Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series

by Johnson, Leslie

Beth rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me, you used to play football and popped your cherry at fourteen, right?”

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes. “Fifteen, thank you very much. And yes, I did play football, for your information. I…”

  “I knew it,” she interrupts me. “Look, I’ve hung out with too many jocks who think they’re God’s gift to women and who think a relationship means some female is leading them around by their dicks.”

  I stand up, pissed as hell now for some reason. “And that’s exactly what relationships are. Broken hearts. Broken lives. Split up homes. No sex. Fights over money. Fights over kids. No sex.”

  “You said that one already,” she yells at me.

  “Well, it deserves to be on the list a dozen times,” I yell back and stare at her as she bursts out laughing.

  “I think we just had our first fight,” she finally says when she’s able to talk.

  Women are crazy!

  I shake my head. “Great. So now I get to add ‘fights with girlfriend’s best friend’ to my long, long list of why relationships suck.”

  “Oh sit the fuck down and drink another beer.” She walks back to her kitchen, opens the fridge and is back while I just stand there, totally confused. She hands me the beer, then pushes my chest until I’m once again sitting on the loveseat.

  She sits beside me this time, turning toward me in the small space. Her knee is against my hip and I scoot over to give her a little more room. “I’m sorry I riled you up,” she says. “I really do want to talk to you about everything that’s going on.”

  I take a sip from the bottle she gave me, my abandoned glass still on the table. “It’s pretty fucked up, isn’t it?” I concede and feel the familiar rage pass through me.

  She points to my empty glass and the bottle I placed next to it. I pick it up again and drink. “Yes, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.”

  I nod. “I think so too. It’s like a game to him, I think. He just wants us to worry about how far he will take it. Show off how smart he is.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the detective said this afternoon at Stephanie’s. That psychos like Jerome will keep going, thinking they’re untouchable.”

  “Untouchable, huh?” I sneer, the rage simmering again, white hot below the surface. “I’d like to show him how untouchable he is when I beat the holy shit out of his untouchable self.” I turn a little to face her and ask the question I’ve avoided asking Stephanie. “What did she see in him? And three years? Why did she put up with his shit for so long?”

  Beth blows out a breath and lifts a shoulder. “That’s not an easy question to answer. We’ve talked about it a hundred times, I guess. I think it’s mostly because things didn’t use to be that way. He was actually a pretty nice guy. Quiet and reserved, which fit Steph perfectly. Hyper. You know, he’s one of those people who sit and their legs bounce up and down or they’re constantly tapping on things. He was like that. Steph told me he was on some drug for hyperactivity, had been on it since he was little, so it was pretty well controlled, I guess. Then… bam… he started changing, getting more aggressive and really short tempered.”

  “Any idea why he changed so much?”

  “That’s the thing, neither of us know, and anytime Steph asked him about it, he’d just get angry.” She leans forward and places a hand on my arm and lowers her voice, like she’s telling a secret. “I talked to my psych professor about him once and she thinks he must have gone through something traumatic and was too embarrassed or ashamed to talk about it. She said personality changes like that don’t just happen without a trigger of some sort.”

  “Drugs?” I ask, going to an obvious trigger.

  She sits up straight again and leans back into her corner of the seat. She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. “Drugs would make sense, but I don’t know. I’ve been around people on drugs before and he doesn’t have the classic symptoms of coke or meth. I know for sure he’s never offered anything to me or Steph. I think he would have made her try it. You know, take her down his same path.”

  “Yeah, junkies love company. I know that from experience. I’ve spent years pulling junkies out of accidents.”

  “Did Steph tell you about the crazy proposal?” Beth asks, chewing her bottom lip as if unsure whether to bring it up. When I nod, she exhales in relief and goes on. “Professor Donovan says he looked strung out to her. He could have been.”

  “Wow, she didn’t tell me that. She did tell me once that he had gotten to where he talked a lot to himself and had really brutal nightmares.” My jaw tightens as I think about her sleeping with that bastard. How could someone so sweet and kind stand being touched by someone so vile?

  Beth started chewing on her fingernail. “That’s if he slept, which he seemed to never do. He was working on some software thing and would stay up for twenty-four hours at a time, get a few hours sleep and bang back energy drinks to keep going.”

  “Extreme sleep deprivation can cause people to do crazy things,” I offer, remembering a course I had to take not too long ago. “And if he was having nightmares…” I shrug and take another sip of my beer. “It could be a contributing factor for sure.”

  Beth stares at the wall and pulls her knees close to her chin. “A couple months ago, Steph woke up to him hitting her. He had his hands around her neck when he finally realized what he was doing. She wore a scarf for nearly two weeks. She also had a black eye and bloody nose.”

  Fuck! The thought of Stephanie being hurt feels like a punch in the gut, even if the bastard didn’t know what he was doing. Another side of me wishes I could go back in time to shake some sense into her for staying with that nutcase, and not bailing from the relationship sooner.

  I press a thumb into my right temple, where a migraine is beginning. I need to get home and get some sleep. Close the door on this suck-ass day.

  “Headache?”

  I nod and Beth says, “Here, I know an acupressure technique that will help.”

  She gets up on her knees and slides closer. I hold up a hand. “It’s okay—”

  “Oh hush up,” she interrupts. “Three minutes tops and you’ll feel better.” She rubs her hands together and places both of her index fingers on the space between my eyes and her thumbs on the underside of cheekbones, next to my nose. Then, she presses.

  “Holy hell,” I yell, pulling away from the evil female. Whatever she did hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and my cheekbones pulse in complaint.

  She laughs. “Wimp. Now sit still, this will help.”

  She raises those demon hands again and I grab her wrists, trying to stop her. She loses her balance and falls face first into me, her forehead hitting my nose. She howls and is laughing hysterically as she topples onto my lap, crushing my left nut in the process.

  She’s trying to get up, I’m trying to help her. She finally rolls off me and onto the floor, lying on her back and giggling like a fool, her hand covering her forehead.

  “You’re such a baby for a big ole fireman,” she says after several moments have passed. She sits up on the floor, still laughing and rubbing her head. “Let me try another way.” She squeezes the flesh between my thumb and index finger, hard. I can’t help the tears.

  “What is with you two?” I ask, leaning over, still trying to manage all the pain that was just inflicted on me. “I feel like I’m in a comedy skit any time you or Steph are around.”

  “My dad calls us the two stooges because we’re always managing to fall over something or get hurt somehow. He tells me I’m never allowed near him with a needle once I become a nurse.”

  “Smart man.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me and gets up off the floor before walking to her original seat on the larger sofa. “Luckily, both Steph and I can handle pressure.” Her face grows serious. “Usually.”

  “What do you mean usually? What happened?”

  “You know how smart Steph is, right? Contrary to my actions just a moment ago, I’m not exactl
y stupid.” She ignores my ‘yeah right’ look. “Seriously, we both made really good grades until lately.”

  “Stephanie mentioned that tonight, about her grades being bad on tests.”

  “Yes, exactly. Except I’m sure she and I probably did well. I think someone… J-hole… has tampered with them. So far, I haven’t been able to convince the professor it’s not just some random fluke.”

  “And you both told the detectives about this?”

  Beth nods. “Steph and I made a list of all the weird things that have happened. Some could be totally coincidence or bad luck. But, we thought we should tell them everything.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I look around Beth’s apartment again. “Did they do a tech sweep of your apartment too?”

  She looks around too, her eyes wide. “No, do you think they should have?”

  I stand up and walk around the walls of her apartment, looking for tiny holes. Beth stands up and begins looking too. “Do you think he could have gotten in here?”

  “Beth, honestly I don’t know what all he’s capable of, and I’m no expert in this spy shit, but I know you have a key to Steph’s apartment; does she have one to yours?”

  Beth nods.

  “Then he could have made copies. You might want to get your locks changed just in case. I don’t see any holes in your walls, but you might want them checked more thoroughly. I’m sure if you mention it to the detective, he would send a forensics specialist out.”

  I walk over to her laptop sitting on the desk and put my finger on the touchpad. I jump back and Beth shrieks when a video of a heavy metal band comes screaming to life on the screen. The volume is on full blast, the speakers are blaring. I recognize Welcome to my Nightmare.

  Beth fumbles for the speaker volume, turning it down as quickly as she can. Her eyes are huge. “I wasn’t listening to that!” I look at her browser, but YouTube is the only tab that’s open. The screen flashes and winks out, as if the battery just died.

  Beth shivers visibly, a full body shudder and her chin begins to quiver. Her eyes grow bright from unshed tears. I hold open my arms and she steps into them, beginning to cry.

  She cries for a few minutes before stepping back and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, I hate to cry and I hate being scared. It pisses me off.”

  “I think you need to call the detectives tomorrow. Have them sweep your apartment and get your laptop checked, just in case. Oh, and change the locks. Promise?”

  She nods and sniffs. I walk into her kitchen and take a chair from her table, carrying it to the door. “When I leave, I want you to jack the back of this chair under your door knob and close all the curtains and shades. That way you can get some sleep tonight.”

  She nods and sniffs again. “You gonna be alright?” I ask her.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for the little breakdown. I’m good.”

  “Then I’m going to head out. Remember, jack the chair under the knob. I’m going to stand outside and test it for you.”

  She looks better. “Thanks so much, thanks for coming up and talking with me.” She gives me another little hug.

  “Anytime. Don’t lock the door until I’ve tested the chair.”

  I step out on the landing and listen as she shoves the chair against the door. I hear her call out, “Okay.”

  Putting my shoulder to the door, I shove and it opens about an inch. I shove again, but it goes no further. Straightening I say, “You’re good. Have a good night.”

  “Bye,” she yells and shuts the door again, locks it and shoves the chair back in place. I walk back to the steps, unable to stop myself from looking at Steph’s door. Thank God her locks were replaced earlier.

  When I’m almost to my truck, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the screen. I’m a little pissed that I’m so disappointed it isn’t Steph. Instead, it’s an ‘unknown’ number. I swipe my thumb and open the text message: I’ve got you now.

  Chapter 7 – Steph

  If misery was a creature, it wouldn’t be the monster I imagined. As a younger girl, I thought of grief as a vampire whose teeth sank into your neck and drained you of hope.

  Now, as I stare at my phone, I realize that misery is more insidious. It doesn’t attack you full on. It hides in the shadows and hovers ominously in the dark. It traces its icy fingers down your spine when you aren’t looking.

  This time, the shadow isn’t Jerome. It’s my best friend.

  It began innocently enough, a ping of my phone, although these days, that ping sends a surge of adrenaline racing through my body. I picked up my phone, refusing to be scared. Another anonymous text message, but not a video this time. This message contained pictures of Beth with Ken and the following message: Be careful who you trust.

  At first, I couldn’t believe it. I felt sure they must have been photoshopped. I enlarged them as much as I could. They look real enough, although I wasn’t an expert.

  The first is of Beth and Ken sitting on her blue loveseat, the one I’d sat on so often. Beth’s leg is pressed close to Ken, her hand on his arm. They are looking at each other, faces serious. Beth is leaned forward, her breasts swelling up and over her tank top.

  In the second picture, Beth is on her knees beside him. Ken had turned to face her and she is much closer, her hands on either side of his face.

  I still can’t believe the third picture. Beth is giving him a blowjob! Her head was in his lap, her ass in the air. Ken’s head’s lolled back, a mask of ecstasy on his face. His hand is on her hip, his fingers digging in and gripping tightly onto her shorts.

  The blowjob pictures should have been the worst, but somehow it isn’t. Sex, I can understand sex. It can hit like a tidal wave, taking over everything in its path, leaving the victims wondering what had hit them. The last picture is intimate. They are standing now and Beth is in his arms. I can’t see Beth’s face; it’s crushed against Ken’s chest. But I can see Ken clearly. His eyes are closed and his face looks so soft, so tender. The way he used to look at me just yesterday.

  Yesterday.

  It was just yesterday that I broke up with him. When were these pictures made? I look at the picture again; Ken’s wearing the same LVFD t-shirt and khakis as he had on last night. But that doesn’t mean anything; he wears that same combination a lot.

  Were they seeing each other while we were together? Was he going from my bed to hers? Or did they hook up last night? Was that even possible? Would he have left my apartment and gone straight to her?

  No.

  I had peeked out of the blinds and watched him walk down the stairs last night. Then I took a long bath and went to bed, heartbroken at what I’d done. It was the right thing letting him go, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  Now I didn’t know what to think. Was he playing me all along? Was Beth?

  I glance at my watch and realize I have to get to work. I have the store until noon and then classes in the afternoon. I dread it. I dread everything. I did think of quitting work, of simply not going in. But I can’t. I can’t let everything that’s been happening stop me from living. Rent is due next week.

  Stepping out of my apartment, I look down the landing in the direction of Beth’s apartment. A part of me wants to burst through the door and scream at her, hit her, kick her. Make her feel as much pain as I’m feeling now.

  I can’t believe she, of all the people in the world, would betray our friendship like that. The pain is stabbing, a mental knife to my soul. I close my door and walk down the stairs and to my car, daring myself to cry.

  The moment I walk into the SaveAll, my manager, Diane, is upon me like a vulture on its prey.

  “We need to talk. My office, please.”

  Her face is neutral, but by the set of her jaw, she isn’t happy. As I walk with her, the other cashiers glance toward me, but then quickly away. Did they all see the amber alert too?

  Inside her office, Diane gestures me toward a chair. She pours herself a cup of coffee, but doesn’t offer me anyt
hing. Her hands are shaking and her lips are tight as she takes a sip.

  “Diane…” I begin, but she cuts me off, holding her finger up. She leafs through a folder before looking up at me.

  “Stephanie, here at SaveAll, we have strict rules when it comes to hiring associates. It has come to my attention that you lied on your job application, which is a very serious breach of policy. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to let you go. Immediately.”

  I stare at her, my mouth working up and down. I’m being fired? Lying on my application? What is she talking about?

  “Diane, I never lied on my application. Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Diane slides a piece of paper across the desk to me. It’s a police report and there’s a picture of me on it—a mug shot. I scan down the paper. Prostitution? Three years ago?

  “This… this isn’t me, I’ve never ever been arrested for anything…”

  Diane holds up her hand. She still looks stern, but her face has softened a little. “I’m sure it must be mortifying to have this discovered, Stephanie. This is Vegas; I know a number of girls who got desperate and turned tricks to make a living. I’m proud that you walked away from it and got a legitimate job. You aren’t being punished because of your past, you’re being let go because you lied about it on your application.”

  “But I didn’t. I never–”

  “Stephanie, it’s okay,” she interrupts me again. “I would never have fired you had I known about this, but this came to my attention from the home office. Apparently, they got a phone call from someone talking about you being a porn star. Corporate looked at your application, did a background check and found this arrest record.”

  Porn star? Prostitute? Arrest record? This isn’t possible. To my mortification, my nose begins to burn, my throat clogs and my chest grows so tight I’m sure my heart is seizing. I can’t breathe and I claw at Diane’s desk, desperate for air that won’t seem to flow into my lungs. She stands up and hurries around the desk, making me sit up straighter.

  “It’s okay, Stephanie. Breathe in and out.” She inhales and I try to do the same, and am only marginally successful. “Come on, big breath in.” She inhales through her nose again and this time more air gets through. I begin to cry when my throat unclogs and she wraps an arm around my shoulder. She holds me tight as I cry.