by S. L. Scott
“We’re friends.” I sit back in the chair, keeping my eyes steady on him while hiding the panic I feel inside. “I’ll always cover for you. Will you do the same for me?”
“I’ll always have your back. You know that.”
“I’ll call Mr. Quincy and tell him you need a lawyer.”
“My parents cut me off.”
“I know.” My fingers fold together, clasped on my stomach. “We’ll cover it.”
“We?”
I cross my legs. “I have a woman downstairs trying to take over like she owns the estate. I refuse to let her. I’m Alexander’s wife and as such, I call the shots.” Our gazes hold strong and he never flinches when I use the term “wife.” He’s fully onboard. In fact, for the first time, I feel as though I have Cruise’s respect. “You’re our family and family sticks together, so you’ve got a lawyer.” I pick up my phone and call Alexander on speakerphone.
We watch the screen and then I hear his voice. Instant relief floods before it flows away as quickly. Voicemail. Damn it. “Call me right away, Alexander.” Before I hang up, I add, “I love you.” I always say it, and I don’t intend to avoid it out of embarrassment of an audience.
The room is quiet as we sit in silence, both lost in our thoughts. I’m used to Alexander leaving unexpectedly—being gone—but Cruise’s stress concerns me. His dark brown hair looks almost jet black in the masculine room. It’s trimmed short, and stylish. Full lips are anchored under a strong nose and dark eyes. His chambray shirt fits a little tight in his upper arms. He’s much the same guy I met years ago—a solitary man in many ways—but as he’s aged his features have become more defined. His strength is exuded through his attitude, a steady expression of don’t fuck with me always present.
But here, in front of me, midday on a sunny Tuesday, steady has been replaced with edgy. He’s unable to hide his concern, and that’s what makes me anxious. “Do you think something bad has happened to him or you just think he’s off the grid for a bit?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. My gut tells me something’s wrong.”
“We need to look for him.”
“I’ve looked, Sara Jane. All the places I know he could be, he’s not. I need to think because it’s not like him to disappear like this—”
“And yet I’m accustomed to it. What’s it like to spend so much time with him?”
“You have him, the real him. When he’s at the penthouse or the office, he wears a mask of bravado and bad attitude. Jason says it best: King is fighting the world to solve one problem, but the problem isn’t who killed his mother. It’s who took the one thing he loved away. Sara Jane, he lives only because you did. He would have never survived your death, and I know he would have taken this whole town down with him.”
I want to scream, my soul clawing its way through my body trying to find its mate. I want to freak out, but Cruise is deep in thought, so I sit on my hands, and say, “He carries a lot of anger.”
“It’s grown over the years, but the lack of any tangible evidence will do that to someone. He’s going crazy in his own head.”
“How do I bring him back from the cliff he’s determined to jump off?”
“You wait him out.” Resting his arms on his knees, he rubs his face. The weight of all this appears to be wearing him out. “He’s most himself when he’s with you. You give him peace.”
“He does that for me and what I learned while I was away is that he’s the only one who does that for me.”
“In high school he was different.” I watch as he remembers a lighter version of his friend, feeding me tidbits I crave about Alexander. “He laughed a lot. Everything came easy for him. Always so damn easy. He got the girls. The guys wanted to be his friend. He got the grades without studying. He was happy and then . . .” he stops, his eyes sliding up to mine, “he wasn’t.”
“I wish I would have known that side of him.” I wring my hands together.
“The death of his mother and working for his dad’s company destroyed that side. I’m not sure it’s even a part of him anymore.”
“It’s not. I’ve searched for it. But sometimes I catch a glimmer of that smile that comes easily, the laughter that doesn’t hold guilt, and his eyes are alight with some little bit of happy that managed to survive. I live for those moments. I stay through the hard times just to see the moon shine in his eyes. Does that make me pathetic?”
“I don’t need moonbeams from his eyes,” Cruise says, chuckling. “But I stay because he’s not just my best friend. He’s my brother—the one I chose as family.” And for the first time, I see the qualities in Cruise that Alexander has often spoken of.
“He sees you the same way, Cruise. And you have gained more than a friend in me. I consider you my family too. So if you’re in the market—”
He smiles and nods his head. “I’d like that.”
Sticking out my hand, I say, “Done.”
Bringing me into a side hug, he repeats, “Done.”
The sun sets and no call comes. Cruise left around nine o’clock, and I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub not sure if I should call the police or vomit. Where could he be? Where is Alexander?
Cruise stood by his chosen brother, and I thought after our talk two days ago we were friends. Yet it’s Thursday afternoon, and he hasn’t returned my calls. Just like Alexander.
My foot bounces uncontrollably as I tick through the options or lack of when it comes to them. After visiting the penthouse both days, there’s not been a word from either of them.
“You can’t call the police because there are warrants out for their arrest. It’s a matter of who can find them first.” Typical Jason, always stating facts.
“What does that mean?”
“The police will book them if they find them. And it’s my guess that whoever else is out there that wants them will get them.”
“Maybe they left by choice.” Just admitting that out loud cuts me to the core. Would he? Could he? Did he leave me? Has Alexander done what I did to him—disappeared into thin air?
The question lingers long after I climb under the covers that still smell of him. I bring the sheet to my nose and inhale, remembering how his body covered mine, how he moved with grace even when he was erratic in his chase of the blissful release.
My eyes open when I hear a soft knock on the door. April walks in with a tray of soup and crackers. I don’t care about food or water, survival, or life without Alexander. This last forty-eight hours have battered my heart. I must look as road weary as my insides, but I haven’t cared to check today.
She smiles that horrendous smile she’s been wearing since her nephew stopped by and asks, “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
Lying on my back, I roll to my side, facing away from her. I’ve managed to avoid her since the terrace incident.
The tray is set down on the nightstand, and she sits on the bed. I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. Why must she insert herself into my life like she’s been invited? “It’s almost nighttime and I heard you haven’t eaten today.”
I continue to ignore her, especially when she insists on talking to me like we actually care about each other. I ask, “Aren’t you worried at all?”
“About Alexander? No. He has good survival instincts. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Survival instincts?” I sit up. “Why would he need those?”
“Just an expression is all.” She stands and adds, “I’m told this is not out of the ordinary for his behavior so I’m not going to expend energy uselessly. I’m sure he’ll be back when he’s ready.”
“Ready? What does that mean? Ready for what?”
April stands and crosses her arms. Her skinny red-tipped fingers tap impatiently over the colorful fabric of today’s purple and navy blue caftan. “It’s time to give up this game you’re playing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re not married. I know he told your parents you were so he’d be incl
uded in making medical decisions regarding your health. It’s admirable, even to me who lost faith in men years ago. Endearing even. But it’s time to end this charade.”
I could lie. I could, but I don’t have to. I refuse to give her any upper hand. “You don’t have a say in the matter. Alexander do—”
“Alexander is not here, so you need to—”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do.” I get out of bed and step into her space.
“You’re being unreasonable, Sara Jane. It must be the meds.”
“Don’t insinuate I’m not in control of my mind. I stopped pain meds days ago, but that’s really none of your business.”
“What is my business is this estate and Kingwood Enterprises. In Alexander’s absence, and as his mother, this responsibility falls on me.”
I’m so taken aback a slap to the face would have been less shocking. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s gone. We don’t know when he’s coming back.”
“So you think you’re just going to step into his shoes? Does it even bother you that he’s gone? Have you looked for him, worried over your missing son?”
“Have you?” she spits back.
“Endlessly.”
“But you haven’t called the police or filed a missing person report. Why is that?”
Our gazes lock together. “The same reasons you haven’t.”
“Whatever he’s involved himself in, I have no doubt he’ll get himself out of. In the meantime, this household needs to be run, so that’s on my shoulders. Perhaps I’ll find a private investigator to find him.”
“And where would you get the money for that?”
“Alexander. He added me to the accounts, as he should, considering my role in his life.” I am fairly sure this is another of her lies.
My eyes narrow. “I don’t believe he would do that. Not with you.” He’s far too careful to entrust all that information to a woman he barely knows.
“He did.”
I was given access to his spending account years ago, only using it in emergencies. So careful. Just like him. He trusted me more than anyone, but did he trust her as well? “What is your point?”
“My point is you are a guest in my home and as such, you will give me respect or you will leave.” She turns on her heels to leave. I think she’s insane, but nevertheless, I shoot daggers into the back of her head.
I hate the manor. I hate it with a passion. All the horrible things that have happened are trapped inside these walls, waiting to come back to scare me. But no matter how much I hate this place, I’ll never surrender it to this money-digging whore. “You are not a Kingwood. You were fucked by one, bore one a son, and then discarded. Other than that, you are nothing. Get out of my quarters and don’t ever threaten me again or Alexander will deal with you.”
She visibly winces when I shout at her.
Given the way I use the term quarters so casually these days, maybe I really have become a Kingwood.
The door is slammed shut and I drop to the bed, sitting in shock. Why does she feel she can come in as if she is in charge? As if Alexander’s not coming back. However, I held my own against her. I grab my phone and call Alexander. I need to hear his voice. I need him to answer me. Come back to me, I silently beg. Just like every other time I’ve called this week, it never rings but sends me straight to voicemail. I try Cruise’s number and the same thing happens.
It’s not a victory without Alexander, and I start to question if he’s gone for good.
30
Alexander
I won’t cower; and I won’t cave to their demands. Money isn’t going to buy me out of this hellhole. Only my blood seems to suffice, and they refuse to take it. I won’t offer it to them. Not with as much as I have to live for.
Sara Jane.
I have to get back to her. She’ll think I left her. She’ll start to believe I can actually walk away from her willingly. I’ve given her so much grief; my disappearance will only deepen that pain. I couldn’t kill Connor Johnson, but I will kill the bastards who keep me here. One way or another, I’ll figure out how to do it, and there will be no hesitation. I won’t feel their loved ones’ pain or guilt. I’ll fucking kill them for causing my Firefly pain.
The closet I’m stuck in, the room with no windows and not enough space to spread my legs out, is pitch black. There’s too much time to think, to reflect, to plot in here. I should sleep, knowing I need to keep my strength, but is it day or night? My body’s clock is off.
My head pounds at times from the blunt blow I took when they grabbed me. One minute I was waiting at a light, the next I woke up on the cement floor of what looks to be a warehouse. Tied in a chair, I expected to be beaten. Isn’t that the point of going to all that trouble, or have the movies misled me?
I wasn’t beaten.
I wasn’t even touched.
No words were spoken since there was nobody there to speak. I called out, but my voice answered in an echo. Just my motorcycle and me in the hollows of some abandoned building. Someone doesn’t go to those lengths to let you sit alone. Something worse is coming.
I was right. Cruise was tossed on the floor in the middle of the night of what he said was day three of my abduction.
I wake to the sound of a creaking door to the room I’ve been in since the first night. It is too dark to know who it is. The body is lifeless, unrecognizable in the lack of light. I don’t even know if the man is dead or alive until he groans in pain. “Cruise?”
Making out the lines of the body, his hair, his eyes when they land on me, he says, “King?”
I move closer until the chain grinds into my wrists. “Fuck, Cruise. Are you okay? Are you okay?” I hadn’t felt hope until this moment, but it is short-lived. Cruise was taken and is now trapped like me.
“I don’t fucking know. I can’t feel my—” He coughs. It sounds wet, maybe blood. He lays his head on the concrete, and his breathing deepens. “They beat the fuck out of me, but you survived it, so I will.”
They haven’t touched me other than getting me here. I’m thinking now might not be a good time to tell him. I bring my knees up and lean back against the rough wall. “I have chains around me. I can’t reach you.”
Lifting his head, he looks in my direction. “Chained?” He pushes up and slides closer. “You’ve been here the whole time?”
“For the most part, yeah, but I’ve lost track of time in here.”
“You’ve been missing for over three days.”
Fuck.
“Is Sara Jane okay?”
“She’s fine. Worried, but okay.”
“Why would they kidnap you and bring you here?” A coughing fit catches his breath, and he struggles in front of me, but I can’t help. I can’t even fucking reach him. “Cruise?”
When the fit calms, he sounds exhausted. “I think something’s broken inside me.”
“Something?”
“I’m bleeding every time I cough.”
Shit. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. I told Sara Jane I would find you.” He laughs and then cringes in pain. “Guess I did. I’m just glad you’re alive, brother.”
When he moves closer, we fist-bump. My eyes have adjusted enough to see his face. “I can’t say it’s good to see you because I can’t promise this isn’t the worst place to end up.”
“Seems pretty shitty.”
That’s not even half of it.
“You, Alexander, are every wish I ever made. You’re my dream come true. I’m so sorry . . . I will always come back to you.”
Her words come back to me as if the sweet melody of my Firefly said them yesterday. Maybe it was, though the hunger pangs and hair on my face probably contradicts that.
Surely it’s not been more than a few days. Cruise says ten. I’m in denial. I started counting the sunsets that peek through the cracks, but lost track when I was thrown in the closet for hours, days . . . what felt like weeks. I don’t think
it’s been weeks.
“Why don’t they just kill us?” Cruise asks through swollen lips. They beat the shit out of him to get to me. He takes it.
Every night. For me.
I’ll never be able to repay him. I also don’t think I’ll get the chance. We’re not getting out of this place alive. That much we both know. I don’t know why he continues to step in for me or why they don’t grab me themselves. I’m hungry and weak; my muscles atrophy more every day. The chains around my wrists limit my movement, and I’m unable able to stand.
Someone with a mask and bad taste in shoes tosses metal dog dishes with foul-smelling meat of some sort to the concrete floor and toes it over until we can reach. Another meal served on a silver platter. I laugh, delirium setting in. “I’m not eating anymore of that shit.”
“Eat,” Cruise says. “Keep what energy we have.”
“How do we know they aren’t poisoning us?”
He swallows a mouthful, holds up his chained wrists, then replies, “Because that would be painless, and it’s obvious they want us to suffer.”
“Sara Jane once made this casserole dish. It had ground beef on the bottom—”
“Shut up, King. Eat.”
Bending down like a dog, I take a bite.
Morning comes and we see the light as it drifts across the wall, the sun rising. I look over at Cruise—new bruises mar his pretty-boy face. “The girls are going to love you. You already had the bad-boy act down. Now you look like you can actually hold your own.” I tease to lighten the doom, but I feel like shit, seeing him busted up.
“The girls already love me.” He smiles as he winces in pain.
“How’s the other guy look?”
A chuckle sticks heavy in his chest and ends in coughing.
I force myself to chuckle to keep his spirits up. This is how we operate—give and take. Take and give. Staring at the cracks near the ceiling where the light shines bright, I whisper, “Hey Cruise?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for being my friend, for having my back, for—”
