Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  Trust me, I think, I know that feeling better than you’ll ever understand.

  “Now, imagine that same child coming into that room and discovering his mother there, huddled by the side of that desk, crying. Imagine the fear, the guilt, the anger. Imagine all that, rolled up into one little ball of hate in that child’s head.

  “His mother does not look at him. She turns away, almost ashamed to be caught in a position like this by her youngest son.

  “What would you do if you were that little boy? Would you run to her? Would you want to comfort her? Of course. But could you do it? No. Not with the other man present in the room.

  “My father greeted me. ‘Ah, Jeremy,’ he said. ‘You’re just in time.’ I knew something was terribly wrong, much more than usual. I could feel it in the air.

  “The doors closed behind me, making me jump. My father laughed. I hated showing fear before his eyes. But the sound had startled me, dammit!

  “My mother looked at me then. ‘Jeremy,’ she said. Then she turned to my father. ‘Hugh. Please. Don’t. Not with him here. Not with—‘

  “He silenced her by pulling a gun—this gun—from under his desk and aiming it at her head.

  “He smiled at me. ‘Come here, Jeremy,’ he said softly. ‘Come here, my boy. I want to show you something.’

  “So I walked, paralyzed by fear, almost in a trance, around the desk toward my father. My mother had stopped crying. She stared at Hugh with mascara staining her face.

  “’Yes,’ my father beckoned me. ‘Yes, Jeremy, right here. Come closer. Tell me, have you ever held a weapon before?’

  “I bit my tongue and shook my head, too afraid to speak lest I start crying.

  “’Here,’ he said, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me closer. ‘Here. I’ll let you try now’. He placed the gun into my hand, his fingers still on the hilt, still pointing it at my mother.

  “He looked at me then. His eyes were wide and glossy with zeal. ‘Feels good. Doesn’t it? Makes you feel powerful, does it not? Like you can control people. Like you hold the key to life and death in the palm of your hand.’

  “Of course, I was too terrified to speak.

  “’Well?’ he demanded. ‘Answer me!’

  “I shook my head, trembling, so afraid of what was going on.

  “’GAH!’ My father spat. Without warning, he backhanded me across the face.

  “I fell to the floor. My mother cried out. A shot was fired. I yelped, gasped, screamed, and scrambled as fast as I could back to my feet. I was expecting to see my mother dead, lying in a pool of her own blood, and such an inferno of rage was woken up within me…”

  Jeremy chuckles. “Well, dear Lilly, even ten-year-olds have a bit of strength in them. I flew at my father, ready to attack him with everything I had. My mother’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “’Jeremy, no! You’ll only make it worse!’

  “I froze, dumbfounded that she was somehow still alive. My father had not aimed at her. He’d just fired the gun to show that it worked.

  “In that second, I was struck down again, the metal connecting with my jaw with enough force to make me fly to the side.

  “’Hugh! No! Stop it! Don’t hurt him!’ my mother screamed.

  “‘SHUT UP!’ my father yelled, his control extinguished. ‘SHUT UP, you ungrateful whore, he’s my son, and I will treat him how I see fit!’

  “He came to me. I shied away. But he smiled and offered me his hand, ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you see what you make me do? I’m sorry, son. Come here. Stand up’.

  “I took his hand, and he pulled me up. I was trembling.

  “He went to his knees to be at my eye level. He stroked the side of my face. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said, and he sounded genuinely crestfallen. ‘Oh poor Jeremy. You’re hurt. What did they do to you?’

  “I just stood there, staring at him, shaking.

  “’Here. Here, we’ll make it better,’ he said. He showed me the gun. He opened the cylinder and took the bullets out. Then from his palm he picked up only one.

  “He put it back and spun the cylinder. He placed the gun in my hands. And pointed the muzzle at his heart.

  “’One shot, Jeremy, if that is what you want,’ he said. His fingers pressed into mine, tightening my grip on the gun. ‘One shot is all it will take, and then you and your mother will be free of me for good. One shot, little Jeremy. Do you think you can do it? Do you have what it takes?’

  “”Jeremy…’ my mother said.

  “’Stop it!’ My father yelled. He turned on her in a rage. ‘One more word out of you, woman, and I’ll fire all six rounds at your head. Luck won’t save you then!’

  “I didn’t know what my mother said. I still held the gun. But the yelling awoke something inside of me. I acted without thought.

  “I pulled the trigger.

  “And…click. Nothing happened.

  “My father turned on me then. He looked shocked beyond shock. The barrel of the gun still pointed at his heart. His eyes moved up the length of my arm and then met mine.

  “And I, for whatever reason, dropped the gun. I lost my nerve.

  “But the showing only energized my father. He leapt down and picked it up.

  “’You did it!’ he exclaimed. ‘You tried to kill me! You did it. I didn’t know you had it in you, but you did it, Jeremy! You did it, you’re not a boy anymore!’

  “And then he did the one thing that terrorizes me to this day. He put the gun back in my hands. And moved my arm toward my mother.

  “’Her turn,’ he said.

  “’No. N—n—n—no.’ I had a stutter back then, you see. One more thing you now know about me, Lilly.

  “Well, as you can imagine, my father was none too pleased. So, using force, he made me aim the gun at her. He made me do it. And I—bless my little, uncorrupted heart—I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t shoot a woman.

  “But years have passed since then,” he tells me. “And I have changed.”

  Slowly, he turns the pistol at me.

  “Now?” he asks. “Now, I have no such problem.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Boom,” Stonehart whispers.

  I gasp. The blood drains from my face. Jeremy laughs.

  “Scared yet?” he asks. He lets the hand holding the gun fall to his side. “You should be! Those are the exact same words my father uttered to my mother as I stood there, holding the gun. ‘Are you scared, yet, you fucking whore?’

  “And she lifted her chin and met his eyes. More was said in that one look than can be communicated in a thousand words. Then she turned to me.

  “’I love you,’ she said. ‘No matter what he makes you do, I will always love you, Jeremy. Don’t be afraid.’

  “My father, suddenly enraged, ripped the gun from my hand and pointed it at her. He fired.

  “Click. Nothing happened.

  “He snarled. Then he pointed the gun at my chest and shot once more.

  “Click. That hollow sound.

  “He spun around. ‘LEAVE ME!’ he roared. My mother ran to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me as fast as she could from the room.

  “Just before the doors closed, however, I remember the rising sound of my father’s hysterical laughter.”

  Jeremy stops. He looks at the bottle in his hand, then the gun in the other. My breath catches. There’s a lump in my throat that makes it impossible to speak.

  “So you see,” Jeremy continues after a long pause. “This gun and I…and Hugh…we have a long, tangled history. Three lives could have been lost that day. Instead, three lives were spared. Why? Nothing more than blind luck, Lilly. Nothing more than chance.

  “But! But, but, but.” He chuckles. “My father taught me a valuable lesson that day. He taught me never to rely on luck. He showed me how fickle it can be. He taught me, in more ways than he’ll ever know, that men make their own luck that are the ones to be envied. That we are better than those who strike it rich b
y mere fluke. That incident, when I was ten, perhaps, more than anything else, spurred me to make my own luck. To become the man I am today.”

  He nods at me in a dismissive way. “I can see you’re scared. Don’t be. I did not bring this weapon here to use it against you. I brought it to give you the same choice that was given to me by my father.”

  He lurches to his feet and crosses the distance between us like a tidal wave. “Take it,” he rasps. He wraps my free hand around the cold, metal shape. “Take it, and have your shot. Have your chance. Kill me—or try to kill me. My life is yours, sweet Lilly. More than I deserve. You are more than I deserve!”

  I try to push the gun away. “Jeremy, no…”

  “No?” he sneers. “No, you don’t want to kill me? No, you don’t want the chance?

  “I know you do,” he rages on. “I can see the loathing in your eyes. I can see the way you look at me. The way you recoiled when you awoke.”

  “Jeremy, you’re drunk!” I protest. “You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying!”

  “Oh, but I do, dear Lilly. I do, I do, I do!” He’s rambling and it scares me. “The same choice, Lilly, that my father gave me. I now offer it to you. Do it! Don’t be a coward! Do it, shoot me through the heart!”

  I stare at him, bewildered.

  “No?” He asks. He’s becoming frenetic now. This type of fervor scares me. It terrifies me. He is not at all himself.

  “Then together,” he says. He brings his head to the side of mine. He raises the gun to the side of his head. “Through me, to you, my dear Lilly-Flower. Through me, to you. It will be our glorious escape. Or our glorious salvation. There is one bullet there. Do it! Take your chance! Have your shot.”

  “Jeremy—Jeremy, no!” I try to pry my hand away, but he’s got it caught in an iron grip. The gun is pointed right at his temple.

  “Don’t be a fool!” he snarls. “This is what you want. I know it is. It is what you need. Take the shot, Lilly! This is your chance. This is your opportunity. Free us. Free us both. It has to be you. Because I would rather die with you still in my grip than live a single day apart.

  “And you? You can’t get away. I know that, now. You know that, too, Lilly. This our release. This can be your freedom. Do it, Lilly. Pull the trigger!”

  “No.”

  “Pull it. Pull it. Pull it. Pull it!”

  “I said, NO!”

  With all the strength I have in me, I rip the gun away from Jeremy’s head.

  At exactly the same moment, he releases me. I move with too much force and hit the wall behind me. I grunt. The sound is lost in the most ear-shattering explosion:

  The gun. The gun goes off.

  I pulled the trigger inadvertently. A shot was fired. And the barrel was most definitely loaded.

  I can still feel the force of the bullet pulsing through my body.

  I stare at the ruined wall across from us. The bullet had been in the barrel. I could have killed us both.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper.

  “That was your chance,” Jeremy says. He lifts off me, turns, and exits the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My heart keeps pounding like a jackhammer long after Stonehart leaves.

  The gun is still on my bed. Forgotten. I eye it as if it were a poisonous snake.

  The shot went off, is the one thought that ricochets through my head. The shot went off.

  If I had pulled the trigger when Jeremy had it pointed at himself…he’d be dead.

  If I had done it when he forced it to the side of his head…we’d both be dead.

  Eventually, I muster the courage to pick up the pistol. I have to know. I have to know if there was only one bullet in the cylinder. Or if all of them were loaded.

  My hand shakes as I pick it up from the mattress. The story Jeremy told, about his father saying how a gun makes you feel powerful? Totally inaccurate. It’s a weapon, to be sure. But holding it, even imagining that it’s fully loaded, does not make me feel powerful. It makes me feel cowardly. Physically ill.

  I’m worried about the violence that Jeremy possesses. But this gun is a thousand times worse. With it, anybody can be a killer. It doesn’t take guts to pull the trigger in a moment of desperation. It takes…despair.

  I don’t know how guns work, so it takes me a long time to figure out how to open it. It doesn’t help that my nerves are completely frazzled.

  Finally, I do figure it out. When I look into the barrel, and see that all the cylinder flutes are empty, the magnitude of that one fired shot hits me with the force of a sledgehammer.

  He wasn’t lying. There really was a single bullet. He really did put his life in my hands. He’d left the outcome to chance.

  That is so unlike the powerful and controlling man that I know. Either the alcohol had an overpowering effect on him, or the events at dinner really, really affected him.

  That night, he became a monster. I still can’t wrap my head around all that transpired. He broke my arm. Jeremy Stonehart broke my arm. Yet, the inferno of hate that roared inside me when I woke up is now nothing more than burning embers.

  The incident with the gun did that.

  I could have killed him. I could have. If I had pulled the trigger like he’d asked, I’d be rid of Jeremy Stonehart forever.

  If I hate him, shouldn’t the missed opportunity upset me? I’m never going to get a chance like that again.

  But I don’t feel any regret. Not even fucking close. All I feel is a vague, distant sort of relief that I didn’t pull the trigger—especially now, when I know if I had, he’d be dead.

  Life and death bring out our most primal feelings.

  What lies at my core?

  It’s not hatred. No matter how much I want it to be, it’s not.

  But it’s not love, either. I cannot love a man who is capable of doing these things to me: of keeping me in the dark, of drugging me time and time again, of breaking my arm in a fit of rage and hitting me to the floor. Of giving me an army tag with the word ‘DOG’ on it. Of binding me by one contract only to release me yet somehow manage to bind me to him again by my own free will.

  Jeremy is manipulative. There is no doubt about that. But there is no way he could have predicted or planned how all this has worked out. It takes two to tango, as they say. My role is not to be understated.

  I am as responsible for the current state of affairs as he is. There is no planning what happens next. It’s all dynamic. All constantly in flux.

  So, at my base? I do not hate Jeremy any more than I hate Stonehart. But I do not love him either. Or, even if I do, I absolutely have to bury those feelings.

  No. Not bury. I can’t hide from them. But I do have to camouflage them.

  I definitely have strong feelings toward Jeremy. So strong, so convoluted, and so messed up that they are beyond all definition.

  Well.

  I walk over to the ruined wall. I touch the bit of wood that was blown apart by the gunshot.

  Then I close my eyes, shudder, and pour myself a drink. It’s night, but I have no desire to sleep. I want to find Jeremy and talk to him. But, I cannot do that until he’s sobered up.

  Alcohol made him erratic and dangerous. Let’s see what it does to me.

  ***

  As it turns out, alcohol just knocks me out and leaves me with a massive hangover.

  I groan as I open grainy eyes to the bright morning sun. Damn weather never seems to suit my disposition. When I want it bright and sunny, it’s dark. When I need it drizzling and overcast, it’s spectacular.

  Now, to add to all the aches and pains of my body, I’ve got this bloody headache and a craterous hole in my stomach. No food for nearly two days will do that.

  I drag myself through the door, into the unfamiliar hall, desperate for hydration. I’ve only been in Rose’s house once before, and—

  Oh, Jesus.

  My eyes widen as I enter the living room.

  The place has been wiped clean.
<
br />   The furniture is gone. All the rugs and paintings I remember are missing. Was the bedroom I found myself in the only furnished room in the house?

  I pick up my pace as I open doors and look in closets. Everything is missing. There’s nothing here.

  But…how? Why? Jeremy said that the house is mine, that both Charles and Rose have been dismissed. Either I didn’t take the information at face value or I didn’t expect the expulsion to be so…complete.

  Or done so quickly.

  As I race from one empty room to another, all I can think of is that Rose and Charles are truly gone. They’ve both been banished.

  But, where to? It’s not like Jeremy would just let them walk off his estate and into the wild. They know too much. He wouldn’t risk it.

  Would he? Can he?

  And that thing he screamed out in the throes of his nightmare? That phrase, Don’t touch me, Rose? That’s still something I know nothing about.

  Well, today—now—is the time to confront Jeremy about it. About all of it. I’m as lost and confused as I’ve ever been. I need clarity. I deserve clarity, after everything he’s subjected me to.

  There’s nothing to eat or drink in the kitchen. I make do by cupping my hands under the running tap and slurping a handful of water. Then I turn and leave the abandoned house.

  The walk to Jeremy’s mansion would be absolutely perfect if it weren’t for my current state of mind. The birds are singing. The sun is warm and bright. All the green that surrounds me makes it feel almost like I’ve emerged into a faraway fantasy land of handsome knights and beautiful princesses.

  “Home, sweet home,” I mutter when I first see the mansion through the trees. No matter what happened earlier, I don’t want Rose’s guesthouse. Staying there would feel like a cop-out. I need to be close to Jeremy, not secluded from him elsewhere on his estate. The guesthouse would offer a false sense of security. I cannot allow myself to fall into that trap. If Jeremy is not around, I might start to forget what it is I’m actually doing here. I refuse to live on his grounds, on his property, without actually being close to the man. If I want to truly get away, I would need a place he does not hold influence over. An apartment, or something, in the city.