by Marata Eros
I open my mouth then close it.
Childhood memories float around like dust motes inside my brain.
Things begin to come together: small oddities that when taken individually, mean nothing. But taken as a whole, they add up.
Then the implication of what he's told me crashes into my brain.
I stand, adrenaline slamming through my body in a rush so heady, the sudden onslaught makes me nauseated and lightheaded.
“You're claiming to be my father?” I say incredulously, looking to Allen.
“I've seen the proof,” Allen offers, his lips twisting with dark pleasure at my reaction.
“I am—I am,” I sit back down. Actually, I fall on my ass where a stool happens to have been tucked underneath the solid marble countertop. I flick my eyes to Allen.
“You're my half-sister,” Allen says in a voice devoid of emotion.
Orson chuckles, looking between us. His gaze touches Allen briefly. “Apologies. I did not intend to steal your thunder. I thought you would have told our Krista already.”
Allen rolls his eyes, pushing off the island. “All in good time, however, now she knows.”
I jerk to a stand again, staggering away from them, and before I've gone three steps, I'm spilling the broth onto the floor with all the delicacy of a firehose.
“Disgusting,” Allen hisses from behind me.
“Judge Hammerstein will be here shortly. We can't have him perform his duties in the middle of a pool of vomit, Allen. Get control of this.”
This? Oh, he means me. Like I'm some kind of commodity.
Turning, I curl my hands into claws, then go for Allen's face. “You fucking creep!” I scream hysterically.
Simon throws open the swinging door, and it smacks the wall as he wades into the fray.
Deftly skipping over the puke, he lifts me by my waist and back steps over the regurgitated puddle of barf.
Allen's breathing heavily.
“Pervert,” I spit at him.
“Loved fucking you, sissy.”
I mewl, horrified by a lifetime of memories being put on their ear by deft words delivered by an insane Allen and his father. Nothing I believed was true—is.
I clench my eyelids shut, feeling the weightlessness of my body as Simon carries me away from the men who own me.
I'm not even who I thought I was.
I am nothing.
Chapter 33
Hammerstein
Eleanor puts her forehead against mine. “I love him too, Richard.”
“I can't say no to this. It won’t go our way. Orson was a force to be reckoned with when we were just youths. Now, with that fortune at his back, he has the means to take Brett and find a loophole of his own creation, to ruin the boy.”
Eleanor looks up, her hand cupping my face. “He's a man now.”
I nod, covering her hand with my own.
She turns my hand over, gazing at my swollen knuckles. “Are you stoved up today.”
“No more than usual.”
I try to fist my fingers and wince. Before noon, my hands are always so stiff that I can hardly move them. Knuckles like golf balls.
Rheumatoid arthritis is a bitch, and then an old fool like me will eventually die.
Gently covering one hand with the other, I can feel the heat of my swollen knuckles like hot coals beneath my touch.
“I won't talk you out of this, but I'm scared.”
Settling my hands on my wife's narrows shoulders, I stare into eyes I've gazed into a thousand times before. A thousand moments. Disappointments. Rewards.
“I have many regrets, but saving Brett Rife from a split jury was not one of them. And…” I chuck her beneath her chin. “He has a girl that he loves, I think. He's afraid to trust it, but she's quality. She sees him, Eleanor. When no one else does. So saving him wasn’t for naught.”
She nods, but the first tear falls from her eye. “I hate this.”
“As do I.”
I turn away from her and pick up the papers that are needed to be an officiant to a ceremony so secret, there will be no witnesses. I can't deny the dread slowly seeping into my soul.
However, I don't let it dictate my steps to my car. Or the drive that follows.
Or the illicit event I will orchestrate.
I'm not deluding myself that this task is moral. If Orson Rothschild is asking for this to be done, the event is corrupt.
Like the man himself.
And now me.
*
Krista
It's a sham. I’m wearing a dress I did not choose, and vomit coats the back of my throat, despite the superficial minty teeth that Simon supervised the brushing of.
They made me eat, and like a robot, I did.
Simon watched as I brushed my teeth a second time after my first meal in forty-eight hours. Ensuring the deed was done.
Now I stand here, waiting for some judge to tie a knot that feels like a hangman's noose.
Of course, that thought leads to Trainer and Noose. Thank God he believed my stupid words about Allen.
Sam invades my psyche, and the urge to die roars forward, threatening to make my feet run to the kitchen, pick out the sharpest knife, and stab it into a heart that's no longer beating anyway.
The only think I can feel good about in this insane mess is my sacrifice for those I love.
And I have no doubt of my love for Trainer.
Allen turns away from watching out the window and strides toward me. I flinch when he reaches in his pocket.
He smirks at my reaction, extracting a small box. He flicks it open and pulls out a slim, diamond-encrusted band.
He's got to be kidding. “I don't want that.”
His eyes meet mine. “Tough titty.”
“Allen,” Orson says from the corner of the room. At two in the afternoon, he’s holding an expensive-looking brandy snifter.
Allen sighs, heaving his eyes in their sockets. “He's against some of my cruder expressions.”
Like any of that matters?
“Let's worry about words when my life is ruined,” I say.
Orson’s eyes narrow on me. “My dear, you stand to be insanely rich. I would marry Attila the Hun if I could gain that kind of fortune, even if only through association.”
“I don't care about money. I care about freedom and not being married to a sexual sadist.”
Allen's eyebrow quirks.
“That is why I went so far out of family lines and impregnated a second cousin.”
My face moves to look at Orson. “My bio-mother was your second cousin?”
He gives a serene nod. “I was not bound on first-degree familial ties for lineage, only that it was a relative. A proven relation. Not that I see how Allen's interests have developed, I think that choice was a wise one. Because your future offspring would be impaired had I chose a closer relation.”
“I'm already his half-sister.”
“That part could not be avoided.”
I step away from Allen, nearly colliding with Simon's chest. Feeling suffocated, I shift on my feet. The crazy urge to run almost overpowers me. “Why do you care? I mean, you're worth millions.”
“Billions,” Orson clarifies.
My mind can't even really quantify how much billions really is. A lot. “Okay?” Then a lightbulb clicks on. “You stand to lose something if this doesn't go through.” My heart begins to race as I crawl through the sludge of almost-enlightenment.
Allen laughs. “She's not stupid.”
I give him a sharp look, and Orson's expression turns sour. “So… Allen needs to marry me so he can get some trust fund or something, and if you don't ensure that outcome, then you lose too.”
Orson spreads his arms. “You caught me.”
“He's here,” Simon's alert voice comes from behind me.
A black Cadillac crawls up the driveway. As it rounds the perfectly landscaped circle at the top of the drive, it comes to a stop.
We all watch a slightly
stooped man extract himself slowly and what looks like painfully from the luxury car.
He gathers a folder and lifts his hand, shading his eyes from the summer sun that's finally come.
It occurs to me then that I missed visiting Sam's parentsʼ graves. My guilt isn't rational, but I can't shake it. I've never missed the anniversary.
Then I realize I'll never be there again. That day at Sam's house was the last.
The judge shuffles in as I contemplate what little remains of my life.
He's tall and gaunt. He doesn't shuffle, but that's all an act. This guy, though older, has something wrong with him that makes moving painful. With a gnarled hand, he shakes Orson's. My last hope of this judge rescuing me flees. He can't even keep the tightening of his eyes from flashing as his hand is clasped between Orson's.
His pain is there on his body. He can't help me.
When his dark eyes meet mine, I'm surprised. They're kind, without an ounce of the menace shared by the three men who move me around like a pawn on a chessboard.
“Hello,” he says to me, smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“She doesn't need to know who you are,” Orson says before the man can introduce himself.
The old judge turns his head and with a sigh. “Of course.” Dull ruddy color blooms on his nape and cheekbones.
He's embarrassed.
What is all this?
“How long will this take?” Allen asks impatiently.
The judge narrows his eyes on Allen, and for the first time, steel enters his demeanor, shoulders straightening. “As long as it does. This young woman will have to fill out some forms.”
Orson begins to protest.
“It protects everyone,” the judge states simply.
“Very well,” Orson says, but I can tell he's unhappy with the delay.
“Young lady…” The judge sweeps his deformed hand toward the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounded by thick, elaborate trim, then indicates two chairs at either side of a small table.
“Krista,” I say.
His brow puckers, and his expression becomes strange.
I hesitate for a moment, and the judge appears to regain his composure.
He doesn't give me his name.
I sit at the table, the food they force fed me giving my body energy despite my mental lethargy.
Slowly and carefully, I print my name, the date, and all the other requirements of a civil ceremony.
My marriage to Allen Fitzgerald.
I bite my lip, drawing blood instead of tears.
*
Trainer
“Vipe's gonna be steaming pissed.” Noose drops tiny binocular things into a small black duffel.
“She's in there.”
I don't ask for a look through the binoculars. My eyes make out the figures in the house good enough. A new Caddy has shown up at the top of the drive, hiding the tall double doors of the mansion. We came back after the car was parked there.
“They're getting ready to get hitched,” Wring says, frowning.
Lariat cups the back of his head, exhaling loudly. “What's the fucked-up rush? I mean—damn. Wasn't she just banging our boy, and then she dumps his ass for a pretty boy? Shit's just getting weirder and weirder.”
With a clothesline to the chest, Noose stops me from rushing Lariat. “Save it for the fun up there,” Noose says, jerking his head toward the mansion.
His eyes glitter on Lariat. “Not helpful, fucker.”
Lariat shrugs. “I got it! Fuck, everyone's on the rag today.”
“No, everyone's on edge, Lariat,” Wring says.
I glare at Lariat.
“Sorry, man. Just trying to work out shit aloud is all. I’m just saying something weird is going on. Maybe it’s not her fault, sounds like shit's messed up.”
“I love her,” I say before I can stop the words.
“We know,” Noose says without looking at me. “That's why we're risking the Viper Wrath for your old lady.”
“She's not mine.”
Noose turns, the heavy branches of many trees casting his face in shadows. “She will be.”
He claps me on the back, swirling his index finger in the air. Lariat and Wring bleed into the woods.
I follow Noose.
Like I have since the day we met.
Chapter 34
Krista
Compassionate eyes meet mine.
My gaze skitters away. I'm so ashamed I can barely breathe.
Words come out of the judge's mouth. When he gets to the part where he reads my full name, his chin jerks up.
“What?” Allen asks in a sharp voice.
“Krista Glass?” the judge asks.
I nod.
“Are you a schoolteacher?”
I nod again, a surreal sensation of deja vu moving through me.
Fate is a strange teacher, sometimes throwing a curve ball.
“This has nothing to do with continuing the ceremony,” Orson states swiftly.
The old judge turns to Orson. “Humor me. I'm doing what I have to, but I want this question answered.” His astute eyes take in me and Allen. “This is clearly not a love match.”
At least that much is obvious.
“Do you teach special needs?”
“Yes.”
“Adults?”
“Not until recently.”
“Get on with this,” Allen grits from between his clenched teeth.
“No,” the judges answers Allen, then quickly asks me, “Are you acquainted with Brett Rife?”
“Trainer!” My heart sings across the connection, however strange, between this judge and Trainer.
His expression darkens, and he turns to Orson. “Did you manufacture this on purpose?”
Orson shakes his head. “No, but I must admit the irony is scrumptious.”
I back away, and Simon grasps my elbow. “Wait—what is happening?”
“I am Judge Hammerstein. I was a lawyer representing a young man who killed another in the defense of his mother.”
Trainer.
“The one bribe I ever begged for was to free that young man from an injustice he would have faced. I couldn't bear it.”
Oh my God.
Judge Hammerstein face turns to me. “He loves you.”
I grab his arm. “I love him too.”
“Enough!” Allen roars, shoving me hard enough to send my body flying backward.
I land on my back, head cracking against the polished wood floor.
Stars cloud my vision, black crowding the edges of my sight. At least I'm not married to him. Through the fog, I hear shouts and a loud crash. Dropping from the platform of wakefulness,
I dream of Trainer's face above mine. His crisp, grass-green eyes and deep-brown hair appear for a moment then vanish.
Then I free fall into the deep gray of unconsciousness, hoping I die.
*
Trainer
“Wait.” I grasp Noose’s arm, and he stills without looking at me but instead, where I'm looking. “That's Judge's ride.”
Noose snorts. “Fluke of fucking flukes. I don't think I like that.”
I know I don't.
“Let's roll,” he whispers urgently.
We move through the woods as silently as guys our size can.
Noose deftly avoids all the twigs and brush that's dry enough to signal our entrance.
I copy him.
As we sail around the corner of the huge structure, two guards taking a smoke break look up with matching expressions of surprise.
Like a silent locomotive, Noose barrels into the closest one, grabbing the skull of the other, and bashes them both into the side of the house.
Straightening, he adjusts his vest. “Feels good to wear my cut.”
That is his comment after the two men lie bleeding at his feet.
“Relax,” he says, “you'll have plenty of fun inside, just taking out the sound alarms.” Sliding to his haunches, he removes the two slim r
opes from his back pocket.
In less than a minute, he’s tied the dudes together, nut to butt. He balances their emptied automatic weapons perfectly between their unconscious bodies.
“That's pretty as fuck,” Noose comments. Then his eyes slide away.
“Hear that?” I ask.
He nods. “Lots of yelling.”
We bolt, going for the back door.
Noose finds it locked.
“Fuck it.” He steps backward then kicks the door.
Lock holds.
I push him aside, thinking of Krista in there with Allen.
Giving it all I have, I run at it, blasting my foot through it.
The thing swings wide, bashing against a wall, and crashing into something glass. The tinkle of shattered crystal is like rain hitting the fancy marble floors.
The big fucker I recognize from before doesn't charge us.
Probably because shit's going down in the room where I saw Krista.
We rip through the endless hallway and turn the corner.
Krista's flat on her back, a bubble of blood seeping out of her mouth. Her chest rising and falling.
But what keeps me in place is Judge.
Allen Fitzgerald has wrapped his hands around the only father I ever had.
Judge's face is purple, his worthless hands flailing uselessly around Allen's face like pale flags.
Ginormous is trying to pull Allen off.
My eyes move to Krista then Judge.
Decision made—even if it's the wrong one—has me moving before the first gunshot goes off. The bullet buzzes by my ear. I ignore the searing pain. Gotta get to my lady.
*
Beautiful gray eyes open. Eyelashes like black lace flutter against too-pale cheeks as they sweep closed again.
“Krista,” I say, gathering her close, ignoring the scalding liquid of my blood running down the side of my neck.
Carefully, I stand with Krista cradled against my chest. I turn.
Freeze.
Some old dude has a gun pointed at Noose, who's grinning like he just won a million bucks. “Come on, ya old coot, shoot.”
