by S. L. Scott
18
Alexander
I haven’t taken my eyes off him. I’m still confused to why Jason’s here after that fight yesterday. Cruise must pick up on my irritation because he says, “Stop scowling. We’re stuck with him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s involved now.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows too much.”
Standing, I catch Jason’s attention. “We need to talk.”
“Are we breaking up?” The sarcasm drips from him, making every muscle in my body tighten. Fucker.
I let the comment slide. This time. Walking to the balcony, I slide the door open and step out. The air is cool, the heat of the day not set in as it lifts high above the city street. Leaning against the railing and watching the tiny cars below, I hear the door close behind me.
The eight-by-ten space is too small for egos as large as ours. Nothing feels spontaneous with him, so when Jason matches my position, I change mine. Upper hand and all.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier.” Now he’s got my attention, but I hold back my response in lieu of listening. “We’re friends—Sara Jane and I became friends.”
They’re friends. Not us, but the two of them. “You keep saying that.” He hates to be questioned. I mean, who likes it, but we need to settle this for good. “I’m just not sure if you’re saying that for my benefit or yours. You’ve done shit I don’t want my girl exposed to.”
“Accusations should come with facts to back them up. As for exposure, she’s exposed already. You and I both know Johnson died for hurting them.”
I scoff. “You didn’t kill him for Chad. You did it for Sara Jane.”
“Don’t act like you know me.”
“That goes both ways.” I sit in a patio chair, rest my forearms on my legs, and sigh. “We’re caught in a cycle of destruction, and the only way to stop it is to part ways or—”
“One of us is destroyed.”
He comes to that conclusion too easily, too fast. I stare at him, wondering what he’s lost to make him this cold. His profile is hard. His eyes fixed like a hawk on something in the distance. He’s seen shit go down in his life, maybe lost someone he cared about. A person doesn’t do what he does without conscience if he doesn’t have a vendetta or a point to prove. I just don’t want to be a part of him torching the world. And I don’t want Sara Jane near him when he is easily set off as if nobody’s life, not even his own, matters. Yet, she felt at ease with him. Had I somehow hardened her against feeling fear? “You may not believe me, but I don’t want that. This Rambo shit doesn’t work. You’re becoming a liability more than an asset.”
“Don’t threaten me. Ever.”
“It wasn’t a threat. It’s an observation. You’re acting as if you’re not bound by rules. As if there is no difference between right and wrong.”
“Save the psychology for your girlfriend. I’m not buying it.”
“Seems I’ve gotten too close for comfort.” My lips swerve up on one side as I watch him shift under my scrutiny. “Did I hit a nerve?” When he turns to go back inside, I say, “I haven’t dismissed you.”
His middle finger flies into the air as he keeps walking.
“What’s your problem, Koster?”
Annoyance is buried in his cheeks as he squints at me, then colors his anger when he says, “You. This. What is this place? Everything is top of the line. Have you ever had to work for something you wanted? Fight for something because you can’t live without it? And don’t say Sara Jane. You didn’t work for her. You didn’t have to win her over. I know your story. It’s a dime a dozen.”
“What have you heard?” A debate rages inside him, flickering across his face and trailing into his body. What he should say. What he shouldn’t. “Tell me what you think you know about me and Sara Jane.”
He leans against the railing to face me. “You set your eyes on her and never looked back.” Although he speaks with disgust, envy runs parallel to that emotion.
Sara Jane has become his weakness. This I relate to. This I understand all too well. He doesn’t know us as well as he thinks he does. I’ll fight for her. Till death if I have to. “She’s in love with me.”
“Let me ask you something.” His eyes finally land squarely on mine. “If she were so in love with you, why’d she leave?”
I knew he’d go there. It’s all he’s got and the most obvious question. It’s also the one thing I can’t fully answer, the one question I’ve been afraid to ask her or myself. I always go with the easy answer in my head: she’d finally had enough. That’s not what I want to tell him. I like the charade we play, the one where he’s none the wiser. “I don’t own her. There’s no magical spell she’s been placed under. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
“She left you.”
“And then she came back. Have you asked yourself why she came back to me?”
“She was pregnant.”
My stomach cringes reflexively from his cavalier attitude toward something that cuts so deep. I steady my facial reaction by gritting my teeth. He knew before me. That much is clear. But it doesn’t change that he made moves on my woman. “Why does she stay now?” I find my aggravation balling in the fist of my hand as I squeeze it.
He knows I’m right. It doesn’t matter what he assumes about Sara Jane, she’s mine and always will be. Not because I love her and will give her the universe, but because she loves me and will give me the world. “Look, Jason. I’ve taken your shit since you got here. I don’t know where you came from, or where you’re heading next, but while you’re here, you take orders from me. Or you can move it the fuck along.”
“I’ll go when I’m ready, and I’m not ready.”
Sara Jane is my only weapon against him. I will use his Achilles heel against him until he’s destroyed. “Don’t stay for my girl. She’s taken care of. In fact, don’t go near her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her.”
His chest expands, his anger spreading up his neck. “You don’t own her, remember?”
A smirk slides into place. The fact that she came back for me is enough to give me confidence. We own each other. “I own Sara Jane’s heart, and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you feel big tossing her name around like a prize you won at a carnival? She’s smart, and she’s on to you.” Standing straight up, his shoulders broaden in a pissing contest.
On to me? “There’s nothing to be on to.” Throughout the ups and downs we’ve had over the years, she’s the one constant for me and I her. Even in her absence, she owned me; the tether that ties us together never tore. He’s fumbling over his emotions for a woman that will never love him back. The sting is ever present in his reddening face. “You aren’t competition for me. You think you are. I get it. You think you made some kind of small-town connection with a girl hiding from her life. Even Sara Jane has moments of weakness and pity.”
“She didn’t pity me. She confided in me. That’s what bothers you most. Our connection was real—”
“Yet you both used fake names. Why is that?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Our connection is based on real feelings and trust. Trust is something you’ll never have from her.”
My neck bends, my head tilted to the side as my eyes home in on my target. My shoulders tense, my biceps tighten, preparing for the fight. I’m so close to throwing this asshole over this railing, but that’s not who I am, and I won’t let him drag me into hell to become what he has become. “It must be nice to say and do whatever you want when you have nothing to lose. Guess what? I don’t have the luxury. I have every fucking thing on the line for two reasons: to find out who wants to ruin my family, which includes Sara Jane, and why.” I walk to the door and open it. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you. You answer one way and I’ll give you a clean slate. You answer the other and you won’t make it past Main Street. That’s a threat I can back. So, are you with me or against me?”
H
is deliberate pause as if he really has a choice is amusing. I know his answer before he speaks. Dollar signs speak to him louder than words ever will. Sara Jane will always come second to his greed.
“Money gives you power I can’t compete with, and Cruise doubled my rate if I stay on, so I guess I’m with you.”
Too fucking easy. My father was right about one thing—anything and anyone can be bought. But I’m not lowering my guard just yet. I’m well aware it’s not my money that keeps him here. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the intrigue of the mystery, and a little brunette with blue eyes that captivated him like she did me many years ago. He holds out his hand, and I set aside my thoughts on the matter in an effort to make this work, because Cruise says we need him. Fuck.
When I accept his handshake, he says, “This is a gentleman’s agreement among thieves. No matter what goes down, I’ll have your back.”
“Good to know. And if you keep your promise . . .” We stand close, our hands bound by more than a job. I turn suddenly and start for the door. “I’ll have yours as well.”
Cruise looks up from his monitor when I walk inside. “I was already coming up with an alibi.”
“For what?” I ask, heading to the fridge.
“When one of you got tossed over.”
“Oh ye of little faith.” I grab an energy drink and crack the top off.
Jason walks in. “Grab me one while you’re there,” he says, eyeing my drink.
He doesn’t warrant a response. I might have had an alibi or two running through my mind as well out on that balcony. We may have come to an agreement, but we aren’t friends.
Maneuvering behind Cruise, I look over his shoulder at the monitor. “What have you found?”
“Remember the guys from the alley? The ones we got a tip from the Kingwood ex-exec?”
“Yeah. They dented my bike and beat the shit out of us. They’re kind of hard to forget,” I reply, grabbing Chad’s chair and pulling it out. Cruise goes quiet as I stand there wondering the same thing—do I honor Chad by not sitting in it or pay homage to him by using it?
I sit.
This is our new normal. “They don’t only have ties to Kingwood Enterprises, but to O’Hare. O’Hare paid them for the beat down we were on the receiving end of. Fucker.”
“But if they had ties to O’Hare, they had ties to Johnson.” I roll closer, staring at the monitor. “Is that a deposit on the day Sara Jane was attacked?”
“Looks like Johnson made a lofty one to an offshore account the same night.”
“Fucker is right. One hundred K. That’s all her life meant to them.”
“And Chad’s.” He dips his head and rubs his brow. “Their lives meant nothing but a dollar sign. Fuck them all the way to hell.”
“The question remains, what else did O’Hare and Johnson have ties to?”
“It’s not what, but who? Who was paying them?”
“Who?”
He types something and then points at the screen. “Your mother.”
19
Sara Jane
I almost prefer the periods of pain to the drug-induced fog. Teetering between the two, I start to deny my meds at certain times of the day, trying to wean myself. I sent the nurse home today. I have to do things on my own.
I struggle more today though. The pain goes off like an alarm clock, causing me to bend, cradling my side like the baby I will never hold. Tears follow shortly after, not from the pain, but from the loss.
It’s times like these I want Alexander to hold me and tell me anything that will take my mind off the one thing I struggle to forget. The memories of that day soak me like my blood soaked the ground. “Alexander?”
Why? Why did he promise to be here? Why bring me back here? Every time I need him he’s gone. I don’t want to go back to the hospital, but it feels as cold here as it did there. Empty.
I can’t call Shelly.
I can’t talk to Jason like I did when I needed a friend a mere week ago. It feels as though a threadbare blanket called trust drapes over us. Although Alexander doesn’t seem to be affected.
I can’t bear the loneliness of this room or to feel the barren space in my stomach. My skin crawls, my fingers tremble to scratch an invisible itch I can’t reach. Reaching to the nightstand for my phone, I pick it up and find it’s dead.
Ugh!
Getting out of bed, I grab my robe and swing it around my shoulders. I’m frustrated and need to find Alexander. Padding down the hall, I can tell I’m gaining some of my old strength back. One positive.
Thankfully April isn’t in the formal living room. I don’t want to see her. I just want Alexander.
I weave through the overstuffed leather chairs and down the wood-paneled hall. The office door is closed, and no sounds come from inside. I raise my hand, but hesitate. Something feels off, something in my gut tells me to open the door—the element of surprise is a weapon. Opening the door, I feel frustrated.
No Alexander.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Nothing out of place.
Nothing, but stale particles floating inside the intrusive sunshine.
I glance to the desk but nothing catches my attention. I shut the door and walk back with a lot less pep in my step.
“Alexander?” The name echoes around the vast room with its high ceilings. I’m reminded of the night his father hosted the party when I was set up to find Alexander with that woman, Carinna. Seeing her again at 3:00 a.m. serving his father Scotch on the rocks after they had sex still haunts me—his devious grin, the baritone voice that commanded attention, and his words that were both daring and repulsive. Carinna was insulted when he told her to go. His tone was salt on her wound when he replied, “It was good. It wasn’t good enough for me to want you to stay.”
“Alexander?” My voice is softer this time, not wanting to wake any more demons of the manor.
Neely appears under the archway to the dining room. “May I help you with something, Sara Jane?” I’m so glad it’s Neely and not April. I feel off. Spooked somehow, and Neely’s friendly face brings tears to my eyes.
“Have you seen Alexander?”
“No, not in a few hours.”
My disappointment comes in a loud sigh. “I was hoping to see him.”
“I don’t think he’s been home since you were down earlier.”
“Oh,” I reply, my lips twisting in irritation. “I wanted to talk to him.”
She shrugs with a tight expression. “We have a landline if you’d like to call him.”
“Sad thing is, I don’t know his number by heart anymore. Another side effect of almost dying. I used to know it, but my brain can’t seem to grasp the little things sometimes.”
“I never know anyone’s, so don’t worry about it.” I follow her to the kitchen while she’s talking, “We’re so spoiled with convenience. It’s just not necessary to know those things anymore, but we have a number for anyone whoever’s come into the manor.”
Behind what I once thought was a pantry door is a small table with a two-drawer filing cabinet beneath it. “Is this your desk?”
“I don’t need much,” she says, turning away as if she’s embarrassed. “I’m usually cooking or directing others.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, touching her arm. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging. I wasn’t. I thought this was a pantry.”
She smiles. “It’s okay. I asked for an office a few years back and was denied. Mr. Kingwood senior liked to keep his staff hidden. Understandable, I guess.”
“Not really, but I’ve never run a home, much less a manor.”
“You had an apartment. I’m sure that was run seamlessly.”
“You give me too much credit.” Glancing to the phone, I ask, “May I?”
“Yes, of course. My apologies.” She steps into the room and flips a laminated piece of paper over. Pointing to the number, she taps. “Here it is. I’ll give you some privacy.”
A twinge of pain shoot
s through my side when I sit. This was not a good way to wake up, but the pain is minor compared to my frustration of him being gone. Again. He doesn’t get it. I worry about him. If I was attacked for being with him, what will they do to him, whoever they are?
My gaze wanders the surface of the desk while I listen to the phone ringing on the other end. I land on a stack of periwinkle blue stationery in one of the desk trays. Something is printed across the top in gold, but is shadowed by the top tray. Glancing over my shoulder, I check to see if Neely is still there. As she’s not around for me to ask, I start to pull the piece of paper out even though I know better than to snoop. Alexander’s voice comes on the line, “Yes, Neely.”
Caught. The paper is dropped in front of me. “It’s me.”
“Hey there. Is everything okay?”
I realize this must be worrying. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“Why are you calling from this number?”
“My phone is dead. I forgot to charge it.” I look down and notice the gold lettering of the stationery. The lettering has a soft sheen to it. “It will be charged shortly. I just didn’t want you to worry. When will you be back?”
“I’m on my way. Just leaving the penthouse now.”
Fully invested in this paper, I say, “I’ll see you soon, Alexander.” Tilting the paper to catch the light, my breath catches.
“Hey, Firefly?”
I smile, cherishing his voice calling me that name. “Yes?”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too. Now come home to me.”
“See you soon.”
“Bye.” I hang up the phone and read the stationery head.
From the desk of Madeline Kingwood
The added whimsical touch of a bee replaces the dot of the i. I shouldn’t have snooped and tuck the paper back in. Looking up, I see a photo on the wall to the right, but not before I’m busted. “I couldn’t throw it out.”
Turning to find Neely behind me with her hands clasped in front of her, I ask, “The stationery or the photo?”
