Man in Queue

by Shandi Boyes

  Her pupils dilate as she fights hard to ignore the moisture teeming in them. “Nothing happened. I’m just done.”

  The sneer of her words shock me, but not as much as what she has to say next, “I told you at the very beginning, if I want you, you’ll know. If I don’t, you’ll know that just as quickly. I don’t want you anymore.” Her tone dips during her last sentence.

  “That’s not true,” I deny, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t be standing here on the verge of tears if you didn’t want me. You want me; you’re just scared. It’s okay, baby. We can work through your confusion together—”

  Her hot breaths fan my lips when she throws open the door and screams, “I’m not confused! I’m also not an idiot!”

  One tear and my entire fucking world implodes. “Baby, please don’t cry. I never said you were an idiot. I’d never think that about you. . .”

  My words trail off when I spot the quickest flurry of black in the far corner of her living room. It wasn’t a small shadow dancing in the late-hanging afternoon sun. It was the size of an adult. A male adult.

  When I lean to the side to investigate the situation more thoroughly, Regan follows my lead, blocking my view.

  This bombards me with anger. . . and perhaps a shit ton of jealousy.

  “Do you have someone in there with you? Someone who’s welcome to stay while you shower and parade around in that?” I gesture my hand to the satin slip she’s wearing that shows off more of her skin than it conceals. “Is that what this is all about?”

  Regan straightens her spine as if she’s going to deny the accusation in my tone, but something changes her mind. It could be the plea in my eyes or the fact she failed to locate the outline of my gun on my hip. If she thinks me being unarmed will stop me from retaliating if any of the horrid notions running through my head are true, she’s poorly mistaken. I don’t need a gun to disperse my anger. I only need my fists.

  After a quick swallow to eradicate the fury in my tone, I ask, “Who’s in your apartment, Rae?”

  An expensive men’s cologne darkens my cheeks when Regan steps closer to me. She is determined, unstoppable, and on a mission to tear my fucking heart in two. “I know who you are. I know what you did.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but I hear every word she speaks. “You lied to me.” Her voice rises as she fights to hold back her tears. “You deceived me.”

  I shake my head, my panic at an all-time high. She looks truly broken, but even more concerning than that, she believes I broke her.

  “I’ve never lied to you. Not once.”

  She grabs something off a drawer on her right before thrusting it into my chest. A few loose papers haphazardly fall to the ground when I twist the manila folder around to face me.

  Oh fuck, I’m fucking dead.

  The folder is filled with numerous printouts of the surveillance images I have of Regan on my laptop. They show the timeline of when my obsession started—right back to her Substanz days.

  I feel the train jump off the tracks when Regan sneers, “You’re a liar, a user, and a cheat.” She pauses as if it is a struggle for her to deliver her next set of words. “So I returned the favor.”

  I’m blinded by tunnel vision, swarmed by rage. “You returned the favor? What the fuck do you mean, you returned the favor?” Nothing but absolute agony echoes in my tone.

  Regan smiles. It’s not one that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. It tarnishes her beautiful face with hatred and makes my heart feel like it’s swimming through tar.

  She steps closer to me, bringing her eyes in line with mine. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? Do you feel stupid? Like you should have been smart enough to see the signs? I understand. I felt the same way.” She glares at me in disgust. “I’m seeing things more clearly now, though. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for me to stop fooling around with the minor leaguers and step back into the game with the big hitters where I belong.”

  She uses my utter bewilderment—and perhaps blinded-by-fury rage—to her advantage by slamming her door in my face.

  26

  I stop staring at the ceiling of my entrance way when a deep voice rumbles through my shattered core. “Everything okay?”

  Isaac sets down a glass of whiskey before crossing the room, his hands delving into his trouser pockets on the way. He’s been as quiet as me today. If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d assume discovering me with tears flooding my eyes was the cause for his discontent.

  It’s a pity I know him better than that.

  It’s also a pity I threw him into the deep end with me.

  Nothing I said to Alex was true. There has never been anything between Isaac and me. There will never be anything between Isaac and me. That’s why I can prance around in front of him in a satin slip as Alex so angrily pointed out. We don’t have that type of relationship. Isaac sees me as his friend, not a plaything for him to dominate or control. Or ruin.

  I only said what I did because I wanted to hurt Alex in the most painful way. I’ve only known him a short period, but I’m well versed on his jealousy issues. I wouldn’t have been so game if he were carrying his gun, but with the playing field even, I unleashed a side of me I haven’t seen in years. It wasn’t pretty, and in all honesty, I’m a little ashamed of how I acted, but after all the evidence I unearthed the past six hours, it won’t take much to have my stupidity excused.

  “Regan?” Isaac queries, making me realize I didn’t answer his first question.

  “Yeah, everything is fine.”

  I’ve said the same thing to myself numerous times the past twelve hours.

  I’m fine.

  Isaac’s fine.

  Everything is fucking fine.

  Except my heart. It’s stuffed. Broken. Shattered into a million pieces.

  “Then why are you upset? I haven’t seen you like this since. . .” His words trail off like they always do when he mentions Luca.

  I didn’t know it when we met, but I wasn’t the only one who had suffered the loss of a loved one. Isaac’s grief was even fresher than mine when he blindsided me with a proposal to join his empire. I think his girlfriend’s death was one of the reasons he chose me. I was nothing like Ophelia, yet everything like him. We both suffered heartache at a young age before fighting through our grief to achieve everything we have.

  You’d think once Isaac reached the pinnacle of success, the struggle would stop. It hasn’t. It’s grown worse. Envy is a horrible thing. It makes decent men crooks and already bad men even more unhinged. The instant you hit success, prepare yourself for the onslaught. Resentment, greed, bitterness, you’ll face it all. It won’t matter how you achieved your triumph, you’ll never be seen as anything more than a fraud. Someone must have helped you. Someone must have paid your dues on your behalf. They look for any excuse they can find as to why their life doesn’t emulate yours instead of striving for their own greatness.

  I thought Alex was above that. He doesn’t have any money—I don’t know a single non-corrupt member of law enforcement who does—but he didn’t seem to care. He has the confidence and charisma that makes people look past the low digits in his bank account, and for what that lacks, his ability to lie without a single bit of hesitation firing in his eyes will take care of the rest.

  “I. . . uh. . . discovered something a little concerning when I was away.” I grit my teeth, loathing how weak my voice is. I sound like a whiny baby overdue for a bottle.

  Isaac nods but remains quiet, encouraging me to continue. I would like to say it helps, but with my mind as twisted as my gut, I can’t fire any words off my tongue. I feel like an idiot, but instead of being able to hide my shameful face until the storm rolls over, I have to confess my sins to a man who has only ever looked at me with pride in his eyes. This sucks. It’s worse than when I had to explain my final paycheck from Substanz to my father.

  I fobbed it off as a weekend gig at a local burger and fries joint, but my father is way too perceptive for that. I swear he nearl
y had a coronary. His face was as red as mine when it dawned on me that years of hiding never really hid me. Jayce knew where I was. Dwain knew where I was. It was just a rookie FBI agent left in the dark.

  “Do you remember that FBI Agent from Substanz?”

  “The one who got shot?” Isaac correctly guesses.

  I nod. If I hadn’t read the reports on Alex’s injuries in his recently uploaded iCloud file, I would have never believed his kneecap was shattered by a bullet. Only two days ago, he carried me up a flight of stairs before tossing me on a bed without a remote hint of strain crossing his face. At the time, I was so impressed by his stamina, my ego fed off the testosterone pumping out of him. Now, just the thought of what we did that morning makes me sick. I’ve witnessed firsthand the tactics people use to get what they want, but Alex’s ploys were excessive.

  My eyes float up from the floor when Isaac cups my cheeks as he did earlier today. None of my tears had fallen, but he had his thumbs at the ready, prepared to catch them if they did. Isaac hates tears, so much so, I faked having a lash in my eye as the reason for the moisture brimming in them. He never found the felonious lash, but his hunt gave me a few seconds to gather my composure.

  I begin to prepare my defense when Isaac says, “You discovered what happened to him.” He’s not asking a question, he’s stating a fact. His tone assures I can’t mistake this.

  I nod again, causing Isaac to cuss. That’s more surprising than my stupidity the past week. He’s known to drop the occasional F bomb when things don’t go his way, but in his day to day life, he rarely swears. I think it is out of respect for his grandma. . . or perhaps fear? She smacks him up the head if he so much as says “damn.”

  A gold cufflink on Isaac’s sleeve blind me when he scrubs his jaw. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out. It’s not something I want you to take blame for.”

  “How can I not accept the blame? I brought him into our lives.”

  Isaac vehemently shakes his head. “We’ve discussed this many times the past five years, Regan. Nothing that occurred that night was your fault.”

  I endeavor to correct him that I’m no longer referring to the incidence at Substanz, that I mean Alex’s reappearance in our lives, but Isaac’s next set of words steal mine. “I’ve been sending money to his family for years. I know it won’t change anything, but it lessens my guilt—somewhat.”

  I take a step back, perplexed. “What family are you talking about?” My voice is the strongest it’s been today. “He doesn’t have a family that needs looking after.”

  Isaac’s brows furrow, stunned by the demand in my tone. It isn’t a bad shock. He’s glad I’m emerging from the dark cloud that’s been hovering above my head since I invited him into my apartment over an hour ago.

  Air vacates my lungs in a rush when Isaac discloses, “His wife is a strong and proud woman, but their daughters were in the forefront of her mind when she accepted my offer of assistance.”

  Have you ever submerged yourself so deeply in your own body, you feel like you’re looking at yourself from the outside in? That’s what I’m feeling right now. I’m here, but I’m not. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. All I can do is sit back and watch the hurt fester in my stomach until it eventually boils over.

  Alex didn’t just deceive me. He lied to his wife—the mother of his children—and at the same time, he forced me to become someone I never wanted to be. He made me the other woman.

  “I need to go home.”

  “Okay,” Isaac says slowly, surprised by the rapid change in our conversation.

  He shadows me into my bedroom, only chuckling with half the energy he used earlier when he took in the sex swing he had installed this afternoon. I roll my eyes before snagging a suitcase out of my walk-in closet and tossing it onto my bed. I can’t believe I finally built up the courage to express my desires without shame, only to have them thrown in my face. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t let it happen again.

  The smug grin on Isaac’s face clears when he stops taking in the woven seat on the sex swing to pivot around to face me. “You’re leaving now?”

  Feigning ignorance of the panic in his tone, I nod.

  The worry clouded in his steel gray eyes intensifies. “If this is about the agent—”

  “It has nothing to do with him,” I lie. “There’s just stuff I have to take care of. My sister. . . and brother. You know, stuff.” I’m two seconds from punching myself in the throat for how stupid I sound. “Do you think you can hold down the fort until I get back? I’m sure it will only be a few days.”

  I’m not running away like a coward. I want to fix the mistakes I made. But I can’t do that here. Just seeing Alex for those two short minutes upended the courage I built this morning to tell Isaac about the FBI’s unfair investigation into his empire.

  Although I’m still planning to update him on everything I know, I refuse to let Alex make me look like an idiot for the third time in under twenty-four hours. I need to ensure all my t’s are crossed and i’s are dotted before I come clean to Isaac.

  I doubt he has anything to be worried about, though. I scoured the evidence Alex had in his phone for hours this morning. He has nothing on Isaac—not a single fucking thing. And he’ll never get anything—because I’m going to make sure he doesn’t.

  I didn’t study to the point of exhaustion for seven years to let a man with no morals judge Isaac’s integrity. I did it to stop precisely this: the corrupt, unworthy men and women who don’t care whom they have to trample to get what they want.

  Isaac pays me extremely well, and he’s about to get all his money’s worth in one sitting.

  27

  A technician I’ve never met before jumps out of his skin when I throw open the surveillance van door half a block down from Regan’s apartment. I’m not here to spy on her or soothe the sting my ego just sustained. I’m here to amass evidence, to prove I know my girl better than anyone.

  She’s angry. Rightfully so. She caught me in a lie. But she’s not an adulteress. She doesn’t believe in tit for tat or seeking revenge because she knows it causes more harm than it does good, so I’m confident she’d never stoop to those levels.

  She’s mad, that’s all.

  I remind myself of that time and time again as I flash my ID at the stunned agent before taking his spot in front of a bank of monitors. I remember the lazy smiles she gives me when she wakes, how she smells like flowers while her skin tastes like honey, and although shock was the first expression that crossed her face when I told her I loved her, it wasn’t her only response. She was pleased—somewhat angry—but mostly pleased.

  The confidence hardening my spine bristles when I rewind the surveillance footage back far enough to discover the identity of the man in her apartment. Isaac greets Regan in his usual way, with a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug, but his caress this time around goes a little longer than I feel comfortable with.

  “They’re just colleagues,” I remind myself. “She has no interest in him whatsoever. . .”

  I stop talking out loud when Isaac cups Regan’s jaw. Because the security dome is directly above them, and Regan’s head is hanging low, I can’t see what his thumbs are caressing. I assume it is her cheeks, but I can never be called rational when jealousy is sluicing my veins.

  “What’s he doing?” I ask the techie, my tone blunt.

  He stops quivering in his boots to assess the surveillance footage. “Rubbing her lips?” he suggests a short time later.

  My furious roar bellows through the van. “Why would he do that?”

  The techie shrugs. “I saw him do it last night before he said goodbye to his date.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when my growl ripples through the air.

  “Or he could be wiping her cheeks? I can’t tell from this angle. He’s probably caressing her cheeks.” He sounds as if he is striving to convince himself as much as he is me. “Yeah definitely a cheek rub. He would have kissed her by now if he was go
ing to. . . ”

  Silence overtakes his words when Regan shifts her head upwards for the quickest second before she drags Isaac into her apartment by the lapels of his suit jacket. Although pain was the first thing I registered in her eyes, there was also a snippet of deceit in them.

  While working my jaw side to side, I take a mental note of the time in the far right corner of the monitor. That scene was recorded over an hour ago.

  It doesn’t mean anything. I trust her. She wouldn’t hurt me like this. Rae is many things, but she could never be accused of having a cold heart. She’d let her heart stop beating before she’d use it against anyone.

  “What other activities have been recorded today?”

  The technician’s eyes drop to the movement register we log into evidence every day. “Not much. I just reestablished our connection after a glitch, and before that, Isaac was recovering from a late night.” The waggle of his brows expresses the words he didn’t say.

  “What was this delivery?” I point to a note he jotted down on a separate piece of paper. Since the delivery wasn’t for Isaac’s apartment, it isn’t documented the same way.

  “It wasn’t really a delivery, more an installation.” The quiver of his lips mince up his words. “Here’s a copy of the invoice.”

  He is gripping the paper so hard, I nearly rip the one page document while accepting it. His panic is respected when I scan the business name at the top of the invoice: Naughty Boys and Girls.

  The reflux I’ve been struggling to ignore the past hour triples its burn when I discover the product Regan ordered to have installed. There are no fancy codes to decipher or cryptic names. It is as obvious as the sun hanging in the sky: one premium leather interwoven sex swing.

  I throw the invoice onto the keyboard as if it scorched my hand before slumping low in my chair. It still doesn’t mean anything. Not a single fucking thing. Regan is an adventurous woman. She could have arranged for this to be installed weeks ago.