you?” she asks, her smile bright as her eyes.

  I decide to play it by ear, unwilling to tell her the truth.

  “I, um... I was downtown. I visited the art gallery, and then I walked into a few stores. My battery is low, so I had my phone turned off,” I continue. “Do you have something warm to wear? A sweater or something. I didn’t realize how cold it is,” I say, unbuttoning my coat.

  “Sure.”

  I wait in the hallway until she comes back with two choices in her hands.

  “I’ll take the blue one,” I say pointing to the sweater.

  “Cool.”

  I snatch it from her hand and dash to the bathroom. I close the door and spin around.

  My reflection stares at me.

  “Oh... Damnit.”

  Something looks off with me. Again. I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed it.

  I study my face.

  It must be my hair. I pull it back in a ponytail. My face has an unusual glow, my eyes sparkling. Unfortunately, that’s something I can’t conceal.

  I tuck the torn top into my pants and pull the sweater on. It looks much better now I conclude as I get a glimpse of me in the mirror.

  My gaze drifts down when horrified, I notice it. A few whitish spots on my black wool pants.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I turn on the faucet and hurriedly, I do my best to spot clean them. I can believe this. My gaze flicks up.

  Oh, shit. There’s more bad news.

  A small cut marks my lips. I slowly brush it with my finger. That’s where he bit me.

  I freeze for a moment, caught in a mind swirl.

  I can’t believe that this is real.

  That he is real.

  That Sebastien Rockford is happening to me.

  A knock on the door makes me jerk my head. A phone is ringing in the background.

  “It’s Allan again. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Don’t answer. I’ll call him right away,” I say, my eyes sweeping the bathroom one more time as I make sure that I leave everything in order.

  I slide the door open and walk out.

  “You look good,” she says, standing next to the door.

  “Thank you.”

  I mutter a quick goodbye, kiss her cheek and fly out the door.

  SEBASTIEN

  “Straight to the club, Sir?”

  I lock the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “We make a stop at home first,” I say curtly, pulling my gaze away just as fast and looking out the window.

  The evening is quiet, the lights in homes already out, people asleep most likely.

  Life can be calm and peaceful.

  I miss that life.

  My phone vibrates against the brushed wool of my suit pants. I fish it out of my pocket.

  Jacqueline’s name pops on the screen.

  Without taking the call, I toss my phone on the leather bench next to me. Moments later, a light flashes on the screen alerting me to a voicemail.

  I ignore it and erase her from my mind, and for the next few moments or so, I keep my gaze on the white scenery.

  A soft beep pulls my eyes back to the screen.

  Jacqueline: Where are you?

  She’s determined as ever.

  I move my eyes back to the window.

  Snow covered trees glimmer on either side of the road. Soon, the snow and ice will go away, and the trees will be green again, exploding with life.

  “Life...” I mutter, my lips slightly moving, keeping company to my thoughts.

  Flowers will pop on their branches again, and grass will sprawl on the ground. The park will be brimming with people with kids, and pets.

  She will be there.

  The quiet woman and her little dog, looking absently at the water, slowly inhaling the air infused with the perfume of the new vegetation.

  She will be sitting there, on the same bench, at the same time of the day, sunk in her thoughts.

  This time, thinking about me… Maybe?

  The thought makes me smile.

  The phone rings again. I snatch it off the bench and turn it off just as the driver pulls the car to a smooth stop in front of my house.

  “Wait here,” I say, climbing out.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Holding my jacket closed to my chest, I enter the imposing townhouse.

  A staff member greets me.

  With a small gesture, I dismiss the man. Smiling, he softly nods and spins away, vanishing on the corridor leading to the kitchen.

  I take the stairs to the upper level when I hear her heels, clink clanking up the stairwell as well. She’s right behind me.

  Without slowing down, I enter the master bedroom. Light cascades from the crystal chandelier the moment I flip the switch button.

  I shed my jacket and toss it on the bed before I walk into the shower. I slam the bathroom door behind me, just as she enters the bedroom.

  “Sebastien?”

  Her voice falls flat on the other side of the door.

  Swiftly, I pull the rest of my clothes off and throw them in a hamper in the adjacent room where the staff picks them up.

  The bathroom door cracks open as I walk under the stream of water.

  I slide the glass door behind me, oblivious to her. The sheet of glass quickly gets foggy as the steam drifts through the air.

&nb
sp; Minutes later, I turn the water off, wrap a towel around my waist and walk out.

  I don’t expect to find her waiting for me, but I’m so wrong.

  Propped against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, she shoots me a scrutinizing look.

  She wears a different dress–– I notice.

  I throw her a quick glance and tip my chin in her direction.

  “I thought you were with your friend,” I say, swaggering past her and pushing the door open.

  She follows me into the bedroom.

  “What friend?” she asks.

  I turn around.

  The moment of silence quickly becomes uncomfortable.

  My hands glue to my hips. Her gaze slides down and just as quickly goes up.

  “One of your admirers...” I toss at her, watching her lips purse in frustration.

  Her eyes start searching mine. Quicker than her, I move my gaze away.

  Smoothly, I run my fingers over the edge of my towel, barely holding it together with my fist while playing with her patience.

  The wall mirror tells me what I already know.

  Her eyes glimmer with frustration.

  “Why do you have to be an asshole, Sebastien?”

  Her question stops me on my way to the walk-in closet.

  I turn around and walk to her.

  Out of reflex, she takes a small step back.

  “I’m not doing a damn thing,” I say, darkly amused.

  The blood draws out of her face. I read reproach and fury in her eyes.

  But that’s nothing new I’m afraid.

  “How does it feel, sweetheart?” I ask.

  She bites her lip before she shifts her eyes to the window.

  Across the street a light glimmers in the window.

  “Put something on. People could see you,” she says.

  “And?”

  She throws her hands in the air, a diamond-encrusted bracelet catching my eye.

  “What’s the occasion?” I ask, tipping my chin and pointing to the piece of jewelry.

  Her lips pull into a tight line.

  “Why are you so keen to know? You don’t give a damn anyway.”

  I flick my finger in the air.

  “That you don’t know,” I say as I pivot toward the closet.

  I pull on a new set of clothes and exit the room buttoning my dress shirt.

  “Still here?” I ask, focused on my cufflinks.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

  I tuck my shirt into my pants and secure my belt, her eyes following me closely.

  “I thought you hired a PI so that you know everything I do. Why are you asking me?”

  She stays quiet.

  “Perhaps you should fire them,” I suggest.

  Her dark gaze spears through me like a sword.

  She walks toward me and stops in front of me.

  “You won’t be able to this forever,” she says with a frosted voice, a frown sitting on her brow.

  My eyes drift down on her. She’s as beautiful as she’s ever been, even more so than the day we got married, except now every ounce of her is filled with poison.

  “And why’s that?” I ask, pulling my jacket on and adjusting my sleeves.

  “You can’t push me out of your bed forever as much as you can’t fuck anyone else.”

  A soft chuckle falls from my lips and just as quickly it dies out.

  “You don’t know what I can and can’t do. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out one day. You’re a smart girl.”

  I pull away from her and run my fingers through my hair, quickly glancing in the mirror.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me... I’m expected somewhere. Don’t wait for me,” I toss over my shoulder on my way out.

  “Tomorrow I have a meeting with my lawyer,” she barks behind my back.

  I halt and spin to her.

  Calmly, I slide my hands into my pockets.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to ask for his advice.”

  “Hmm... About what?”

  “We can’t continue like this.”

  “I can’t offer you a divorce if that’s what you have in mind. As you know that option is off the table,” I sneer. “Are you willing to give up on me?”

  “I’m not interested in a divorce.”

  I purse my lips, my gaze bouncing up and down on her.

  “Mmm... In what, then?”

  She weighs her words for a moment.

  Slowly, I curve my lips into a smirk.

  “Are you planning on finding a legal way to make me fuck you?”

  “I’ll go with him over my legal options,” she says.

  “Other than the divorce, I presume.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you go through all that trouble because you want me to fuck you?” I ask, ambling toward her.

  She keeps her lips pressed refusing to give me an answer, but the blush coloring her cheeks speaks on her behalf.

  For a moment, my eyes linger on her face.

  Silence stays with us as we search each other eyes.

  I lean closer to her, my hand cupping her face as I plant a soft kiss on her cheek.

  “I’m really sorry things didn’t work out between us,” I say with a different voice before I turn around and saunter out the room.

  9

  JACQUELINE

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I say in my phone, flicking the drapery to the side and looking out the window.

  The wind sweeps the sidewalks, spinning the freshly sifted snow. A car idles in front of our home, waiting for him. The driver holds the door open for him as he rushed down the stairs and slips in.

  He swings his gaze up, and I instinctively pull back, letting the curtain fall back in place.

  “I hope he didn’t see me,” I mutter to myself, forgetting for a moment that I’m on the phone.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I say, retreating into a dark corner, my eyes still following Sebastien’s moves.

  The car slowly glides away.

  “He’s gone. Can you come?” I ask as I shift my focus away from my husband.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says.

  “A little enthusiasm wouldn’t hurt,” I say sourly. “I’ll make it worthwhile.”

  The man’s laugh rolls in my ears.

  “Enthusiasm is not my problem. I’m home right now, and I’m not alone.”

  “You’ll find a way. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  “I––”

  I hang up, cutting him off.

  The phone rings. I ignore it.

  He’ll come.

  He always does.

  They always do.

  Except for him.

  I walk out of the master bedroom and enter my walk-in closet. From a rack, I pick up a new set of lingerie–– corset, stocking, garters, and a low cut bra, and then a silk chiffon dress with illusion side panels that––if I know anything about him, would probably end up ripped on the floor.

  I take a shower before I put my clothes and makeup on.

  I paint my lips red and use a few layers of mascara to set off my eyes, and then I brush my hair and let it fall down my back.

  It’s close to ten o’clock when I exit the house. I’m late, but I don’t care.

  From the garage, I pull out my red Jaguar.

  The car skids a little on a patch of ice as I take a slow turn. Carefully, I navigate the streets, making sure no one follows me.

  I may be the one who watches him but what wouldn’t stop him from doing the same to me.

  The road is clear.

  Good thing that the traffic is light this time of night. I take a few more turns before I exit my neighborhood.

  A few minutes later, a different skyline enters my line of sight.

  Not far from downtown, I enter the parking lot of a multi-level building of condos. I glance around looking for a free spot.

 
I find one next to the elevator.

  The sound of the engine dies out as I shift the key in the ignition. I climb out, tug at the hemline of my dress, and make a beeline for the elevator.

  Ten floors up, I exit the car, take a left turn, walk a few doors down and stop in front of the last one.

  The door opens before I have the chance to knock. I knew he’d come.

  Clad solely in his pants, he holds a glass of scotch in his hand.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I say pretentiously.

  “No you’re not,” he says with a guttural voice.

  He pivots to me and sets his glass on a side table. His lips quirk into a smirk as he saunters to me.

  I place my purse on a sofa before he peels my coat off my shoulders.

  He sets it next to the handbag.

  His muscles shift smoothly as he lifts his arm and slips his hand under my hair, brushing it all over one shoulder.

  “I’ll be damned,” he says appreciatively as he drags his gaze on me. “You must be pissed as fuck,” he mutters.

  I give him a playful smile.

  “And horny,” he adds.

  I laugh in my throat.

  “What did he do to you?” he asks.

  “Nothing in particular. It’s just him being him.”

  His hand migrates from my hair to my neck and then to my cleavage. Without finesse, he tugs the neckline down, peeking at my bra.

  An eyebrow quirks as he tips his chin down in approval a couple of times.

  “Whatever he did to you, it’s working,” he says, noticing my rock hard nipples.

  A grin curves my lips.

  “That’s hardly him,” I say, drinking him in.

  Not entirely the truth, but half of it is.

  He jerks my bra down, and my breasts spill out. His stare makes me hot below my waist.

  With his free hand, he slowly unbuckles his belt and slides the band of leather through the loops.

  “I may have a special treat for you tonight,” he says, tipping his gaze down.

  My eyes land on his fly, my hand sliding up his groin.

  His erection stirs against my hand.

  “You sure have,” I mutter, giving him a sultry smile.

  A smirk lines his lips as he gathers my wrists into his fist and runs his belt around them. Once he has my hands tied, he starts kissing every inch of my skin, pleasure flowing from his touch.

  His fingers trace my skin as well, peeling my dress off as he leaves a trail of kisses.