by Cecy Robson
I don’t acknowledge Ashleigh until she reaches the door and calls to me. “Evan?” she says, her voice shaking. “Did I . . .” She releases a breath. “Did I ever have a chance with you?”
I meet her face, thinking back to how easily Wren captivated me with her beauty and ensnared me with her charms, exactly as my mother did to my father to get everything she wanted.
“No,” I confess, despite it all.
She bows her head, carefully slipping through the door. It shuts with a small snap as my heart breaks away in pieces.
CHAPTER 23
Wren
The warm June breeze picks up, shifting my hair to the side. Behind me, someone barrels down on his horn, yelling at the garbage truck in front of him to hurry the hell up. I dig through the white paper bag stuffed with food. I have a proposal from the administrative staff to look through before ten, but when I remembered that Evan didn’t eat breakfast, and it would be four more hours until his next break, I left it and the boatload of work I have littering my desk, to buy him that egg white sandwich he likes, the one with blue cheese crumbles and fresh spinach. I also picked up another coffee and fresh fruit in case he needs a snack. I grin, wondering when the hell I turned so nurturing, only to swear like the guy in the garbage truck when I realize I forgot the damn fork.
Whatever. I’ll pick one up in the downstairs coffee shop. Their coffee blows and the woman behind the counter keeps burning the bagels, which is why I walked two blocks to get Evan breakfast. God knows the guy deserves a decent meal.
I glance at the time on my phone. Evan is already meeting with John and the other engineers. Unless they hit a major hurdle, he’ll have at least five minutes to eat before his meeting with Anne and Clifton.
I raise my head as I round the corner and the giant metallic sign for iCronos comes into view. No matter how busy I am, or what I’m doing, I always look up at the sign, a sense of pride lifting my spirits when I think of the man behind the empire.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
Bryant pushes off the side of the building, his red baseball cap shadowing his face. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, backing away.
There’s ten feet separating me from the crosswalk leading to iCronos property, thirty feet from the nearest guard, and another fifty to the doors. But Bryant isn’t moving.
He holds out his hands. “Take it easy. I’m just saying hello.” He huffs. “Besides, I have a new woman, and if you can believe it, she’s exactly who I need.”
Anger pushes aside my fear. “And what’s that? Someone who won’t leave your ass when you beat her and too naive to figure out what a manipulative prick you are?”
“Where’s all this anger coming from?” He’s smiling, but in a way that reminds me how twisted he can be. “We had some good times, you and me. Real good, remember?”
“No,” I fire back. “All I remember is the shit you put me through, you fucking psycho.”
A car rolls slowly past. The way the sunlight hits the windshield casts the light across his face, illuminating his seedy grin. The stubble on his jaw is thicker now, not quite a beard, but close to it. Strands of his straight blond hair poke through his cap. I suppose he’s trying to return to that surfer look he had when I first met him. I also suppose I could give a rat’s ass. But it’s what’s in his light blue eyes that I can’t get past. They’re unusually steely and absent of anything kind.
I take a step to my right, keeping the traffic to my back and distance from the small alleyway separating the bank from the insurance company beside it. Bryant can drag me behind there if I let him, but I’ll be damned if I let him.
He’s in jeans, the expensive kind with holes in all the right places and a tight rust-colored T-shirt that stretches across his brawny and tall frame. I don’t know why the hell I was ever attracted to him. Everything about him is phony, except for the TAG Heuer watch on his wrist, reminding me his life of crime has been lucrative.
“So how you been?” he asks, chewing on his gum in that annoying way he does.
“Awesome,” I say, taking another step and motioning to his watch. “How’s life as the mob’s little bitch going? I can see bending over for them is paying off big time for you. My brother, Curran the cop, and my other brother, Declan, you know, the District Attorney? They’re just dying to know all about it.”
He laughs, enjoying himself. “Don’t know what you mean, pretty girl.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap, keeping him in my line of sight as I edge toward the crosswalk.
“Shit, you’re bitchy,” he says. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t your new man know what you like to keep you happy? If you want, I can tell him exactly how hard and rough you like it”
“Fuck off, Bryant,” I interrupt, my anger flaring. “You know nothing about us.”
The street light flashes, signaling the all-clear to cross. I take off fast, spilling the coffee through the bag and singeing my hand. Bryant notices, and I expect him to laugh. Instead his smile dwindles.
“Hey, Wren,” he calls. “Remember what I told you, no can love a whore.”
His haunting tone pricks at my skin. I keep my focus on him as I reach the walkway and step onto the iCronos campus. He keeps pace with me along the opposite side of the street, stopping where a woman with yellow blond hair in a sundress paces by a Maserati convertible. He stops in front her. I can’t hear them, but the way her arms are crossed over her chest, I can tell she’s pissed.
Bryant glances my way, then snatches the woman into his arms, kissing her like she’s something he owns rather than someone he cares for. She shoves him away, slapping him hard across the face. He throws back his head, laughing. His reaction is weird, giving us both a peek at all that crazy he hides all too well. I don’t think she sees it. She’s too distracted by anger.
She storms away, furious, yanking the strap of her sundress back onto her shoulder. I can’t see her well from where I’m standing, especially with the sunglasses she’s wearing. She looks familiar, but is too far away to place.
Bryant salutes me, like he doesn’t care whether she comes back or not. He probably already has someone else lined up to take her place.
I dial Curran, speaking fast and reading off Bryant’s plate when it goes to voicemail. God damn it. I wish I could shake this hold Bryant has over me. I thought I was free of him, but all he had to do was show his face to remind me that I’m not.
He hops into the convertible and speeds off as I reach the main doors to the lobby. I mutter a curse under my breath, and another one when I shove my phone back into my purse and reach into the bag. The sandwich is soaked and the bottom of the paper coffee cup is poking through the bottom.
I dump everything in the trashcan except for the container of fruit that was spared, using some old napkins I find in my purse to dry off my hands.
“Miss O’Brien, are you all right?”
The new marketing intern hurries over. “Hey, N’ivel.”
“Looks like you lost your breakfast.”
“I actually lost Evan’s breakfast,” I say, fumbling with my words and pulling a twenty from my wallet. “Do me a favor? Go down to Sorrentino’s Coffee House and get me an egg white sandwich with blue cheese crumbles and spinach, and a large Americano with a splash of half and half.”
He types away on his phone. “Got it. Anything else?”
“No. That’s all, thank you.”
I can’t even pretend to smile, hurrying toward the elevator when I realize how bad my voice is shaking.
A few members of Evan’s tech team pile out.
“Hey, Wren.”
“Hi, Wren.”
“How’s it going?”
“Hey,” I say, keeping my head down.
I fall against the wall when the doors shut, cursing out loud. Technically, Bryant didn’t do or say anything I can use against him. Again. But the encounter shook me up all the same. He mentioned Evan. I’m not surprised he knows I’m with him. If he’s still f
ollowing me, he was bound to see us together.
Shit. As much as Evan can take care of himself, I want to spare him from all of this. “Top level, Wren?” Alfred asks, the device Evan gave me to keep in my purse alerting the system of my presence.
I sigh, realizing I never hit the button to the 50th floor and taking comfort in his techno voice. “Yes, Alfred.”
The elevator zooms up without stopping. I push away from the wall when the doors part, wrestling with whether to call Curran again or speak to Evan first. My pace slows when I find John sitting at my desk, eating a bagel. He hurries to stand when he sees me, wiping the cream cheese caked on his fingers on his lab coat.
“Aren’t you and your top guys supposed to be meeting with Evan?” I ask.
I snag a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the corner and pass it to him when he seems to struggle to swallow. He takes several gulps, and a few more before he speaks. “Thank you,” he says, appearing more frantic than usual. “Something happened. To Evan.”
“What?”
He grabs my hand when I launch forward. “Sorry,” he says, pulling away as if afraid to touch me. “But, Wren, it’s very bad I’m afraid. I’ve never seen him like this.” He inches close, keeping his voice low. “I think it’s the company.”
“The company?” I repeat.
He nods, causing the strands of his disheveled hair to bounce in place. “Something horrible has happened.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him so defeated.”
“Defeated?” I ask. His nod sends me into a panic. That word has no place being so close to Evan.
“I have to go,” I tell him. I throw my purse across the desk, and place the stupid container of fruit on the cabinet and jet toward Evan’s door, pausing when I realize John is watching me.
“Let me know if I can help,” he says. “Whatever he needs, I’ll do it—We’ll do it. Let him know we’re here for him.”
“I will,” I promise. I want to assure him that Evan is fine and not to worry, but I’m so out of my mind, I run into his office, stopping short when I find the room veiled in darkness.
“Evan?” I say, scanning the area as my eyes adjust.
One of the first things he does every morning is order Alfred to open the shades. This morning, for our privacy, he left them closed.
I glance in the direction of the conference table, walking toward the screening area as the door falls closed behind me. Considering what John said, I half-expect to find Evan sprawled across the long leather couch.
“I’m here,” he says behind me.
His tone keeps me in place, the lack of inflection and emotion causing my worry to rocket out of control. I turn slowly, the heels of my shoes clicking as I cross the room toward his workstation.
I reach the desk where he sits and peer over the collection of monitors. His forearms are pressed against the slick wood and his hands are balled into tight fists. He’s angry, that much I see. But it’s the way the light from the computer monitors flash across his bleaching skin that scares the hell out of me.
“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer. “Evan, what happened?”
He rises slowly as if stiff from pain. I race around his desk, ready to throw my arms around him. But his rigid stance and the fury spilling from his tall form stops me in my tracks.
This isn’t business. It’s is personal.
I scan his face, searching for any of trace of him that remains. All I find is barely controlled rage. “Baby . . .”
He rams his eyes closed. Torment replacing his anger, but it’s brief. “Ashleigh came by today,” he says.
“Ashleigh?” I ask, wondering what she could have possibly done to upset him this much.
“She showed me something I never expected.” He swallows hard. “Much less wanted to see.”
“What?”
I heard what he said, but it’s like he’s speaking in code. His glance toward his desk my only clue that there’s something there I need to see.
I walk toward it, giving him ample space. Something bad is coming, I can sense it by how it’s effecting him and how he doesn’t want me anywhere near him. I’m expecting a tragic event, maybe the start of a war, or God forbid, children who were somehow harmed by his products.
I reach his desk, expecting to see a document or letter. When I don’t find anything other than the familiar pile of reports, I look up. His screen bounces across each frame. It’s a picture of me and him from Fiona’s first birthday party. His arms are wrapped around me and we’re smiling, happy. But I don’t feel happy now.
All I have is the fear that something awful has happened to him.
I swipe my fingertips across his mouse pad, jarring the system awake. The image of us is replaced by multiple shots of a naked woman, one begging the man doing her against the wall to go faster, and yet another touching herself, her dark hair falling around her and veiling her face. Ads for the hardcore porn site flash beneath. On the bottom screen, the same woman is covered in sweat, shaking her ass as some guy takes her hard from behind.
It takes me a moment to realize the man is Bryant.
And that the woman he’s fucking is me.
A chill, as fierce as any winter storm, carves its way into my bones. Every image is of me. Me moaning. Me writhing. Me begging for it.
My remaining breath leaves me in a painful rush. I cover my mouth as horror claims me, trying not to scream when I see how many thousands of ratings the feature has received—how many disgusting comments are posted, how many horny bastards are begging to screw me.
My hand slaps against the chair as I stumble backward, trying to keep from falling. “What is this?” I ask, my voice shaking as hard as my hands. “What the hell is this?”
For all I think my world is ending, Evan is barely holding it together. His shoulders rise his fall with explosive rage. “You didn’t know about this—any of it?”
“No!” I yell, backing away. “I would never do something like this!”
Bile beats my stomach in waves, burning into my throat when Bryant tilts his head back and comes. It’s what he looked like when we were still together. His hair cut short to his scalp and his face clean-shaven. He groans, rubbing off when he pulls out and smiling in the direction of what must be the camera.
It’s his final “fuck you” to me, and holy shit is it ever brutal.
My eyes burn as I bolt. I don’t realize how fast I move until I’m almost halfway across the room. Footsteps stomp behind me as Evan clasps my elbow and whirls me around.
His voice is barely audible, but his rage is as evident as his grip on my arm. “There’s an entire page filled with pictures, Wren, and videos. All of them of you with the name Ivory O’Malley.”
I shake my head slowly, not because I don’t believe him, but because I can’t believe I was so fucking blind. “I didn’t make those videos or pose for any pictures . . .” My voice trails when doubt plagues his face. “I know I’ve taken pictures of us—and-and we’ve watched ourselves, but that’s different.”
“Why?”
Sometimes the truth is more painful when it involves the person you most love. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever trusted.”
He wrestles with what to say, and maybe what to believe, too. “You didn’t consent to this—”
“No,” I respond, cutting him off. “I wouldn’t let him, even when he asked.”
“Him?” he asks, his tone curt.
I’m barely able to speak, the ache in my throat twisting into a knot. “That’s Bryant in the videos with me,” I admit. He has a different look in each one. Short hair. Long hair. In the one of me up against the wall he’s wearing that stupid black cowboy hat he bought at that rodeo he’d dragged me to. I’m thin in the one where I’m touching myself. Real thin. Which means he started pulling this shit at the very start of our relationship.
God damn it.
God damn him.
Every muscle in my body threatens to give way as a floodgate of memo
ries bust through my mind. I should have known he’d wreck me like this. But this isn’t just cruel. It’s sick. He took pleasure in exposing me at my most vulnerable to the world.
“He did it without me knowing. Evan . . . you have to believe me.”
He doesn’t respond. But how do you respond to something like this? Darkness claims him in a way I’ve never seen. I hate it. All of it—what I let Bryant do to me, but mostly what it’s doing to Evan.
Bryant made Evan watch him fuck me, hand delivering everything to Ashleigh to make sure it would get back to him. That was her, waiting for him on the street. I glance around, working things through. It wouldn’t take much for him to find her, not after those articles she was featured in, where she bashed Evan and his business practices.
She meant to make me look bad. But Bryant’s sole intention was to cause us pain.
I bury my face in my hands, when Evan orders Alfred to turn on the lights. I don’t want to think about what it was like for Evan to see me like that—me, the woman he loved, naked with another man on top of her.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, clinging to the last of my resolve.
He lets out a ragged breath as his hand falls to his side. I want to beg him not to let me go, but I’m so ill I don’t manage.
“In the video, directly at the center,” he begins, jerking his chin away and muttering a curse as he seems to recall it. “You were different there than you are with me.”
If he means to ask more questions, they don’t come. Maybe that’s better, as it is my chest feels like it’s caving in. “You can say I wasn’t myself,” I answer quietly.
He cocks his head as if he doesn’t understand. But as anger replaces his confusion, I know that he knows, just like I realize I can no longer hold anything back. It’s too late to spare him or myself. That doesn’t make what I say any easier, or that I wouldn’t give anything to take back that night.
“I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore,” I begin. “That I needed space. He kept calling, trying to get me back.” I glance down to where his hand rests at his side, wishing he hadn’t let me go. “I finally agreed to meet him and talk.”
