by Claire, Ava
My boots crunched against the ground and I found myself wondering if my brother walked these same steps, filled with questions and guilt. Did he think about what he’d done? What he’d lost? What he’d taken?
The backpack pumped eagerly on my shoulder. I’d make him think about it. I’m make him apologize until I believed the words, so when I told Leila that it would be okay, that he’d never hurt her again, I could say it with certainty.
The cottage was barely visible, the moon the only source of light. It was a stone, sturdy looking thing that rose out of the grass and stood defiantly, daring time to challenge it. There was a gate that had long lost its function, the door rusted and lying on the ground several feet away. Stones were peppered about, a rustic game of hopscotch to the front door. There was no porch, just a couple of metal chairs and a table that slouched to one side. This wasn’t a place one went to escape. You came here when you were out of options. When I bore into the girl who marched over to get the ransom money, I saw the cabanas gleaming in her eyes. She was already picturing the five star hotels and shopping sprees. If you had millions to spare and needed to lay low, why would you pick some decrepit cabin instead of some beach in some country with no extradition? If it wasn’t all about the money, why did he do it?
I stepped up to the wooden door, hand sliding into my jacket and finding the grip. I pulled out the gun and disengaged the safety. I pointed it at the ground and cast a final look at the sky.
For Leila.
I knocked on the door, two solid, authoritative beats that threw open my chest and my heart nearly lunged from my body. Every pulse was punctuated, every second a hollow whisper in my head. This house had no secrets. I heard his movements, every solid footstep echoing as he approached.
The door opened and the smile on my brother’s face told me he was expecting the redhead. The beer in his hand exploded when he saw the gun.
All the color drained from his face. “Jacob-”
“Don’t waste your breath,” I snarled, letting myself in. “You’ll talk soon enough.” I smiled cruelly. “You’ll even scream.”
Chapter Six
"How was your trip?"
The question I'd been dreading since my father and I landed at home had arrived. I still wasn't prepared for the weight of it, like rocks were piled onto my chest with every second that passed and I didn't tell her the truth.
Italy with my father was like a dream I never knew I wanted. Home was the nightmare that I was dying to escape.
As soon as the wheels touched down in Venice I noticed the change in him. From the moment we piled into the water taxi, he couldn't stop smiling. When he spoke to me, it wasn't like our usual interactions. On the rare occasions he was at home, we piled around the dining room table, searching for the right words to say. My father was the first to concede, not even trying to be present. To pretend that he wanted to be with us. The silence said everything.
But in Venice he couldn't stop talking. Sharing his favorite places in the city and spots in the countryside where I'd take the woman I cared about someday. When I asked if he brought Mom here he'd chuckled and said Paris was more her style. I'd pretended I didn't see him brush Aunt Al's knee. Squeezed it like he was sending her a secret message.
And that was just the beginning of the secrets.
I'd met Allegra's family; brothers, sisters, and cousins who treated me like they’d known me since birth. But my father told me I couldn't tell Mom. That she wouldn't understand. He'd drilled that into me the entire flight home, the smile replaced by something anxious and uncomfortable.
So when Mom cordially kissed the air near my cheek, I remembered what I was supposed to say.
"Venice was great. Dad worked most of the time."
The lie fell from my lips. Her eyes widened like I'd just slurped my soup or farted in front of one of her friends. Like some involuntary reflex, they'd narrowed to the point that they were tiny slivers of gray.
My mother was a lot of things. Annoying, sure, but most of the time she didn't even notice my existence. It hurt more than I let on but I pushed it aside. How many times did she tell me I had to be the man of the house? That men never let their guard down and never show weakness? She was the queen that made the servants scatter with one glare.
For the first time ever, I wanted to scatter. I wanted to disappear.
She knew I was lying.
I braced myself for her fury, but she just sniffed, tugging at the pearls around her neck.
"How...interesting."
She left the room without another word and I stood trembling, knowing that this wasn't just a little lie.
She'd never forgive me.
I brightened when my father shuffled into the room, gripping a glass of scotch. He drank it as often as Mom drank her 'orange juice' in the wine glass.
"Everything okay?" He didn’t really care. He was asking me if I did what he asked. If I lied.
My face fell, but I covered it with a shrug, kicking at an imaginary hole in the floor. A hole I wanted to fall in. "I told her it was fun. That you worked a lot." I left off the 'just like you told me'.
He took a hesitant step toward me and I thought he was about to hug me. Put his arm around my shoulders like he did so many times in Venice when he acted like he actually liked me.
He froze, like he caught himself and remembered that he was home. No love existed here. Only secrets.
"Very good." He managed a smile and left the room.
I walked to the window, holding the tears back. I squeezed my eyes shut and I made a promise.
I wouldn't be tricked again. I’d never let anyone close enough to hurt me.
****
I didn't notice how much I looked like Cole until now. It had very little to do with our features--yes, we had the same sharp cheekbones, the same eye shape while his were a different shade of gray and blue. I saw pieces of my mother rippling through his face as he stared at the gun, then at me, then back at the gun. The similarity was in the terror. He thought he hid it behind the way his face was still but I saw the slight tremble of his chin. When he opened his mouth to reason with me, he snapped it back shut immediately. I knew the look well. It was the Book of Jacob, copyright the moment it sunk in that showing emotions meant I was giving someone a piece of myself. So I did the opposite. Even at my darkest and most vulnerable, I was a fortress. No one gained entry. No one got close enough to see in truth--I was falling apart.
My eyes were still latched on him as I lowered my backpack to the floor beside me. I held the gun with both hands and joy filled the air with its sweet and bitter scent. Even he couldn't hide the way his chin rattled, the fear getting the better of him.
"Look-"
"Find the nearest chair and sit down." I was surprised by how calmly I said the words. The fortress, my mask, caught fire when he opened the door.
He frowned, my command catching him by surprise. "Sit down?"
My nostrils flared but I kept my voice and arms steady. "We don't know each other well. You think I'm the kind of man that will let you harm my wife and walk away. I can offer you some assistance." My mouth was filled with so much righteous anger that I had to work to get the last bit out instead of shooting him in the head. "I don't like to repeat myself."
He spun around like this hadn't been his home for the past month; like there was some chair hiding in plain sight. I turned to one literally two feet away from him, one of the few pieces of furniture in the tiny room. I did a quick sweep, counting a TV tray table, a small bookcase lined with hardbacks and a rainbow of empty liquor bottles, a mattress near the window, a rusted fridge and a wood burning stove. Quaint. Strangely homey. And more than he deserved.
Cole eased himself into the seat, his face as tight and worried as someone trying to diffuse a bomb with no idea what they were doing. I expected him to try and rationalize with me, talk me out of the inevitable. He was silent.
I'd acted out this scene a million times in my head and I hadn't made a miss
tep yet. I didn't have to look down to unzip the backpack at my ankle. It didn't hurt that Cole was glued to my movements, his grey eyes enlarging when I pulled out the roll of duct tape.
"Hands behind your back," I said coldly, knowing it could all fall apart in these next pivotal moments.
He let out a sigh that shuddered his lean frame. I hoped he was realizing just how small he was. How insignificant.
He finally spoke, his voice a hoarse plea. He was so far from the man I'd met. The kid with bright eyes as he dropped the news that he was my brother. When he turned my world upside down.
"Jacob-"
"Hands. Behind. Your. Back."
He locked his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. I kept my gun on him and stalked to his back.
"Don't do anything stupid." I didn't give him time to figure out a way to do just that, putting the gun on the table out of his sight, yanking the tape free and binding his wrists. I tried to not think about the way he let me lead him to slaughter. Not thrashing about and fighting me. No attempted kicks to the head when I knelt and secured his ankles to the chair. I refused to dwell on the only reason someone wouldn't fight when they were staring at a hole in the ground. Was he laying his head on the chopping block because he knew he deserved it? Why was the joy that coursed through my veins abandoning me now?
I tossed the tape back in the bag, discarding that train of thought with it. I carefully unzipped the front pocket and found the switchblade, fingers throbbing when I pulled it in view. The metal blade flashed when I pressed the tiny button that made it lethal.
He flinched.
Good.
Leila never talked about what happened in that motel room but my imagination filled in the blanks. They had her tied to something, a chair, the bed. And he stood by with a knife and when that girl gave the order, he cut her.
Joy was a ghost. The only thing left was the hate in my belly.
"Did Leila flinch when you pulled the knife on her?" My rage bled onto every word. "Did she gasp?"
I was finally giving him the opportunity to speak, but he couldn't find the words.
Clearly, he needed a little motivation.
The air whistled as my right fist dived toward his jaw. Pain exploded at the point of contact, setting my hand on fire. It had been years since my fist hit anything other than a punching bag. I focused on the red on him as blood rushed to his face, his chin ducking to his chest.
When he spoke, blood spritzed the front of his t-shirt. "We both know that there's nothing I can say that's going to stop what's coming to me. Even if I said that Leila's cries haunt me-"
"Don't say another word." Fury took over and I was on him in an instant, the blade at his throat. I could open him up right now, blood escaping the opening, drenching us both. "You don't get to say her name! And if you think I give a shit about your guilty conscience, you're mistaken."
Through the haze of the red, calling to me, thrumming through me, I saw his fear up close and personal. The way his Adam's apple shivered. The sweat that exploded at his temple like tiny bullets. The tears that drowned his eyes. "That isn't...I'm not..."
I dug deeper, breaking skin and the red ran like some raging, wild animal that roared. It told me I was close to this all being over.
Justice.
Just a little more.
Just do it.
End him.
But there was a sound that sliced through my brother's last moments. It sounded like a gun shot, but I saw the gun on the table out the corner of my eye.
I blinked and felt the chill as wind gusted into the room, digging into my skin and sinking into my bones.
Not a gun shot. It was a door slamming into the wall.
Everything slowed to a crawl. I was looking down at Cole, gasping and choking as blood streamed from behind my blade. Drenching his skin like tears.
But it was the voice that splintered me. It shook me from my anger and I couldn't deny how far I'd gone.
"Jacob?"
I released the knife and whirled to face her. The only good thing I had left had come to what was to be my brother's final resting place. I brought her into this nightmare. Back to a tiny prison filled with weapons and fear.
Leila stood in the doorway, her brown eyes shooting to Cole, then flying back to me. Her gaze was wide and unbelieving. Then it melted into something even more terrifying.
Disgust.
Terror.
"What have you done, Jacob?" She covered her mouth in horror. "What have you done?!"
****
Thank you for taking the time to readHis Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One). Please consider leaving a review. xoxo Ava
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THE BILLIONAIRE DOM SERIES
His Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One): March 13
His Desire (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Two): March 27
His Passion (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Three): April 10
His Love (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part Four): April 24
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and fantasizing about her favorite book boyfriends.
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Blog: http://avaclaireromantica.blogspot.com
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Twitter: @avaclairewrites
Stay tuned to my blog for up to date information on my works in progress and release schedules!
