ROMANCE: Mr. Mystery: (New Adult Bad Boy Romance) (Contemporary Mystery Short Stories)

by Viva Fox

  She reached for a piece that had skidded under the table only to pull back her hand in pain. She looked at the bright red blood erupting from a gash in her hand and felt her stomach start to roil. She hated blood. Jacqueline grabbed for the dish towel, only to see it covered in a sticky pink substance, remembering that Aunt Sylvia used it to clean up a jelly salad spill.

  She pulled open the drawer where the clean ones were kept. It was empty. Jaqueline looked back to the pool of blood collecting in her hand, then back to the dirty towel. She recognized the feeling of tears gathering behind her eyes. The ones she’d repressed for days.

  Jacqueline sank down to the floor, tears wetting her cheeks. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the past few days, or maybe it was burying her sister this afternoon, or maybe it was finding out that her niece was now her ward. Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out and began to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

  She and her sister hadn’t been close for years but Jacqueline mourned the loss of who her sister used to be. The sister she wanted to remember her as. She cried for her niece who lost her mother, and she cried for herself, left with one more of her sister’s messes to clean up.

  Through the fog, the exhaustion, and the tears, Jacqueline heard the door. Someone else knocking. Someone else bringing a casserole, or flowers, or a half-hearted sympathetic smile. She didn’t want to talk to anyone else today. She didn’t want to hear one more person tell her how wonderful her sister was, all the while avoiding her eyes because they didn’t really believe what they were saying. Her sister was a junkie, and hadn’t been a wonderful person in years. There was no use hiding that fact. Lord knows her sister never did.

  The knocking persisted, though, becoming louder, more obnoxious. As much as she wanted to just sit there and ignore whoever it was, she couldn’t tune out the sound. Jacqueline wiped her eyes on her sleeve and got up. She had forgotten about the cut on her hand, but was quickly reminded when she tried to use it to get up. Jacqueline winced and used her other hand to pull herself off the floor.

  She took a minute to inspect the cut. It was deeper than she thought, blood still trickling out of it, and she had to shake the feeling of nausea that tore through her at the sight of it. Once she dealt with her visitor she would have to scrounge around for her first aid kit and see if she had a bandage big enough to cover it. But for now she grabbed the dirty dish towel, found the cleanest side, and pressed it into the cut.

  Taking a few deep breaths on the way to the door, trying to pull herself together, Jacqueline unlocked the deadbolt. She had barely turned the knob when her guest pushed his way into the house. His jet black hair was swept to the side, his shirt only half buttoned. His face showed more than a decent amount of scruff. His eyes darted past Jacqueline and around the room.

  When he didn’t see what he was looking for he began moving through the house. A normal person would have assumed it was an intruder and tried to call the police. To Jacqueline, who had spent too much time cleaning up after her sister, figured he was one of her junkie friends either coming to party or to crash here. A few had even come to mourn and tell her how totally bummed they were.

  Even though he may not be a complete stranger, he still wasn’t welcome. Now that her sister wasn’t using Jacqueline’s house as a flophouse whenever she decided to blow into town, Jacqueline was no longer under any obligation to let all these losers into her house.

  She followed him as he searched around the main floor, still not finding what he hoped for. Moving to the back of the house to the kitchen he stopped, pieces of glass crunching under his heavy black boots.

  “If you’re looking for the free food, it’s gone. There’s nothing left for you here.”

  He finally turned to her, his steel blue eyes piercing her. She had enough experience to know that he wasn’t high. That still didn’t make him any more welcome.

  “I need for you to leave.” She said, exhausted.

  “No.” His voice was rough, gravelly.

  “No?” She tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice, but it just came out flat, matching her mood.

  “Not until I know for sure. I heard some of the guys talking, but I didn’t believe them. I had to come here and see for myself.” He rambled.

  “What?”

  “Is she really dead?” He asked, not quietly like most people speak of the dead. His voice boomed.

  “Yes. Her funeral was today.”

  The mixture of emotions flashing across his face - pain, relief, guilt - was hard for Jacqueline to see, because she too struggled with those same feelings. What kind of person would be relieved to hear her sister died? It was a small bit of relief to see the same feelings reflected in someone else.

  He paced the living room with big, heavy steps that shook the floor. Jaqueline felt bad for this man, really she did. He obviously knew her sister beyond just seeing the addiction, which was something most couldn’t see past, but Jacqueline was beyond comforting anyone else tonight. She sat on the couch and watched him, waiting for him to say something else or to leave. Finally he stopped pacing and looked down at Jacqueline.

  “Did she kill herself?” He asked, those piercing eyes boring down on her. She shook her head. “Overdose then.” He said. It wasn’t a question.

  “It was very tragic.” That was her standard comment to all those who came over to offer their sympathy, but this time it felt even more false than all the others. If only she could muster up some lilt to her voice then maybe it would have come out more sincere.

  “Bullshit. What was tragic was how she got herself there in the first place. She was a fucking idiot.”

  Jacqueline’s eyebrows shot up. She supposed she should be offended or something, but it was hard to deny the truth. This man was curious to her and definitely no one she had seen around her sister before.

  “How did you know her?”

  He laughed, mirthless. “That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?”

  “It is?”

  “Who really knew her? How did you know her?” He asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

  “I was her sister.”

  “Oh shit.” He said, fixing his eyes on mine. He raked a hand through his long hair, then scrubbed his face with his hand. If she didn’t know any better she really would think he was high by the way he was acting, the way he was dressed. “Sorry. I’m an asshole. I didn’t even know she had a sister. I always imagined that kind of girl doesn’t have any family.”

  He sat down on the couch beside her, long legs stretching out in front of him, and put his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He sat that way for a long minute before straightening and looking at her again. Jacqueline could see some sadness reflected in his eyes this time.

  “I knew her a long time ago. She used to follow the band around.”

  Jacqueline nodded knowingly. No other explanation was needed, she remembered well her sister’s groupie phase.

  “So why come looking for her now?”

  “It’s complicated. I guess I always assumed I would see her around, or things would work out between us. I was probably fooling myself, though. She could be a bitch when she was mad.” He winced and shrugged a shoulder “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I knew my sister better than anyone. I’ve had her temper turned on me more than a few times.” Jacqueline pointed across the room to the patched up hole in the wall from the last time she was here. The wall was fixed but Jacqueline’s lamp never recovered.

  “Why did you let her keep coming here?”

  “It wasn’t her that was doing it, it was the drugs.”

  “That’s bullshit.” He barked. “You might know your sister, but I know addiction. If she wanted to get help she could. She had a hell of a lot to live for and someone willing to help her. She has no one to blame but herself.”

  “Maybe.” She said, her voice a stark contrast to his booming. She had spent a great deal of her life talking people down, bringing them around
until they were calm, rational. Arguing with someone who was looking for a fight wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

  Jacqueline studied him, taking in his dark hair that was long enough to push behind his ears, his clothing, which consisted mostly of black on black, his brooding eyes. His nose looked like he had been in more than one fight in his life. He wore a scowl like it was a fashion statement. She had assumed he was one of her sisters strung out friends, but then he said he knew her from her groupie days. Jacqueline tried to place him, but he didn’t look familiar to her at all. She took the opportunity to both settle her curiosity and change the subject.

  “You said you know her from the band. Do you play or are you one of those men that help set up?”

  He chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips. “A roadie? No, not a roadie. I play in the band. I take it you’re not a metal fan?”

  Jacqueline wrinkled her nose. “No. Not really my style. Are you any good?”

  “We’ve won a few awards.” He said, this time really smiling. His smile took the edge off of him, disarmed him. He pushed the hair that had fallen into his face back. “I’m Dante.”

  “Jacqueline.” She said, offering him her hand, only to pull it back when she saw the towel still wrapped around it.

  Dante shackled her wrist and pulled it to him. His firm grasp on her was a welcome sensation.

  “You’re bleeding.” He said, looking down at the towel. Blood soaked through it threatening to take over the pink splotches on it.

  “It’s nothing. I cut myself on a piece of glass.” She said, trying not to look at the amount of blood covering the towel.

  “It’s bleeding a lot.” He said, reaching for my hand again. I pulled it close to my body. “Let me see it. I’ve had a lot of experience with patching up wounds.”

  “I didn’t realize playing in a band was such a risky career.”

  “It’s not, I just happen to have a lot of idiot friends. Now come on, let me see.”

  Jacqueline hesitated, assessing him before finally extending her arm to him. He cradled her hand in his palm and gently unwrapped the towel. His hands were warm and his thick fingers moved with a delicate precision she would never have imagined. The hair he had pushed back earlier slipped free and brushed across his face.

  Jacqueline resisted the urge to tuck it back, to run her fingers through it all. She wondered what it would be like to touch his stubbled face under her fingers. Her hand shook in his, but it had little to do with the wound. When he exposed the skin Jacqueline had to look away from him. Dante twisted her hand one way, then the other.

  “How did you do this?”

  “I broke a glass.”

  “It’s pretty deep. You might even need a couple stitches.”

  Jacqueline glanced up the stairs to where Penelope lay sleeping. “I would rather not. Can’t you just help me bandage it for now?”

  “I’ll try, but if I can’t stop the bleeding then there won’t be much other choice. Do you have any gauze or anything?”

  She nodded and led the way to the bathroom. Opening the small closet, she started to rummage around for the first aid kit that was buried in there somewhere. From behind her, Dante brushed his hands over her waist. Jacqueline let out a squeal as he picked her up and sat her on the counter. His eyes skimmed over her, spreading a heat through her body that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “You’re bleeding.” He pointed to the droplets on the floor in front of the closet. “Keep it elevated above your heart.” For emphasis, his eyes drew down to her heart before he turned back around to continue the search for the gauze. Jacqueline wasn’t used to that kind of man looking at her like she could be his dinner. In fact she couldn’t think of any man who had ever looked at her like that.

  After a moment Dante came back to her holding the small first aid kit. He tossed it on the counter and rummaged through it, pulling out the few odds and ends he found there. Jacqueline made a mental note to restock the kit now that Penelope was living with her.

  When Dante was satisfied with what he found he shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it over the edge of the tub. He took her hand in his again and started cleaning the wound. He hands worked smooth and quick and Jacqueline would have liked to have watched him but the sight of her jagged flesh was doing little to calm her stomach. Instead she travelled her eyes further up to his arms covered in various colors of ink. It looked like one massive collection of lines and swirls, but looking closer she started making out the different tattoos.

  A lion, a barbed rose, a date written out in cursive. She followed the patterns and shapes as they trailed up his arm, disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt. Jacqueline’s eyes followed them up until she caught his eyes. They were watching hers. Jacqueline turned her head away from him, focusing straight ahead at his chest. Her body was thrumming from the closeness of his body, the fire in his eyes.

  “You don’t look much like her.” He said as he turned his eyes back to her hand.

  She tried not to let her disappointment crush her too much. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that from a man. Her sister had the most beautiful thick blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Both had dulled over the years, but she was still the better looking one of the two of them. Jaqueline was shorter than her sister by 6 inches and her hair was always an unruly mess of dark curls. Their eyes were the only feature they shared.

  “We were both adopted. Different birth parents, same adoptive parents.”

  “You let her walk all over you like that and you weren’t even related?” He said in his brisk tone.

  “We were family. Blood has nothing to do with it. She was always my sister no matter what. When we were in our teens our parents died in an accident and we were alone again. She didn’t have anybody to take care of her and neither did I. We took care of each other. I guess I just never stopped taking care of her.”

  “Who takes care of you? I can’t imagine Whitney ever did.” Her eyes darted back to his. He looked at her expression and must have recognized the shame he saw there. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing. It was nothing.”

  “It was something.”

  “You said her name. You said Whitney. I haven’t been able to say her name since she died. I haven’t really said her name in years, always some kind of nickname. Even in these past few days I’ve only heard a few people call her by her name. When I say her real name it brings me back to when she was my friend, my sister, and that’s not who she was anymore. Even when I saw her laying in her coffin, in a pretty blue dress I had picked for her to be buried in, with her hair combed and only a scarce trace of makeup, she still didn’t look like my sister.

  The years of bad choices seemed to be etched into her skin and I could hardly look at her.” She cast her eyes down again, ashamed that she’d admitted that to a stranger. Ashamed that she felt that way in the first place.

  Dante hooked a knuckle under her chin and drew her eyes back up to his. “You didn’t make her choose those things.” He held her gaze until she shifted under it, heat rising in her body once again. He let her hand go, his other hand remaining on my leg. “All done.”

  She pulled her hand back. “It still hurts.”

  “Your hand?”

  “No.” She said. Their eyes met and she knew Dante knew what she meant.

  She never allowed herself to grieve for Whitney, not with Penelope to care for, but she could feel the tears gathering behind her eyes now. She didn’t want to fall apart in front of Dante. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry here.

  Squirming under his hand, she tried to push him away but he held fast to her. She needed him to leave but his eyes challenged her as if to say he knew what she was trying to do. She was intrigued by him and by the way he seemed to understand what she was feeling, but she was too close to the edge to explore what that meant. She needed to be alone.

  She pushed hard against his chest with both hands trying to force him to back up, only to pull her hand away a
s a jolt of pain shot through her. Jacqueline felt herself sway backwards, darkness creeping into the edges of her vision.

  Dante grabbed onto her shoulders and kept her upright. She fought to keep her eyes on his until the dizziness subsided.

  “Don’t like blood, huh?”

  “It’s not my favorite.” She said, no longer meeting his eyes. Her voice was barely audible. “You should go.”

  He studied her through his thick lashes, eventually nodding. “I should.”

  He backed away from the counter and helped her down before heading to the door. Jacqueline struggled to keep up to his long stride and when they had almost reached the door he stopped and turned around to her so abruptly that she nearly bumped into his chest.

  She gasped as he caught her by the elbows and pushed her against the wall. He lowered his face down to hers and when he spoke his voice was low, kind. “You gotta let go, Jac. If you don’t do it you’ll crash when you least expect it. Stop trying to be strong for everyone. She’s gone. Let go.”