by SM West
Tugging on my hand, he brings me back. Dread sits heavy in my stomach. Sighing, I steel myself. I hate lying to him, but I have no choice. I only hope I can pull it off. If anyone can see through me, it’s Max.
“Clint isn’t like Bobby. I can’t say anymore. Trust me, he isn’t. And what you saw tonight, it’s over. It ended back in the club,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Does Clint know that? Because the way that man’s eyes were glued to you, like you were his reason for breathing, doesn’t strike me as someone who thinks it’s over.”
“What?” A chill runs up my spine. “Do you think Bobby noticed?”
“No. Fucknut was too busy sending me death glares to notice. Usually, he would,” his tone is deadly serious. “Whenever I’m around, he only has eyes for me. Aren’t I special?”
Knowing Max saw something reinforces my decision. It’s over. We’re being careless. Sooner or later, it will get him killed. This was only ever meant to be temporary. A momentary lapse in judgment and pure bliss. It’s time to end this whole thing.
“Yes, brother dear. You’re very special.” I stroke his cheek before planting a big sloppy kiss on him.
“You better be careful. I don’t like this. Bear, why would you do this? He’s in business with Bobby, he’s bad news. It feels all wrong. You need to end it.”
If only he knew how prophetic, he is. Unease sinks into my bones at him thinking the worst of Ry. If they had the chance to really know each other, they’d hit off. Sadly, they never will.
“It’s over.”
“Seriously Tate, make sure he understands. His girlfriend will blow the whistle. She didn’t miss a thing and if Bobby finds out, we know how that’ll end,” he says sternly.
His implication of another Griffin incident, even if he has no clue how true his words are, tick me off. I’m doing the best I can.
“Back off. I’m taking care of it. You don’t have to worry. Besides, you won’t be around to worry anyway.” My bitchy response is a low blow. Hurt clouds his eyes.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I shamefully say.
“Forget it. Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t. I’ll only infuriate Bobby and I can’t handle that right now.”
“Yeah,” he responds dejected.
His strong arms engulf me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, his sweet, protective gesture warms and weakens me. I hate lying to him. But I can’t risk his life and he won’t go back to London if he knows everything.
“Stay with me, Maxie?” I ask, using a term of endearment that he loathes.
Peering over at me, Max looks deeply into my eyes. Searching for the deeper meaning of my request. I realize it could mean stay with me tonight or stay here with me, don’t go back to England. Without warning, he’s mercilessly tickling.
“I’m…sorry,” I squeal between fits of laughter. Realizing now that it’s too late that I shouldn’t have taunted him with that name.
Squirming, I desperately try to keep my legs together as my brother tortures me. I seriously don’t want to flash my snatch. Besides absolute embarrassment, there’d be questions and teasing, which would be another form of endless torture.
“That was totally uncalled for, Bear,” he jokingly reprimands.
Pulling my skirt down, I sit up straight as the driver stops outside of my building.
“Sorry,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Well, this is me. Please stay,” I plea.
“So, we can both endure the wrath of Attila the Hun? Sure, why not?”
It’s likely not the best move if Bobby does come home tonight. I can’t think about that right now. I want to spend time with him. He leaves in a few days, right after Christmas.
The both of us snuggle on the sectional, talking into the wee hours of the morning. Max is animated and excited as he shares his studies and journey to becoming a doctor. Joy and hope fill me, knowing my brother’s dream will come true. I only wish he was closer or that I could go to England with him. Of course, our twin connection kicks in when he asks that very thing.
“I’m not joking, Tate. Come with me. I’ll protect you.”
“Bobby would find me and drag me back,” I say regretfully. “And mom and dad would punish you. Let alone what Bobby would do. Absolutely not.”
The very idea gives me heart palpitations. We’re both quick to protect the other. If only he knew, my freedom is in sight. Not much longer now.
“Fine. At least come and visit?”
“Maybe,” I shrug, trying to hide that it might be possible in the not too distant future. Of course, he sees something in my expression.
“What’s that all about?”
“What?”
“You’re up to something.” He studies me intently. I fight the urge to spill.
“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously? That’s all I get?” he asks solemnly, not buying my denial.
“I’m tired, I’m going to bed,” I say with a yawn, lamely switching topics.
His immediate grimace, like he’s tasted something rotten, socks me in the gut. A queasiness invades me at the hurt marring his handsome face.
“Fine,” his response is curt. “I should try to sleep too, although I’m all messed up. It’s morning in London right now. I don’t feel like sleeping.”
“Well, I do. Goodnight, Max. I’m so glad you’re here,” my voice cracks.
As I go to him, for an instant, I fear he’ll reject me like I did him. Instead, he willingly opens his arms. I don’t deserve him. The lying is eating away at me. Burrowing in his warm, inviting embrace, I cherish the moment. Knowing I’ll call on this during the darkness that’s to come.
“Night, Bear.”
He kisses my forehead before we part. It’s well past three o’clock in the morning and Bobby’s not home. My guess is he won’t come home. Thank goodness for small mercies.
***
MY SLEEP IS RESTLESS. ANXIOUSLY awaiting the arrival of the monster. Surprisingly, he never shows. As I get dressed, the slightest movement elicits a mild soreness at the apex of my thighs in an achingly thrilling ‘I want more’ kind of way. Thoughts of Ry so deep inside of me, desperately trying to become one, invade my mind. We couldn’t get enough of each other.
These thoughts are pure bliss and torture. We are over. Actually, we never were. Ry may not know it yet but he will soon enough. Delaying our next meet is paramount. Once Max is safely in London, I’ll put my plan into action. Being forced into making an appointment with Dr. Fraser for a week from Friday has inched the boulder closer to the edge. My plan has to be complete before then.
Max and I meet my mother for lunch, another traditional, Christmas Eve with the witch. Lunch is mind-numbing and then we part ways afterwards. I go to the Gallery to spend a few hours working. I don’t have anyone waiting for me or any place to be.
As usual, when I’m at the office, I have the FBI burner phone with me. It’s kept in the safe at all other times. This is how Noel communicates with me. It vibrates with a text.
Friday, noon
My stalling begins.
Not possible.
I head to the safe, ready to go home. I give it another minute or two for any reply. He knows I’m here. He’s always watching me, even when I don’t see him.
Friday, 6 pm
I didn’t expect another request so soon. I still have to decline.
Can’t. Family obligations.
I lie. Bobby and my parents are the only acceptable excuses I have. Coop made this clear. They take priority as we don’t want them suspicious. No other excuses. I don’t always follow this rule and they know it.
There’s no point waiting for another reply, I’m not agreeing to meet. I’d rather not tip my hand. Powering off the phone, it’s placed in the safe and I remove the other burner.
This burner sits heavy like a hand grenade in my palm. I’ve only used it once before, to make sure it was working. Doublin
g checking it’s the right burner, I press one, the only programmed number on the phone. And I’ve just made another move, pushing the boulder to the very edge.
It’s the holidays. I hope criminals don’t shut up shop for Christmas. Holding my breath, I mentally rehearse what I’ll say. It’ll be deliberately cryptic. Bobby’s listening. A rough, deep voice answers on the third ring.
“Hello, it’s Tate Conrad,” I say shakily. A heavy pit forms in my throat at using my name. I had no choice. They insisted I use my name. Besides, being in my bugged office, I have to.
“I need the materials by the 31st, by 3 pm at the latest.”
Three words confirm my request. I’ve finally pushed the boulder off the edge. It’s careening down the mountainside. It’s only a matter of time before it’ll pick up speed. The motion growing so fast that there’ll be no stopping it.
***
CHRISTMAS DAY IS AS EXPECTED, pretentious and tension-filled. The only bright spot is Max, although we limit our interaction because of Bobby. After dinner, I return home alone. Max spends the next day with me. Vegging in my apartment. Bobby is MIA.
On Max’s departure day, I spend the morning at work. Around lunch time, the FBI burner vibrates.
No meet for a while. Out of town with Bachman.
Bachman is Bobby’s code name. Ry’s going to Boston with him? This is news to me. Good news. This is the breathing room I’d been hoping for. I contemplate acknowledging receipt when another text comes in.
Don’t pull this shit again.
Ry’s message is loud and clear. Still, it doesn’t change anything. He’s smart and perceptive; he knows something is off.
The afternoon passes in a blur and before I know it, it’s time to take Max to the airport. We make it to JFK in good time. He checks in and once at security, we hug.
“I feel like we had no time at all,” Max says in my ear, lifting me off the ground.
“There’s never enough time.”
“I wish you’d come visit.”
“Me too.”
Putting me down, we stay connected with our hands linked. Bile rises in my throat and my stomach churns at all the lies I’m spewing forth. I am liar and I feel sick to my stomach.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “You look a bit green.”
I’m anxious with the lies, his leaving and what I have to do. He reads me like a book.
“‘Nice. And that’s your cue to leave,” I say, attempting to distract him from my mini-freak out.
“Seriously, are you okay?” he asks, I quickly nod in reassurance. “Bear, it’s not lost on me that you’re holding back. I’m not pushing. I sense you need space.”
Closing my eyes, the guilt and lies threaten to choke me. I can’t look at him, at the tenderness within his eyes. He knows me so well.
“I’m here for you, always. Don’t shut me out. Talk to me. I’d fucking leave school right now, run away if that’s what you want. You’re the most important person to me.”
I can’t take much more of this. With barely a whisper, I manage to respond, “I know.”
His love fills me with guilt and regret as well as adoration and tenderness. Things can’t be left like this, he deserves something. A bridge to fill the gap, to let him know he won’t be out in the cold for long.
“Max, you’ll be the first person I talk to. I wish I could say more but now isn’t the time. When it is, you’ll be the first person,” I promise.
“When?” he growls, not liking my response.
“I love you, Max.” It’s not an answer, but it’s all I’ve got right now. It’s what matters most.
“I love you too, Bear.” With another kiss on the forehead, he grabs his bag and grasps my hand once more with a short squeeze. We’re okay.
“Safe flight. Text me when you’re home.”
“I will.”
Max moves quickly through the line, the doorway and then out of sight. His departure brings sadness and relief. One less person to worry about. With his absence, it’ll be easier to do what’s needed. Or at least I tell myself that.
D-DAY IS HERE. BOBBY’S BACK from Boston. Noel texts for a meet. I ignore it. Probably not the smartest thing to do. It’s almost over. I can’t see Ry.
Tonight’s the night. It must go off without a hitch. I’ll have to move fast. Ry won’t be held off for too long. This has to be a one-two punch before they take me out. Hopefully, I’ll get away before it comes to that.
While totally out of character for me, I text Bobby to come home for dinner. He doesn’t respond, but I plan like he’ll be there. And he is.
Upon his arrival, he doesn’t kiss or touch me. It’s my first sign something is off. He always goes for me, especially if he’s been away. Foolishly, I ignore the abort warning that’s blaring in my head.
We sit for dinner and he starts talking about something or another. I’m barely listening. His attitude has me on pins and needles, more than I already am. It’s so laissez-faire.
“So, dear wife,” his tone reeks of sarcasm. “What’s the occasion? You usually avoid me. What’s going on?” he asks, taking a large gulp of his garnet-colored wine.
Amusement teases his lips, like the cat playing with the mouse. Unease sits heavy in my belly, it’s my move. It’s risky. The last thing I truly want, but he needs to be malleable. Relaxed. Glaringly contrary to what I am right now.
“It’s New Year’s Eve. I thought we could spend it together. We’re seeing Dr. Fraser soon. I thought…” I say, pausing. Digging deep, needing to sound sincere even if the words make me want to retch. “…we could try.”
“A baby?” he barks.
Something is wrong. An icy shiver slides down my spine. I messed up. I’m in the dark as to where or what I did wrong. I can’t deviate now. Hopefully, I’ll get to my end game before he gets to his.
With another big gulp of his half-full glass of wine, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Yes, drink up, buttercup. Yet he slams it onto the table, wine spills down the side. Dammit. Every drop counts.
“I’m always up for fucking you,” he sneers, with emphasis on his double entendre.
Bringing the glass to his lips, he downs the remaining blood-red liquid in one gulp. Yes.
He abruptly stands, knocking the chair onto the floor. I jump at his sudden move. Before I can bat an eyelash, he charges. His lips and teeth stained burgundy from the wine.
Cruelly slamming his mouth onto mine, I gasp. His tongue harshly invades me. A large hand roughly seals my throat, crushing. I anxiously claw at his fingers, grasping for purchase, to loosen his vice-like grip.
He’s strangling me. With his mouth still suctioning mine, I’m barely breathing. My throat’s burning and black spots swim in my vision. Just as abruptly, he releases his hold and I fall into the chair with the monster towering over me. Sucking in large gulps of air, water pools in my eyes as my gaze is fixed on him.
“One thing you forgot lovely wife, I know what you’re capable of,” he cryptically says.
Do you? He really has no clue what I’m capable of. I should be scared right now. Instead, I’m hopeful. He drank it all. Time is all I need.
Thinking on why he’s enraged, my mind races with the possibilities of how or where I screwed up. I’ve no clue. I only need a minute or two, five at the most, not much longer. I can take whatever he delivers, I’ve done it before.
“Before I fuck you till I break you, it’s time to teach you a fucking lesson, little rabbit.”
His fingers viciously paw at my breast. I grit my teeth, withholding my pain, refusing to give him any satisfaction.
“I learned a long time ago never to underestimate you. I’ll give you credit, though. Your little acting debut a few minutes ago, with the dinner and telling me you want to try, Oscar worthy. But…”
“Bobby,” I plea, playing my part.
“No, I’m fucking tired of your disobedience and lies. I’ll chain you again. You need to understand. Y
ou don’t get to choose or have a say in ANYTHING. You’re MY wife. MINE. You think you’re so fucking smart,” he goads.
Grabbing a clump of my hair, he pulls. Fiery pain spreads across my scalp, the red-hot stinging intensifying as he drags me by my hair.
“I’ll never trust you, Tate. I knew something wasn’t right. All these months, you did the one thing that tipped your hand.”
Oh, God, what if he knows about the Feds? About Ry? I try to slow my breathing, school my features. It’s hard with his fingers tightly woven and tugging on my locks.
“You were too docile. Too loving. Agreeable. So not you, my little rabbit. I thought you were whoring around. I had Anthony watch closer. He told me nothing was out of the ordinary. I’ll give you that, you fucking cunt.”
Backhanding me, my cheek throbs, but I manage to remain frozen. No matter how many times he hits me, I’m never fully prepared for the blow. Time’s slipping away. As seconds are stolen, he remains standing. Why? How?
“I don’t know you’re fucking plan, how you thought you’d get away from me. I’ll figure it out. You’ll pay for this.”
“Bobby…” I beg, now willingly giving him my weakness. Hoping it’ll pull him back from his fiery red rage.
“Fucking shut up.”
Spittle hits my cheek followed by another fierce slap across my face. My ears ring. The right side of my head burning from temple to jaw.
“I don’t want to hear another word out of your filthy lying cunt mouth.”
I don’t understand. He’s as strong as ever as his vice-like grip is firm on my hair. Precariously perched on the table, I grapple to lessen the pressure on my scalp. Yanking on my tresses, he laughs, hot, putrid breath invades my nostrils.
“You don’t get it, do you? You think you can do whatever you want. I used to fucking find your spitfire attitude a turn on. Now, I’m sick of it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I scream.
Hopefully, my fight will kill my ensuing panic, and get him talking. Fuck, why is he still standing? He’s a big guy. I tripled checked the dosage. It was right.
