DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  She does, tears glistening in her eyes, but they don’t land in a spot where I’d feel sorry. They just look guilty to me.

  “Why?” It’s a simple question, and I know it’s not a straightforward answer, but I want it anyway.

  “Kill him,” she grumbles out, her eyes narrow in on me. “And I kill you.”

  My lips curl into a menacing smile. “Not if I don’t kill you right here and now, baby. If I like your answer…we’ll talk.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Try me.” Emmy leans up off the wall, getting into my face to make it seem like she has some sort of control of this conversation.

  She does because she has justifications of things I need to know to move on with my life.

  “I faked my death because Alexander stabbed me over six times in the stomach when he realized he spoke too much about his shady dealings with his brother. He left me to die in my condo. So I called Mills to get me. I made Lucien and Mills agree to my plan. I threatened to do it another way if they didn’t help me. I forced my best friend to be a father to my kids so that Alexander couldn’t walk out of the hospital with them. I forged DNA tests. I purposely had a closed casket for obvious reasons. I couldn’t let him take Atlas and Alaric when they were out of the NICU or make any important decisions for their well-being because I don’t trust him. End of story.”

  I stare at her, allowing the words to sink into my brain.

  They don’t, not really.

  I’m shocked and upset and worried and full of everything all mixed into a black blur of nothing.

  Alexander stabbed me over six times in the stomach.

  Where was I? Why didn’t she call me?

  I step away then lift her baggy shirt over her stomach to find wounds that mar her creamy skin.

  I count them, all six angry and violent scars, and drop the fabric of material as if I just suffered one of them.

  A tear drops to Emmy’s cheekbone, declaring that everything she just told me, she endured. That, not only was she almost murdered by a man she trusted, but her two babies as well.

  And I have nothing to say.

  I can’t find words or animosity within me to act on the reason she fake died on me.

  I just feel the loneliness she must’ve felt when he left her alone to die. How worried for her unborn children she would’ve been. The possible hopelessness and fear that initiated.

  “They’re his kids,” Emmy notes. “That’s why I’ve been cock-blocking him. When they were born…I never picked out names. I just thought of you and how I wish everything didn’t end as it did. Alaric was my gift because I wanted you to have it. This was, of course, before the brilliant idea of Mills. And Atlas—“ A faint grin paints her face. “—she was my map home. The reminder to come back hopefully unscathed.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t have,” I mutter through my taut jaw. “They’re not mine.”

  “I wish that—“

  “Stop.” My arm shoots up to keep her from speaking another heart-wrenching word. “You didn’t die, but you could’ve. You didn’t call me. You left me to believe that you were going to live happily ever fucking after with that rich shithead and—“

  “Mills got me to the hospital safe and—“

  “You fucked up royally but I guess you were always the princess, weren’t you?”

  “That’s not—“ My hand clamps over her mouth as I shove her back into the wall. The gun in my other comes back up to the side of her head again and Emmy’s eyes follow it cautiously.

  “I’m going to take…what you took from me,” I say slowly, making sure she hears every single one of my next promises. “I’m going to torture and fucking kill Alexander for placing a fucking hand on you.” I feel her mouth move to speak against my palm but it restricts her. “I don’t give a shit what you say. I don’t care that you want to do it yourself. This is what they call answering for your sins.”

  Emmy’s brows furrow, making her little eyes crinkle. She’s so fucking beautiful, even with her darker hair but I miss her whitish blonde locks. I miss my innocent and sweet-looking Emmy in her cute little dresses and heels.

  I miss everything.

  And now that I have it, it resembles nothing like it did before.

  Everything has changed. My heart and mind are so wrecked from loss that her in front of me feels fake and nightmare-ish.

  “I’ll let you know where he’s buried so you can dig it up and drop it in the sea if you want to do that instead.” She violently shakes her head then stomps her foot like the brat she is. “Did you prefer your front doorstep?”

  She narrows her eyes then reaches up to pull my hand down from her lips and I surprise us both when I vigorously flinch from her touch.

  Then my temper takes on its full form and I full-on glare at my ex-wife.

  For making me react to her the way I do because hope, faith, and love have fled and left us with betrayal, fear, and anger.

  “It’s only fair,” I recite. “To take the one thing you want when you took mine away. You were the singular thing on this Earth that I would’ve bled for. I would’ve done anything, Emmy, to have you back. Now I don’t want you anymore. So it’s only fitting—“ I drop my hand and put space between the two of us. “—that I snatch your shit away.”

  “He stabbed me,” she storms. “Not you!” Her index finger stabs into my chest, but I could give a shit about her temper tantrum.

  I don’t answer her. She doesn’t deserve it.

  Emmy shoves me backward and deeper into the room when silence answers her back. Then the click of a hammer sounds and her little 9mm appears in my face.

  “You’re not listening,” she mocks with her head cocked to the side. “Something you always did but listen to me now…Alexander is mine. Take that how you want but I’ll be the one he sees last when he takes his final breath.”

  “Are you gonna make me dead-dead for real, or are you gonna fake this shit too?” I step into her range then lean forward. “You’re a mother now, Emmy Lou. Are you going to shoot a live round in the place where your children are sleeping?”

  I expect her to frown and recant her placing of her weapon, but she doesn’t move, nor does the deep scowl disappear off her face.

  “There’s a threat in the house,” she replies. “And this time, I’m ready.”

  “Mhm.” The barrel presses into my sternum and I don’t stop until I’m inches from her captivating as fuck lips. “I feel like we’ve been here before.”

  Her eyes flick to my mouth as I speak and I involuntarily growl. “Are you gonna leave me again?”

  My chest tightens because I remember leaving her hotel room pissed that night she came to Pittsburgh. How she just wanted to help and I wanted nothing to do with her or it.

  Like she did to me with this Alexander thing.

  “Yes,” I deadpan, then straighten my spine and round her body.

  “I’ll beat you to him,” she tells me as I make my way to the door.

  “I’d love to see that.” I twist the knob and yank it open, finally able to breathe and think for the first time since seeing her when she drops another fucking bomb on me.

  “Challenge accepted, husband.”

  Mills was right. Atlas and Alaric cooed and let me snuggle them without so much as a crying fit or look of fear in their blue eyes.

  After Bishop left, Mills promptly returned and held me in his arms for at least five minutes while I cried into his chest.

  This evening was intense, and I filled it with apologies and promises to make it up to him while Mills brushed at my hair and told me how much he loved me and the kids.

  When the babies were back down and fed, I went back to my studio so no one would see me on the better side of town. Alexander would never venture into Garden City with his entitled ass, and he’s probably well over losing his mind for not hearing back from his men on taking out Bishop.

  He has to know by now that they failed and move on to plan B. And whatever that plan may
be, I need to find it and trace back all the records of what he’s been saying, typing, or emailing in code so I could be ready for it.

  I must’ve fallen asleep because when I wake up, I’m confused about where the hell I am and quickly realize it’s my bed with the curtains drawn. I retrace last night and being at the dingy table when my foot hits something hard next to me—and it’s not a remote control or laptop.

  Jolting from the bed, I’m barely able to throw my leg over the side before an arm wraps around my middle and hauls me backward. Everything happens so quickly that I can’t even throw a punch before Bishop’s knee swings over my stomach and pins me to the mattress.

  I know it’s him because I’ve had said weight on me hours ago and I can smell his delicious scent wrapping around me.

  “Fucking asshole!” I yell, throwing my fisted hand into any part of his chest that I can reach.

  Bishop latches onto my wrist, then captures the other and holds my arms above my head like a douchebag.

  My heart continuously rams into my chest from him scaring the shit out of me, and before I can open my mouth, he speaks for the both of us.

  “Are we divorced or not?”

  I thrust my hips off the mattress to get him off of me. “Get away from me.”

  “Focus, Emmy,” he chides before having the balls to snap his fingers like I’m a child. “Are we still married?”

  “Who the fuck cares.” I stop for a second to look at him for the first time. “How did you get in this time? How did you find me?”

  “Your landlord sucks, and it only took twenty bucks for him to open the door. Didn’t even ask for ID. You need to move out of—“

  “Shut up,” I storm, yanking at my arms to see if I can free myself. “You don’t care. You’re working against me now. We don’t give each other advice.”

  “Alright—“ He readjusts his weight so that he’s comfortable and I’m still squished under his massive density. “—we’ll skip the small talk and go right to you answering the first fucking question I asked. Are you still my fucking wife, Emmy?”

  I squirm underneath him, a crest of claustrophobia creeping up my chest. “Are you still going after Alexander?”

  “You know I am.” A smirk illuminates off his handsome features, and if my hands weren’t pinned, I’d sucker punch him.

  I bite my lip and watch his blue eyes flick to it. Then an idea sparks in my head that makes me ashamed of even myself.

  An evil and manipulative ass plan that’ll set me over the line of bitch to a conniving ass whore.

  “Maybe we can come up with an agreement,” I hedge, purposely taking a deep breath so that my back arches a tad and my breast rises closer to him. “Answers for what I need.”

  “I don’t care what you need.”

  Yep, should’ve known better.

  Kace Bishop is not your normal red-blooded man who sees a pair of tits and wants to bend you over.

  No, he’s a harder nut to crack. A closed-off and emotional disaster that opens up to cokeheads and old high school sweethearts.

  “Then I don’t care about your questions,” I sass. “And you can get out of my fucking bedroom now. You’re little I’m bigger than you game isn’t going to work with me.” Then I make sure I’m looking him dead in the eyes when I finish with, “I’m not Camilla.”

  “No, you’re not.” The grip around my wrist loosens as he looms closer. “You’re so much fucking worse.”

  Those words should hurt, but they don’t. It means I meant something to him and my actions had the capacity of hurting. That maybe, after all this time, I finally know what feelings lie underneath him for me.

  My lips curl into a mocking smile. “Aw, don’t you start lying to me now.” My mouth then sets in a fine line. “You know you still wanna fuck me.”

  “Do I?” Bishop perks an interested brow. “Watch me walk away from you.”

  He releases me, leaving me suddenly cold but able to breathe again. When he gets off the bed, the nagging guilt strikes again because he deserves the answer to his question.

  He warrants them all and then some after what I put him through for over a solid month of believing I was dead.

  Sitting up, I watch him look out my grimy window that leads out to the cracked cement road outside. His shoulders are tense from being so stressed from everything that’s transpired, and I’m only causing more to it.

  “We’re still married,” I reveal, trying to mentally prepare myself for his next shitty comment. I pull my white comforter over my legs to keep me warm. “I never filed the divorce papers.”

  “Why?” He doesn’t turn around. Maybe it’s easier for him not to look at me when I’m a living reminder of all the many things I did. Perhaps it’s because us still being married means something more than just a drunken night in Vegas.

  “Because—“ I stretch my jaw against my fear of him rejecting me and clasp my hands tightly together. “—I couldn’t do it. I had them…and I just didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready for us to end.”

  “With another man’s children.” He props his body by his forearm along the glass, peering down at the street. “You’re either some sort of fucked up, Emmy, or you have more secrets.”

  “I think we both do.” He stays quiet, so I continue to do what I do best. I run my mouth. “I’ve loved you forever. I hoped that you’d one day feel the same for me, but you never gave me an inkling other than you liked to fuck me. You did small things, Bishop, but those three words set a whole other level to a woman. They make everything around her true. They shift her world and feel naively and stupidly safe in the relationship. I pushed and prodded, I practically begged you to open up to me, but I found your past…and I understood why. And I hated her for it. While, still then, I had hope. Then I got pregnant, we fought, I hoped and prayed the twins were yours, but why would I? If I had any luck, it’d kill me.” I snort at the irony. “So I killed myself.”

  “Making a lot of bad choices,” he conveys. “Especially when you agreed to marry me.” He pushes off the window and pivots to my bedroom door. “Ledger is pissed. He wants a meeting with you at noon. Be at the office.”

  Without even a glance, he leaves me the space, and an empty pang in my stomach begins to throb.

  I said what I had to say and I don’t regret it—I can't. It’s time to turn a new chapter and be fearless.

  I have to be.

  I’m the mother of two babies who need me and I need them more than anything.

  Raking my hands through my hair, I’m already cringing at how I’m going to meet with Ledger and how disappointed he’s going to look at me.

  I can’t even fathom the things he’s going to say but I know I’m going to feel more regretful and damning than when I walked in.

  I jump out of bed and stride to my kitchen, needing to keep my strength up for the next coming days because they’re gonna suck.

  And I know Kyson is going to be there too to add on to the level of how much of a shithead I am.

  A hand shoots out before I can even round the corner to the fridge and yanks me forward before slamming my spine into the refrigerator.

  “You’re right, Emmy,” Bishop snarls above me, palming my ass then lifting me up in the air. “I do still wanna fuck you.”

  His lips crash unforgivably into mine, knocking my skull into the freezer door on the way up his body, but I don’t give a shit.

  This might be a coping mechanism for him to get past this trial of events, but if it’s this, I’ll endure it. Even if he truly wishes to be away from me and have nothing to do with our marriage.

  Bishop bites punishingly down on my lower lip, causing me to gasp in surprise rather than pain. I can feel the marks from his teeth, and I break from the kiss, sucking in my injured flesh to soothe it away.

  “Open up for me,” Bishop coos with venom spiked in his tone. His large palm cups my left cheek as he presses his forehead into mine. “You just did a moment ago.”

  I release my lip and B
ishop delves in for another kiss. His tongue swipes along the seam of my mouth, demanding access because, even though this is gentle, it’s the calm before the storm. It’s where he’s slowly working into unleashing every bit of fury in me.

  To literally let me have it.

  My legs wrap around his hips and he spreads my ass as I’m more firmly sandwiched between the hard surface of the fridge and his frame.

  With my fingers laced through his hair, I return his kiss with every second I was away from him. I don’t think it’s possible for me to show him, with our mouths molded perfectly together, that I couldn’t be more sorry than I am. That I screwed everything up, and maybe I’m the whole problem Bishop and I never worked.

  Maybe I should’ve left him all along after all. He wasn’t ready to be sliced open and dissected by what I needed in a relationship. I practically forced myself into his life.

  Bishop opens my mouth wider with his, tasting every bit of me as we tangle with lips and tongue. I must have a mini-breakdown because a broken sob escapes my throat and is swallowed by him.

  “I’m sorry,” I confess, tightening my hold on his hair. “I missed you…so much.” He seeks more of my not talking as our lips meet again and Bishop attempts to lose himself again in a kiss.

  Me, on the other hand, I can’t stop telling him that I don’t take this lightly. That I heard and saw what he did when he was gone. That he held my daughter and spoke to her.

  “You’ll never forgive me,” I continue. “But I—“

  “You wanna make it up to me?” he growls. “Get on your knees because I can’t think of another way to shut you the fuck up.”

  We stare at each other and he’s dead serious.

  I shake my head and loosen my thighs around his body as he slowly lets my feet hit the chipped tiled floors. “No.”

  “No?” His palms fall to my shoulders as he forces me to the floor and onto my knees. “This is what happens when you don’t live in a safe place.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You’re gonna.” He undoes his jeans and removes his hard dick from his boxer briefs.

  My mouth waters. He’s pissed and it’s normal for me. However, I love bringing him to a weak spot with my lips wrapped around his length and my name off his lips.