The Hearts Series

by L.H. Cosway

  Elaine sat beside me in clean pyjamas, a photo album from King’s childhood in her lap as she showed me his baby pictures. Unlike some people, who were awkward or ugly as children before growing into their looks, King had always been gorgeous. He was one of those little boys who you could look at and just know they were going to be a heartthrob when they got older. The only difference was that when he was little, his hair was snowy white. He looked almost Scandinavian. Then, as the years progressed, it got darker, became more golden than white.

  About a half-hour went by, and I could tell Elaine was enjoying herself. She was remembering a simpler time before King’s father began insinuating himself into their lives.

  “Mum, would you like to eat at the table or in the living room?” King asked, standing in the doorway and watching us. There was something in his eyes that gave me pause; it was contentment, an affection for both of us. I liked how it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like I was truly a part of his life now even if certain things were still up in the air.

  Elaine glanced at me, a twinkle in her eye. It was so nice to see her relaxed and comfortable, such a contrast to the terrified, panic-stricken woman I’d encountered on our arrival back from Rome.

  “Let’s be uncivilised and have it in here,” she suggested with a sheepish grin.

  “Hear, hear,” I agreed. “TV dinners are the best.”

  King shook his head, smiling, then went back into the kitchen. Five minutes later he returned, handing each of us a plate with roast beef, sautéed vegetables, mashed potato, and the most delectable gravy I’d ever tasted. He placed two glasses of wine on the coffee table for us, then went to sit on an armchair with his own plate. I noticed he was drinking wine, too. It was quite a large glass, but I chose not to comment on it. Obviously, the evening wasn’t total domestic bliss for him. He still had his father on his mind.

  We’d just finished eating when King’s phone began ringing. Standing up, he stepped out of the room to answer it. I could hear him speaking, but his words were muffled. In the end, he returned to the living room, a sort of relief etched on his features…but there was also a hint of strain. His eyes came to mine, and his voice was light and airy when he spoke, disbelieving almost.

  “That was Lee Cross. He said Bruce has agreed to back off. He’s going to leave us alone.”

  Elaine gasped, her hand going to her mouth as her eyes grew wet with tears, though they were obviously happy ones. I stood and walked to King, giving him a tight hug and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. The moment I let go, he went to his mum, scooping her up into his arms and squeezing her tight. Their embrace lasted a long time. It was full of relief, years of worry and stress being let out all at once. I thought maybe I should give them a moment alone, but then King pulled back, his eyes on his mother.

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed. Maybe tonight you’ll sleep soundly for once.”

  Elaine nodded and bid me goodnight before King led her from the room. I sat back down on the couch, picked up my wine, and knocked back the last of its contents. By the time King returned, I felt tired. I was relieved, yes, but there was also a knot of apprehension in my gut.

  I knew this had all been my idea, but there was something about it that felt too easy. I didn’t for a second think Lee was conning us. He might have been a criminal, but he was an honourable one. Yes, there was such a thing as honour amongst thieves. Besides, I’d seen enough dodgy characters during my years of bar work to recognise a good though slightly tarnished egg when I saw one. Still, something just didn’t sit right with me, and I hated feeling like that. Like there were invisible loose ends we weren’t quite grasping.

  King returned to the living room and dropped down onto the couch beside me. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. I could sense his relief was short-lived, just like mine had been. He’d been putting on a brave face for his mum, trying to give her some semblance of peace, even if it might have been misleading.

  He stretched his body out on the couch and pulled me to his chest so that my head was resting on his sternum. The silence continued as neither one of us spoke. I pressed my ear to his skin, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was reassuring, amid the uncertainty, to have his strong body so alive next to mine. To know one beat would be followed by the next.

  His hand started to stroke my hair, my bare arm, my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes, enjoying his touch.

  “What you said today at the office, did you mean it?” King murmured, his voice almost hesitant.

  His question gave me pause as I lifted his my head to meet his eyes. “What I said?”

  “About us falling for each other,” King whispered. “Do you believe it?”

  “I don’t need to believe it,” I replied fervently before taking his hand and placing it over my chest. “I feel it.”

  King sucked in a breath, eyes flickering back and forth between mine. His voice was barely audible when he said, “I feel it, too, Alexis.”

  My heart stuttered, and a smile spread its way across my mouth. “Well, then, Oliver, that’s all we need to know.”

  And then I kissed him.

  Several weeks passed by. King began taking me on dates. The rest of the time we were both rushed off our feet, only stealing brief moments together. Some nights King came to stay at my place, and then others I went to his. I preferred going to his. It meant I didn’t have to worry about scarring my best friend for life with our sex noises.

  What was most surprising was the phone calls I’d started to get with job offers. Not for secretarial work, but for modelling. The shots from Bradley’s shoot had been published in a popular fashion magazine, and I’d caught the attention of several agencies. I didn’t want to give up working for King, but still, I thought it was a bit of good luck. I had a couple of shoots booked for the coming weeks, and, depending on how profitable it became, maybe I could quit my job as his assistant.

  After all, I wanted to be his girlfriend far more than I wanted to be his assistant, and there was only so much sneaking around I could handle. Plus, Gillian was right on the cusp of discovering the truth. The other day she’d walked in on me standing by King’s desk as he ran his hand up the outside of my thigh. He’d explained it away by saying he’d spotted a spider on my skirt.

  And yes, it might have been the most obvious lie ever told. Amen.

  It was a mildly sunny morning when I made my way to the newsagents to collect King’s papers. I thought Arnold, the shopkeeper who I was now on first-name terms with, was acting a bit weird, but I didn’t pay it too much attention. I picked up the papers and said my goodbyes before returning to the office. It was only when I reached the entrance to Johnson-Pearse that I noticed the swarms of journalists outside. They hadn’t been there when I’d first arrived, but I’d gotten in earlier than usual. There must have been some sort of story going on. Perhaps the economy was taking another nosedive.

  As I struggled my way past the crowd, I heard lots of chatter but couldn’t make out enough details. In the end I tugged a youngish guy holding a camera aside and asked him what the deal was.

  “Do you work here?” he asked excitedly.

  “Yeah, but I’m only an assistant. What’s with all the journos?”

  His excitement seemed to deflate when he heard I wasn’t anybody important. “One of the directors at the bank has been accused of illegal insider trading. It’s all over the papers,” he said, and nodded to the stack I held under my arm. My heart almost stopped beating, and I walked past him in a daze. As soon as I’d scanned my ID and made it by reception, I found a bench and set the papers down. There on the front page of the very first one was all I needed to know.

  It showed a picture of King, which looked to be taken at some function a couple of months ago. He wore a suit and an aloof expression while the photo was being captured. The slant to his mouth made him seem cruel and uncaring, which I thought was probably the intention. The article read:

  Oliver King, head managin
g director at Johnson-Pearse Bank, has been accused of insider trading after an investigation into the financial institution’s public and private accounts. The claims were brought forward by an ex-employee of the bank, who wishes to remain anonymous. This individual is said to have left their job after discovering the unethical practices of the managing director. Mr King is the son of classical pianist Elaine King, who left the public eye over a decade ago after a long and successful career on the international stage….

  And on the article went. I felt like I was going to throw up as I comprehended what was happening. I was on autopilot when I left the newspapers sitting there and hurried for the elevator. There were a number of other people inside, but I barely noticed them as I hit the button for my floor. Moments later, the door pinged open and I was out, almost running as I made my way to King’s office. I saw Gillian first. She sat at her desk, her expression as pale as a ghost, and I knew she’d heard the news.

  “Where is he?” I asked, breathless.

  Her worried eyes came to mine before she nodded to the closed door of King’s office. It was a rare moment that Gillian was lost for words, and this was one of them. Grasping the handle I turned the knob and stepped inside. King stood by the window, his hands buried in his hair as he stared out at the view. On his desk was an empty bottle of whiskey, his favourite tipple.

  “Oliver,” I whispered, and he turned, eyes bloodshot and face contorted in misery.

  “Leave me,” he said, his voice pained.

  I took three steps. “No. We both know this story is bullshit. It’s Bruce. I’m sure of it. He’s orchestrated all of this, planted the evidence.”

  “Of course it’s fucking Bruce!” King cried, startling me. “How naïve were we to think he’d back off? Men like Bruce don’t back off — it’s not how they’re drawn. By backing off, he might as well be admitting he’s a dead man. It’s weakness, you see. I don’t know why I ever allowed myself to believe otherwise.”

  All at once, the guilt hit me. Blackmailing Bruce had been my idea. Therefore, what was happening right now was my fault. Tears filled my eyes as the strength fled my body.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  King’s eyes came to mine, so blue, so beautiful, so sad. He shook his head, seeming to read my thoughts from my expression alone. “No, Alexis. Don’t even think it. All of this was going to happen eventually. Bruce has always despised me for not being like him, for making it my life’s mission to never be like him. He was always going to try to destroy me. It was only a matter of time.”

  “But King, I….”

  In a few short strides he was in front of me, his fingers going to my lips to stop me from continuing. “I said no, my darling. No. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Just by breathing, you make all this a million times more bearable. I’ve lost the respect of my peers, of everyone I know. I’ve lost.” He paused, choking up, his posture projecting his misery. His hands fisted, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ve lost everything I worked years to build. The pride I held, the respect I commanded from others, it’s all gone. I’m no longer the best at what I do, no longer surpassing anybody, because everybody thinks I got where I am by cheating.”

  “But you didn’t cheat. You know it. I know it. Your mother knows it. We’re the only ones who matter.”

  All the breath left him at once. “Oh, Alexis,” he said, his voice the saddest I’d ever heard it. “You don’t understand. If I don’t have respect, I have nothing. I might even go to prison for this.”

  In that second, the whole world went still. My heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, and my legs almost buckled out from under me. I’d been so preoccupied with what Bruce had done to shame King that I hadn’t even thought about the consequences. Insider trading was illegal, and breaking the law meant prison time. I stared at him, mouth open, despair filling me up, when there was a knock on the door.

  We both turned our heads, expecting Gillian, but somebody else stepped inside. It was the strange woman I’d seen just once before. The one with the dyed red hair who looked like a gypsy.

  “Oliver,” she began, but he interrupted her.

  “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” King fumed, stepping by me to face the woman.

  “But I can help,” she insisted.

  “You can’t. You never have. All you’ve ever wanted from me was money. When I look at you, all I see is him, so leave. Leave before I have security come and physically remove you.” The last part of what he said was dark, seething, and the woman’s face grew frightened.

  “Okay, I’m going. Just remember, I’m here if you ever need someone. I’m here, Oliver. All you have to do is come find me.”

  And with that, she went. I wiped the tears from my face. “Who was that?”

  “Nobody.”

  “King.”

  “I said it was nobody,” he shouted, and I stilled. Deathly quiet filled the room until his phone started to ring. I thought he was going to ignore it, but then he saw his mum’s name on the screen. He picked it up and held it to his ear. The room was quiet and the volume was loud, so even though I was a foot away, I could hear the voice on the other end, and that voice didn’t belong to King’s mother. It was a deep, scratchy, seedy London accent, and my chest seized as I guessed who it belonged to.

  King’s entire form turned to stone as he listened.

  “’Ello, son,” said Bruce, layers of cruel satisfaction lacing his voice.

  “What are you doing with my mother’s phone?” King demanded, a tremor in his words.

  “Thought you could fuck me over, you little shit. Me and your mum are just having some quality time now. You know, reminiscing. I was hoping you could come and join us.”

  A feminine cry rang out, and then an audible slap. Bruce’s voice moved away from the phone. “Stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about. You knew what he was doing, didn’t you, you stupid bitch. The both of you tried to fuck me. Well, now you’re gonna learn that no one fucks with me and gets away with it.”

  “If you harm her,” King began, voice low and angry, but he couldn’t seem to hide his emotion. His sheer panic was evident, and I knew Bruce was enjoying it. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will kill you. You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. I have nothing left to lose now, Bruce. Nothing.”

  Cruel laughter sounded from the phone, and in a split second, King smashed it into the wall, the screen cracking to pieces. He grabbed his coat and fled the office. I ran after him, begging him to wait, but he wouldn’t listen. I followed him to the back exit of the building where no journalists were waiting, and before I knew it, we were in a taxi headed for Elaine’s house. I tried to hold King’s hand, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.

  The air between us felt cold and I scrambled to try to think of something that would calm him down. Stop him from doing anything stupid. The journey was too short, and before I knew it, King was throwing money at the driver and running to his mum’s. The front door, which I knew King had new locks put on after Bruce’s last break-in, had definitely been meddled with. The door was closed, but the lock was bent out of shape. King pushed it open, and we both hurried inside. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood waiting in the hallway. He folded his arms over his chest and shot King a confident smirk.

  He was obviously muscle for Bruce. He also appeared to think he could easily take King. That’s why it surprised us both when King walked right up and elbowed him hard in the side of the face. I heard bone crack, and the man stumbled into a wall with a pained grunt. Then King brought his foot down on the guy’s shin. The brute let out a strangled cry, but both of us were already gone, rushing to find Elaine.

  The house was silent, which somehow felt more frightening than if she were crying out in terror like we’d heard her on the phone. We entered the kitchen to find an older man standing by the sink, casually using a dishcloth to wipe the blood from his hands. He looked to be in his seventies, his hair almost completel
y gone. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and there was a scar that ran just above his right eyebrow. He looked fit for his age, his build stocky, the only sign of weakness a little bit of pudge around his middle.

  His eyes came to King, and his gaze narrowed. He wasn’t laughing anymore. There was a coldness about him that chilled my bones.

  “You’re too late,” was all he said. Dead voice. Dead eyes. Black heart. I knew all this within seconds of looking at him.

  King was still, so still, and he wasn’t looking at his father. It confused me at first, but then I followed his gaze to the floor. Time ceased to exist. There on the expensive stone tiles lay Elaine. She wore her favourite peach pyjamas – her favourite peach pyjamas, which were drenched in blood. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, but I refused to accept she was dead. She looked so…small.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  I didn’t even realise I was shaking my head until King dove for his father, his hands going around the older man’s throat. I couldn’t hear over the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. Couldn’t move. So I stood there, frozen in shock, as King started to beat his father to a pulp. Bruce lay in a couple of punches, but he was old, and his strength was no match for King’s. I was about to scream when I saw him pull a gun, but King was quicker, knocking it from his father’s hand and sending it sliding across the floor. He drove a final punch into Bruce’s skull, and the man fell limply to the tiles. The heavy thud was an awful sound, and I thought I heard bone crack once more. A deep, all-encompassing shudder ran through my body. King’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared down at his father’s lifeless form.