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

by Shayne Ford

  And more importantly...

  What does he want from me?

  I near my desk, carefully sliding my fingers over the surface, expecting to find something. A card, a written message or a memory stick.

  There’s nothing.

  Still affected by the flowers, I slowly lower myself in my chair.

  I flip my laptop open, looking for clues. There are no suspicious bookmarks and no messages. A random thought prompts me to go to the website where he used to post those clips.

  Two new links flash on the screen.

  I click on the first one, and the same clip that he sent me on that memory stick starts playing. I only make it through the first few minutes before I call it quits and slide the laptop shut.

  I feel horrible.

  The images of his body locked with mine in that suspended elevator stir a storm in me. Anger, and frustration spin, fueling my guilt.

  My phone starts to ring.

  I pick it up and slide my finger onto the screen, the number unfamiliar to me.

  “Why can’t you watch it?”

  His voice pummels through me with the force of a torpedo.

  I jerk up, my chair falling backward.

  My first reaction... I look out the window. The street is deserted as always.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “It’s the second time you try to watch it, and you can’t. Why?”

  My hand clenches on my phone.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t care. I want to know why.”

  His voice is filled with icicles.

  “Stop fucking with me, Sebastien.”

  I hang up on him and toss the phone on the couch. I watch it for a few seconds expecting him to call again, but the phone stays silent.

  The soft sound of wind chimes wafts through the air, igniting a foreboding sensation in me, and then I hear his steps.

  Calm, even, climbing the stairs.

  I expect a knock on the door or the bell to ring. Instead, I hear the key shifting in the lock.

  It can’t be.

  I dash to the hallway under the impression that I can stop him, but it’s too late. He already enters the foyer.

  The door slides shut behind him.

  “Good evening, Tess,” he says, and I almost pass out.

  “What are you doing here?” I mutter, my voice wilted.

  A subdued grin flickers faintly on his beautiful lips, his eyes burning holes in me.

  He takes a few steps in my direction, his left hand in the pocket of his suit pants. His broad shoulders and hard torso fill the jacket perfectly, his white shirt splitting slightly open at the neckline. Cufflinks glimmer at his wrist as he runs his hand through his hair.

  “What makes you think that what we had amounted to nothing?” he asks.

  My mouth drops.

  How can he possibly know...?

  His words were mine only a few hours ago. A bulb goes off in my head.

  “What...?”

  My voice sounds like a whisper.

  “What makes you think it doesn’t amount to something?” he asks.

  He tilts his head to the side, a knowing grin creasing his lips. It feels as if I’m watching a different person.

  “Is this a game you play with me?” I mutter, short on breath.

  His hand comes to my face, his smile the bearer of bad news. I’m torn between slapping him or running away from him, whatever far I could go.

  His fingers splay, his thumb creeping across my cheek, and descending toward my lips. His eyes dip as well, studying the seam of my mouth while I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  He’s never looked more handsome. He’s never looked more dangerous as well. I get distracted for a moment as the sharp edge of his teeth runs over his full bottom lip.

  He leans closer to me–– so close, his breath tickles my lips.

  “You tell me, Tess.”

  My name on his lips makes my knees soft and shaky.

  He gently grips my chin and tips it up, covering my lips with his. I feel the smoothness of his tongue slithering into my mouth, and all the fibers of my body catch on fire.

  “You need answers, Tess?” he purrs against my mouth, my skin covering with goosebumps. “I gave you all the answers. You just need to read them. I thought you could do that.”

  “Read them?”

  My question becomes irrelevant as he locks my lips again. His kiss sucks the willpower out of me, having the capability to undo me. I no longer care about the words, questions, or even the answers that I’m supposed to find and know for him, as I feed on the pleasure coming from his mouth. I feast on him, all the lies I’ve told myself, getting swept away.

  His fingers slink inside my blouse and curl around the neckline, in one harsh motion pulling everything apart. My top falls on the floor.

  His kiss is no longer smooth as my body is no longer mine. His hands sweep my chest, tearing away my bra. My mouth stays locked with his as he slides his hands up my thighs, lifting my skirt.

  He pulls the strings of my panties down, his hands tracing my skin. I feel his palms trailing up my hips, cupping my backside, pulling me into him before he brings a hand between my legs, and dips his fingers into the softness of my folds.

  I groan in his mouth, my hands clutching his neck harder.

  He traces my slit before he curls his fingers and slides them into me. I jerk and arch against him, a scream vibrating in my chest.

  He thrusts them into me, stretching me, while I sink my teeth into his lips. His kiss turns hard, and soon I feel the taste of blood beneath the unforgiving edge of his teeth.

  My wetness drips on his fingers.

  “You are so mine,” he rumbles in my mouth as my body arches against his, my hips rocking.

  His fingers keep sliding into me, pushing me right to the cusp.

  As I begin to tremble, he peels his hands of me and takes an unexpected step back.

  The gasp falling from my lips is pregnant with surprise.

  “What are you doing...?” I mutter, heaving.

  Grinning, he brings his fingers to his mouth. Breathless, I watch him licking them clean, my body crying for him.

  His smile sends a shudder through my frame.

  “There’s an art exhibition opening tomorrow evening. Same place. Bring your husband with you.”

  My mouth falls open. He registers my expression and yet, it doesn't stop him from pulling away.

  “And if I don’t?”

  He halts in the doorway, his hand curled around the doorknob.

  “This is the last you’ve seen of me,” he says, and the door slams shut behind him.

  18

  TESS

  Slowly, I slide off the wall, and lower myself on the floor, shivers running down my back.

  I sense the invisible chains he locked me with, biting into my flesh, dangling heavy.

  I have rattled them, more than once, and I can shake them again, but there’s no escape for me in sight.

  Pain grows in my chest as I get pulled in two directions. Away from him. And close to him.

  A sickening fear threads through everything as always. The fear that I no longer own my heart and that he is not the man to trust. The fear that he can takes me to a darker place.

  He gave me the freedom to choose, and yet, he made sure that I’d go his way.

  But this is not only about him.

  It’s about me pulling out of the maze, and finding my own answers.

  What does he want me to read?

  The story feels like a puzzle that misses the most important pieces.

  Why would he ask to bring Allan with me, when he can’t stand him anywhere near me?

  With him, the answers are never easy, or pain-free, and that’s why panic rams through me.

  It takes me a good hour to collect my clothes, pull myself together, take a shower and tuck myself in the bed I made in my office.

  Allan walks in after midnight. He notices the light in
my office but goes straight to bed.

  After tomorrow, we’ll need to talk. We can’t go on like this.

  Sunday comes with a cloudless sky, bright sunlight, and melodious chirping outside the windows. Droves of people take a stroll in the park.

  I cook brunch as if nothing happened.

  Allan and I eat and make conversation like the perfect couple that we are.

  My mind spins different scenarios on how to bring the idea of the art opening to him. We haven’t been out in a while, and chances are he’d not want to go this time either, but I try.

  To my surprise, he says yes.

  Come late afternoon I ponder over my attire options. The temperature is mild, so I opt for a soft wool dress with short sleeves and a light jacket on top.

  It feels awkward to find ourselves in the same car after all this time.

  We arrive at the gallery close to seven o’clock. Anna and Viola are supposed to join us too. I can’t wait to see them.

  We find a paid parking spot and walk to the venue. Groups of people cram on the sidewalk in front of the gallery. My eyes dart back and forth, looking for him.

  The doors are wide open inviting people in.

  “You can go ahead. I’ll wait for them,” I say to Allan, retrieving my phone from my purse.

  He gets swallowed by a river of people while I step aside, and call Anna, my eyes surveilling the street.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “We’re almost here.”

  “Is Danny coming too?” I ask, smiling.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Good.”

  She registers my sigh of relief.

  “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing...”

  I pause.

  “A lot,” I add. “We need to talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sebastien will be here tonight.”

  “No way.”

  I hear Danny’s voice in the background, and then her jokingly chiding him.

  “Sorry, he wants to know.”

  “There’s nothing to know,” I say, suddenly tense. “He wanted me to bring Allan.”

  “Oh. That can’t be good.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” she says before we hang up.

  A cab stops in front of the gallery, and my sister climbs out. I wave at her while she rushes to me.

  Flattering her silhouette, a dark pantsuit looks fabulous on her.

  “Looking good as always,” I mutter before I kiss her on her cheek.

  “What’s going on?” she asks as we break our embrace.

  She searches my eyes.

  “Your message was quite cryptic. Is it good or bad?” she asks.

  “I’m sure it’s bad,” I say, grappling with a bad feeling.

  “Why are we here then?”

  I barely smile.

  “To see how bad it is, I supposed.”

  “Where’s Allan?”

  I flick my chin to the gallery.

  “Inside.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “I’m waiting for Anna. You go, and I’ll stay here for a few more moments.”

  I watch her disappear through the doors as more cars keep coming, dropping visitors. It’s a big event, lots of well-known people making an appearance.

  I crane my neck out looking for my friend when Anna and Danny round the corner of the building. A smile lights up her face.

  “It’s crazy,” she says, giving me a quick hug. “We barely found a parking spot.”

  “I know,” I say before we all spin around and head inside.

  At nine o’clock, almost an hour later, I call it a bluff. It all feels like a prank of sorts. Perhaps, a way to test my willingness to put up with his crap.

  As more minutes slip away, I start to de-tense and actually I begin to enjoy it. Glasses of champagne change hands between the servers and the guests, while morsels of food get tasted. The art becomes the main topic of conversation.

  Allan and Danny find a couple of common acquaintances they spend time with while Anna, Viola and I retreat into a corner.

  “So much for the fuss,” Anna says, grinning.

  I flick my eyes to her.

  “The mysterious man is a no-show, it seems,” Viola says.

  “Yeah... That’s his specialty. Lying too,” I say sourly.

  “What did Allan say about the flowers?”

  I swing my gaze to Viola.

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyebrows flick up in surprise.

  “Do you think he hasn’t noticed them or it just didn’t register with him?” she asks.

  “The latter, probably.”

  The conversation shifts to other things when my eyes swing to the entrance, drawn by an invisible pull. I skim a few faces, looking for any trace of familiarity when a black car enters my line of sight.

  The conversation flows past my ears, my eyes sewn to the man who exits that car.

  He’s alone. At least no one follows him from what I can see. A parking valet catches the car keys and rushes to remove his ride.

  My eyes stay on him as he saunters all the way to the entrance. He stops for a moment, checking something on his phone before he takes a right turn and vanishes in a different chamber.

  My attention shifts back to Anna and Viola.

  “I need to make a trip to the bathroom,” I say, excusing myself.

  I smoothly pull away and head to the other room as well.

  In a synchronized motion, groups of people decide to do the exact same thing, and I find myself swept away by the human flow.

  Clamor and laughter drift through the air.

  Glancing around, I try to locate him. Frustrated, I’m cursing under my breath when the back of a man’s hair draws my eyes across the room.

  I take a few steps in his direction and tap him on the shoulder.

  Smoothly, he spins around.

  “Miss Sandoval,” he says, his green eyes flickering with a smile.

  He tips his gaze down, taking me in.

  “How do you like this evening so far?” he asks, slowly dragging his eyes up.

  I catch him shooting a quick glance over my shoulder, but that’s not what’s worrying me.

  Dumfounded, I read his eyes.

  “Was this a test, Sebastien?” I ask with a quiet voice.

  Silent, he smiles.

  “Was it?” I ask a little louder this time, the tone of my voice drawing a few pairs of eyes to me.

  He erases the small space between us, and the unthinkable happens next. His hand comes to my face, his mouth lowering to mine. Right behind him, a painting screams at me.

  I recognize the dark flowing hair and the curves of a naked woman.

  What is she...?

  My thought gets cut off short as his lips trail my cheek.

  “Wait and see, Tess.”

  His voice is deep, dark, and has grabby hands that pull me into an abyss.

  “Tess?”

  My husband’s voice runs a sword of panic through me.

  Shuddering, I break away from Sebastien. Allan stops at my side, his gaze swinging between Sebastien and me.

  “What is this?” he mutters, washed with disbelief.

  The next few moments become a slow-motion cinematic tale.

  I register Sebastien’s slight tilting of his head back as he straightens and stretches a dark grin.

  Thirst for blood reads in his eyes.

  And yet, I keep watching him, my mouth agape.

  Allan’s hand feels cold against my skin.

  “Who is this man?” he asks.

  His words ring empty and distant as my eyes stay locked with Sebastien’s.

  In his eyes, I finally read everything he has kept hidden from me all these months.

  In his eyes, I find the path to his heart and what I see straightly horrifies me.

  In his eyes, I see my reflection.

  The image of a broken woman, t
hrown in a cage, and then forgotten.

  In his eyes, I see the story of us, every bit and snapshot playing at insane speed.

  The first sightings of him, the cat and mouse game and the baits he used to draw me to him as he slowly took over my mind, my heart and my home.

  A string of flashbacks brings back our physical encounters. The time he followed me into the bookstore and then the moment when he got me off in that back alley. The elevator and the party. And then, I see last night, a carousel of light and shadows.

  In his smile, I see my death.

  “Tess?”

  I wish this was my husband’s voice.

  “Tell him,” Sebastien mutters, his hands sliding casually into his pockets.

  His grin makes my stomach hurt. The story in his eyes makes me crumble.

  I lose my breath. My heart. And possibly my mind.

  The pain becomes unbearable, the more I realize...

  “Who is he?” my husband asks again.

  I turn blank eyes to Allan, that very moment someone’s back bumping into mine.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” says a melodious, female voice, a grin lining her tone.

  The tone that sounds, oh so familiar.

  I spin around, out of reflex if nothing else, the beautiful brunette and I locking eyes for a mere second.

  Her grin turns dull the moment she glances over her shoulder and takes us all in. Her lips move as her expression changes, my ears refusing the word coming from her lips.

  “Allan?” she murmurs with familiarity, her voice drowning in disbelief.

  My feeling exactly.

  Frozen in this majestic fuck fest of the universe, I wait for a clarifying answer. Sebastien’s stare scorches my face. My eyes stay locked with his gaze when I hear my husband muttering.

  With familiarity again.

  “Jacqueline?”

  Silent satisfaction glimmers in Sebastien’s eyes.

  “Who is she?” Jacqueline asks pointing to me while grappling with surprise.

  “My wife,” Allan says curtly, his hand sliding off my arm.

  The silence is brief before Sebastien speaks.

  “Jacqueline, aren’t you going to make the introductions?” he asks, his eyes not leaving mine.

  His grin intact.

  His mind entering mine again. Reading everything. Giving me everything, and yet taking everything away from me.

  He. Is. A thief.

  A lie is stealing.

  Breaking someone’s heart is stealing.