They both stood motionless, almost calculating, watching, observing the opponent.
It never occurred to me which would win, but staring at the black widow, knowing its bite was as deadly as it was vicious, my mind had made itself up.
It struck first. The widow went straight for the jugular, and that was its first mistake—taking the easy shot, the uncalculated risk of striking first.
The mantis, as if knowing all along, gripped the spider with its pincers, holding it like it was sushi, his arms the chopsticks of death.
It squeezed and squeezed, making sure to eat its legs while it writhed in its hold. Nausea built inside me, suffocating my every breath, but the mantis didn't stop to recognize how uncomfortable I was.
How could it know?
This was a dog-eat-dog world. In this case, a mantis-eat-widow one, he did what he had to do to survive. He won, eating his winnings like a gloating king after battle.
And I learned something valuable that day: always watch your six, don't trust words, and never take the first shot. I'd never lay victim to a man ever again.
Mondays were created by a traitorous cunt who thought a new start of the week was a good idea.
The clock reads two in the afternoon—my allotted break was over two hours ago. Toby would kill me if I didn’t take one. Stopping at my locker in the employee portion of the restaurant, I grab my spare joint tucked into my bag. It’s one I keep close by. Smoking isn’t something I partake in often, especially not after Wes and his dickish behavior. It tends to remind me of him, and that’s not something I like to relive.
Heading toward the back, I leave a rolling pin between the door to make sure I don’t get locked out. It’s not a risk I’ll ever make again.
It’s been days since we both got drunk. Dad hasn’t stopped calling, Gray hasn’t stopped texting, and I’m stuck in a play-by-play work life and sleep life. Toby is always home. He sleeps next to me every night, but it’s weird. We don’t talk. We don’t touch. We just don’t.
Come over, Joey. Or we’re breaking up. I laugh at her message.
Only if you have hot Cheetos and cheese.
I thought you stopped getting high. I chuckle, loving that she’s so attuned to me.
Never truly stopped. But seriously, I’d die for both. As I’m sending the text, I stop at my locker and get my little copper cigarette holder. It has a white front with a red rose stamped on. It was my grandmother’s. It’s also where I keep my blunts.
What’re you doing? Gray’s message pops up on my phone. Swiping up to see her others, I notice she messaged me five times, simply to say hi.
About to take a hit on the back-truck entrance.
You’re smoking right now? Is her automatic response. It’s insane—for how much we talk, we don’t really talk. We’ve grown closer over the years, but her staying in France ninety percent of the time takes our friendship to a text-and-call-only kind. She’s doing better now, Ace is far away, and she’s seeing this new royal dude. He treats her right, so that’s all that matters to me.
Started again, seems to be the only thing that helps my depression. Shivers overtake my frame. It doesn’t help that it’s a little overcast and moody, bringing a chill that only furthers the one already sweeping over me.
I didn’t know that. She messages back. Bring some over tonight. Need to let loose.
It just dawned on me that she’s in the States and not France.
You’re home? I check the calendar, noting it’s spring break. Wow, time has flown right on by.
How the hell else would we hang out, weirdo? Just flew in to see Dad for spring break. I smile at that. Francis loves his little girl. How they’ve bonded over the years is amazing. I’m proud of him for taking care of her. He never stops trying to make her life the best it can be.
I’ll be there at seven-ish. It’s not a late night for once. I’m actually going to be slowing down here. Last night only pushed me further. I’m going to find a new job away from Hollow Ridge, and I’m going to thrive there and eventually divorce Toby. Something makes me cling on. Maybe it’s the thought of giving up, or maybe it’s the inability to live without him. Either way, we only hurt each other, and it’s exhausting.
We deserve more.
I light up, and for the first time all day, I breathe. Fuck. It feels good to let loose. Even if my way to do so isn’t conventional.
Toby wanted me the other night, so after my shower, I went to our room. But he wasn’t there. Good thing, I was nearly combustible seeing the lust swirl in his eyes, wanting to give in. But he fucked some chick, and I have more self-respect than that. This time.
It’s not even the fact that he cheats that makes me hate him; it’s that he has this idea that I’m worse than he is. He’s the only man who has touched me since Wesley. The only one.
Yeah, Francis and I shared a single kiss, but we never got intimate. The fact that Toby can’t see that makes me mad. It pains me that he thinks I’m intentionally hurting him too. Who lives like that?
And why does the desperate girl inside me want to fix him? I want that so much it’s sickening. I’m allowing myself to stay in this horrible relationship all while walking away is an option.
The fact that I’m still here says how weak I’ve become. I love him so damn much, even as he finds his pleasure in others, I still want to be the one he comes home to.
I want to be the only one.
Will I break before that happens again?
Why won’t I walk away?
After my phone chirps several times, I set my bud down to see what the rush is. I need you to come home right now. I know you still have four hours, but it’s important.
Toby.
Of course, something is wrong.
Please.
I already called Sanje, he’s covering.
Sanje is our other chef. When Toby and I left Hawthorn and Hollow Ridge behind, we traveled the world together. We grew Hayes Corp and the Casa Conglomerate. We went French cuisine and Italian, all the way to Thai and Korean. We didn’t stop the expansion until we had to come back once again to truly change the Hollow Hills’ Mi Casa. We hired Sanje and his protege Dominique. They’ve been the best decision we’ve ever made, and when I’m not feeling like working, which tends to be every other day, Sanje takes over. Once I’m gone, he can have full rein. I’m done being here and crumpling beneath all the weight.
I read over the texts two more times, wondering what he could possibly need. The desperation in the texts makes me feel so many things I’ve avoided. He needs me. It’s probably nothing important, but either way, the feeling is still there. After taking another huge inhale before putting out the blunt, I tuck it into my little box.
I’m heading up the elevator in the next ten minutes. Working where you live has its benefits, like being less than five minutes away.
Using my penthouse card, I go the extra ten floors no one but the owners have access to. The metal makes noises as it goes up, and not even the shitty music can dull my nerves. I’m always on edge when it comes to this man.
Scanning inside our home, I don’t see him. It’s odd, but I don’t worry too much. When he’s not in our room, an unsettling feeling arouses. But it’s when I go to our office that my heart stops entirely.
Inside the room is my father, and besides him... my mother.
“Mom?” The soft voice that trickles out of me has me unnerved.
“Fix this, Tobias. Now.”
It’s all my father says before looking at me with an inexplicable emotion. Then he’s leaving, all while my mom, who’s been missing for nine years, stands in front of me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Present
Toby
This should freak me out. That my wife looks as if she’s about to pass out, but I remain calm. One of us has to. Before she came in, her father and I had a chat. More like he threatened me once more.
The truth of the matter is, he hid Lianna from Joey all these years.
Like me, she’s an addict.
The difference between us, her addiction is meth while mine is whiskey.
She abandoned my wife, tore her to shreds. All for a craving.
I may be a loser that drinks his sorry existence away, but leaving Joey isn’t something I can do. Whether our hatred outshines our love, it keeps me grounded.
At first, it didn’t. I’d disappear for days at a time. I even lied about it being because of other women, but I’d binge-drink and end up in the hospital.
Gene always came. Though my mother keeps me at a distance, my stepfather is there for me. He’s forgiven me for what Lo and I did. He loves me still.
Mom sticks to her favorite son, just like she always has.
The only thing we’ve ever had in common was the bottle. Isn’t that right, Ma? You hug it and I grapple it. You married yourself to the way it made you feel. I divorced myself of feelings so I could drink.
Why did you pass your addiction onto me?
Why did you let me get wasted as a child?
Why did you fucking suck?
My resentment rises as I watch my wife silently fall apart while her doped up mother hasn’t moved from her spot. She hugs herself and sways a bit, making my blood boil. How could Clay bring her here, expect me to fix this, and then walk the fuck away when he knows her mother’s a soft spot for Joey? It’s been nearly a decade since Lianna disappeared. Clay’s action only prove that his political gain is more important than his daughter’s emotional state.
Does he not know she’s been through enough?
That she slices her wrists as if she’s her own art piece?
Did he not see the change when she came back from France? How she didn’t leave the house; how no fucking person could reach her because she lived in a hell situated in her own mind? My hands shake, my body following suit, as I try to tamper down the rage. Clay has carried so much weight over me, a pull to hurt his child—my wife. He’s a despicable human and the fact that he so callously disregards the woman I’m in love with only turns my hatred into a tangible and combustible thing.
“You’re a-alive?” Joey’s voice breaks. The little girl who was abandoned and forced into the arms of a psychotic bitch like Marsha comes through. She’s so young right now as she barely keeps herself from not running to the woman in front of her.
“Joey,” I say, breaking her panic-filled fog. Her gaze meets mine. Eyes that I’ve loved for years, amber and frozen in time, stilled and ever-feeling, look at me for help and comfort, something I haven’t offered her in a long time. Something that has to change.
We are always fighting each other, pushing, colliding in a crash that takes us deeper in the thrall of hatred. The softness I’d once freely given rises in me, wanting to give and give, making sure that look on her face never comes back.
I hate her.
I love her.
I want to destroy her
Then when there’s nothing left, I want to fix everything.
Instead of being a dick, I get up and close the distance between us. She’s so fragile at this moment, wrapping her arms around my middle, holding me like I’ll protect her.
Oh, I will.
Even as I hate her.
She doesn’t cry, but her entire body shakes with shock. Like the first time I saw Francis after his accident. He was bruised from head to toe, in casts, and connected to machines. But he was alive. He made it.
“Baby girl,” her mother slurs. It reminds me of being wasted beyond my own comprehension. Unable to see straight or speak clearly but attempting to anyway.
“I think it’s best if she rests,” I offer, seeing her mom having a hard time standing. She’s high as a fucking kite, sailing the clouds, bouncing from here to there and nowhere at the same time. It’s disgusting, and I hate it. Doesn’t matter that Nate is an addict and I love him like a brother, this woman means nothing to me, and being this way in front of my wife as she trembles from head to toe in my arms has me on edge.
“Let me take her,” I tell Joey. She nods against my chest, not letting me go. It’s endearing and so fucking sad. I pull her off me gently, tilting her head up. “Meet me in the bedroom, Sous.” Her eyes lose her foreign expression and lighten a little. She nods, and I kiss her forehead, needing her to feel my support in some way. She shivers and steps away, heading to our room.
“Mrs. Moore,” I sound out.
“It’s just Lia. Clay divorced me years ago when he could.”
“Why would you come back?” I demand, realizing how callous I sound. “Why now when his re-election is months away?”
“He doesn’t deserve to be in the senate,” she hisses, her eyes unable to focus on mine. “He and that whore of his don’t deserve happiness.”
“And you decided that ruining my wife’s life is acceptable? She was destroyed because of you. You took a beautiful teenager, ready to face the world with her parents, to a woman who’s jaded by all things maternal.”
“T-That’s wasn’t my intention. My little Josephine wasn’t meant to be hurt. Clay kept me away.”
“From what I can tell, it was with very good reason. Look at you. You’re a goddamn mess. And now that he’s using me, I have no choice but to fix it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, Toby, what do you mean?” Joey’s head peeks around the door. She looks both somber and angry at the same time. Who knew those two emotions could live side by side and hurt me worse?
“Your dad owns me, Sous.” It’s the first real shred of honesty I’ve offered her in so long. It isn’t a surprise when this bit of information knocks her a step or two backward. She seems more hurt from this than she was the other night.
“We can talk later,” she drawls, using that voice I hate hearing from her. It’s the one halfway between disappointment and disregard.
“But you”—she points at her mom—“need a shower, some sleep, and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll do it,” I offer. Joey nods slowly, cold calculation in her stare. She’s hurting. I can see it and feel it as if they were my own emotions. She leaves the room, and I turn back to Lianna, wondering how she could give up something as precious as a child.
It’s one thing, no matter how addicted I get, that makes zero sense to me. Like I did before, giving up on alcohol is easy when it comes to the ones I love. Hurting myself and Joey are the only reasons I go back. It’s a bitter tool I’ve used because no matter what, in my mind, I deserve every fucking mess up and repercussion.
“Our guest room is this way,” I mutter bitterly, leaving the office and hoping she follows. There’s no time to babysit when the world around me falls apart. When I make it to the room far west of our home, I open the door and tell her it’s where she’ll be staying until I fix everything or ruin Clay in the process, hoping it’ll be both in one blow. He needs to be knocked down every peg, and if I have to be the one to drop-kick him myself, then so be it.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Present
Joey
As I sit in our room, I curl into a ball, remembering the worst days of my life.
A baby.
I finally got pregnant.
Would we be fixed if my body could handle carrying a child?
Why couldn’t I be stronger?
My heart sinks as I think of how much I wanted my mom back then.
Did she ever experience this loss?
Did she ever weep for the world to ease up?
Did she beg to be deserving of a child?
I did.
Every single day and night, I begged. Hell, after a week, I tried getting Toby on board for trying again, and he refused. I pleaded with him to put another baby in me. To love me entirely and give me hope.
He wouldn’t.
He said no.
Not yet.
No.
No.
No.
That word repeats in my mind.
Remember when I said my rape ruined our relationship? It’s t
rue. After getting diagnosed with chlamydia, losing my tubal function, and losing a baby, it’s true.
Toby, my loving husband, he broke.
He wasn’t there for me. Silence was what he offered. Yeah, he comforted me, loved me, was perfect, but he didn’t live his pain with me. He didn’t suffer the same, and I hated him for it.
How could he be silent when I raged at the world?
How could he act unaffected when I died inside?
How could he pretend to be so strong when he couldn’t even admit he lost something too?
It’s where my resentment unfurled. It’s where it thrived. It’s where we lost each other.
“I’ll be in the office today, don’t worry I’ve got S covering for you this week.”
“Okay,” I respond, not caring. Nothing mattered anymore. My job could suffer along with me, maybe then I wouldn’t be so alone.
He leaves and my phone chimes.
Dad told me. Come over. Let me cry with you and feed you chocolate and popcorn. For the first time in two weeks, I smile. It’s small and barely there, but it’s a smile. Standing up, I head to the shower.
Thirty minutes later, I’m arriving at Mansion de la Frenchman.
It’s what I’ve called it since living here.
Francis wasn’t amused, but Gray sure as hell was.
Before I make it to the front door, I hear angered voices.
“You think you can walk away, Storm? Think that just because you flew across the fucking world, that I wouldn’t still own every single breath you take? Did you forget what your whore of a mother did? What you hid from me?”
His tone is aggressive and single-handedly scary. I’ve never seen someone so young contain so much malice.
“Ace—” Gray whispers, probably trying to soothe him. He doesn’t stop himself from pushing her into the wall of the house. His palm glides up her throat, gripping and possessive. It reminds me so much of Toby that I almost wish I had popcorn.
“You’re my fucking damaged toy, Gray. Next time you decide to leave Hollow Ridge, I’ll fucking follow you.” He bites her lip before releasing her, then walks toward the back of the house. Interesting. There isn’t anything out there but fields for miles, and right as Gray goes to chase him, someone taps my shoulder.
Breathe (Hollow Ridge Book 2) Page 23
