by Nicole Snow
“What the hell's so funny up there, you whacked out psycho?” I see her little face through the panel, glowing in the light of her phone.
I shine mine toward it, adding to the soft blue luminescence. “Throw me the briefcase. Purse and shoes, too, if you want them. Then I need you to take the end of this rope when I let it down, hold on tight, and don't move until I say. I'll come down the ladder to catch you.”
Squinting through the shadows, she blinks, her little mouth falling open. “Are you kidding? You're not getting help? You want me to crawl up and...oh God.”
What little color remains in her pale face drains in the flickering light. She knows what's waiting. She's seen it, just like I have. The pit. Far too close to the ladder, which the stockings on her feet won't grip nearly as easy as my shoes.
“Presh...you want out, right? We're almost there. You're gonna have to trust me.”
“Been there, done that. Got destroyed. Screw you, Trent. I'm not moving. I'll wait for the firefighters.” She turns, steps away from the panel, flattening herself against the wall.
God damn. My eyes flick to the elevator cable. I can't tell if it's worse than it was five minutes ago, but it could go at any time. That's all that matters.
No time for her attitude. Can't waste precious seconds convincing her.
Snarling, I pick up the rope and chuck it toward the panel. Her little cry tells me I hit the mark. It's inside, or near enough. I'm coming for her. I'll drag her out, kicking and screaming, if I have to.
For a split second, I take a look down.
I must be officially crazy doing this shit, swinging in like Tarzan. As long as I hold on real tight, and avoid the pit...fuck.
Closing my eyes, I let go, ignoring the rope burn exploding across my hands. My ankles catch the crooked edge of the elevator. I drop through the panel a second later, then help feed the rope inside so we have an easy climb back out.
“Help isn't coming, Amy Kay. This is it. We can't wait.” I take a deep breath. “You're coming with me now.”
“Can't wait? Says who? Trent Usher, I swear to God, I'm not going anywhere with you, much less –“ She shuts her mouth once she notices I'm not listening.
Something up above creaks. I don't know shit about elevators, but even I know there's a good chance it's a death rattle.
Move.
I grab everything I can, her purse and my briefcase, scurrying back up the rope. It's just the right angle to hurl our stuff safely to the floor above. My phone blips, a low battery indicator, like a death threat in my ears.
The elevator's creak becomes a groan. Shit.
We're wasting too much time.
We have to go or the next stop will be the grave.
“Presh, now. Save your jabs, your doubts, your daggers for later. I'll take them all, after we're off this fucking thing and on solid ground again.” She's fighting when I grab her.
I stop just short of telling her the real reason, letting her know I'm trying like hell to save her life. This thing could go any minute, if she doesn't realize it yet.
But I'm not telling her how dire this is. If there's any chance at getting us out of here, she can't freeze up. I can't let her.
“No, Trent. No. We're not doing this again. I'm not following your –”
“You will, Amy Kay.” I actually sound resigned as I pull her toward the rope, force her hands around it, and then jump on and hoist myself above her. “Climb,” I snarl.
“Not your first choice, I know. Isn't mine either. This sucks, having to fight each other for our lives like this, when all I wanted to do was come here and flatten Jace. It blows all kinds of ways, some that haven't been classified yet. But if we don't do it, we're fucking dead, so get your sweet ass moving.”
“Don't you dare lecture me!” Her small white teeth are pinched tight, hate glowing like a scorned panther's from her face.
“Don't make me drag you, darling.” My eyes never waver. She does a double take. “I've never been more serious. You know I fucking will.”
Finally, she grabs the rope and starts scrambling up behind me.
Confidence boosted, I pull myself through the panel and rest on the elevator, which creaks under my weight. Not creaks, groans. Again.
Damn it all. We have to make this fast, or there's a savagely good chance it won't stand having us both on top for long.
“Take my hand. Let me help,” I say, reaching down.
“Coming, coming, and I still hate your frigging guts...”
Let her hate away. If it gets her up faster, I'll take it. The next few minutes melt into each other.
Hell, maybe it's only seconds.
I manage to pull her out, jerk her close, and jump across to the ladder.
She balks at following me, using the rope to swing across. “I'll catch you, don't worry,” I tell her a hundred times. “If I'm lying, I'll fly right down that pit and join you. Just listen, Amy Kay. Last fucking time. I promise.”
I hope it's one promise I'll keep.
Because I'm as sick of this as her. I should be raising hell for my worst enemy. Not saving my still-too-sexy-for-her-own-good ex.
After endless coaxing, I watch her become one with the rope, edge off the elevator, and swing across the narrow space to the ladder, where I'm hanging. She whimpers, flattening herself against me, damned near throwing us both to sudden death.
We hold.
I'm more thankful than ever for good reflexes. They can't fix everything, though.
She's so paralyzed, so afraid she can't move. Can't climb the four feet up the shaft to safety, and I can't drag her along if I'm going to make it up myself.
“Look at me, Presh. This is hardly the worst it's ever been. Remember that time on the Wilkie? I would've wrecked the fucking boat if you weren't there to help me along. We would've drowned years ago.” I tell her, trying to put her mind at ease. “Just a few more feet, darling. I'm saving you. You saved my skin and a whole lot of others that day. It was your advice, your words, that kept us from disaster. You saved our lives then. This time, let me.”
“Lives you went and ruined,” she snaps, staring up at me, eyes on fire again.
Oh, yeah. That. There's no time for bad memories because – holy shit – she's right behind me, gripping my leg, and I think we'll actually make it.
I crawl to sweet freedom on the twentieth-whatever floor, spin around, and take both her hands in mine, yanking her to safety.
She only gives her tongue a moment's rest before it's lashing me again. “Jesus. What...what happened up here?”
I turn. There's broken glass everywhere. The gumball machine is closer to the cliff than I thought. We're lucky it held.
The entire floor looks like a war zone from the office I raided, glass shards scattered everywhere. Don't think I've ever been more thankful than now to have a billion dollar net worth to my name. These damages won't break the bank. They're a small price to pay for saving her spitfire ass, and mine.
“Precious, look –” I hold up a hand, press it to her cheek, sarcasm and euphoric affection getting the best of me.
But before I can finish, the elevator gives way. There's a screaming, clanging, bone-chattering chorus of metal-on-metal for the longest twenty seconds of my life as it tumbles down the shaft, pounding the floor with an explosive wham so deep it goes straight into my chest.
Presh leaps into my arms. Shaking, scared, shocked, and beautiful.
Yeah, I know. I thought it. So damn beautiful.
“Holy shit. Holy hell. Trent –”
“I know,” I whisper, cutting her off.
Then I bring her one more shock. Shoving my fingers through her brown locks, I give her a kiss for the books.
The record keepers have to be out there somewhere, chronicling this utter insanity.
At some point, she peels herself away, manages to stand, and looks into the dark chasm of the shaft that almost ended us. “Jesus. Where are the police and EMTs? It's like we're the last peopl
e on Earth.”
I look at her and laugh. “Still a whole city out there, Presh. Plenty of rush hour traffic.” I nod toward the nearest window, revealing a perfectly normal Seattle night scene below.
Still, she has a point. If anyone knew we were trapped in the elevator and decided to drag their feet, the elevator's death rattle as it impacted the ground should have sounded like a bomb going off to anyone else in the building.
It doesn't make sense. Where the fuck is everybody?
I reach for my dying phone. When Amy Kay sees me, she does the same.
“Damn, no signal.” We blurt it out in unison. It's like this place is reinforced with military grade, or somebody up above really wants to keep us trapped here for their own amusement.
“We'll have to walk. Only way we'll ever get any help at this rate.” Or get out of here.
“Trent!” she calls after me, but I'm done listening.
Grabbing my briefcase, I head for the door beneath the neon red EXIT sign.
It's actually a dull brown sign that should be lit bright red, but I don't pause to think about it.
I can't waste more time. I damn sure don't want to hang around revisiting a kiss that shouldn't have happened.
It'll be a long hike downstairs to ground level, more than twenty winding floors. Good thing hiking kept me in top shape, a habit I picked up after running to Oregon. Maxwell Chenocott's favorite past time must have rubbed off, though I'll never admit it.
“Trent, wait –” Presh yells after me again. I hear her shout through the door when I'm halfway down the second flight of stairs.
I don't listen. She won't pursue in her stockinged feet. Her heels were the only casualty when the elevator went down, thank fuck.
Onward.
It's harder than I expect. By the time I'm several floors down, my knees burn like dry brush catching a spark. Every floor seems to have three long flights of winding stairs between it. I could take a break on the landings, but I want to get this over with, or at least figure out what the hell's going on.
It's somewhere around the twelfth floor when I try one of the doors.
Damn thing is locked.
And It's the same with the next floor down.
Security is especially tight around here.
I'm living a bad dream. Worst part is, I can't stop thinking about that impulsive kiss, how her taste hasn't changed in all these years.
It isn't fair. I expected her to be more subtle, more bitter maybe, against my tongue. I expected to taste her anguish, her setbacks, hell, a husband or boyfriend or a long train of guys she's no doubt had in my wake.
I expected to taste the woman I abandoned and not fucking care.
But she was pure. Sunny sweet as the last day I kissed her, before Jace's evil fuckery blew my world apart.
Sweeter, if I'm brutally honest. I won't admit distance has made my heart any fonder, but it's done frightful things to my dick, and my adrenaline.
A need I haven't felt in years to own her little mouth swept through my blood.
“Nostalgia, you idiot,” I whisper to myself. I'm clinging to excuses.
Shit. I've never needed them more. Because if I slow down enough to admit how familiar, how natural, how right my mouth felt on Presh, and how eagerly she melted into me...
No, damn it. We were drunk on fear. A triumph escaping an early grave, and nothing more.
I know why I'm here. Whatever happens tonight can't change it.
Jace Chenocott will pay for fucking me out of Presh years ago, poisoning my family, and savaging my reputation. His life needs gasoline on it, so much fucking gas, poured by my hand.
And I'll be standing there when I strike the match, laughing in his face.
Joke's on me.
The door to every floor is sealed tighter than Aladdin's cave. The second floor to the lobby is the darkest yet, and that's when I finally realize the lights are out. Completely.
They're not blown. It's the building that's lost power, keeping these doors shuttered from the outside. A ring of sweat circles my back. My lungs are blazing into ash by the time I reach the lobby.
I grab the handle, say a quiet prayer, and –
“Fuck!” It's closed too. Locked. Sealed.
I bash my fists on the heavy steel fire doors.
Once, twice, a couple dozen times.
As much as I can stand before my pulse warns me I'm working myself toward a heart attack.
But I can't stop here. There must be someone down here who'll hear me beating pits in this thing, right?
That's my working theory. I beat my knuckles raw, until I can't feel my arms, hollering the whole time. I wait a few minutes between breaths. Then I do it again.
Nothing. No sound on the other side. No words. No shrill sirens or raucous emergency crews stomping through the lobby, bleeding commotion I'd hear through these metal slabs.
We're alone.
We're fucked.
It's at least another minute before I tear myself away.
It takes a while to drag my ass back upstairs, disappointment weighing on me more than muscle strain. Presh has shut the door on me in the meantime, leaving it locked.
“Precious, what the hell? Open up!” My fist pounds heavy steel, angrier with every punch.
After a small eternity, I hear her little voice. “Nope. You're cooling your heels out there, Mr. Usher. I'm done playing kiss and run, even if you did save my life.” It's a hard thing to admit, heavy on her voice.
The fact that I actually did, and she's keeping me out here, is fucking infuriating. “Come on! I just came up from the lobby and guess what? Every damn door's locked. We're stuck here till somebody on the outside finally wants to figure this mess out.”
“Hmmm, I'm not so sure, Trent. Seems like you're the one who's 'stuck.' I've got a nice office all to myself with coffee and bathrooms. If you'd just been a little nicer, and hadn't taken off, abandoning me up here, then maybe you'd share it, too.”
“Let. Me. In.” I ram my fist into the door after every word. Pain arcs up my tendon, leaving my teeth pinched. “Precious, this isn't fucking funny!”
“Exactly,” she whispers.
It's the last thing I'm able to hear. Then there's just the soft, almost indecipherable scuff of her feet on the ground, disappearing fast.
“Precious! Amy Kay! You can't leave me stranded. You can't...”
She can. She will.
She's out for punishment after that vicious kiss.
Swallowing a growl, I decide I've had enough. There's nothing more to be gained fracturing my knuckles on this damn door. I shuffle over to the corner, drop down on the cold concrete, clutching my briefcase.
In this commotion, I've barely had a spare second to mull over the contents. I flip the latches and peer inside. It's all there. Three neat little folders.
The treasures inside have already been sent to their targets. I'll catch Jace, sooner or later, just in time for the fireworks. I want to watch the knife twist in his guts when he realizes how unbelievably fucked he is.
That's what this trip to Seattle is. Revenge.
Taking a detour through the ugly past and the awkward present with the girl I wanted to marry wasn't on the itinerary. Too bad. Once this is through, I'm heading back to Portland. I'll do whatever it takes to cleanse Presh from my system.
My fist tightens on the suitcase. The wry smile fades just as weakly as it came, like it was never there. Playing cat and mouse with that delectable, maddening woman behind the door changes nothing.
Nothing.
This body, this heart, this soul are mine. Not hers, damn it.
Not anymore.
5
Remembering Eden (Amy Kay)
It's bad enough that Trent Usher kissed me.
Worse that he saved my life, and I let him.
But the worst part, the thing I can't forgive, is how I forgot everything in the thirty or so seconds his mouth was on mine. Melting into him while his hands and tongue
roamed free was a sweet amnesia.
In just a few seconds, he did the impossible. Delivered a peace I've looked for everywhere else the past seven years, never finding more than small bits in Spokane, on long nature walks, forgetting as hard as a woman ever can.
Christ, I hate this man.
Now that I'm on my own two feet again, a safe six inches of hard steel between us, I'm aware. I see, feel, and taste too much.
I remember who brought me to my knees. Once with a foolish smile, and again with a hole in my chest.
I remember because I can't do anything else. Every day I've tried to forget him, to leave behind our tragedy, is just another savage waste of time.
If the scarring wasn't so bad, maybe this would be the perfect time to move on. He did just save my life, after all.
If he hadn't pulled me off the elevator, kicking and screaming, I'd be an Amy Kay-sized pancake crunched in the building's service basement.
But if he hadn't turned my heat into a dumpster fire – if the self-righteous bastard wasn't still doing it – then I might not be here in the first place. Re-living a heartbreak in real time.
If, if, if. Every time I mull the possibilities, they're more sour. They make me want to stare a line of fire through the door, straight at Trent's head, and roast him alive.
I have every right. What the heck does he mean when he says he's back to settle scores with my brother, anyway? It was Trent's idea, the whole dirty money thing.
His mistake when it finally caught up to him, and then brought hell crashing down on the rest of us.
I've got to warn Jace. Somehow, someway.
Flattening myself against the wall, I pull out my phone, holding my breath as the screen illuminates, hoping it'll work.
Except that'd be too easy. Too kind. The same pathetic NO SIGNAL indicator flashes, bright and blinding, draining the battery another bar.
I don't even know if Trent lied about the doors to the other floors being locked. I don't trust a thing from his lips, including the latest stupid kiss where I almost cracked.
Chances are, he's telling the truth. I know it in the pit of my belly.
