I just gape at him.
“Oh darling, haven’t you realized that the Ubelis are the real power in this city? Metropolis, too.”
I look around uncertainly, not wanting to gossip about my friends. “But aren’t they sort of…I mean I’ve heard rumors that… Aren’t they sometimes involved in some criminal things… Occasionally, I mean?”
Armand laughs out loud, a full-bodied chuckle. It goes on for several minutes and he’s wiping his eyes by the end.
“Cora would die laughing if she heard that description of their businesses.”
“Oh please don’t tell her. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to malign—”
But Armand just sits beside me on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. “I’ll let you in on a family secret. I think you’ve earned it. Cora and Marcus are the criminal underworld, darling. And they aren’t ashamed of it. They’re on the side of the people. On the side of good,” he says earnestly in the way only a true friend can.
“They know that if they are running it, the whole world is a lot safer than if the truly evil fucks had their hands on the pulse.”
Finally, his jovial expression collapses. “Like those dick-faced cunts at the Metro police that Archer has bought out. Nobody likes a sellout, least of all the Ubelis.”
He talks about them like they’re all-powerful. “So can they help Logan?”
His lips tighten into a hard line. “Archer’s not a complete idiot. He knows aligning himself against you and Logan means making an enemy of them. But there’s plenty in this city who think it’s time the reign of the Ubelis came to an end and are willing to back him. With his money and his name and frankly his boy-next-door good looks—”
I slam my hands down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “That’s such bullshit! He’s a monster on the inside and Logan is so wonderf—”
Armand takes my hands in his and looks at me gently, his eyes full of compassion. “I know. I know. We’ll find a way out for him. This isn’t the end. I promise. All I’m trying to say is you have friends in high places. And we’ll do everything in our power to help.”
But all I hear is what he isn’t saying. He isn’t saying he has a direct way to help. He isn’t saying they can get Logan out now. All he has are wishes and half-promises. And I appreciate where he’s coming from, I really do. Everyone wants to help.
But it doesn’t mean they can.
I stand on wobbly legs. “Thanks for coming by, Armand. It really means a lot.”
Armand stands and hugs me, but as he does, his hands pat down my back, especially around my shoulder blades. “Are you getting enough to eat? Taking care of yourself?”
He pulls back and holds me by my shoulders, inspecting my face even as I roll my eyes.
“I’m fine, I swear.” It’s mostly true. I’m mostly remembering to eat.
Armand gives my shoulders a slight squeeze. “You have to stay strong for him. Otherwise he’ll go crazy. The only thing keeping him sane is knowing that we’re out here looking out for you.”
I roll my eyes again, because that’s so Logan. Worrying about me when he’s the one stuck in an insane asylum.
I walk him to the front door. “How about this? I promise to go eat the biggest lunch possible, and you promise to keep working every connection you have to get Logan out. Deal?”
Armand watches me with that all-too-assessing gaze for another half a minute, then he nods. “Deal."
I wave at him from the doorway before deciding to make good on my promise and head for the kitchen.
I’m opening the refrigerator door to see if anything is left inside or if I need to order more groceries, when a movement catches my eye in my periphery.
I yelp and slam the refrigerator shut when I realize that the movement is a person.
A stranger. In my house. In my kitchen. With me. While I am alone.
“Who are you?” I shout even as I reach in my pocket for my phone. Where the hell is my phone? Were they here the whole time Armand was? Why didn’t the security alarm go off if they broke in?
The person is short and their back is to me. They’re wearing a hoodie and I can’t even tell if it’s a man or woman, or maybe a teenager, they’re so slight. Maybe 110 pounds soaking wet.
Not that I’m taking any chances. I start backing away, my hand scrambling on the counter for anything to protect myself. Naturally, the block of knives is on the opposite counter, closer to my intruder.
My hands close around a rolling pin just as the stranger turns my way.
My fingers lose their grasp and the rolling pin topples to the ground with a loud clatter as I whisper, “Rachel?”
Eighteen
Logan
I’m early to the lab today and haven’t had enough caffeine yet. Without thinking, I scrub a hand down my face, then jerk back when I accidentally touch my cheek where Adam decked me last night.
I still can’t believe that Dr. Laurel didn’t listen to me when I went to his office afterwards to tell him about Adam’s schemes. Then again, he’s grief stricken. Maybe if I try again today, when he’s in a better frame of mind…
I go to the wall and unlatch the sterile equipment cabinet, pulling out the goggles with my name on them. We all started labeling our equipment after some pieces started going missing last year. Now we sign everything in and out.
I ran a group of experiments overnight and I’m eager to look at the slides. So I tug the goggles into position and start on my work, bent over my microscope.
Everything’s normal at first. Business as usual.
Until it’s not.
It starts as an itch.
And then becomes an uncomfortable tingling.
I ignore it. I have work to do. And I’m hoping Daphne will come in at lunch. If I finish up all the slides, then maybe I can sneak her out of here and we can go to Giuseppe’s for pizza and—
The tingling becomes a burning and I push my rolling chair back from the microscope, yanking off my goggles and blinking hard.
What the hell?
I lift my hand to my face but stop just before making contact. Instead, I hurry to the bathroom, shouldering past someone on their way out.
“Hey man, watch out!”
I ignore him and make my way to the mirror, shoving my face towards the glass. It doesn’t look that bad. There was only the smallest incision from where Adams class ring caught my cheek last night when he punched me, but now the whole area is puffy and red.
But then, as I watch, red vein-like spindles begin to spider outwards. Down my cheek. Up towards my left eye.
I stumble back from the mirror, grunting in shocked surprise.
But it’s not stopping.
It only accelerates as I watch.
I reach my phone to call 911 but by the time I’ve dialed, the mirror is already revealing a monster.
The infection or whatever it is, is spreading like spilled ink through the veins of my face. And I’m being lit on fire from within. Hellfire. Burning me alive from the inside out.
I vaguely hear the 911 operator over the phone I dropped to the floor but I’m too busy screaming to answer. Without thinking, I raise my hands to my face but as soon as I make contact, the infection spreads to my fingers.
I burst out of the bathroom looking for somebody, anybody to help. But the first person to see me, Sandra from research and development, screams and drops the files she’s holding.
“Help,” I try to say, but my throat is burning.
I collapse to my knees and that’s when I realize I’m dying.
A slow clap comes from the corner. I lift my face, that now feels like an inferno, just in time to make out Adam’s satisfied smirk as he stands and claps, as if me dying in front of him is some sort of performance art.
I lunge for him but someone else catches me in their arms.
“Logan!” Daphne tries to catch me, but I’m too heavy, and we both topple to the ground.
No! The only possi
ble thing that could have made this worse is having her witness it. But I’m wrong, so wrong. There is something worse.
Because when I finally managed to pull myself off of Daphne, I see her looking at her own hands in confusion. Seconds before they too begin to redden and then start to disintegrate before my very eyes.
Her ear splitting scream of terror and confusion is the last thing I hear before—
My eyes shoot open and I bolt upright. Or at least I try to.
I barely make it an inch before the restraints strapped around my body on all sides keep me in place.
Because I’m strapped down to a fucking hospital bed. And this isn’t a kinky game of power exchange with my Daphne.
I don’t know where I am but I know I don’t want to be here.
Especially when the door opens and an orderly pops his head in. Then I hear a whispered exchange.
“It’s your turn. I don’t want to have to deal with that crazy fucker again today. Did you see what they’re giving him in his drug cocktail? They should be sedating him but instead they are giving him—” he mentions some drug I’m not familiar with. I guess the other nurse isn’t either, because then he clarifies, “It’s basically LSD. I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking. That shit’s just going to wind him up and make him twice as crazy while he’s all strapped up like that.”
“But we get hazard pay and a half,” says another male voice. “And I got bills to pay.”
“Yeah, I guess,” the other guy mutters, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “Don’t know what good that’s going to do me if I got a broken neck. You see Nick? That guy’s a giant, right? But even Nick got two of his teeth knocked out bringing this guy in.”
My own teeth grate as I strain against the restraints, looking for any weakness I might exploit. But there’s so many damn straps up and down my arms and legs, even if I got one free, how the hell am I going to get out of the rest?
Because I have to get back to Daphne. Fuck. Daphne. She can’t handle this kind of stress right now. It’s literally one of the worst things for someone in her condition. How long have I been here? How long since the…the wedding?
My hands fist. I am going to fucking kill Adam Archer for ruining that moment for Daphne. The memory of him clapping while I disintegrate from flesh-eating bacteria in front of him… Bile burns up my throat.
Of course, that’s not exactly how that day went down. I went to the bathroom, saw the redness and swelling, and a couple hours later when the stinging continued, I went to the doctor. And after some tests came back, was immediately admitted to the ICU.
I could never prove it, but I don’t doubt it was Adam who ordered the infectious sample from the CDC. Adam who put it on my goggles. Adam who tried to murder me in one of the most horrific ways possible.
And now I’m here for the exact same reason. Adam fucking Archer, taking another swing at me.
As my fury builds, my vision begins to blur. There’s a high, slim horizontal window at the top of the wall, and the light begins to shimmer and twist. I blink hard, but the light still dances. I glance around and for the first time notice that the walls aren’t that steady either. Everything is swaying slightly.
Fuck, what drugs are they shoving into me without my consent?
Which is when I look down my body and notice the IV stuck in my arm. Shit, they’re still actively pumping poison into me.
Get it out. Get it the hell out!
As I watch, the line of the IV starts to undulate like a snake, burrowing into my skin. I twist and scratch, but I’m bound too tightly. I can’t get to it to yank it out.
“Help!” I scream as the poison spreads. “Get it out!”
But no one comes. No one ever comes to help.
And then there are a thousand snakes, all skittering through my veins, poison, poison. They’ll burn me. They’ll chew on me and burn me, eating me alive from the inside out.
I scream and scream, until my voice is hoarse, until I have no more voice, but no one ever comes to save me.
Nineteen
Daphne
Rachel shoves down the hoodie of her sweatshirt and holds up her hands. “It’s me.”
Like that’s supposed to make me feel better about the situation.
Her normally perfectly styled blonde hair is loose around her face, with dark roots showing. She’s in yoga pants and a baggy, shapeless sweater. There are dark craters under her eyes. She looks fragile, but all the more beautiful for it.
Of course she’s the one woman who looks amazing even when she’s a wreck. I brush crumbs off my lap from the teacakes with Armand, and tug up the sleeve of my boat neck sweater, which has fallen off my shoulder. I look like seven types of shit.
“Daphne, I am so, so, so sorry.” She’s stopped a few feet away from me, wringing her hands.
I scoff. Does she really expect me to believe that? Especially after she just broke into my house, on top of everything else?
“Adam blackmailed me,” she blurts. “I didn’t want to help him with any of it.”
“What?”
“He’s had dirt on me a long time. I know you’re mad, and you have a right to be. But I can explain.” Her eyes drop to the floor in shame. “A few years ago, remember when my dad needed surgery?”
In spite of myself, my heart tugs. “Rachel, I told you I could help you out, no strings attached.”
When she looks up, a tear is streaking down her cheek. “I was too proud. I thought I could fix it on my own.”
“How?”
She swipes angrily at her tears and swallows hard.
“Belladonna has an annual slush fund for company parties. It’s stupid and nonessential and no one ever usually checks the balance but me since I’m the chair of the committee. I just needed $2000 to pay off the hospital so they wouldn’t foreclose on Dad’s house. I knew I could pay it back as soon as I got my tax refund. And I did. In full. The money was only missing a few weeks. It seemed harmless.”
My thoughts are on a merry-go-round. I was barely able to sleep last night after they took Logan away, but that reminds me—
“You drugged me.” The betrayal still cuts deep.
“Not me. Adam.” Her voice is desperate. “Look, I know you won’t believe me. I can only imagine what he’s told you—”
“That you instigated the whole thing so you could sell my pictures to the Inquirer.”
“What?” she rage screeches. I flinch. “Sorry,” she drops her voice, still fuming. “I can’t believe he accused me. That lying...cheating…”
“Douche canoe?”
“The douchiest!” She throws her hands up in the air. I shouldn’t laugh, but it’s amazing seeing Rachel like this. Her hair’s mussed and her cheeks are red with rage. It’s a good look for her.
I want to throw my arms around her. I miss my best friend so badly. But my naïveté has cost me too much, too many times.
So I hold myself back and gesture at the kitchen table. I sit at the opposite side and fold my hands together. “So what happened then?”
She nods, swallowing hard again, and returns to her story. “It should have been harmless. But somebody did notice the money was missing.”
“Adam,” I say.
Furtively, she looks my way and nods.
“Adam,” she agrees. “I didn’t even know Archer Industries had access to our books until he showed up in my office one day looking for answers. We weren’t officially affiliated with them back then.”
I know the answer to that. Dad. No doubt Adam made the request, framing it in such a way as if he was looking out for my dad’s interests… When all along it was just another lever of control for Adam, always on the hunt for any weakness.
And he found one in Rachel.
Rachel’s eyes are back on the table. “At first it wasn’t anything big. He just said I might owe him a favor in the future. Then sometimes he’d show up at my apartment in the middle of the night and I got the idea it was in my best interests
not to say no.” The last part comes out as a whisper.
“Back then I was still trying to pretend that I was into it. He was hot and New Olympus’ Most Eligible Bachelor three years running…”
She sucks in a deep breath. “But then he started dating you.” Her eyes dart up to meet mine and then away again. “He said I should encourage it. When I balked, that’s when he started to hold the missing money over me. And it only got worse from there.”
Her hands shoot across the table and grasp mine. I jump in surprise but she doesn’t let go. “But I swear, I never drugged you. I didn’t know, that night at his apartment. I swear I didn’t know what he was doing. And I didn’t let him touch you. I swear, Daphne. You have to believe me. I distracted him the whole night. He was determined to take those damn pictures, but he didn’t touch you.”
Her impassioned plea and the tears shining in her eyes— Either she’s the best damn actress I’ve ever witnessed in my life or…
I shove out of my chair and move as quickly as my tired body can take me, then I throw my arms around my best friend.
She hugs me back just as fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeats over and over, eventually shaking and sobbing in my arms.
“It’s okay,” I find myself laughing and soothing her, patting her back. “We were both taken advantage of by The Douchiest Douche.”
But when she pulls back, she’s shaking her head. “He’s more than that. He’s evil. And I didn’t just come here to apologize.”
That’s when she starts to pull folders out of a backpack I didn’t even notice she’d brought in. “I came here so that we could take that bastard down. I’m not the only one he’s tried to blackmail. And I’ve got proof.”
* * *
With Armand and Cora’s help, it takes about four hours to put together the press conference.
Armand himself came to style Rachel and get her camera ready. She’s shaking while several news teams set up the lighting and cameras.
Beauty and the Rose: a Beauty and the Rose Novel Page 10
