“Why? You going to beat me again?” I fucking might in a minute, get rid of some of this rage she’s bringing. “No. You will damn well tell me about tonight. It’s not a difficult question,” she shouts, picking up a vase beside her.
“I choose what to tell you. Right now, you’re acting like a crazy bitch. I don’t trust crazy, and I don’t fucking trust you. I swear to God you’re about to get. . .”
The goddamn vase is launched at me before I get the rest of the sentence out. I duck from it before I storm across the room to get to her. She baulks left, trying to sprint from me towards the hall. Fuck that. I get hold of her arm and yank her back to me in a flat second, hands throwing her back at the sofa.
“Get a fucking sorry out from your lips before I force one.” I barely hold myself back from her.
“No,” she spits, her body pulling up from the sofa to stand in front of me again. “You need to hear this, Benjamin. They’re wrong. Both of them. They’ve ruined everything.”
“What the fuck, Hope? Get a grip of yourself.”
“Give me something. Anything, Benjamin. Please!” she begs. I let her go and she tumbles to the ground, arms splayed as her feet scramble her upright again.
I have no goddamn clue what this shit is about. Enough. Anyone else, anyone at all would have been dead already for this type of behaviour. I turn and head for the kitchen before I do something I might regret.
She needs to leave right fucking now. I can’t deal with her or figure out why she’s choosing to hide something from me after all this time. She’s right, what she said earlier. She’s never faltered, but this shit here? This reeks of distrust, disloyalty. She needs to get out of my damn way. She fucking doesn’t. She follows me, mumbling and grumbling under her breath as she stamps into the kitchen behind me.
“Back off, Hope.”
“Fuck you. You didn’t think I’d be concerned? This is finished when I say it is, not you,” she screams out, eyes like fucking slits.
I’m done.
Everything inside me explodes, the glass in my fingers thrown at the wall by the side of her head. Splinters and shards shatter around her face, and her eyes widen, panic finally settling in. About fucking time. My hands go back to the counter top, clawing at it for purchase rather than letting loose at her.
“You need to get out, Hope,” I say, glaring in the goddamn hope that she gets the point. “I will fucking lose it if you don’t leave. Now.”
“It’s me, Benjamin. Me,” she says, finding her spine and putting her hand on her chest. “Why would you trust them over me?” Trust her, with this shit she’s bringing at me?
“Leave.”
“Listen to me, please. You need to get rid of them and then we can—” I step towards her, silencing her tirade. Why? Why should I? Those fucking boys have shown more goddamn allegiance in the last few weeks than anybody else. “They’re…” She doesn’t finish. She hovers there, unsure about something. For the second time in a month, my mind thinks of shit it shouldn’t think of with her. I don’t trust what she’s doing. This time, rather than infuriate me, it fucking hurts.
“What are you hiding?”
“Why won’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”
I stalk closer, head tilted. She’s fucking hiding something. I know she is.
“Talk or get out.”
“Benjamin?”
“I mean it, Hope. I don’t fucking trust you at the moment.”
That seems to hit a goddamn nerve. She backs off a step, and then another, and then a-fucking-nother until she’s in the hall and spinning on her heel.
“But you trust them? Quinn?” she mumbles, ass picking up speed towards the bedroom. “Should have known I’d lose out to them.” What the fuck does that mean? I follow, maddened by what she’s doing, and reaching for her arm to sling her out myself. She’s at her overnight bag and dumping some shit in it before I manage it.
“Whatever was behind tonight, whatever that ink all over you means, you can keep it,” she mutters, not daring to look at me. I sneer at that, both annoyed and glad I didn’t fucking tell her if she’s gonna run out on me. Fucking loyalty. She’s worth nothing to me anymore.
Nothing.
She’s at the front door and opening it before I reach her to throw her ass out, mumbling to herself again. “History repeats itself.” I don’t know what that means, or damn well care. This isn’t what I want or need in my life. Obedience is what I want, a goddamn woman who knows her place in my world.
“Go,” I shout, holding the fucking thing open for her.
She does, not even bothering to look back as she walks off. I slam the door after her and head back inside to drink some more. Done. Finished. Fucking over.
Twenty
The elevator ride down takes far too long. I fumble with the keys as I try to grab them from my bag to open the car. My attempt is as pathetic as I feel—tired and jaded. Lost. Still, I drive up to the barrier, wondering if I’ll ever return here. Unlikely, I guess. Pain, raw and jagged, cuts into my heart.
I don’t even know where I’ll go, but as I think the words, the only place I can imagine drifts to mind. I turn out of the garage and pull onto the quiet streets, one destination now in my thoughts. Thankfully, three a.m. gives me clear roads. It’s a shame my mind isn’t the same.
We’ve never fought. Ever. That's because I’ve always known my place, and that hasn’t ever been to question his orders or ask silly questions. Obedience has been the one thing Benjamin always demanded other than sex, and it’s the one thing I’ve pushed back against tonight. Spectacularly. I sigh at the thought, both annoyed and exhausted by it because he knew. All the way through, he knew there was something I wasn’t telling him.
My eyes sting every time I blink; they’re so tired, but the tears haven’t materialised. I keep a watchful gaze on my speed, ensuring I don’t get pulled over. Having visited just the once, I only have a rough idea of the way and I slept for most of it, but I exit the city and head in the general direction of The Hamptons. It’s the stupidest of ideas, and he’ll probably know that I’ll go there, but where else can I go? The house calls to me, and he did say it was mine, albeit under a false name.
A few hours and wrong turns later, and I pull into the driveway, gates swinging wide for me. The sky is ominous, an inky tinge covering the horizon as the impending sunrise threatens the darkness—a metaphor for my life perhaps? Or maybe it's a last glare from those eyes of his, following me even now.
I open the door and let the calm of the house wash over me. It’s so beautiful here, like nothing in the world I’ve been living in. I collapse into the seat I gravitated to last time I was here and take it all in. The quiet, soothing sounds of the sea are like a balm to my soul, but they won’t solve my predicament.
Broken.
My heart and my life.
Tears fall unchecked onto my cheeks and drip down my face. The bleary view in front of me quivers as more and more tears race to fall. The argument between us plays over and over in my mind. With some distance from Benjamin, I can see all the different scenarios that could have happened. Leaving in one piece was the best possible outcome of the options available.
The sun slips over the water, casting washed out colours across the sea. A new day is dawning, and I’ve never felt as unsure about my future as I do right now. Even when Mom had just passed away, I knew what I had to do. I had a purpose and direction to follow. A goal. Now? Nothing.
The drive for retribution that I’ve always had isn’t there anymore. Like, for the first time, there’s something bigger at stake, something else I want more than needing that end game.
Benjamin.
The light continues to creep up, bathing the world in sunlight. It reminds me of the last time we were here, a happier time. One of those strange changes of Benjamin that made me think I’d become more to him. Clearly, I had that wrong. I felt that darkness heavy in him again tonight, not one glimpse of compassion or understanding. And
the blood? So much blood. His skin. His eyes. Even the bitterness of his voice felt tainted with the blood he'd clearly been bathing in.
The thought about coming clean festers again. It’s taken root like a weed, tainting my judgment. I’m hiding something from Benjamin, and he knows it. He won’t let that rest. If I confess that I am related to Cane, and that’s the root of my issues with them, maybe we could move past that and go back to the way things were when he was prepared to give me a part of his family that he cherished.
I need a fucking compass and navigational charts to work him out. That’s one part of him that’s never changed, though. Maybe I should think back to what I really know about Benjamin Vico and take a long hard look at where I want my life to go now. After all, this doesn’t have to be a disaster. It could be an opportunity. I could cut myself off, start again. Find a life that’s mine alone and not be ruled by a man who will beat me black and blue simply because he needs to.
What do I want?
It should be a simple question, and for many it is. Yet it’s something I’ve not given time or attention to. My path has been so consumed with revenge and making Cane feel all the loss that I’ve felt in my life, that I’ve forgotten about anything else I wanted along the way.
Thoughts of family, love and stability flicker across my mind. I’ve never known any of those things, and as much as a part of me knows I should covet them, when I try to imagine what they look like, I can’t. The image that casts in my mind is of Benjamin—me with Benjamin. It doesn't have us covered in blood or hiding behind closed doors. It just has the man I’ve fallen for and his heart. We were nearly there as well, so close, but then Cane came into our lives and fucked everything up with their war with the Yakuza.
Something I wished for is ruining everything.
The morning light streams into the house, illuminating the soft hues and rustic charm that is so at odds with everything I’ve seen of Benjamin. His mother's, he said. Maybe, if I'd known her, I would have a better understanding of the boy she must have known. At the moment, to me, he's barely recognizable as alive.
My mind needs to rest, find sense again and a plan maybe, but I know that’s going to be hard. There's too much spinning around my brain, but my eyes drift closed nonetheless as I fall against the plump cushion on the chair. I'm exhausted. Exhausted by him, exhausted by my plans, and exhausted by my life.
Rivers of red, darkness, and a smoking gun haunt my mind. I can feel warmth on my skin, but everything is blurry and tainted. A shadow morphs into a figure that moves towards me, never stopping until he’s on me.
I snatch at the air in front of my body, and my eyes dart around the room. Nothing. I’m alone. I check the clock. I’ve lost a few hours, and it’s nearly noon. My head is woozy from lack of sleep, and my stomach protests the lack of sustenance.
There’s a little food in the kitchen, some essentials, including coffee. I make a cup and cradle it in my hands out on the deck. The view is one I could get lost in, sucked in by the sheer tranquility of the scene. Its contradiction to everything else in my life makes it all the more appealing. If only life could be this simple. Wake up, run along the beach, eat, watch the tide, and let the day drift away. Repeat the next day. And the next.
I might not have lived the most fulfilled life at Benjamin’s side, but it was better than doing nothing, wasn’t it? I had everything, wanted for nothing. But truth, reality, and honesty always evaded us from both sides.
Questions, like vultures, circled overhead, waiting to swoop in at my most vulnerable point and strip me bare. If I give them an inch, I’ll be lost in the what-ifs that my circumstances have created.
With a few hours of rest and the sun high in the sky, there’s the smallest fraction of optimism that I need to grab hold of and nurture. The only questions I’ll entertain are ones I’m capable of answering myself.
Do I love Benjamin? An easy one to start with—yes.
If I look at my life before the Canes showed up, was I happy? Objectively, yes. Is that enough information to make any firm decisions on? Hell, no. They’re the tip of the huge iceberg I'm not even trying to climb yet, but they're important factors regardless.
I finish my coffee and sneak back inside to walk around the house, which would be considered spacious and grand to many. As I wander between the rooms, I feel more grounded, more rational in my thinking. The craziness that crept over me last night is long gone. There’s truth in the saying that things always look better in the morning. Or perhaps I'm just seeing things for how they really are, readying myself for the inevitable.
Benjamin will come and find me soon. I’m certain of that fact. Just as I know that I have to confess my secret. It will change everything between us. It will draw a line that will never be removed. Honesty. Truth. And, depending on his mood…
I let my thought trail off as imagining a world where Benjamin could kill me isn’t a happy place. How could I have fallen in love with a man capable of that? I have, though, more than I ever could have expected.
The bag I’ve brought with me contains all of about three useful things—a change of underwear, some yoga pants and my phone. I take the bag upstairs and decide to luxuriate in the claw-footed bath.
It’s only a matter of time before Benjamin will be here, and in all of my retrospection, I’ve only managed to confirm one thing. He needs to know who my father was. I’ll drive myself mad if I look further than that, but perhaps then we can be rational. Talk. Think clearly.
The heat from the bubbles soothes my skin, and I pretend, for a little while at least, that my life revolves around this house. The neighborhood will be, no doubt, full of bustling wives and other women, all filling up their social diaries to make sure they’re seen with the right people at the right parties. Those are the women I’ve risen above in my position as Benjamin’s mistress, back in New York, at least. There would be whispers around here, and I’m sure I’d be the source of gossip for some time—the woman who mysteriously appeared in the empty home with no friends or family. The scandal plays out in my mind, amusing me as if I’m watching the latest HBO series.
The water is tepid before I climb out of the bath and wrap myself in the small comfort of the soft towel. It’s as if I'm waiting on my prison sentence now, holding my breath and waiting for the gavel to fall. In a way, I guess I am, with Benjamin Vico, lord of New York, starring as judge, jury and executioner.
I change into the only useful clothes I grabbed in my hurry and head back downstairs. The morning brightness has long since been covered by a whitewash of cloud and grey, blocking out the sun completely. The irony isn't lost on me at all. The closer the hours tick to finality, the darker it will become.
With the warmth of the bath still clinging to my skin, the urge to rest, to lie down and give in to slumber, presses hard. But with every passing minute, I recognize not much of my life might be left. I'm running out of time, aren't I?
Even with the amount of alcohol Benjamin consumed last night, he’ll only be out of it for so long. Despite his decision about me, he’ll not let me go unaccounted for much longer, and I want the opportunity to talk with him before the end. Sleeping will give Benjamin the advantage to come in and catch me off guard. I need everything to run in my favour.
My second cup of coffee hits me with the caffeine spike I need, and like the morning, I watch as the sun slips beneath the waves and takes the light with it completely. The peace and tranquility of this place remain, but at night, I feel alone, cut off from the world and vulnerable. Even my shadow is missing. The thought makes me smile a little, and I allow myself a moment to think of Torino.
I was the perfect character for Benjamin, right down to the hard-nosed bitch I needed to be and took it out on all the people around me. Torino bore most of it, as was his job. Funny how different these everyday events now look when staring at them through a new perspective.
I wait in the front room after pouring a much stronger drink from the cabinet, giving myself a clear v
iew of the main door. Seems I’ve developed a taste for scotch all of a sudden. Dutch courage perhaps. Strong. Warm. Burning on the way down. Bruising even.
It’s not long before beams of light stream in through the front windows. The low purr of an engine idling in the drive lasts for longer than I anticipate and does nothing to keep me calm. The racing of my heart spikes my temperature and the panic I felt last night creeps back in again.
The lights from the car still illuminate the house. Perhaps he’s waiting for a sign? I flick off the table lamp and go back to the place where I can gather my calm. It's nice out there, quiet, but for the wind that's hustling the coastline. Perhaps it's a good place to die, or just gain sense. Either way, I'll gaze at the ocean when he comes for me. Try to imagine the boy his mother knew and smile at the man inside, because my time to think is up.
Benjamin's home.
Twenty-One
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here. I should be letting her go, avoiding her. I should have thrown the rest of her clothes out with her and let the world know that Hope Winters means that little to me. Just another whore. Nothing more, nothing less. Instead, I’m sitting in the damn car staring at the house I gave her to run to if things went bad. They did. Between us.
The lights illuminate the wrap around porch, showing me memories I don’t want. Love. Compassion. Mother’s hands looking after scrapes and cuts on my skin as we sat on that old blue swing. She’d sing songs to me, swipe the hair from my face and tell me to suck in the tears. Hold them in, she’d say. Don’t let anyone see them but me. And then, after a while, even she didn’t want to see them. The last time they came she slapped my face and told me to stop. She told me there wasn’t much time left for just us two and I needed to grow up. Fast.
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