by Rachel Leigh
“It’s the only way.” Axel steps in, agreeing with his dad.
“This is the one and only shot we have at taking this man down. The DEA has been after Malcolm for years. We might not be able to catch him in the act of one of his more serious crimes, but if we can get him behind bars, they will take care of making other charges stick.”
“Let’s say that I agree to this. What would I need to do?”
“Prove that he uses the alias of Nick Rooney. Once we have that, we hand it over to the feds, and he’s arrested for running an illegal fight club, conspiracy, and being an accomplice to attempted murder. Those charges alone will give him a good ten years, but that’ll just be the beginning,” Anderson says, as shuffles through some papers on his desk, pulling one out and handing it to me. “Malcolm and his crew have been on my ass for years. These,” he taps the paper in my hand, “are the known aliases of him and some of the others that I’m aware of. Nick Rooney was added last night.”
I shake my head, disappointed with myself. “I should have known about all of this.”
“There was no way you could have. Malcolm is very secretive about his work. I’m surprised he let you in on as much as he has.”
“He didn’t until we married, and that’s because he knew I couldn’t testify against him.” I don’t mention the other reasons. Not only do I have information on Malcolm, but he also has some on me, too. By doing this, I am risking the possibility of him turning me in, but it's a risk I’m willing to take. What I did was in self-defense. For years, I was manipulated and fed from the hand of a monster. I don’t think there is a judge in the world who would blame me for what I had to do.
“Here’s the plan. Tomorrow, you go back to the house and casually act as if you are collecting your things. Don’t be obvious. Let him think you have every intention of leaving. Then, let him think he’s got you wrapped around his finger. In reality, it will be the other way around. Once you have it, text me from this phone.” Anderson pulls a black iPhone from his desk drawer and hands it to me. “Code word, stop. If by chance he sees it, he won’t suspect anything. The number to my dummy phone will be stored as Robin.”
All of a sudden, Axel’s eyes shoot up from his phone he was nose deep in. He doesn’t say anything, but I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am.
He’s still in love with her. Even after her affair—she took his heart to her grave.
“Ok. One night. If I don’t get what we need, then I’m out. I’ll run again, and I’ll hide where no one can find me, ever,” I say, as I tuck the phone into my purse.
“This is important, do not text me unless you are one-hundred percent sure that you have the proof, because that’s how I’m getting you the hell out of there. I’ll alert the authorities with your location that is tracked through the phone, and they will bring him down.”
“And when things go south and he figures out what I’m up to?” I lift my shoulders in question, because that is a huge possibility. Malcolm is not easily fooled. If he were, he’d would have been locked up years ago.
“Then you run like hell. I’ll have someone watching the house from afar. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Who will be watching? I’ll need to know who I can trust.”
“That would be me.” A voice comes from behind me.
I turn around and throw myself into his arms. “Jorge.”
I woke up this morning at Blakely’s house, and he was gone. I thought he left for good.
“Meet my new head of security,” Anderson says, as he walks over and shakes Jorge’s hand.
It warms my heart that Jorge has found a new place to work in a nice town, with a semi-decent man. I’m not an idiot; I know that Anderson is involved in the same organized crime circles as Malcolm, but I also know that he has a soul, and I can see a glimmer of kindness in his eyes. He’s not a threat to women, and he loves his family fiercely.
“One last thing before I go,” I turn around to face Axel, “I need to see him.”
He sucks in his bottom lip and shakes his head in disappointment. “His mom still won’t allow visitors. She’s, understandably, cautious, after what happened.”
“I didn’t say I want to see him. I said, I need to see him. Please find a way. I can’t do this knowing that it could all go bad, and I’d never see him again. I’m begging you.” I fold my hands in prayer. I’d drop to my knees in front of him, if that’s what it took.
“We will make sure you get in and see him,” Anderson chimes in. “Won’t we, Jorge?”
“You betcha. I’d do anything for my Claire-Bear.” He hooks an arm around my neck. For the first time in a while, I feel like I have protection.
Walking into the hospital, I’m flooded with emotions—the smell all too familiar. The sound of the beeping machines, ringing in my ears, like it was only yesterday. I spent countless days and nights at Mom’s bedside, before she lost her battle at home. Even when she came home, the machines followed her.
I still get that same eerie feeling, whenever I walk through a hospital. So many lost lives in these places, so much bad news given.
“You have to go alone,” Axel tells me, “the nurse will be waiting for you by his door. Room 338.”
I give him a nod and walk down the hallway. Eager, but my steps unhurried. I have no idea what I’m about to walk into. My heart breaks just thinking about Knox being in pain.
I see the nurse standing right next to the door, like Axel said she would be. Anderson was able to make a call and get me into Knox’s room, for that, I’m grateful to him.
“Claire?”
I nod. “Is he awake?”
“He’s in and out, but he is conscious now.” She glances up and down the hall, before opening the door. Once I’m in, she closes it behind me. It’s a private room, but the curtain is drawn. I take a deep breath, before walking around it. When I do, tears instantly stream down my cheeks. Knox lays there with his eyes closed, his face covered in bandages and a white sheet draped up to his neck. An IV drip slowly drops into the tube in his arm. I look at the monitors and see that his heart rate and blood pressure are within normal limits, so he has that going for him.
I wanted to bring flowers, a balloon—something, but there are strict rules that those are not allowed in the ICU.
I walk over to his bedside and place my hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Knox. I’m so sorry.” My chin quivers, and I swallow hard, trying not to cry.
Opening my mouth to speak, I choke on the words. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I don’t know if you can hear me, but—” Before I can finish, his eyes flutter open. “Hey,” I mutter as he looks at me, or through me. I’m not sure if he is even aware of what's going on.
I sit down on the small space on the edge of bed and lean forward, pressing my lips to his battered forehead. “You’re gonna be ok. Everything is going to be ok.”
He doesn’t speak, and I don’t expect him to.
So I talk instead.
“The first time I saw you, I thought, there is another boy who thinks he has the world in the palm of his hands. A kid who does what he wants and doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. I was a hypocrite to judge you.” I pause, looking into his damp eyes, “The truth is, I was that girl who thought she had the world in the palm of her hands, and I’m the one who didn’t give a damn about the consequences, and selfishly, I still am. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about us being together. We broke all the rules, but I’d break them over and over again to feel what I feel now.”
His hand moves slowly under the sheet, until it finds its way to me. I take it in mine, bringing it to my mouth and pressing my lips to it. “Once I saw you, once I really saw you, I saw a man. The kindest, most gentle man with a heart of gold. You once asked me to tell you about my future and what I see—I see you, Knox.” A single tear slides down my face and into our clenched hands.
“I have so much that I need to tell you, and I promise you that I will tell you it
all. I just have to do one more thing. I’m coming back, and this time, I’m staying for good. I’ve waited my whole life for someone like you.”
His mouth opens, as if he’s trying to speak, but nothing comes out. “Shhh,” I tell him, “save your strength. I promise we will have plenty of days together to talk.”
I lay my head down on the sliver of empty space on the bed—taking in the perfect silence.
29
Claire
I pull up to the gated entrance in my trusty old white car. I press my finger to the buzzer. “Good afternoon, Sam.” I speak loud enough so that he can hear me through the speaker.
“Ms. Rossi? Is that you?”
I don’t even answer; I just wait, until the gate is fully opened, and drive down the long-paved driveway of Wallingford Estate. The exquisite design once drew me in; now, I’d rather spend my time in a one-bedroom shack. Beverely Hills doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I’d give up diamonds and designer bags any day to be surrounded by real people, living simple lives.
I pull up to the circle drive, park, and get out immediately. Bert comes rushing out with his lips perched high on his cheeks sporting his big cheesy smile—he thinks I’m home to stay.
“Mrs. Rossi, it’s a pleasure to see you. Shall I park your—” he looks at the car in front of him, “shall I park this?”
“That won’t be necessary, Bert. I’m just collecting my belongings then I’ll be on my way. Thank you, though.” I tip my head graciously. All of the staff here are highly underappreciated. Malcolm and many of the other residents have treated them as if they were born to cater to their every need. I was always the exception. While I didn’t have the best manners, I’ve always treated them with respect.
I tuck my keys into my cross shoulder bag and walk up the stairs to the main entrance. Bert tries to get a couple steps ahead of me to open the door, but I beat him to it.
When I walk into the white room, something feels different. It’s always been quiet here, but it’s an eerie quiet. The sound of footsteps coming down the wooden staircase stops my heart for a second, but it resumes quickly, when I remind myself why I’m doing this.
You can do this.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away.” Malcolm makes a direct line toward me. His white shirt is only buttoned halfway and his tie hangs loosely around his neck.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for my things.” I nudge my shoulder against his, as I make my way past him and up the stairs. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I take a deep breath through my nose.
I’m not surprised in the least when he follows behind me. “Why are you really here? You would never come back to this house for materialistic belongings.”
“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?” I chuckle. It’s a lie. I know it, and he knows it.
“Not in the least.”
“Good.” I reach the top and round the corner, before pushing open the double doors to the master suite. Everything exactly how I left it. I wonder how many women have slept in this bed since my departure. “Where are the others?” I say, as I press the button to open up my private closet.
“There are no others. Everyone is gone.”
I spin around, “Everyone as in—?”
“As in everyone. It’s just me and the staff.” He pulls his tie free and tosses it on the large bed that sits in against the back wall.
“Sounds lonely.” I turn back to the closet and walk in. Remembering the time that Malcolm locked me in here because I wandered away from Jorge on Rodeo Drive. It wasn’t Jorge who I wasn’t trying to get away from; I just wanted some freedom for a bit. I was always searching for ways to get it. It drove Malcolm crazy, and I loved that.
Since then, I had a button installed on the inside, so that it could never happen again. That same day, I keyed the hell out of his Maserati, just for fun. Malcolm forced me to do things I wasn’t always proud of.
I run my fingers along the silk fabric of my favorite evening gown. Metallic, floral embroidery, a thigh-high slit that made me feel sexy and sleek. One I’ll never have to wear again. Even when I do attend galas or events in the future, I’ll never be able to afford something like this.
Although, the plan isn’t to leave yet. There are some valuables that I will be taking with me when I do—valuables that have no price tag or designer stamp.
I stretch up and pull down a large bag on the shelf above me, sending a pile of shoes crashing to the floor.
“Let me help you.” Malcolm crouches down and picks up a single heeled shoe. He traces his index finger along the three-inch stem, his eyes still on the shoe as he talks. “I remember the night I bought you these.”
I roll my eyes at his attempt to be charming, as I pull down the box of my childhood mementos. That’s Malcolm, always charmer. I will not be fooled this time.
“It was our first wedding anniversary. You had just recovered from the flu. I came home from my trip a day early and presented you with these shoes, white roses, and round-trip tickets to Europe.”
I do remember that day. It was before Malcolm started showing me his true colors. I thought I was in love with him. After that trip, his possessiveness kicked in high gear. I found myself apologizing to him over the smallest things. He made me feel inferior, and I believed that I was.
I zip up the bag once I have everything I need inside and walk past him, as he continues to drool over the ugly shoe. I didn’t even like those shoes, that’s why they were on the back of the shelf.
“Wait,” he blurts out, getting to his feet in the entryway to the closet.
I close my eyes and stop in my tracks.
He walks toward me and runs his hands down my bare arms. “I’ve missed you, Sweetness.”
My stomach churns at the nickname he’s given me. “I’m leaving, Malcolm. My lawyer will be in touch with the divorce papers.”
“Don’t do this to me,” he begs, coming in front of me and dropping to his knees. He takes my hands in his and begins kissing them relentlessly. “I can’t live without you.”
I don’t even look down at him. I hold my focus on the view of the white water outside the open french doors.
“You have other women, you don’t need me.”
I want to leave right now. I want to get the hell out of here and never look back. I can feel the bile rise in my throat. I gulp it down and keep my mind on the plan.
“There are no other women. I told you, I’ve sent them all away.”
“Oh yeah, and how much did you get for them?” I say with a wavering voice, finally looking at him. His eyes look remorseful, but his eyes lie.
“You know I don’t talk business with you. The point is, they are gone. I did it for us. You always frowned upon my work, and I’m ready and willing to give it all up for us.”
“Gee, Malcolm, I wonder why I frowned on it.”
A gentle breeze flurries through the open doors, causing the white curtains to ruffle. I attempt to step away, as if I intend to walk out the door, but he stops me by bracing his hands on my shoulders.
I push him away, abruptly, convincing myself that I can’t do this. Someone else can bring him down. I’ll run away and hide in another country if I have to. I’ll die before I let him sink his claws into me again. I’m not a suicidal person, but if I were forced to live in his chambers or even partake in a life that had me constantly looking over my shoulder, I’d eventually become one.
His words are empty.
I walk out the door and quickly down the steps, heading for the front door. Just as I reach for it, he comes racing behind me, slamming the palm of his hand to it. I could scream for help, but no one would hear me. The only people left are on his payroll.
Even if the girls were still here, the only one who would ever attempt to help me is Lucille. She left last year when I helped her escape. She was so fragile and kindhearted; she didn’t ask for this life.
None of us did.
“Move,” I demand.
“Not u
ntil you hear me out.”
I drop my bag at my feet. ‘Fine, talk and then let me leave.” He extends a hand, but I slap it away swiftly. “Don’t touch me.” My words slither like a snake. “Don’t ever touch me.”
“Fine,” he pulls back, “I won’t touch you. I just want to say that I’m sorry.”
I roll my eyes. “What makes this apology any different from all the last?”
“Let me prove it to you. Stay for lunch. I’ll have cook prepare your favorite Risotto.”
I press my fingers to my temples, rubbing them in a circular motion. I can stay for lunch; hell, I could drug him and just sift through his papers until I find what I need. Or, I can gain his trust and get him to talk. Whatever I decide, it has to be done now. I have to do this for Knox. For my future with Knox.
Thinking of what Malcolm had done to him has me consumed with more anger than I thought possible.
The quick notion that I could just kill him now and be done with it all pops in my head. It’s really not a bad idea. I wouldn’t live with the guilt; although, I could face a lengthy prison sentence. Some may thank me; others may return the favor and take my life as well.
“Ok,” I drop my hands to my side, “one lunch.” I kick my bag to the side of the door. I’ll need that later.
The new housekeeper, who I have no intentions to properly meet, pulls the chair out for me at the nine foot oblong table. A sheer white tablecloth sits on top and a beautiful display of roses, white of course, is placed in the middle of the table. An uncorked bottle of Cristal Brut rests between two champagne flutes. Malcolm has yet to make an appearance, but I’m in no hurry for his company.
Chef makes his way out of the kitchen and places my plate in front of me. “Thank you so much.” I smile kindly, taking my napkin and folding it over my lap. Pretending that all is normal, when normal is foreign to everything about this situation. I tuck the phone that Anderson gave me deeper into my bra, making sure that the hefty shirt I’m wearing hides any evidence of it.
