by Nicole Snow
“What the fuck is this? A bribe? You're an even bigger asshole than I think you are if you're telling me I should take your money and walk away,” Matt snarls. It takes a few seconds for him to speak after he sees the amount on the check.
Then he holds it up to his face and takes the corners with both hands. I know what's coming next.
“Wait!” Ryan jerks in my arms, holding out one hand. “Before you tear that thing up, I want you knowing it's not a bribe, Matt. We used to be like brothers, before everything went to shit. Give me a chance to explain all this. That's all I was trying to do here tonight with your sis. If you'll hear me out, you'll see I want you to have that money, and I've got more with your name on it for the vets' charity I know you're trying to set up.”
“You've been watching me? And her?” Disbelief sizzles in his tone. “Fuck you, creepy ass stalker. You've got no clue how much you blew our lives to hell after you left, especially Kara's. We don't want a damned thing from you. Sis, just say the word, and I will call the sheriff. I don't care who this fucknut thinks he is with his suit and his money. He belongs behind bars.”
“Matthew, I swear to God,” I say, closing my eyes. “Let him go. This isn't what you think.”
At least, I hope it isn't. Thanks to my brother's crap, I still haven't found out the big secret. Now I'm afraid I won't get the chance tonight.
“Just go home. The family doesn't need this, and neither do you. Go grab your muffins in the back. Take whatever you want home to mom and Holden.”
We stare across at each other for several fiery seconds. Then rage snorts out his nostrils. His fingers finish ripping the check into a dozen little pieces and they fall on the floor like snow.
“Sorry about the mess. I'm not taking this fucking backstabber's money. As for anything else...we'll see. I'll think about what I'm gonna do on the way home.”
He marches past us. I hear him slamming drawers in the kitchen, looking for the day's leftover baked goods, which would've gone to the local shelter in the morning. His fist bangs the back door on the way out, and it swings shut, closing with a thud.
Ryan gives me one more squeeze before he walks over and bends down, picking up the remnants of his shredded check.
“Jesus, Ryan, I'm sorry. Didn't have a clue he'd be coming by tonight. We should've went for a greasy burger instead.”
“Don't apologize,” he says, more adamant than ever. “Kara, this wouldn't be going down if I weren't here. I've got a lot to fix, as soon as I give you the explanation I promised.”
I wrap my arms around him when he comes back to me. I'm shaking my head, hating myself for the next words out of my mouth. I want to know what the hell happened, but not if it means putting him at risk.
“We don't have time to rehash the past tonight. You need to go home and rest. So do I. There's no telling what Matt's going to do after seeing you like this.”
“Fuck. You're right.” He leans down, touching his forehead against mine.
We stay like that for a little while, just savoring our old, familiar warmth. Hating the confusion, the uncertainty, but loving this closeness. These are possibilities, poised between new disasters and miracles.
I'm not going to find out the ending to this story tonight. “Go,” I tell him again. “I'll be in touch. I need a chance to get home and look at what you've given me, too.”
Reluctantly, he nods, and walks me to my car. I give him my number, hoping I'm not making another mistake.
Whatever's coming next won't be easy. Looking into his eyes, I see horrors up ahead. It's going to get worse before it gets better.
Even if he's squeaky clean – and I seriously doubt that's the case – I'm facing a hurricane when Matt spills the news about Ryan's reappearance to mom, and that's separate from the hell coming whenever I walk out on Reg.
If I walk out on him. Ugh. It's hard not to get ahead of myself after being plunged into darkness.
Before we leave, my eyes go to Ryan's lips. It takes every fiber in my being to walk away without a kiss.
He stops next to his car as I'm pulling out, looking at me like he understands.
He gets it, and he fucking hates it, but he isn't giving up.
After tonight, I owe him the same. He's stirred feelings I haven't had in years. They're going to soothe the scars tainting me for the last five years, or turn them into open wounds.
I'm ready for the truth, whatever it may be.
That's what I tell myself, heading for my unhappy home. If I'm honest, before all this is over, the truth might kill me.
I don't have the energy to look at the files tonight.
Reg hasn't come home yet, despite the late hour. I slip into bed with a glass of wine and doze, dreaming about deep blue eyes, stubble on my skin, and a man between my legs who fucks me without asking to hoover suck my toes.
I wake up with a start near early morning. There's no one next to me. Wherever he is, he never came home.
Showering quickly, I dress, cursing myself for not setting an alarm. My internal body clock is the only thing that saves me from being late opening Grounded.
I'm in such a rush I don't give a second thought to when Reg got home, or if he did. It isn't until I'm downstairs, heading into the kitchen for a banana and some yogurt, when I see him.
He's sitting at the counter, the little black stick in his hand, tapping it against the marble. “Who gave you this?”
My feet turn to ice. I'm stuck, staring at my fiance, his polite mask hanging by a thread. It isn't hard to see the anger underneath.
He's seen what's on it. Somehow, he knows.
Gutted doesn't begin to describe the way I'm hollowed out. If I hoped to control my world self-destructing, there's no chance of that now.
He stands, comes toward me, his eyes narrow and dark. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kara. I thought we were getting better. Then you go behind my back, get this thing from some goddamned jackass, and find pictures taken over my shoulder by a stalker psycho? What did you do, hire a detective?”
“Whoa, back up. I haven't even looked at it!” I decide to give him the truth. “Jesus, calm down.”
“Calm down?” His voice bristles, the same as his angry, erratic movements. “You're asking me for calm when you won't even say where this came from, bitch?”
New pain rips through my heart. In all our arguments before, he's never called me names, much less a bitch.
“To think, you asked me if I was having a goddamned affair the other day,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You hired a PI to trail me, didn't you? Admit it. Some busy little jackoff you dropped money on to tell you you're right? Well, let me tell you something, Kara-bell.” That name has never sounded so sinister on his lips.
I'm officially afraid.
He steps up, grabs me, and rips me into his chest. I'm too shocked to scream, afraid he's going to throw me against the counter, or worse.
“There's no fucking affair! I'm too good to sneak around behind your back, and you're too stupid to believe it.” He's snarling in my face, continuing to scream, growl, and thunder when my eyes are pinched shut. “This ends here, okay? I'm giving you a choice. We're marching ourselves down to Dr. Evans tomorrow, as planned. You're telling him the truth and asking for help to fix your psychotic paranoia. Otherwise, we end this here. And if we do, I'll make damned sure the whole town knows why.”
My ears try to close in disbelief. For the first time since he pushed me against the counter, I'm angry enough to get over the fear. Opening my eyes, I stare at his face. It's incredible how someone you once loved can transform into a demon in front of you once they've done the unthinkable.
“Are you threatening me, Reg?”
“Is that what you think is going on here?” Raw hate gives way to frustration in his tone. He pulls away, muttering to himself, hot shame warming his cheeks. “Jesus. You're really disconnected from reality, you know that? I'm reacting how any sane person should. Any man would be just as pissed as I am if he found out
his fiance had him trailed. I told you the truth the other day. You wouldn't believe me.”
He's right. I wouldn't. Seeing him standing in front of me, rambling like a madman, doesn't bolster my trust.
“I'm leaving for work. We'll pick this up in the evening,” he says, raising his arm.
Our eyes lock as he brings the little thumb drive down against the counter. A second later, it's smashed.
It was my mistake leaving the thing out. I wasn't thinking after coming home so late last night, too emotionally drained by yesterday's events to put it away.
Now, I'll never get that chance. Reg doesn't stop to pick up the pieces laying on the floor. His heavy footsteps plod toward the door, which he slams on his way out.
There's no mistaking the adrenaline flooding my system, my heart beating like a clock out of sync. I'm starting to hate this man. It's incredible how quickly our love has soured, how it's damaged to the point of almost no repair, held together by social pressure more than anything else.
But I've never seen him this crazy before. I can't judge what's on the destroyed drive, but what if he's angry because I misjudged him? Not because he's covering up the awful truth?
I pick up the pieces, no longer worried about getting into the cafe a few minutes late. I reach for the tiny shattered pieces, and push them together absent-mindedly, hating that I can't put Humpty-Dumpy together again.
It takes me a minute before I toss them in the trash. I don't know who to believe, or what's true.
Reg has never been this upset. The glow in his eyes...it was rage.
Pure, unfiltered contempt.
There's only two possibilities: he's the best damned liar in the world and he's completely soulless, or it's Ryan manipulating me.
I hold in the scream building up in my chest until I'm out the door, in my car, and on the way to work. When it comes out, I'm sure several people on the main drag in Split Harbor hear it, out on their morning walks They stop and look toward my vehicle's headlights.
I think back to what went through my head last night, realizing how wrong I really was.
This isn't even close to over, and I'm already dead inside.
Someone's lying to me. Ryan, Reg, or maybe both. I'm just sick of being used.
I won't be anyone's whore, or their trophy wife. We're past the point of anything a psychologist can help with.
I'm not coming home this evening. After I close up Grounded today, I'm getting in my car and going for a long, long drive. I need to clear my head, search my heart, and forget about the two men pulling me in half.
It's the only way I'll know if I can stay in this town without losing my mind.
8
Shocked (Ryan)
It's evening, and she isn't responding to my texts. I'm supposed to work late tonight, but my concentration is blown.
After last night, after I gave her proof she's being fucked over by her cheating fiance, I thought for sure I'd hear more. I haven't heard a word all day.
Something isn't right.
I taste it every time I take a sip of the smooth, black brew my assistant brings me for a late day pick-me-up. It's Grounded coffee, a fresh corporate supply of beans I've dropped a couple thousand on this week, without a second thought.
I'm running through financial reports from accounting, watching the numbers blur together, when I decide I've had enough.
I stuff my laptop into my messenger bag and head out the door. About half a dozen women working late ogle me between the elevator and the receptionist's desk downstairs. They won't say anything, risking their jobs for petty advances, because they know who I am. But there's no mistaking the hunger in their eyes, the way they want to pull me into the nearest office, rip off my Superior blue suit, and offer every inch of their skin to me on a silver platter.
They're lucky I'm the kind of man who's always kept business and pleasure separate. Doubly lucky there's only one woman on my mind, and right now she's driving me fucking loco.
I'm almost through the security gate surrounding the Punch Corp complex when a security truck speeds through, stopping just short of making my right side into a pancake. The man behind it has his window down before mine. His eyes bug out when he recognizes me.
“Mr. Brooks! I'm so sorry.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I lie. “What's the hurry?”
“Police alert for a missing woman, sir. It's the one who owns the coffee shop down at the edge of town. I thought I'd better scour the perimeter. There are plenty of dark little nooks around our property where a vehicle could go if anything nasty happened. Or if a person didn't want to be found.”
Shit. The non-response from Kara is more serious than I thought.
Now I'm really worried. I thank him and drive off, roaring down the highway, out toward the lighthouse where I can stop and think, plan what I'm going to do next.
I don't know what the hell happened.
Did she look at the data on Reg? Did she confront him already? Is the cheating sonofabitch a lot crazier than I think ?
Fuck, maybe he hurt her? Nothing's impossible, considering the sick, twisted secrets I found hanging over his bastard uncle.
If Kara's gone, there's a good chance Reg is the reason why.
Ten minutes later, I'm sitting on a bench next to my car, a cold wind slapping my face while I work my phone furiously. The dot for the special GPS tracker on his car hasn't moved since this morning, the first time that's happened in days.
He's either been at home all day, or he's found the device, and taken it off. Deep in my gut, I know what's more likely.
I'm running purely on instinct when I climb back in my car. I take the highway toward Marquette. Sure, there's a thousand other places he might have gone, but I go for the most logical, the quickest place he would've went for comfort if he had a falling out with her.
Half an hour later, I know I'm on the right track when I see the asshole's car in the lot. His grey Mercedes melds into half a dozen other fancy vehicles at the high end hotel's valet parking, but not to me.
It stands out, hits me between the eyes, and tells me I need answers.
I'm running to the hotel's front desk. It hurts like hell to stop, give them a friendly smile, and pull out my black card, asking for a room.
Even in a small city, security is an obstacle. The only way I'll get to Reg is if I'm on the inside.
I wait impatiently through the check-in process. Before I go, I ask what room my business associate is in. The woman rattles off a number, and then I'm heading up the elevator, bypassing the floor with the room I'll never bother to look at.
I'm going straight to his. No more wasting time.
A brisk walk down the hall later, I'm there, pressing my ear against the door.
There's laughter. A woman giggles. It's the kind of laugh that means two things.
She's either heard the funniest fucking joke in the world, or she's just finished riding a worm who should be home in his own bed, with the woman he wants to call his wife.
Fuck. I'm furious. Part of me is glad he's here. The chances that I'm going to kick his ass and claim Kara for myself just spiked a thousand percent.
But if he's hurt her, if he's thrown her out of their condo or worse...I'll throw my budding empire away knocking his teeth out. I'll destroy the asshole, right here, in cold blood, becoming the monster everybody back home thinks I am.
I'll make sure he never, ever cheats on a woman again with the crude joke of a face he's got left when I'm through.
My fingers tighten into a fist, and I stand up straight.
This is it.
I don't think about keeping it subtle, hiding what's about to go down from anybody else in the adjacent rooms. The place seems mostly deserted for an autumn weekend. My fist slams into his door like a rock, banging the surface again and again.
It creaks open slowly a small, frightened brunette face peering out at me through the crack. “Can I help you?”
“I nee
d to talk to Reginald Drayton.” I don't know what to think of the girl, but my beef isn't with her. Maybe she knows she's fucking around with a taken man. Or maybe she's innocent, one more girl he's wiping his feet on because he thinks he's the biggest swinging dick in town.
Before I showed up, the bastard was in the running, thanks to his money. Not anymore.
“Amy? Who is it?” I hear his voice for the first time. He's coming toward her, and I see him moving over her shoulder.
She turns around, frightened, her hand on the door like she doesn't know if she should push it shut.
I never give them a chance. My hand goes through the crack, rips apart the cheap silver chain, and my foot kicks the base of the door like a charging bull. Asshole shields himself from the noise, backing up into the corner, taking his mistress into his arms.
“Who the fuck are you?! What do you want? This must be some kind of terrible mistake! I swear, I've never seen you before in my –“
I pull her gently out of his arms, flinging the girl onto the nearby bed. With him, my hands forget what gentle means. Slamming him into the wall, I hear his bones creak, knowing I can snap them in half like twigs if I really need to.
“Kara Lilydale, asshole. Where is she?”
“You! You're the detective, aren't you?” He's looking at me, wide eyed and filled with hate. “I'm going to have your license stripped, you know. If you lay a finger on me, you'll be in jail before the end of the night.”
Enough.
My knee goes into his guts, and then my hand is on his throat. Typical Drayton. Always trying to get the last word, thinking the entire Earth wants to hear it.
The stupid fucking cheat still tries to squawk when I press my palm into his windpipe, making words impossible.
I'm done hearing his shit. It's time for him to listen to me.
“Shut up. I'm not a detective, and you don't give a shit about what she does.” There's something dangling from his neck. I notice for the first time I don't need my hand to choke him.
This sick, twisted freak is wearing a choke chain attached to a leather collar. Just like a dog. I take it in one hand, eyeballing the ring around his neck to make sure it's still on, and pull. He hits the floor, and I put my foot on his back, cutting off his air while I look at the woman.
