Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  I stroll behind my desk, and Alex sits in the chair across from me. Lisa jolts to a stop just inside my door and gawks at Alex.

  "Hi, Lisa. Come on in. I'd like you to meet Alex Stone. Alex, this is Lisa."

  Alex rises and shakes her hand. "Hi, I'm the boyfriend."

  My breathing stops. Boyfriend?

  Lisa smiles. "Nice to meet you. I'm the legal assistant."

  Alex flashes his panty-dropping smile, and she turns a deep shade of red.

  "Lisa, I'll call you when I'm ready to go over things."

  "Okay." She tears her gaze away, walks out, and closes the door behind her.

  I sigh. She has succumbed to the Alex Stone Effect.

  "Please stop flashing your million-dollar smile at my assistant. She nearly melted into the carpet, and I rely on her too much."

  "Me?" Alex places his hand on his chest. "And it's a billion-dollar smile, baby." He winks.

  The morning tension lifts, and it's a little easier to breathe.

  "Still date night tomorrow?" Alex asks as I go through my morning routine.

  I flip on my computer and start prioritizing emails. "Uh-huh."

  "Plans for the weekend?"

  "Um..."

  Damn it!

  More meaningless documents from the prosecution sit in my inbox. God, they piss me off. Why can't they provide the information I request, instead of forcing me to jump through hoops?

  Alex shifts in his chair. I glance at him. What was his question?

  "Weekend plans?" he repeats.

  "Right, sorry. Ryan and Paul are coming down from New York. They have some convention or something. We're getting together on Saturday night. I forgot to tell you about it."

  "Oh." His voice is flat. "Will this involve you passed out drunk with them again?"

  I snort. "Never can tell."

  No response. And he's on the hairy edge of pissed.

  "Kidding. I was hoping you and I could meet them for dinner on Saturday night, if you're not already busy."

  His steely eyes are locked onto mine. "They're here all weekend?"

  I nod. "They get in Friday night, conference all day on Saturday, and free after that."

  "What about tomorrow night?"

  "I told them I have a date with my boyfriend." I smile, but his face remains blank. "What's up?"

  "I haven't seen you much this week. I was hoping to have you all to myself."

  "You were only gone two days, Alex, and we spent last night together."

  "Such as it was. Look, I'm aware I'm being selfish, but this is all new to me. You're all I've been able to think about for the past two weeks, and I want to see more of you—much more of you."

  My spine tingles, and my head buzzes. I went from zero men to girlfriend of the most unavailable man on the planet in less than two weeks. What the hell?

  "Alex, I want to spend time with you, too. Desperately. But Ryan and Paul—they're my family. They know more about me than anyone. You come in a close second, oddly enough. But they've seen me through some pretty horrific shit."

  Alex lets out a heavy sigh, and his shoulders drop.

  "I don't see them very often—"

  "This is the second time since I have known you."

  I inhale and hold it until I calm. "Not typical. I usually see them three or four times a year. Besides, I want to introduce you to them."

  He leans forward. "Saturday night? That's it? The rest of the weekend you're mine?"

  "To do with as you please," I add.

  "Tease."

  My bottom lip slides out, and he finally smiles.

  He stands and leans over my desk. "Deal. And if you don't pull that lip back in, I will toss you onto this desk and give the staff a show they will never forget."

  "Oh!" I laugh, and pull my lip in. The mental picture of Alex taking me on my desk makes me squirm in my seat.

  "I have missed that sweet sound, Miss Tate." He glances at his watch. "What's the plan for after work?"

  "I'll have Lisa drop me at my place. I'll get my stuff and head to your house in the Jeep."

  "I still think Jake should drive you home and help you pack."

  "I'm quite capable of packing on my own. But if you really want Jake fondling my bras and panties..." I get up and walk around the desk toward him.

  He chuckles. "Okay, okay. You win, counselor."

  "Sweet Jesus! I may die from shock. Alex Stone just conceded."

  I him walk to the door.

  He rests his hand on the handle. "Careful. I might change my mind, smart-ass."

  "Go to work, Stone." I lean in and kiss him, fully aware we're on display, and of the ruckus that will ensue.

  "Bye, baby." He flashes a boyish grin and heads to the elevator.

  I want to squeal and swoon and dance around my office like a lovesick schoolgirl. But I can't do that. I have to be a professional.

  I wave for Lisa to come in, and I head back behind my desk.

  But I can hardly wait for this day to end.

  * * *

  It's late afternoon, and I've cleared a substantial number of files from my desk. But my mind keeps mulling over Alex's boyfriend revelation. I'm not even sure I'm ready for a boyfriend.

  It's true the media presents Alex as a wealthy womanizer, but I see a different side to him. In private, he's gentle, protective, a man who seems to want a relationship—and apparently, wants it with me. That's the part I can't seem to wrap my head around.

  My phone beeps with a text from Alex.

  * * *

  Up for a slight change of plans? I have a business dinner tonight that just came up. Care to join me?

  * * *

  I'm game. Dress code?

  * * *

  Cocktail dress. Is Lisa still taking you to your house?

  * * *

  Yes.

  * * *

  Okay. I'll swing by and pick you up there. Thomas can retrieve your Jeep later this evening. Can you be ready in an hour?

  * * *

  I look at the time and suck in my breath. It's going to be tight, but I think I can swing it.

  * * *

  Should be fine. Maybe we can discuss you being my boyfriend along the way?

  * * *

  Sounds like a plan, baby. Then, immediately, there's another response. I mean, girlfriend.

  * * *

  I smile and shake my head, still unsure of my feelings on this topic. Hopefully, talking it over with him will provide clarity and release the knot in my chest.

  Five minutes later, Lisa and I step onto the elevator. Sarah yells that I have a call.

  "Take a message, please."

  She nods. "I'm sorry. She's left for the day. Can I take a message?" She waves as the elevator doors close.

  Lisa drops me off in the alley behind my house. The narrow street I live on is too busy with traffic. I wave good-bye, cross the yard, and turn the handle on the back door.

  Did I forget to lock it last night?

  I walk into the kitchen, grab my cell phone, and toss my bag onto a kitchen chair. I never forget to lock up.

  Once in the living room, I stop abruptly. Something's not right. My skin prickles.

  Someone's here.

  "Well, well, look who finally made it home?" A voice booms from behind me in the kitchen.

  I whip around and come face-to-face with John Sysco.

  I glare at him. "What the hell are you doing here?" I say, gasping for air.

  The corners of his mouth curl. "I was worried about you."

  "I'm fine, John, no thanks to you. You need to leave—now—or I'll call the police." I want desperately to come off as strong, but my voice is shaky. I wring my clammy hands and slowly back away from him.

  "You're in way over your head with Stone. I saw you get on that asshole's boat. I waited for you to come back that night, but you never showed up. I saw you kissing him the next day on the dock," he hisses. "Where did you stay last night, Kylie? You weren't here. I know because I w
as here all night long. Did you stay with that fucking prick?"

  Images and sounds from the past flood my head. The click of handcuffs tightening around my wrists. The knife blade against my skin. The helplessness of being hoisted in the air as blood drained from my body and pooled at my feet.

  I choke back a sob and force the visions away. I need to get the hell out of here, but my feet won't move.

  "Leave, John. You and I are not together anymore. You have got to accept that and move on." My voice is forceful, but my knees buckle.

  John strides across the room, his face inches from mine. His eyes are evil and ominous. His muscular frame towers over me, and I shrink in anticipation of his rage. His short black hair and stubble draw menacingly dark shadows over his face and only enhance the illusion of a madman.

  He thrusts his finger in my face. "I will never accept that!" He pulls a flask from his back pocket and takes a long draw.

  My heart sinks. He's drunk. This is going to end badly.

  He leans in close to my ear. The putrid smell of alcohol seeps from his pours. "Did you fuck him? Did you fuck that arrogant piece of shit?" He raises hand.

  I cringe and turn my head away.

  He laughs. "Your little fuck buddy isn't here to protect you now, is he? He left you all alone to fend for yourself. Some protector he turned out to be." He stalks back to the kitchen. He mutters obscenities, his tightly clenched fists throwing punches in the air.

  My head spins. Memories of his abuse—the pain of hanging by my arms, the feel of warm blood dripping onto the cold tiles—refuse to stay locked away.

  He'll kill me this time. He won't leave until I'm dead.

  I need help. I fumble with my cell phone and hit redial.

  John's back is to me. He's mumbling about what a bitch I am and how he needs to teach me respect. He won't be preoccupied for long, and then his full attention, as well as his hatred and wrath, will turn back on me. I place the phone to my ear and keep an eye on John.

  "I was just thinking about you," a sexy low voice greets me after one ring.

  "Alex." I whisper, my voice terse.

  "Kylie, what's wrong?"

  John whips around. He stares at the cell phone against my ear. His face turns a deep red, and his whole body shakes. "You fucking bitch!"

  "Kylie, who's there? Kylie?" Alex yells.

  "John."

  He swings his fist at my face. The cell phone flies across the room. Pieces of it scatter around the floor.

  Everything goes black.

  Chapter Twelve

  I'm so cold. I can't focus. I close my eyes and wait for the throbbing in my head to subside. Pain shoots through my jaw. Pieces of my cell phone are strewn across the floor. The French doors at the back of the house are wide open, the wind banging them against the side of the house. Fuzzy memories are starting to clear.

  John hit me. Is he still here? I hold my breath and listen for any noise in the house but hear nothing. If he is here, he'll continue his physical tirade against me.

  The front door is closed. I need to get outside, where my screams will be heard.

  There's a wood-splintering crash. The front door flies open and nearly breaks free of its hinges. Two men rush through. Jake moves past me without a word.

  Alex is at my side in an instant, grasps my shoulders, and he stares straight into my eyes. "Jesus, Kylie. Are you okay?"

  "I'm okay," I answer softly. "He punched me, nothing else."

  Alex sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth and runs his fingers gently across my jaw. "I knew it wasn't safe for you to leave the house today. I knew he wouldn't give up," he mutters under his breath. "Why did I let you talk me into letting you go?"

  Every muscle in my body tenses. I've seen that look on Alex's face before, on someone else. The tight jaw, the ticking vein in the neck, and the dark eyes. John just had it. Are they the same person—with the same rage?

  Alex exhales, and he lifts my hand to his lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you from him. Again."

  He blames himself?

  Will I ever understand this man?

  I open my mouth to protest, but Jake appears on the landing, gun drawn.

  "Upstairs is clear, Mr. Stone."

  I point to the open door at the back of the house. "I think he left."

  "Do you know where he might have gone?" Jake asks, and re-holsters his gun.

  "Home maybe. He's been drinking, so a bar, maybe?" I glance at Alex. "Probably one where there's a clear view of your boat. He knows I was with you all weekend. I'm guessing he was camped at a bar across from the dock, waiting for us to return."

  Alex looks at Jake, who nods and leaves through the back door.

  Alex places his hand on my chin and gently turns my face to the light. "Do you have an ice pack?"

  I point to the kitchen. "Freezer."

  He retrieves it and wraps it in a kitchen towel. I wince when he places it against my jaw. Deep creases form across Alex's forehead, and he exhales loudly through his nose.

  Jake rejoins us, pushing his cell phone in his pocket.

  "Thomas is on his way to Sysco's residence. I'll take the two of you home and then head downtown to have a look around."

  Alex stands and offers me his hand. My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and can barely balance on my neck. We walk outside toward the black Mercedes SUV, which is haphazardly parked on the curb, doors wide open. I slide along the leather bench and rest my head on the back of the seat.

  "You okay?" Alex whispers, his lips pressed against my forehead.

  I close my eyes and give two thumbs-up.

  John is out of control, and I'm not sure even Alex can prevent the events that seem to be coming.

  John wants me, and he isn't afraid to kill me if it means he can keep me away from Alex.

  Alex gently shakes me, and I open my eyes.

  "Kylie, baby, we're home."

  He places his arm at my waist and helps me walk up the front steps and into the house. For the second time in two nights, I need refuge after an attack by John.

  Alex sits on the edge of the table across from me on the couch and inspects my injuries. He trains his eyes on my jaw, and holds my chin in place. His mouth is a solemn, flat line.

  "Mr. Stone." Jake joins us and tosses Alex an ice pack.

  The two men look at each other for a moment. Jake nods to Alex before he turns and leaves the room.

  Somehow, they had an entire conversation without uttering a word or including me.

  I wish I knew Alex better. Then this might not bother me so much. I'm lost, and fear ravages my body. Is this the start of Alex letting me go? The thought of not having Alex in my life, coupled with the craziness of the night, weakens me.

  He carefully places the ice pack against my jaw and secures it with my hand. "Hold this."

  His eyes are dark, and I'm can't tell if he's upset with the situation—or me.

  "I have to go talk to Jake for a minute. Will you be okay here?"

  I nod. "Of course."

  "Okay." He points to the ice pack. "Keep that on your jaw. Got it?"

  I smile, and he leaves the room. The living room is warm, welcoming, and I soak in its comforting atmosphere. In the darkness, the windows become a mirror of the interior. I can see my reflection, ice pack to the face. Here I am again, icing one part of my body or another after John hit me. I thought walking away from him would bring an end to this, but he's still there. Always in the periphery of my life. Except, these days, he's a central fixture. I hate it.

  What would have happened if I hadn't called Alex? John wouldn't have stopped at one punch. He never did in the past. I can still feel every strike to my face, punch to my side, the taste of blood in my mouth from a busted lip.

  I shake off the visions. The worst didn't happen. Alex happened. On both nights, he saved me. John is out of control—unhinged, rash—just as Alex said. I should've listened to Alex and stayed here. The one place I'm s
afe.

  I know deep down that it's foolish to dream of a future with Alex. A relationship with the wealthiest most sought after man in the world would be hard to maintain under normal circumstances. Add a stalker ex-boyfriend bent on reclaiming me, or killing me—that's too much to ask of anyone.

  The crystal decanters with the various caramel-colored liquids lining up across the back of the bar call to me. A good stiff drink or two—or five, depending on how long Alex is gone—will help take the sting out of reality. I toss the ice pack onto the black granite and reach for a decanter of light-brown liquid. As long as it takes the edge off this disastrous night, I couldn't care less what it is.

  My hands tremble. The crystal decanter clinks against the glass.

  "Let me help." Alex is close behind me, his hands on mine. He fills my glass half full, takes the decanter from me, and pours a glass for himself.

  I walk back to the sofa and sit. The bourbon is smooth and slides down my throat, burning a path that warms me from the inside out.

  "Better?" Alex sits next to me and peers at me over the rim of his glass.

  "Much. Thank you." I take another sip and set my glass on the table.

  "I'm so sorry, Alex. I never meant for you to get mixed up in my drama. This is not your problem and not what you signed up for when you asked me on a second date."

  Alex places his glass on the table, inhales deeply, and clasps his hands around mine. "This is my fault. I could've prevented this from happening. I didn't follow my instincts—which is unlike me—and you were hurt because of it. Because of me."

  My mouth opens, but I'm speechless. None of what Alex says makes any sense.

  "How can you say that? This is not your fault." I gather my thoughts and try to grasp the reality of the situation. "John did this to me, not you. You've saved me from him—twice. You've gone above and beyond the duties of a guy I have known for barely two weeks."

  "I made you a promise," Alex says, "on the boat. I told you I wouldn't let him, or anyone, put their hands on you ever again."