by J. J. Sorel
The malevolent flicker in his gaze and sinister curl of his lips told me this was not a friendly visit. The closer he approached, the more my heart raced, and a breath became trapped in my throat.
He pushed me down onto the couch. “Sit.” A menacing snarl left his lips.
“I’m expecting Bronson soon, Justin,” I said.
“Oh… Mr. Everything. The man of the moment.”
“You shouldn’t have cooked up that will, Justin.”
“How do you think it felt sharing what was mine with a fucking intruder? It should have just been me and my mom and dad. But my father, harboring some kind of twisted social obligation, brought home an ‘unwanted.’ And what’s more, that fucking piece of shit has taken everything away from me. I’ve been disbarred. I’ve become a nobody, which is what Bronson was when he invaded my life.”
“You should never have set Bronson up. That was a mean act, Justin. At least he hasn’t dredged that up. He could have.”
“I don’t give a fuck. You know what I hate the most about that asshole?”
I remained silent.
“He took you away. That’s right, look at me with fucking pity. I fucking loved you, bitch.”
I clenched my jaw. “There’s no need to be like this.”
“Even when you refused to blow me, and when you went all frigid on me and wouldn’t let me fuck you, I was still fucking smitten.”
He lowered onto the couch next to me, and his hands grabbed at my breasts.
“You’ve got these fucking tits that make me so hard.” His hands squeezed my breasts.
“You’re hurting me, Justin.”
“Oh, I plan to fuck you until you’re red raw, and then you’re coming with me.”
“Justin. You can’t do this. You can’t force yourself on me like this,” I cried.
He ripped open my shirt, and his mouth landed on my neck as he clawed away at the clasp of my bra.
Just at that moment, a knock came at the door. I was certain that it was Bronson this time. And such was my relief at being rescued that I pushed Justin off me.
I ran to the door, screaming, “Help!”
Justin pulled me back by my ponytail. “Come back here. You’re not letting that asshole in. If you do, he’ll get this.” He pulled out a gun.
While Bronson thumped at the door, I was so gripped with fear that a scream froze in the back of my throat. “Ava!” came from the other side.
When I screamed again, Justin hit me, which made me fall back onto the sofa. In the background, Bronson continued to kick and bang at the door, while Justin virtually sat on me to keep me still.
“You can’t do this, Justin!”
“Shut the fuck up,” he spat.
Listening for Bronson’s steps, I knew that he’d return, so I relaxed as Justin’s sweaty face remained close to mine while he unzipped my jeans.
“Take them off. I’m going to fuck you and then shoot that fucker.”
“Justin…”
The next few minutes played out frame by frame. Bronson burst through the door wielding a large metal implement. Wearing a fierce expression, he resembled a predatory animal about to pounce on his prey.
Justin lifted his gun and placed it against my head. “Come any closer and I’ll shoot her.”
Trembling as the icy metal chilled my temple, I saw my parents’ faces contort with pain upon learning of my death and Bronson lifting my cold, inert body into his arms. I also told myself that at least I’d experienced the kind of heart-melting love that I’d thought unattainable and only invented to ravage the imaginations of hardcore romantics.
“What do you want, Justin?” asked Bronson.
“I want Ava back. She acts like Miss Fucking Frigid but put a cock in her and she goes all soft and creamy.”
Bronson’s knuckles looked as though they would pierce through his skin.
“You fucking touch her,” roared Bronson.
The brothers glared at each other with such mutual hatred that the atmosphere thickened with testosterone and adrenaline.
Time played tricks, as it was known to do in potentially fatal situations. Justin’s thick, heavy breath invaded my hearing, while the gun shook in his hand. He resembled an atrocious, sweaty beast.
“Now look, Justin,” I said with my softest, calmest voice. “It’s not worth it. You’re young. You’ve got your whole life in front of you.”
“Bullshit. Not since that asshole imposter, posing as a fucking brother, dug up shit on me. There’s nothing out there for me.”
“You’re rich, Justin. Richer than most at your age,” I said.
“Not for long.” He stretched his arm and pointed at Bronson. “You stuck your greasy fucking nose where you shouldn’t have. That fucking money was my blood right.”
“I’ll withdraw my claim. You can keep your money. Just drop that gun and get out of here,” said Bronson.
They say that in dangerous situations, our instincts heighten. As adrenaline raged through me, in an act that was risky at best, I pushed off the couch with all my strength, hooking my shoulder under Justin’s armpit. In so doing, I jolted his hand toward the ceiling.
As I jumped away, gunfire sounded.
Running to the kitchen, I hid behind the island, my legs frozen with fear.
I heard scuffling, and as I peeked over the table, I saw Bronson squeezing Justin’s wrist so tight that he released the gun. It clanged to the ground.
Running over to the weapon, I kicked it away before picking it up.
Eyeing my phone on the table, I managed to grab it and dial 9-1-1.
“Help,” I said in a loud whisper. As I spluttered the address through shallow intakes of breath, I watched in horror as Bronson, whose face had gone deep red, pummeled Justin.
Blood splattered the walls. The sound of cracking bones and cries woke me from shock. When Bronson placed his hands around Justin’s neck, I knew that if I didn’t intervene, he’d kill him.
“No!” I screamed. “The police are on their way. Just hold him down. Don’t kill him! It’s not worth it.”
Bronson looked up at me, his face fierce and sweaty.
He released Justin’s neck and planted his knee on his chest to hold him in place.
“Have you got any string or, better still, electrical tape?” he asked, looking up at me. With that sheen coating his face and droplets of blood on scratched skin, Bronson looked as though he’d been in a war zone.
I rummaged through drawers, and after tossing their contents onto the ground, I stumbled upon some tape.
Grabbing a pair of scissors, I cut a long piece.
Having suffered what looked like a broken nose and in obvious pain, Justin lay there groaning.
Turning Justin onto his stomach effortlessly, as if he were half his size, Bronson, whose veiny biceps bulged as he took control, wrapped tape around Justin’s wrists.
“Ouch! Call a fucking ambulance.” Justin writhed in pain.
“Just stay still,” demanded Bronson. “They’re on their way.”
Hearing sirens down below, I ran to meet the police.
“We need an ambulance,” I said to one of the uniformed men.
After speaking on his phone, he asked, “What’s the state of the victim?”
“He’s injured. He tried to rape me and then placed a pistol to my head.”
He nodded, then looked away to speak into his cell, giving directions, after which, along with a colleague, he followed me up to the crime scene that had so recently been my home.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BRONSON
Just how far I might have gone frightened the hell out of me. If Ava hadn’t stepped in when she did, I would have killed Justin. It was as though I’d become possessed by some external force because I could have punched a hole through a brick wall, such was the strength flowing through me.
As my hands crushed his neck, seething animosity filtered through my veins. Reliving our life growing up together, I summoned up all
the humiliation Justin had inflicted upon me. The numerous times he’d locked me in the cupboard, disabling my future with claustrophobia so suffocating that in prison, I’d had to breathe into a fucking paper bag.
As I continued to crush his throat, I recalled the jibes, the nasty bullying and how at school, Justin told the other kids that I wore a diaper because I pissed my bed every night. Even though it was bullshit, they believed it anyhow. Then, as a teenager, he’d steal money from my mother’s purse and lay the blame on me. The cocaine in my backpack was the last straw. As my knees pushed deep into his groin, I would have killed the dirtbag were it not for Ava.
After the police took Justin away, and we’d made our statements at the police station, I placed my arm around Ava. “You were amazing in there. Trained men, double your size, couldn’t have pulled that off.”
Her body stiffened in my arms. I drew away. “What is it, Ava?”
“You would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped you.”
I wiped my brow. “Something came over me, that’s for sure.” I stared into her eyes. “The way he looked at you with that self-entitled smirk of his just set me off. It’s not me. I’m normally passive.”
“Passive? You’re hardly that, Bronson. You’re intense.”
I studied her for a moment. “Ava, please, don’t do this.” I took her by the hand. “Come on, I need a shower, and then we can talk about it.”
She removed her hand. “No, Bronson. I need some space.”
Her face had gone pale. I stared deeply into her eyes, looking for the love that had been there earlier, but instead, I was met with emptiness.
“I need time alone to think. Bronson. Please.” Ava turned her back and walked away.
As I watched her deliberate steps, I waited, hoping that she’d turn and come running back to me. Instead, Ava kept walking while blood drained out of me.
“You’re not going to press charges?” asked James as I sat in the sunny courtyard by his swimming pool.
I’d been staying at James’s house for a few days, as the site I was working at was not far away, and I needed some time away from the craziness of the city, which had Ava written all over it. Besides, I thought having nature around and hearing birds sing would offer me some respite from depression.
“Nope. It’s over. The funds from Father’s original will have come through. I’m wealthy,” I said, soberly. “I can pump more into our project. Build myself a nice big home out here somewhere and live a sad, lonely existence.”
“Bronson. You’re too popular for that,” he said with an encouraging smile. James looked increasingly like my late father, the more I hung out with him.
A flicker of a smile came and went. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, James. You’ve been a tower of strength.”
“Anything to help. And it needed to come out. At least now you’ll have cleared your name. You have a clean slate, so to speak.”
I sighed. “Yep. That’s a good thing.”
He noticed my downturned mouth. “No word from Ava?”
A tight breath left my lungs. I shook my head. It had been two weeks. The pain generated by the sound of her name burned like a knife into a wound.
“She thinks I’m a monster. A potential murderer.”
“Seeing a man in blind rage can be disturbing.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t blame you, though. Anyone would have snapped after how Justin treated you over the years.”
“But why can’t Ava see that?” I asked, looking up at my uncle.
Shrugging, he said, “Give it time. She’s been through a lot. And the story of Aggie and how you’ve located your real grandfather through her is nothing short of astounding.”
“Isn’t it?” I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled slowly.
After James left me, I lounged back and closed my eyes, enjoying the sun on my skin despite my blood remaining frozen. It seemed that even the heat of the day was incapable of warming my veins.
Having never experienced a broken heart before, I suddenly understood the dramatic lengths people went to in order to escape themselves. There I’d been, like some sad, neglected dog, standing outside Ava’s apartment every day, during which time I only ran into her once. Her long and drawn face told me that Ava wasn’t having a great time of it either, despite shooing me away as if I were a pest.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AVA
Yet again, Aggie asked me to read the passage in which Heathcliff visits Cathy just before she dies. After I finished, I asked, “Do you see Monty in Heathcliff?”
“I see Monty in everything. He’s always with me. No matter what I’m doing.”
A faint smile washed over me. Bronson had affected me that way, too. He was everywhere—in my dreams, my thoughts, my daily activities. I found myself often wondering what he’d think about this or that.
Aggie studied me. “What’s happened to you, Ava? You’re not yourself. Being loved by a devilishly handsome man like Bronson, you should be constantly bubbling with that edgy sense of excitement.”
What an apt way to describe the constant state of arousal I’d been in around Bronson. But that was in the past, I thought with a silent sigh.
“I’ve left him.” I shifted in my seat.
“What?” The dramatic expression in her face made me wince. “But you can’t. You have to be together. Otherwise, what’s all this been for?”
I frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Aggie looked away.
“Why did you employ me? You mentioned you designed it that way. Why?” I asked, determined to get an answer this time.
She held her hands up in defense. “So many questions.”
“Aggie, why am I here?”
“Because I wanted to get back at that horrible Justin. I wanted to see what you were like and whether I could push you toward Bronson as a way to get back at that conniving rat.”
A frustrated sigh deflated my chest. “Aggie. You’ve been playing with people’s emotions.”
“So what if I have?” She tilted her head slightly. “I’ve addressed a wrong. I needed a way into Bronson’s circle somehow. Now enough of your moaning, and tell me why you’re no longer together. Bronson is absolutely besotted by you.”
Despite the flooding warmth, I felt from that observation, I continued to grill Aggie. “Where’s Charlie?”
“Oh my God, why him again?”
“I met him in the elevator, and he spoke about you and the past. And then there’s the painting that looks like me. Why?” My nerves had been strung so tight that they were about to snap.
“Is that why you left Bronson? Because of all this mystery?” She waved her hand about.
“No!” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I lost myself to him. Then when I saw him almost murder Justin… His rage frightened me.”
Aggie studied me with a puckered brow as if trying to understand me. “Let me see, Bronson was protecting you?”
I nodded sheepishly. “Well, yeah, but he would have strangled Justin.”
“You care that much for Justin?”
“Of course not. He’s one of the worst people I’ve ever known.”
“Then?”
“Aggie. There was murder in Bronson’s face.”
“So that’s put you off him? You no longer have feelings for him? You’ve stopped loving him?”
“No. No. And no. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I have no energy. I’m lost.” My face crumpled in dismay while tears threatened to erupt again.
“Ha… That spells love to me,” said Aggie.
“Enough of Bronson. Why all of this? Why the game, Aggie? I have to know.”
“As I’ve already said, this so-called game was designed solely to bring Bronson to me.” She sat back and took a breath. “I needed to meet him. If I’m to give Bronson everything, it’s vital that I see what kind of man he is.”
“But why draw me into it?”
“Because I wanted to know you. At first, it was a for
m of revenge on that cad, Justin. Then, as I got to know you, I discovered you were overly curious, so I designed it this way so that you would continue to visit. It was fun, too, in that potentially supernatural way.” She chuckled.
“Fun? My God, Aggie, it’s been keeping me up at nights.”
“Then I’m sorry.” A glimmer of sympathy washed over her eyes. “Even though it wasn’t my initial plan, but the more I got to know you, I could see that you’d make an ideal partner for Bronson. You’re both suited to each other. And because of that, you’ll have a steadying influence on him.” She paused to take a breath. “I see so much potential in Bronson. However, in the wrong hands, he could fall, just like Monty did. If I had married Monty, he would have had a great life. I don’t want Bronson ending up with a bad woman, because when one chooses poorly, it destroys one’s life.”
“But how can you tell that we’re well suited?” I asked.
“He has a sparkle in his eyes when he gazes at you.” Aggie stared away into the distance. “I recognized it well. His grandfather had the same look whenever his eyes met mine.”
A tear fell down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away. I’d cried so much in that two weeks that my emotions were raw. As I wiped my nose, a thought suddenly occurred to me.
“Are you reliving your romance with Monty vicariously through Bronson and me?”
“Maybe. Who doesn’t like watching an exciting romance unfold and see themselves in the position of the heroine?” She raised her eyebrows.
While I sought a response, she waved her hand. “Now, off you go. I’m tired.”
“But you haven’t answered me yet. And it’s only six o’clock.”
“Please. Don’t tax me. Tomorrow.”
Reluctant to go back to my empty place, I decided to go for a walk in the park, specifically to the tree with our carved initials, which was a place I’d visited regularly during the last two weeks.
Entering the pretty tree-lined path, I drifted along while inhaling a heady mix of earth and grass. The space that I’d craved had turned into a black hole of nothingness. I’d lost my heart to Bronson. And as much as I thought I could regain it by being alone, the only insight I’d gained was how lonely, sad, and empty life seemed without him.
