by Alexa Riley
"I'm not talking about that.”
Guilt washes over his face. He tugs at his collar, his mind silently formulating the next untruth.
"Don't lie to me," I bluff. "I've seen the tapes."
His reaction is small. But it’s there. The slightest flash of worry darkens his eyes before he masks it again.
“Isa, I do not know what you are speaking of.”
"Yes, you do. He was tortured. Because of you. You took him from one hell and sent him to another. He loved you. How could you do that to him?"
"I had no choice. Isa, you don't understand."
"I understand that you betrayed him. All those years, you told me I could never meet him. That he was dangerous. But in reality, he was only the monster you created."
"I was following orders," he says. "You don't understand how the agency works. If I had not followed those orders, I would be dead. And then what would become of you?"
"Then I would have at least known that my father was an honorable man."
My words cut him, and I can't hold back the emotion in my voice. The shame. The anger. The grief.
I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I hate this. I hate being so conflicted. Living between love and hate. First with Javi. And now with my father.
"Isa," he pleads. "Forgive me. I'm so sorry."
He pulls me into his arms, and I don't fight this time. It hurts so much. I want to forgive him, but I don't know how I can. How can I when I still don't know the truth about Javi's death.
"Have you heard anything more about River?" I ask.
My father’s arms stiffen around me, and I pull away.
"Tell me," I demand. "You have to tell me."
"Let me come inside," he implores.
I let him into the parlor and shut the door behind him. He gestures to the kitchen, and we take a seat at the counter. I don't offer him a drink. The time for pleasantries is over.
"There is much more to River than I knew," my father begins.
"Javi trusted him," I say. "He trusted him with his life. With my life. He thought he was his friend."
"I trusted him too," my father answers. "I didn't realize how deep this went."
"What do you mean?"
"River is employed by the agency."
I shake my head. That can't be right. Javi would have known.
"They've known each other since the sanitarium," I argue.
"I know," my father replies. "That's why his cover worked so well. He is a handler of sorts. That was his role all along. He was inserted into Javi's life at a young age to build a relationship of trust."
"But why?" I ask. "Why would they do that?"
"Because Javi was a valuable asset," he answers. "One that, in the right hands, could have been a dangerous weapon. If he ever decided to act on his own, to work for another agency, it could have devastated the entire house of cards."
"So, you're telling me the agency is behind his death? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they hurt him?"
"I don't know.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t know that I can.
"I know River cared for him," my father tells me. "That wasn't a lie. I know he cared for him."
His words make no difference now. What does it matter if he cared when he disappeared without an explanation?
"I'm tired," I say. "I think I'm going to rest now."
He shakes his head, his eyes pleading with me.
"You can't stay here, Isa. It isn't safe. Not until we know what's going on."
"Nowhere is safe," I reply. "Not when I have no idea who to trust. What difference does it make if I'm here or at home? At least here, nobody can get in from the outside. Not unless I let them."
"You don't know that," my father argues.
"I'm not leaving. This is my home now. Where Javi lived. That's where I will live too."
He still wants to argue. But he doesn't. And I know my father well enough to know that he will probably have at least a few armed guards surrounding the place when he leaves here tonight.
"Just think about it, Isa," he says. "Think about coming home."
I walk him to the door.
"The funeral is on Friday," I tell him. "If you want to come."
CHAPTER FORTY
I THOUGHT that maybe this would help. Maybe it would give me some closure to bury Javi. To lay my torment to rest. But the only thing I have learned from this gloomy day is that nothing can lay those feelings to rest.
He is so alone in this cemetery. And I worry that I am doing the wrong thing. Perhaps he should have remained at Moldavia instead.
Only my father has come. Not even River made an appearance. This place feels so cold. So desolate.
At the last minute, I lunge forward, desperate to stop them from laying dirt over him. Over my heart. My father halts me.
"You are doing the right thing, Isa.”
It doesn't feel that way. It feels like he is dying all over again. But I don't move. I don't fight. I remain paralyzed. Long after they have finished. Long after night has settled over the earth and into my bones.
"Let me take you home," my father says.
He means his home. But that isn't home to me anymore.
"Take me to Moldavia," I tell him.
He doesn't like it. But he does it anyway.
AUTUMN CREEPS IN SLOWLY, and then all at once. It seems that overnight, everything has gone crisp.
I have a routine now. The same routine every day. I work on the nursery. I write my music. I record. And I visit the cemetery.
Each day, I lay a red rose on Javi's stone. And each day my belly grows. With it, my strength does too.
I can feel him.
I can feel him with me. In the air around me. In the scent of the wild roses that now bloom in the conservatory again. Moldavia is full of his energy. But oddly enough, this place isn't. And yet I come here every day. I read him my lyrics. And today is the last song that I have to read him.
When I close the pages of the journal, I know that it is time. I am ready. I drive into the city. Straight to Luke's office. I know he's here because the stench of his alcohol hits me before I even step foot inside. I knock twice, and he answers, more haggard than I've ever seen him.
"You," he growls. "What do you want?"
"I'm ready to come back," I tell him.
He laughs. Shakes his head. And tries to shut the door in my face. I use my foot to intercept him.
"Your contract has been paid off." He makes a wild gesture with his hands. "It’s over. You’re finished."
"Paid off?"
He looks at me like I'm an idiot, and then his eyes wander to my belly.
"Yes, paid off. By your psychotic boyfriend. You're out. Done. I don't want anything else to do with you."
"Javi?" I whisper.
"Yes, Javi." He scowls and rubs his shoulder as though he's recalling a painful memory.
"He paid you off?"
"Yes." He blinks. "Are you hard of hearing, Isabella? I fucking said that already."
"That's why you didn't come looking for me."
He makes another gesture with his hand. "I'm done with you.”
And it's obvious he really is. Whatever happened between him and Javi has left a sour taste in his mouth. There isn't an ounce of desire in his eyes when he looks at me now. But that only strengthens my resolve. I didn't want to play that card with Luke. I didn't want him to think that things would ever be the same between us. That we could go back to the way things were with me as his willing puppet and him pulling the strings.
There is one other thing that Luke loves though. One other thing I know I can use to my advantage. So before he slams the door in my face a second time, I stop him with one simple question.
"What if I said I could make you a lot of money?"
He narrows his eyes at me. Laughs and shakes his head.
"And how exactly do you think you're going to do that, princess?"
"One final show," I pro
pose. "You can have it all. The rights to the music. Just give me ten percent of the profits."
He laughs again.
"Oh, Isabella. You poor, naïve little country bumpkin. Don't you realize that the world has moved on? There were twenty pop princesses ready to take your place the day you walked out."
He's lying, and I know he's lying. Because I can see the fire in his eyes. He's already thinking about how he can spin this.
"Everyone loves a comeback," I tell him.
"Do they?" he smirks. "I don't know if you could call it a comeback when you never really got started in the first place."
I don't take part in his verbal jousting. This is just the way Luke is. And I know how to push his buttons, just as well as he knows how to push mine. He's all about the dramatic effects.
I pull my foot from the door and meet his eyes.
"Fine. I'll go somewhere else, then. I'm sure there are plenty of others who would be interested in what I'm offering."
I turn to leave, and he grabs me by the arm.
"What exactly are you offering?"
He hates himself right now. Serves him right for putting me through hell.
He doesn't want to need me. But I know as well as he does that his career is in the tank after canceling my tour and then losing Megan to another label.
"One show," I tell him. "My way. No fireworks. No smoke. No backup dancers. Nothing but my music, my way."
"So you want a day at the nursing home then?" he scoffs.
I try to yank my arm away, and he stops me again.
"Fine, fine," he grumbles. "I'm listening."
"My piano," I tell him. "I'm going to play on the piano. And I'm going to sing. That's it. My songs. My choice. My control."
"Then what do you even need me for?"
"You get to publicize it. I know how much you love that media attention. I’m sure that hasn’t changed."
"Why would you do this?" he asks. "Why even bother?"
"Because, Luke. I know this may be a difficult concept for you to understand, but once upon a time, I loved music. I loved to sing. And then everything got messed up. I just want closure. One last show. A show where I can put it all out there. Then I can be done. I can move forward. For good."
He mumbles under his breath again before releasing me.
"I'll see what I can do."
And in Luke speak that's a yes. I smile and pat him on the arm. He winces.
"Your boyfriend won't be coming around for this," he says.
My eyes burn as I swallow and avoid his gaze.
"Don't worry. He won't be."
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
COLD METAL TAPS the base of my skull, stirring me from my delirious slumber.
It is familiar, this feeling. The heaviness in my body. The barrel of a gun rapping against my head. But it is the smell of earth that I remember most.
The urge to wretch is strong, and I am still hungover from whatever it is I ingested. When my eyes finally open, everything is blurred.
The room is dark and small. Cold. Underground. I'm trying to piece it all together. Trying to make sense of it.
I see Bella's face in my mind. Her screams. Her fear. A surge of adrenaline has me attempting to launch myself upright, but I am swiftly rejected by the confines of my restraints.
"Easy there, tiger.”
The voice is muffled, but familiar. The build of the man is too when he comes into view. And then I remember.
Bella's father. His house. The whiskey. This man is the one. The one who took me from my Bella. I try to lunge at him. To kill him. But my movements are still sluggish. My body is still weak. And I am still chained.
"There's no need for dramatics.”
It’s his shoes that I notice first. The same shoes I have seen a hundred times before. Shoes that have graced my own home. Shoes that belong to the man I trusted with my life.
With Bella's life.
When he sees the stark conclusion on my face, he removes the mask and retrieves an apple from his pocket.
"Sorry old pal," River says. "Just the way these things go sometimes, isn't it?"
I look up at him. My oldest friend. My only friend. I thought I had known betrayal before. I thought that nothing could be worse than what Ray Rossi did to me.
But I was wrong.
I still can’t accept it. I want to be logical.
River has taken issue with Isabella. He thinks me weak. Perhaps this is his way of trying to make me remember. To continue down the course of revenge that he helped me plan so meticulously.
This is what I tell myself.
“Release me,” I demand.
He looks at me, apologetic, but does not move to help me.
“I think you already know, Javi, that I can’t do that.”
His words cement the doubts in my mind. Years of memories, skewed as I try to make sense of them. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how. River gives me time to process. He has always been good about that. He knows me so well.
"How long?" I ask.
He paces around the room. Looks at me twice while he chews his apple. And then paces some more.
"Since the sanitarium."
The sanitarium.
He was only ten then. It doesn't seem possible. But I know better. I know with the agency, anything is possible. But still, I reason that there must be another explanation. River could never betray me. It never even crossed my mind.
Except for once… when I quickly dismissed it.
Now I know better.
“Luke,” I say. “It was you. You were the one who told him I was coming that day. You were the only one who knew.”
He looks away again.
“It wasn’t me,” he mumbles. “But I know who did. And the leak did come from me.”
Fucker.
Lying, filthy, scum.
It is the only thing I can think, and River knows it. He won’t even meet my eyes.
"You were never unstable," I accuse.
He stops. And now he looks offended.
"I'm as unstable as they come," he assures me. "The back story was true. I wouldn't lie about that, Javi."
"No?" I question. "So only everything else then?"
"I know it might seem that way," he says. "But you should know better than anyone that things are not always how they appear."
"So then tell me how they really are," I demand. "Tell me the truth for once. If you can even bring yourself to do that much."
River appears hurt by my words. His eyes flash before he turns away again.
"I need you to do something for me," he says. "And it isn't sanctioned by the agency."
This much, I believe. If the agency were involved in this, it would not be only River and me in this room. He is desperate. And I have never seen River desperate.
"There is a girl," he begins.
"A girl," I scoff. "You are lying."
This has to be the agency's doing. There must be more to this than what I can see.
River turns to me. Discards the apple core onto the ground. His eyes narrow and sharp.
"It's the truth.”
"The truth is that you are a coward and a liar.”
River is unfazed by my accusations now, and determination has strengthened his resolve as he continues.
"The program. I was a part of it too."
And now he has my attention. I look up at him. I still don't want to believe him. He is a traitor. A liar. He is no friend of mine.
But then he recites his thirteen-digit code number. The same numbers we all had. The numbers we were assigned upon entrance into the program.
It can't be true.
"I would have known," I tell him. "You were the same age."
"Yes, but I was in a different sector. And they started me earlier."
"How early?" I press.
"Nine."
I shake my head.
River ignores my doubt and goes on to explain.
"I graduated from the prog
ram with top marks. Killed three men before the age of ten. I was quite proud of myself."
"Until they sent you to the asylum because you had imagined it all.”
He ignores my jab and continues on to his point.
"My first assignment was easy," he says. "Just a man. I do not even remember his face, to be honest. They all blend together after a while. Even the second and the third. I didn't care to know them, or what they had done to earn their deaths. I believed what the agency told me. I followed my orders. I earned my stripes."
He paces again. Looks at me again.
"But then there was the girl."
And now it is me who has tired of his dramatics.
"What girl?"
"She was just a girl," he makes a point to say, as though he hasn't told me three times already.
"There was nothing special about her, really. She was nice to look at as most girls are. She had a pretty face. I thought she would look very pretty when she was dead, and I told her I wouldn't ruin her face because I intended to take her heart."
I think of my Bella. My beautiful Bella. So many times, I had imagined her dead myself. I had imagined how good I thought it would feel to see her that way. Until I tasted her. And she poisoned me. I could not have it any other way.
Before River even admits it, I can tell that he has been poisoned too.
"Those were my instructions," he says. "Cut out her heart. It should have been quite easy. None of the others were difficult."
He struggles with acknowledging his defeat. River has always been too proud. Too arrogant.
"There was something about her face though," he declares. "I thought she was lovely alive. It seemed a shame to watch the life drain from such a pretty face."
He downplays the words, but he cannot hide his true emotion. Not this time. It is clear that River disobeyed his orders long before he ever knew me.
He was a traitor before I ever trusted him. And not only to me.
"You let her live?" I question.
"I let her live," he confesses. "I thought I could fool them. I have always been smarter than most of them."
That much, he does believe.
"It worked, for a while," he says. "I kept her hidden for four years. And I got careless. I thought I could not be touched. That I could do no wrong. They believed I was doing so well. I had made progress with you after all."
