by J K Ashley
My brother stands beside them, clenching the back of a chair so hard that his knuckles have gone pale. I stare at his hands as he flexes them, watching the bones and tendons move beneath his skin.
“It’s no use,” I finally say, dragging my eyes back up to his.
The two of us look shockingly alike. When we were younger people used to think we were twins, and there was a time that we heard it so often that we’d each role our eyes in unison. Our mother would always slap us upside the heads for that, saying we were being rude.
“And why not?” He raises a brow at me.
“C’mon, Stephen.” I let out an exasperated sigh and run a hand through my hair. “You saw the picture. I showed it to you. She’s sleeping in his bed. She left me.”
My mother wipes the corner of her misty eyes with a napkin, and my father makes a gruff sound deep in his throat. My eyes dart to him and narrow.
“I wasn’t going to say anything!” he says, holding up a hand in defense.
“Rachael loved John,” I say. The words stick thick and heavy in my throat. “A long time ago she did, but then he hurt her. His return could have dredged up those old feelings. Maybe they never went away.”
“Oh, bull shit.”
“Stephen!” My mother looks at him in horror. “Watch your language.”
“I’m a grown man, Ma,” he sighs.
“Respect your mother,” my father says gruffly.
Stephen and I share a long look, before he clears his throat. “Sammy told me about John, after she found out. I thought something seemed fishy so I looked into his background, dug up a few things about him that most people don’t know about.”
This information doesn’t surprise James. Stephen and Samantha stayed close despite the rift in the family. Just the mention of her name made their parents squirm uncomfortably. They only spoke to Samantha on holidays and birthdays, something Stephen had been chastising them for for ages. Naturally Stephen would have done some research after getting wind of potential trouble. He was a lawyer, and he had these kinds of resources. He was actually a very excellent lawyer, so much so that he’d moved to the city soon after his graduation from law school. He was a hot commodity, and the family knew they could rely on his legal expertise if they ever found themselves in a bind with the company.
“I feel like you’re going to tell me something very interesting about John Keeton,” I say slowly, raising a brow at my brother. “And frankly I’m quite confused why you wouldn’t have told me this as soon as you found out, considering it involves my fiancée and all.”
Stephen shakes his head and ignores me. He turns and rummages through his briefcase, which he’d set on the tabletop when he arrived at the house. He rifles through a thick sheaf of papers before finding what he’s looking for. He pulls out a thick manila file.
“This is everything I found on John,” he says, not looking up as he flips through the papers. “Most of it is useless—bills, leases, stuff like that. It took me ages to search through it all, but I did find some interesting info.”
“How did you find all this out?” I ask. Stephen has access to certain databases that the average person doesn’t, but I’ve never seen him go to this great length of research. I can’t imagine how he found all of this personal information.
“I hired some detectives,” he says nonchalantly. “I know good people, little brother. It’s called networking.”
“I know what networking is.”
Stephen smirks but doesn’t look up at me, instead gazing down at the file which has fallen open in his hands. He flips through the various pages nonchalantly, his eyes scanning down their dense text.
“Could you be a bit more urgent?” I say, my jaw tense. His eyes slowly drift up to mine and he lets out a heavy sigh, before tossing me half the stack. I barely catch in my hands before the pages scatter all over the ground.
My brother has always been a difficult one. We get along fairly well, but in high-stress situations he becomes a bit of a control freak. It brings out the worst in him.
I shake my head and lay the papers out on the table, spreading them out and scanning their headings. I haven’t gotten very far, however, when Stephen lets out an exclamation.
“What?” I look up, all the muscles in my body coiled and tight.
“I found the info I was looking for . . .” Stephen trails off, narrowing his eyes. He scans down the sheet of paper quickly before clearing his throat and turning to me.
“I got a lot on John’s background. Some of it’s useful, some of it’s not. But this right here says that John’s parents got a divorce a while back.”
“When he was a kid?” I ask. “Lots of people’s parents get divorced. How does that have anything to do with what’s going on now?”
“If you’d let me finish, then I could tell you.” Stephen glares at me and I roll my eyes, my feet tapping persistently against the wood beneath my feet. The silence between us stretches.
“Go on,” I finally say, and he grins at me sideways before continuing to speak.
“His parents got a divorce when he moved abroad. It apparently messed him up a lot, disturbed him.”
“Disturbed him?” I narrow my eyes at Stephen. “How do you know all this?”
“Simple records, James-y.” Stephen throws one of the pages down at me and I take a look. It’s some sort of doctor’s office file. Apparently John went to a series of psychologist’s appointments while he was in the UK. It was consistent for a while, maybe for a few weeks but it was in the records.
“Did he stop going?” I ask.
“Looks that way. He was trying to get himself some help for a while, but then he just stopped showing up—didn’t tell the office or anyone why he stopped or where he was. But we managed to get hold of his roommate in the UK, and that kid had a story to tell.”
Stephen stares at me expectantly until I wave for him to continue. He loves having someone hanging onto his every word, and it really does get annoying after a while.
“He made friends with the wrong crew, started drawing into himself and not talking to anyone but the bad news people he surrounded himself with. His roommate said there would be weeks where he wouldn’t see John once.”
I grimace. “I feel bad for whoever that was,” I say under my breath.
Stephen shrugs. “Yeah, doesn’t sound like John was too fun of a guy to live with. But, hey, I’ve never met the guy. Don’t wanna judge.”
“Trust me, he’s nothing special. Anyways, what happened after that?”
“Ah.” Stephen turns back to the papers in his hand and scratches his forehead with the back of his hand, before letting out a heavy sigh. “All signs point to the fact that John returned to America for one reason, and one reason only.”
“Hold on a second,” I say, waving my hand. “Back up. So he has been in England all this time?”
“Yes. He transferred to the British school he was attending after his study abroad was over, and he got a job and continued working there after he graduated. He’s made himself a whole new life over there, with new friends and new women. He never looked back, not until now.”
I scoff. “I find it very hard to believe that he suddenly had an epiphany and now wants Rachael back. He’s got something else up his sleeve.”
“You’d be right,” Stephen says, throwing me a gaudy wink. “John returned here because he wants money. He was keeping tabs on people from his past every so often, Rachael most of all. He found out you two were getting married and so he did some research, found out your background and that you’re the CEO of a company.” Stephen makes a motion with his fingers, rubbing them together to signal money. “He wants to get money from Rachael. That’s all. He’s not here for love, just green dollar bills.”
Anger rises in my chest, but it’s also accompanied by relief. John doesn’t want her back. He’s not going to take her away from me, though he’s going to act like that’s what he’s doing until he gets all the money he can out of her.
/>
Unless he already has . . . Rachael’s bodyguard was found in a bank parking lot. So, if John already has the money, why does he still have Rachael? What’s he going to do with her?
I quickly get on my laptop, ignoring anything that Stephen or my parents say. I access the records from Rachael’s tracker chip, which we placed on her car. It shows her movements over the past hour. Within minutes I notice an unfamiliar location in the middle of a nearby suburban neighbourhood.
Stephen and I jump in the car and drive. Soon enough we’re cruising slowly down a street and scanning the house numbers.
“He really bought a house?” I say, peering up the lawn.
Stephen sits in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says slowly. “This says it belongs to a Tara and Samuel Keeton. Must be his parents. Maybe they’re out of town?”
“That’d be convenient,” I murmur. Moments later I park the car a little ways down the street and we hop out, loping up the lawn towards the house. I double check to make sure we’re at the right place, and then I rear my leg back and slam down the front door.
Well, it doesn’t happen as easily as that. It’s not how it looks in the movies, unfortunately. I land several well-placed kicks on the doorknob before it creaks open. Stephen’s looking at me like I’ve gone mad, but I haven’t the time to worry about that. Adrenaline is racing through my veins. I need to get Rachael back.
I take one step into the house, and I see him. John sits before me on a low stool, propping one of his feet up on its rungs beneath him. He’s holding a glass of some sort of amber liquid in his hand, which he brings up to his lips and sips slowly. His lazy, hooded stare up at me.
“Ah,” John says. He clears his throat loudly. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”
He’s so nonchalant, so cool and calm. Before I know it I’ve flown into an uncontrollable rage. I launch myself across the room with just a few leaps and bounds, blood boiling and pumping through my veins at intense speeds. I reach out and grab onto John’s collar. He does not jump or try to get away from me. He merely holds his drink out at arm’s length to keep it from spilling everywhere.
“Whoa,” he says, though a smirk spreads out across his face. “Calm down now, big boy. What’s the big deal?”
“What have you done with Rachael?” My teeth are clenched together so tightly that my jaw hurts. I breathe in and out in sharp gusts, and my arms tremble as I keep a tight hold on him.
“Nothing, really.” That smile is still affixed on his face, and the more I stare at it the more rage builds up inside of me. How can he be so calm and smiling, so relaxed? How can he be so selfish and conniving as to show up here out of the blue and kidnap a woman after stealing all her money?
Unless she went willingly.
The terrible voice whispers in the back of my mind, and my stomach churns. What if Rachael did go willingly? What if she’s fallen for him again? Regardless of whether or not John actually wants her, that could still destroy us if she loves another man again—a man from her past.
“I don’t believe you,” I growl, pushing away my tumultuous thoughts. “What did you do?”
“Well, if you insist on knowing, I put a sleeping pill in her water.” He says this so matter-of-factly that I find myself staring at him in confusion for a moment. His close-lipped smirk opens into a toothy grin and he shrugs nonchalantly.
“You drugged her?” Stephen speaks from behind me for the first time since we entered the house. Even he sounds disgusted, which is really saying something. Stephen never lets anything get to him.
John doesn’t answer, but his eyes drift past my shoulder to focus on something behind me. I turn to look and see that he’s looking at a closed door. I immediately release him and dive for the handle, twisting it and opening it with a flourish.
Inside is a bedroom. A large, king-sized bed fills the center of the room, topped with thick and fluffy covers and many pillows. A nearby window lets in a stream of bright sunlight, and on top of the bed lies my fiancée.
Rachael lies facing me with hands tied to the brass railings of the head board, yet her face is set in a peaceful expression. I release her hands and gently place her arms by her side. Her blond hair falls across her face, moving slightly as she breathes in and out. She looks just as she did in the photo, calm and unharmed. I breathe out a sigh of relief as I kneel beside the bed praying that bastard hasn’t harmed her. I just look at her for a moment, taking in her beauty. She’s now safe, really safe.
I hear a scuffle from behind me and turn. Stephen has John in a headlock. The glass of liquid John was holding is now spilled all over his front, and I can tell from the smell in the air that it was whiskey.
“James?”
I spin around. Rachael is sitting up in bed, blinking at me with wide blue eyes looking very confused. I immediately go back to her, dropping down to my knees and holding her soft face in my hands. Tears leak out of the inner corners of her eyes and she buries her face in the front of my shirt, her entire body trembling against me.
“Oh, James,” she says, her voice hiccupping with emotion. “What happened? How did I get here?”
“It’s alright.” I rub her back soothingly, in small little circle. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine, now.”
It takes several long minutes to calm Rachael down, but once she stops shaking I go back into the living room to see what’s going on.
John is sitting on the living room couch, looking rather disgruntled. His clothing and hair are all mussed up, and his wrists and ankles are bound by some sort of soft cloth and a tie. I look over at Stephen, who’s got a phone to his ear. I notice that he’s missing his tie.
“Yes, yes, I need the police—“ Stephen pauses, listening intently to the other line. “Kidnapping, and blackmailing. I’ve got him here, yes, but I don’t know how long I can keep him.”
I keep an eye on John, and within five minutes we can hear sirens. Soon enough flashing red and blue lights shine in from the street. With my arm around Rachael’s shoulder I watch as the officers take John away in handcuffs.
Rachael and I sit down on the couch while they talk to Stephen. He explains everything that he knows and then the officer approaches the pair of us.
“You are the engaged couple?”
“Yes.”
The officer asks us a series of questions and we do our best to comply and provide all the information that we know. Well I do as Rachael stays silent by my side, clinging to my hand. Her fingernails dig into my flesh so hard that I have to fight not to wince.
We end up requesting a restraining order, and the officer gives us information as to how to proceed. I know that that is the only way Rachael will feel safe again, if she knows that John is legally not allowed to come anywhere near us. I for one would prefer if he were thrown in jail, considering I’m not sure a psychopath like him would care much about a silly law.
“Alright, thank you very much for your time.” The officer steps away, hefting his belt up. He looks over his shoulder at John, who’s being led out of the house by another officer, his hands fastened behind his back. He looks disgruntled, but when I lock eyes with him he flashes me a toothy grin. Disgust wells in my stomach.
The officer we’ve been speaking to bids us a good day and says he will be in touch. Then they are gone, and it is just Stephen, Rachael, and I.
“Come on,” I murmur. I put my arm around Rachael’s shoulders and guide her towards the front door. I want nothing more than to get out of this house. It practically reeks of John. “Let’s head out. I’ll take you home.”
Rachael nods beside me, and I guide her from the house.
Chapter Ten
It’s evening, and we’re sitting alone in the living room as all of our family has gone home. By the time the police proceedings were done with and I got Rachael home, it was well past the time of the wedding. It’s late afternoon, close to dinner time.
“We can postpone the wedding, if you want.”
Rachael turns to look at me, her eyes wide and red. She shakes her head.
“Postpone? How long?”
“I don’t know,” I muse. “Maybe a week or two? Even a month. I don’t care, I’m just happy to have you back. You can take as much time as you’d like.”
But Rachael is shaking her head again. She looks upset, her face tight and pinched.
“No,” she finally says. “I don’t want to postpone it. I want to marry you, James. Today has made me sure of that, more than ever.”
“What, right now?” I say jokingly. But her eyes light up at my words, before her face falls again. I lean towards her in concern, running my hand up and down her spine and rubbing in soothing circles. “What’s wrong, Rach?”
“Nothing.” But her gaze is downcast and her shoulders hunched, and I think I see tears glimmering in her eyes.
“Don’t lie to me, Rachael,” I say, my voice kind. “I can tell when you’re upset. And believe me, you’re upset right now. What’s gotten to you? You can tell me.”
“I’m afraid to tell you,” Rachael whispers.
I place my hands on either side of Rachael’s face and draw her closer to me. She resists at first, but I rest her forehead against mine and breathe deeply. She does the same, and soon I can feel her body relaxing, all the tension flooding out of her muscles.
“Why are you afraid?” I whisper back, so that my voice travels no farther than her ears. “It’s me, Rachael. It’s James, your fiancé. You have no reason to be afraid to tell my anything. I love you, and nothing you tell me will change that fat. Do you understand that?”
It takes Rachael a while, but eventually she nods. I can hear her sniffling though my eyes are still closed. Finally I let go of her and she falls against me, laying her head in my lap. I run my hands softly through her hair, and for a long few moments she is silent. I don’t push her, not until she is ready to speak.
