Pricked (Chaos, Nevada Book 3)

by Liz K. Lorde

  Michael spun me around after a quick change in musical meter. Relying purely on the muscle memory that he instilled in me, I reflected his actions near flawlessly, and it stunned me how I was able to keep up. He pulled me back into his embrace, and we moved to the left, the music nearing it’s end. He beamed at me, giving me a glimpse of those perfectly white teeth. “Last step,” he gently reminded, his eyes telling me that he was going to kiss me long and deep.

  Feeling the heat in my cheeks, we gave a final bow and he almost lowered me down right to the purple floor, my spruced up hair spilling against it. My leg went to his waist, and my hand gripped tight the pocket of his muscular back.

  Michael was able to hold me effortlessly in our embrace, and with the music cutting off, we did as most of the partners did. He picked me up and pulled me into a painfully deep kiss. The electricity sent waves of pleasure through me, and I felt that familiar tightness between my legs.

  Shit, he was starting to make me wet in a public place.

  We finally broke the kiss, and he ran his fingers against my hair affectionately. “That was pretty good,” he praised, “I think the press might just buy this act.”

  It’s not an act any more. But he might regret that tone.

  Might regret me.

  “I love you,” those were the words that came out of my mouth. but they weren’t the ones in which I wished to speak.

  He smiled at me. “I love you too, Jane,” before I knew it, a man with shoulder length brown hair came through the entranceway at a brisk, rushed pace. The man was wearing a gray local college hoodie and sweat shorts. He was heading straight towards us, a sense of urgency etched on his plain, if not handsome face. There was some kind of drink in his hand from one of the national gas stations.

  I removed myself from Michael’s grasp, only keeping us connected at the hand. I shifted my eyes between the two quickly, a pounding beginning in my heart, and a nervous gnawing beginning in my head. “Is he looking for us?”

  “No,” Michael replied softly, paying more attention to his acquaintance than to me. “He’s got to be looking for me,” he explained, lifting his chin at the man in recognization. “That’s Tim.”

  Tim strode over towards us, stopping at Michael’s side and whispering something in his ear. I noticed then, that it was a Mega Gulp of cola in his grasp, as he looked over to me to say hello, but he was too concerned with something else.

  Michael’s jaw tightened, and his Adam’s apple twitched with silent fury. “I need to check this out,” he told me, letting go of my hand and motioning with his head for me to come with.

  As the music began to play once more, and all the different partners looked for their new respective suitors, the three of us stormed through the small sea of people, out into the room adjoining the charity gala. When we got out there, a number of people were gathered around one of the many big TV screens. The hall was spacious and had crisp, cool lighting, with warm colors of red, black and brown; a number of traditional oriental plants hanging from the ceiling in planters. At the twelve foot bar table off to the side, most of the men and women - all in clothing more expensive than I could ever afford - were glued to the television.

  They were watching the news, which had the image of Police Chief David Wight Keller making a public announcement outside of his precinct at night. I didn’t know his age, but by his weathered face I wagered he was close to sixty now; he was dressed up in full uniform, including cap, and a plethora of pins, stripes and other commemorative honors. “Thank you everyone for coming on such short notice,” he began, his voice grim and full of old-school authority.

  The press were all chattering and snapping pictures outside of view, with a number of officers standing watch beside the Chief. “We were submitted documents by an anonymous and trusted source earlier, and because of the large scale of these crimes, we are publicly declaring to launch a full investigation into the Smoak corporation. In particular, Jonathan Pendragon Smoak and various other named associates.” My heart sank in my chest, and just as I knew they would, the press exploded with questions, all of them talking over one another and no doubt furiously jotting this information down. “Please,” the Chief boomed, “now is not the time for questions. All that I am here to do is let the public know that we are taking these matters very seriously. With the information provided, we are already in the process of detaining Jonathan Smoak for tax evasion, fraudulent charges – what appears to be a Ponzi scheme – and various other crimes that I do not have the heart to speak out loud.” He took a heavy breath, and the people around us in our room all looked towards Michael. Or at least, it seemed like they were.

  Michael watched in paramount horror and disgust, while Tim could only cross his arms and keep his head down to the floor.

  “I encourage anyone that has information to step forward, and that you take serious consideration in the trust of this company as we all move forward. Deputy Harold Barrington will be with you shortly.” With that the Chief put up his hand, never smiling, and walked away.

  Ligotti’s Mob wasn’t messing with me about the things that Michael’s father was doing.

  When I spoke Michael’s name and he didn’t immediately respond, I knew that his fury was well and full in him. After watching the screen for a while longer, while I silently hated ever fiber of my being, he finally turned to face me.

  The anger and disappointment that danced in his eyes, the twitch of rage in his nose. His whole aura exuded a sense of broken trust. A sense of dread at what he would have to say next. “Jane,” he clipped, his jaw clenching. ”Did you do this.” Tim turned to look at me now, adding the weight of his own gaze; it paled to the powerlessness that Michael made me feel.

  “Michael, I--”

  “I said,” he barked, not caring for who heard how he wished to speak. “Did you do this.”

  Anger was starting to swell in my chest now, lightning raking fingers across the bottom of my feet. “I did it to save you,” I told him, straightening out my spine. “I did it because I know that you’re a good person--”

  “How can you call that helping me, Jane.” Michael pointed to the TV, and it looked like he might start rubbing at his temples. “There’s no fucking way that can be true,” Michael hissed, and then said it once more beneath his breath, putting his hand down. Everyone was definitely watching the three of us now.

  “They were going to flip someone else,” I tried to explain, wanting nothing more than to just die inside from being too afraid to tell him earlier. He wasn’t supposed to find out like this. Shame wracked over me. “There were papers revealing a lot of your private history. History and details that not many people could even have.”

  “From who,” Michael pressed. “They’re corrupt,” Michael added, that look on his face still processing the idea of his father and company being drug through the mud. “They’re corrupt and they were lying to you. Bluffing. Not one thing up there was true,” there was a great pain in his voice now, and some degree of doubt. But he didn’t want to believe.

  “No, no they were not,” I argued. “They wouldn’t tell me their name,” I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from getting too heated. Part of me wanted to run out crying, and another part wanted to stand my ground. “They said it was a close family friend. I told them, that if they kept you out of the damage, that I would do it,” I tried to swallow the pebble in my throat. “I didn’t accept the money.”

  Michael’s nose flared and his face became a mask of internal discordance. “I can’t be around you right now,” he hesitated, an undercurrent of fury cutting through.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks to hear him say that. My lips tightened to a purse, and I fought at the urge to ball my hands into fists. “Maybe you shouldn’t be around me at all,” I roared back, turning my back on him and carrying myself as far and fast away as I could.

  When I made it to the elevator, I hammered at the button several times, hoping beyond hope that it would summon the thing faster. Eve
ry second that ticked felt like a wrong one, that I was frozen in the hell of my own choices.

  The doors opened, and a low bell chimed from above. A gaggle of guests poured from the elevator, and I made my way through them, not even waiting for them all to get out. I finally made it to the back, and when they were all gone, I hit the button for the first floor.

  That was when the tears started threatening to come.

  I didn’t want to look weak in front of him.

  I just couldn’t.

  Chapter 23

  Jane

  Shutting Mr. Lambert’s door, my mind was already racing with the bad thoughts of losing Michael forever. Of hurting him and betraying his trust.

  I tried to help him. Tried to give him the best shot available to him.

  Holding onto those thoughts were the only thing keeping me on the razor’s edge of sanity.

  Ms. Fields replacement was standing by the pine bookcase with a dark green hardcover book in his one hand, combing through it casually. He only barely shifted his face to look at me, his golden hair swaying marginally. “You are late,” he said clinically.

  “Not a good day for me,” I replied, placing my butt on the blue sofa. “Can’t we just call me fashionably late?” It was difficult to put on my social mask.

  “Late is late,” he insisted, breathing with an eerie calm. I hadn’t noticed that about him. How scarily serene he always seems to be, on recollection. “It sounds to me like you should start with what went wrong today,” he closed the book in one snap, shelving it back in place. Mr. Lambert then glided to that place in the room, near the end of the dark gray rug, where he would always stand.

  I couldn’t wrack my brain over why that was a tic of his. Not when my world was collapsing around me.

  Michael had become my rock without me even noticing. “I was approached by some people today,” I started, remembering Connifer’s rough beard. “And I made a decision that cost me... cost me someone really close to my heart.” How could I have went through with all of this...

  Mr. Lambert put his hands behind his back, and when I looked into his eyes, making direct contact, it felt like there was a hint of displeasure. “I see,” he said smoothly, like most of his actions, most of his mannerisms. “This choice that you made. Do you regret it?”

  “I regret a lot of choices that I’ve made,” I revealed. Loving Michael wasn’t one of them. “But not that one, not yet at least. If he hates me for what I did,” an ache formed within my chest. “Then I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to change that,” just saying the words was heartbreaking. To feel powerless. Weak. I regretted hurting him, but I thought I was doing the right thing.

  Had I taken the wrong path that morning with Connifer? I anxiously fiddled with my Olivia Burton watch.

  Michael could rebuild his company. Could take the position that he always wanted.

  Mr. Lambert meandered over towards the chair, which had might as well be his, now. “You made this choice for love?”

  “I did,” I replied. “I thought that I did.”

  “You know that you did.”

  “It was supposed to be me protecting him.” I was being defensive. We’re supposed to be looking out for each other; now it only feels like we want to discard one another.

  Ninth circle of hell, I welcome you.

  Lambert produced his brown notebook off of the black, glass coffee table. Jotting down some notes in it with the flick of his wrist and a black fountain pen.

  I shut my eyes and tried to burn away the painful memories that I opened up to Michel about. Tried to bury that dark worm of a thought, about JB’s neck being snapped.

  It made me sick to my stomach thinking about him laying there in my bed like that. “There’s something else, too,” I began.

  “Go on.”

  I played with my wrist nervously, sucking in a long breath through my nose. “I lost my dog.” Lambert’s expression was like a still glacier. “Someone broke into my place and snapped his neck.”

  “Condolences,” he offered.

  His level of neutrality on that privately offended me, making me awkwardly shift against the sofa. “Whoever did that to him,” I looked down to Lambert’s shoes, “I hope they get the same treatment one day,” the words came out bitter, vengeful. I knew that wasn’t the good way to go about things, but my basic instincts seemed to fuel that dark passion. “He was my good boy. My constant companion... and... I really wish he was here right now when I’m needing him the most.”

  “Have you reported it to the police?” I shook my head left to right. “You will never get justice if you do not do this,” Lambert explained.

  “I won’t get justice at all.”

  “That is either a sense of realism, or the line of thinking of a cynic.”

  My heart was sick over all of this, and my mind was weary with the thought of going back to work. I needed to cleanse myself through the company of friends.

  We talked for the rest of the session, though the mood continued to be as off-putting as it started. I still hadn’t heard back from Ms. Fields, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t coming back. “So you think this is the last time we’ll meet?” I asked him, heading for the door and opening it, the waiting room outside devoid of life and light, aside from the one orange fixture on the wall.

  One light in the encroaching darkness.

  Lambert thought for a moment, making a humming sort of noise with his chest. “I believe so,” he finally concluded. “Either way, if Ms. Fields does not come back,” Lambert stepped closer to me, keeping himself a reasonable distance away, but closer than I would normally like from anyone. Specifically a man that wasn’t Michael. The annoying smell of mint was still evident on Lambert’s breath, summoning back my dark past. “I will be needed elsewhere,” he smiled at me, giving me a glimpse of his teeth.

  “Thank you for your help, then. You’ve been good to me,” I told him, getting ready to leave. “Goodnight, Mr. Lambert.”

  “Bonsoir, mon cheri.”

  Chapter 24

  Michael

  Driving my Lincoln into the private parking spot at Smoak HQ, I threw the stick into park and killed the engine. I sinked back deep into the seat, the leather creaking along with me.

  I knew who it had to be. In my heart I knew. And the betrayal of it all made me so heated that I wanted to shake; so furious that I burned to start pounding on the wheel of my car. Those instincts pumped through me, became me.

  But I knew that what Jane and I had was something special.

  That it had to be Rebbecca that they turned.

  The pain of that was second to what Jane did, somehow, but I couldn’t believe that was something she truly wanted to do to me. Rebbecca had to have done it to hurt my father.

  If I could ever forgive either of them, I wasn’t sure when that would happen. I checked my watch. Eight forty-five in the morning. Producing my phone from my suit pocket, I cycled through my Spotify play-list, settling on an album by The White Stripes. I turned the knob on my radio console, pumping up the volume well and past eleven.

  It was the only way to get myself motivated for the shit blizzard that I was about to willingly walk into.

  Alone. Without Jane.

  Dammit all.

  ***

  Entering conference room C, it was difficult for me to keep my composure knowing what had to be done now.

  There was no guarantee that the company could survive this massive blow.

  Tim was there with his Mega Gulp in hand, and he pulled on the neon green straw, pursing his lips and making a loud slurping sound. He looked directly at me while the board of directors stood all around us casually, like the world around us wasn’t about to go up in fucking flames.

  Dresden crossed his arms at me, giving me a ‘let’s get on with this shit’ look. He had a scruffy white beard against his old black face, a couple of age marks having formed in the many years that he served as a director.

  Nobod
y could have seen this coming.

  Charles was the only one besides Tim to sit down. Anastasia silently wrote down on her yellow legal pad, her short and graying black hair done in a small bun. Pete and Lucas were exchanging looks between one another; the former preferred to slick back his chestnut hair, where the latter spiked his up. For being in their thirties they were remarkably ambitious, having replaced their predecessors nearly eight years ago.

  Bernard was the only one looking towards me sympathetically. He was a potbellied man with glasses and a balding brown hairline; his background being primarily in banks and accounting.

  Numbers were his game. And if he’d added them all up, the only thing this equation would bring, is a massive reaping of our corporate structure.

  After a painful awkward silence between the room, I kicked the door shut with the back of my foot in a quick, angered snap. “So now that we all know how much sandpaper the FBI, the DA and the courts, and the all those moneybag eye’d reporters have been investing in. I only have one question for all of you.” I swept my gaze across the room, trying to drink in just from the looks in their faces as to how culpable and corrupt they really were. “Are you ready to get. Fucked. Because no matter who’s responsible for this, we’re all involved now. Even if you didn’t lift a finger, or approve a paper,” my mind flashed with the fire of Jane. Even when in my flow, I couldn’t not think of her. “Even if there’s nothing on you... we have to do things the right way from here on out.” Off to the side, the wide-screen TV was muted on the news, one of the local channels going on about the weather.

  Lucas was the first to say his mind. “It’s obvious to us that we’re on the razor’s edge,” he contributed. “Seems convenient though,” he started pacing around the room. “That, given your father’s absolute corruption, you didn’t get any blowback.”

  “That’s because I didn’t know what he was doing,” I barked back, burning at the thought of my father losing so much of his former visions.

  Tim fiddled with his drink, “I didn’t know either.”