Black Sheep

by Zara Cox

  I nod, too clogged up to respond. They both head for the door.

  “Wait.”

  “What happened to Michael’s body?” I ask.

  Fionnella looks past me to Cleo, one eyebrow raised. “I have footage of that too. From Boston. But maybe you want to tell him?”

  “Boston?” I jerk around.

  Tears still falling, Cleo nods. “Finnan had him secretly cremated. He showed me the video. He…he and I buried his remains when we were in Boston.”

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  I barely hear them leave. But I watch Cleo slowly rise from the sofa. We stand feet apart, the universe between us.

  Her eyes are huge pools of savage pain, regret and devastation. I want to take it all away, fold it into my own turmoil. But I’m not worthy to even touch her pain.

  All I can do is will her not to fall apart. “I’m sorry, Cleo. So very sorry. God, if I could take any of it back…”

  She shakes her head, her hand swiping at her cheeks. She sniffs and steps closer. “You…have nothing to be sorry about, Axel. Oh God, the things I accused you of. I ruined us. I ruined everything.”

  “I didn’t look, Cleo! Compared to the other car we picked up, the Camaro was worthless, and yet we spent more time on it. I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t trust my instincts. And your father died because of it. There’s no coming back from that.”

  More tears fill her eyes. “No, don’t say that. What happened is on Finnan. Everything that happened to us is on him.”

  “It’s the truth. It’s the truth that led me to do a lot more bad things after. There’s no coming back from that either.”

  “What…what are you saying?”

  “That you were right when you said we can’t ever go back. I am what I am.”

  “No, we can. We can try and put it behind us.”

  I shake my head. “Not this. Not so much pain and suffering. It’ll always be between us.”

  Her hand presses her flat belly. “So…what about the baby?”

  Agonizing blades rip my insides to shreds, but the truth is a glaring beacon. “It’s better off without me.”

  “God, no. Don’t say that. Please!” Even crying, she’s beautiful. So very beautiful it hurts.

  I stumble toward her, ashamed of my one last act of selfishness. “I need…Can I… Please, let me hold you, one last time?” I beg.

  “Axel…no. I don’t want you to g—”

  “Please.”

  “I love you!”

  “I love you too.” It’s the only truth that makes sense. I cross the distance and take her in my arms. The kiss would be anointing if I were still alive. But I gorge on it, the way a man headed for his doom would. When I press her away, she looks at me with the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.

  My heart kicks hard then somersaults just for the hell of it. I never dreamed I’d see her look at me this way again. I want to freeze her in time so I never lose that look. “Goodbye, Cleo.”

  “No.” Strong hands dig into my arms. I grip her gorgeous body and gently set her away as the last chain to my anchor snaps free.

  “You’ll be okay without me. I promise. I’ll always love you.”

  “Then stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  The blood on my hands will never come off. She doesn’t deserve that.

  So I walk.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  PENANCE. TOGETHER. FOREVER.

  Us

  Finnan Rutherford is charged with war crimes two months later. I don’t doubt that, between Axel and his powerful allies, they orchestrated a process that could’ve taken years and reduced it to weeks. The trial takes three weeks and four days. He’s sentenced to life imprisonment without parole.

  For every one of those days, I sit in court two rows behind Axel. He knows I’m there. His shoulders tense every time I look at the back of his head. But not once does he turn or acknowledge me.

  On the day he testifies, I catch my first real glimpse of his face. He looks as haggard as I feel. But he’s strong and proud and ruthless when he puts the final nail in his father’s coffin.

  For my part, I feel little shame in rejoicing in the vengeance my father indirectly receives.

  With the trial out of the way and the pervasive terror lifted from my life, I have room to think about the future. It’s not the future I once dreamed of but it’s one that still makes my heart lift.

  My hand drifts over my belly as I exit the ground floor elevators of the offices of Mackey & Black Attorneys on Madison Avenue. My trust fund is back in my full control, and for the first time in my life, I’m financially independent.

  I can buy a house.

  I can plan a nursery.

  I still have my interior design degree. I can apply for an internship once the baby is old enough. Or I can find a job I can do from home.

  The world is my oyster. But I only want one thing.

  Axel.

  I step out into the fall sunshine, lift my face up to it. The chill that shrouds my heart doesn’t dissipate.

  Axel.

  I thought him a cold-blooded murderer even when my soul screamed otherwise and craved him anyway. My head made excuses to not love him while my heart flew every time he touched me. I miss that touch. That touch he promised me would always be mine, whether I wanted it or not.

  My steps slow, my thoughts whirling. When my heart skips a beat, I breathe through it. I find a coffee shop, order a decaf pumpkin spice latte. And I plot my course of action.

  Half an hour later, I dig out my phone, and I dial. A short conversation and I have the information I need. I take a cab to XYNYC and ask the driver to wait.

  Getting out, I walk up the black carpet to where the familiar-looking bouncer is vetting the early comers. He spots me and walks over to lift the velvet rope.

  “You wanna come in, miss?” he says deferentially. “The boss is inside.”

  I look toward the silver steel doors, every cell in my body yearning to fling myself through them. But for what I’m planning, I need a quiet haven. Hopefully one he’ll never want to leave.

  I smile. “No, thanks. But could you give him something from me? But not right this minute. In about half an hour?”

  He looks puzzled, but he nods. “Sure thing, miss.”

  I hand over the envelope, and I leave.

  My hotel suite isn’t as sumptuous as his penthouse but it’s fit for this purpose. I figure I have forty-five minutes to an hour tops before he turns up. I jump in the shower, slathering myself in the expensive gel I treated myself to yesterday.

  My dress is already laid out. I slip it on, tug on my heels, and gather my hair in a topknot that leaves my neck bare. I’m slipping on silver chandelier earrings when I hear the firm knock.

  Butterflies surge into my midriff. I slide a soothing hand over my belly. Leaving the bedroom, I open the door.

  He fills my doorway. My world. Tall. Primitive. Proud. Fierce.

  His eyes probe, consume me from head to belly to toe and back up again.

  I clasp my hands behind my back. “Hi, Axel. You got my note?”

  He walks into the suite and shuts the door behind him. “I got your note. And the picture. Please tell me that fucking tattoo isn’t real?”

  “What if it is?”

  His nostrils flare with barely controlled fury. “Then you’ll be heading to a laser doctor to have it removed pretty fucking quick.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that word has no fucking place on your beautiful body, that’s why.”

  “You wear it on your skin.”

  He shoves a hand through his hair. “We’re not doing this again.”

  “Why? Am I not worth your time, Axel?” I inquire softly.

  He stops, his piercing eyes incredulous. “Not worth… What the fuck are you talking about? You’re worth every—” His eyes narrow. “Why am I really here, Cleo?”

  “Because I love you. And you love me. And whatever penance needs
to be paid, we pay it together.”

  He pales. His whole body shudders. “No. God, baby, you can’t—”

  “Can’t I?” Tears brim my heart, my throat, my eyes. “Tell me you’re happy without me. Tell me you don’t dream about me every night, and I’ll let you go.”

  He blinks hard then shakes his head. “Cleo.”

  “Can you?”

  “No. I can’t. You know I can’t.” He sounds like a condemned man. My warrior.

  I take a step toward him, not too close. But close enough for him to feel the edge of my torment. For him to miss me even more.

  “You said yours was a selfish love. Well, mine is too. I demand your arms around me, your kisses on my face, my body. Your cock inside me whenever I want it. I demand you let me love you and worship you the way you do me. You told me you hated me once. That hurt me. A lot. But I was also ashamed because I hated you too. And you know what those are, Axel?”

  “What?” he croaks.

  “Wasted emotions that would’ve been better spent loving and trusting each other. So much wasted time. Years and years. Why would you want to waste more?” My voice breaks and tears spill over.

  With a groan he closes the distance between us. He brushes away my tears, even as his own eyes mist. “I’m no saint, sweetheart. The things I’ve done, I’ll never be clean, Cleo. Never.”

  I catch his wrist in my hand, look deep into his turbulent eyes. “You will. You know why? Because for all the bad things you did, you did a thousand more that were good. You saved a lot of people. You saved me. That has to count for something, right?”

  “God, you count for everything. Without you, I wouldn’t be alive. When I thought…” He stops, and his jaw clenches. He breathes through it. “When I thought you betrayed me, the only thing that kept me going was the need to understand. I had to know what I did wrong so I could try and fix it someday.”

  “Then do it. Fix us. Here, now. Let me be your Cleo. Do you want to be my Axel? The one who will never take no for an answer, never spend a night without me in his arms?”

  He shuts his eyes, his breathing jagged. “Yes, I want to be your Axel again. Your Romeo.”

  I cradle his precious face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over his lips. “No, not my Romeo. I don’t want to think about or talk about death. There’s been enough of it for all our lifetimes. I just want you, my Axel. Mine alone and always mine.”

  “I’ve been yours from the moment we met. Every single second of every day. Even when you were lost to me, I loved you.”

  Uncontrollable tears fill my eyes. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. So sorry. I never stopped loving you either.”

  With a groan, he gathers me into his arms, one hand passing reverently over my stomach. Back again. He buries his face in my neck and scents me. “Oh God. Living without you has been hell. I missed you so much. Missed the way you look, the way you smell…” He stops to smell me again. “Fuck,” he groans again.

  Oh, how I’ve missed that. “Kiss me, Axel.”

  He kisses me deep and long and hard, breaking away every few second to whisper his love. After long minutes, he lifts his head, grabs my hand, and inspects my wrist.

  “Oh, thank fuck.”

  I smile at the cheap, stick-on tattoo I sent him a picture of. The word penance is already starting to fade.

  “The moment this comes off, we leave the past in the past. Deal?”

  He nods. “Fucking deal. I love you, Cleo. So fucking much.”

  My heart soars. “I love you too.”

  He starts to lower his head. I pull away. “Just so you know, that goodbye kiss killed me.”

  His eyes darken in pain. “Jesus, me too. I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry’s not gonna cut it, big guy. You’ll have to pay for that.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  I take a few steps back and hold out my hand. “Take me to bed. Fuck me. Love me.”

  His eyes light up. With love. With primitive possession. Mine. All mine.

  “With pleasure, baby.” He eyes my sky-high heels. “But…should you be wearing those in your condition?”

  “Which condition is that? The one where you bend me over the side of the bed and take me from behind with my heels on? Or the one where I climb on top of you and ride you all night long? With my heels on?”

  He chokes on a breath, his eyes going wild. “Someone’s been having naughty fantasies.”

  “I’ve had to live without you for almost three months. You don’t know the half of it.”

  He exhales, strides to me, and sweeps me up in his arms. Touching his forehead to mine, he whispers, “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever you want.”

  “I want you to never leave me again. I want you to have my heart and my love. Always. But right now, I want you to take me in the bedroom. And fill me up.”

  He shudders. “God, yes!”

  “And Axel?

  “Yes, baby?”

  “If it helps you move faster, I’m not wearing any panties.”

  * * *

  Us

  I didn’t hold her firmly enough.

  I didn’t account for the world having the capacity to tear us apart.

  She’s back in my arms again. Her heart in my hands. Mine in hers.

  I’ll never make that mistake again.

  This time I won’t be her Romeo.

  I’ll be her whole fucking world.

  And as long as the world spins, I’m never letting go.

  Never.

  Did you miss Quinn and Lucky’s story?

  Please see the next page for an excerpt from Beautiful Liar.

  1

  CASTING

  April 2015

  There’s no reason for me to be here. I don’t need to do it.

  Not another one.

  I have more than enough to work with. I should end it now.

  It’s what I’ve been telling myself for months now.

  Shit, who am I kidding?

  Enough will never be enough. He has to pay for what he’s done with absolutely everything I can take away from him.

  Besides, I have big enough balls to admit it’s become a rush. The delayed gratification is part of the game. It’s an addiction. In my jaded world where everything comes to me with a snap of my fingers, risky highs like these are to be treasured.

  They’ll be gone in a blink of an eye. Just like every other pleasure in my life.

  I peer at my watch.

  5:58 p.m.

  I rise from my sofa, walk down the wide hallway and enter the empty room. It’s not completely empty, but it might as well be. I haven’t bothered to decorate since acquiring it six months ago when my time in Boston was done and I moved back to New York. It’s as if my subconscious knew I’d need it just for this purpose.

  In the middle of the room, I grab the remote on the table and hit the power button. Three screens flicker to life. I sit down in the leather chair I’d placed in here earlier. Three faces stare back at me. The darkness and mirrored glass means they won’t see me as clearly. Even if they do, my mask is in place. My black clothing and leather gloves take care of the rest of my disguise.

  Anonymity is key. I’m too well-known for anything else to be acceptable. Or acceptable for now, at least. Who knows what’ll happen a month, two months from now? Every day I fight my impulse. I might wake up tomorrow and decide the time has come to give in, unveil my plan.

  I’m not ashamed of taking this route to achieve what I want. Far from it. In fact destroying myself in the process is exactly what I’m aiming for. I want there to be absolutely nothing left to be sustained or redeemed by the time I’m done.

  For now, though, my public role is integral to my grand plan. And since my sins are already numerous, I don’t have any qualms about adding vanity to them and admitting I love my other life. Keeping my identity secret adds to the thrill.

  It’s all about the thrill for me. Without it, I risk prematurely succu
mbing to the dark abyss. The abyss my shrink keeps warning me I’m rimming.

  She thinks it’s a revelation, that morsel of news she dropped in my lap three years ago. Little does she know I’ve been staring into that abyss since I was fifteen years old. I’ve stared into it for so long, it’s fused with me. We are one. We haven’t done our final dance yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

  I’m twenty-eight years old.

  I won’t live to see thirty.

  It’s an immutable inevitability, so I take my pleasures where I can.

  “You each have scripts in front of you. When I tell you to, read them out loud. You go first, Pandora.” I use a voice distorter because my natural voice contains a distinctive rasp that could give me away. Because of who I am, I’ve had cameras shoved in my face more times than I’ve had sex. And that’s saying something.

  Pandora—fucking idiotic name—giggles, and her golden curls bounce in an eager nod. I suppress a growl of irritation and relegate her to the possibly maybe list.

  “May I feel, said he.” She giggles again.

  Ten seconds later, I place her firmly in the hell no list and press the intercom. She’s escorted out, and I switch my gaze to the next girl.

  The redhead is staring into the camera, her full mouth tilted in an I-was-born-to-blow-you curve. I admit the lighting is better on her, but her eyes are a little too wide. Too green.

  I adjust the camera and scrutinize her closer. “What color are your eyes? And don’t tell me they’re green. I can see the edges of your contacts.”

  She flushes. “Umm…they’re grey.”

  I check the notes on my tablet. “Missy, is that your real name too?”

  She nods eagerly.

  “Did you read the brief?”

  “Umm…yeah,” she answers, her voice trailing off in a semi-question. This one is clearly dim.

  “What did it say about lying?”

  The blow-you expression drops. “They’re just contacts.” She leans forward, nearly knocking out the camera with her double Ds. “Here, I can take them out—”

  “No, don’t bother. Your interview is over. Leave now, please,” I command in my best non-psycho voice, and press the intercom again.