by Tijan
“She ran with quite a crowd,” I comment as I sift through the papers, reading one charge after the next and notes about the men they each were associated with. Men I don’t trust or like.
“You could say that. It was all recent though. She only came into the scene this past year,” Seth comments and leans back in his seat. The leather protests as he does. “College grad who struggled to keep a job after school. Taking one after the next. All had nothing to do with her degree.”
“Quit or fired?”
“She quit them all. Everyone I talked to said they loved her, but they knew she wasn’t going to stay long. It wasn’t interesting enough for her,” he says but forms air quotes around the word “interesting.”
“You think that’s why she quit them? Boredom?”
“I’m guessing she just needed to pay her bills.” He shrugs. “From what I gather she was eccentric and wanted to solve the world’s problems. The last job she had was working at The Bistro across the turnpike.”
That particular information catches my attention and I look up from the papers to see Seth nodding. “Romano’s place?”
“The one and only.”
Just hearing that name makes me grit my teeth. “He’s a dead man.” My throat tightens as I speak. All I can see when I hear the word Romano is the picture of Tyler, dead on the wet asphalt; the water soaked into my hoodie he wore that day.
It was supposed to be me.
“Damn right,” Seth says and I check my composure. Refusing to let that fuck get in the way of this conversation.
“So, The Bistro,” I say to push Seth to continue the conversation, picking at the pages in the folder, and trying to rid my mind of the sight of Tyler. He was a good kid. That’s the worst part. No one really deserves to die, but if anyone in this world could have been spared, it should have been him.
Tossing the folders down onto the desk, I lean back, letting the information sink in. “So she’s got debt from college, can’t get the right job yet so she’s bouncing around to pay the bills. She lands a job at The Bistro and something there’s leading these girls down a dark path.
“We have eyes down there; what’d they say?” My voice rises on its own, demanding information.
Seth winces slightly before telling me, “You aren’t going to like this.”
“Don’t be a little bitch,” I tell him, losing my patience.
“They said she was there and gone. She was friendly and nice, but then up and quit. Miranda was working there at the same time and quit with her. No reason. She didn’t stand out and nothing did about the two of them leaving. Just two open waitress spots to fill when they left.”
“So they’ve got nothing?” I ask as my heart rate rapidly increases and the blood rushes in my ears. “We have a group of women,” I enunciate each word and Seth takes the opportunity to butt in.
“Two of them working there at the same time and quitting at the same time,” he adds and I meet his gaze, daring him to interrupt me again.
“A group of women with no prior history of any of this bullshit, getting hooked on some shit, all of them racking up charges in the past year and some of them stepping foot into my club. And you’re telling me the boys we’re paying to watch that shithole have no fucking idea what happened, or who influenced this shit?” I slam the bottom of my oxfords again on the inside of my walnut desk, kicking it as hard as I can on impulse. Needing to get out the rage. My muscles are tense, my body’s hot and I need to beat the shit out of something.
I have no fucking impulse control, no restraint today. Not a damn thing keeping me under control.
Moving my chair back into place, I set my elbows on my desk, lower my head and smooth my hand over the back of my neck.
“I’m losing my patience,” I tell him. Staring at my desk, I admit the obvious. “I don’t like not having answers when I want them. She’s one girl. A girl we’ve seen; a girl we’ve watched before. We should know who the fuck killed her and why.”
Seth grips the armrest, looking away from me, toward the blood-red leather walls that line the room.
“It’s like someone’s hiding it,” Seth speaks quickly.
“Hiding?”
“I can’t find a damn thing on her after she started working there other than what we had already with the sweets,” he says, and his frustration grows with each word.
“We know she was buying our shit in bulk, high on what was obviously coke. She gave the name of a fake brother when we questioned her, that was early December. Then there’s not a trace of her.”
“She ever come back after that night?” I ask him. I remember that night. Carter came down here, looking for answers about his drug. It hardly sold shit, it’s something that puts you to sleep. We only push it on addicts that can’t handle any more. It knocks their asses out as they go through withdrawal. They always come back though, but never for the sweets.
Not until recently.
“No. She never came back and the demand for the sweets dropped simultaneously.”
“She was buying for someone,” I remark. “Someone who backed off when they found out we were onto them…. maybe that’s who did this? He wanted her silenced so there were no loose threads?”
“It’s not Romano, we have ears on him, we would know. I’ve been through every fucking recording from December twenty-seventh to the fucking week she was discovered. He didn’t say a word about it. I don’t think she’s on his radar.”
“So it’s just a fucking coincidence that all her shit starts going downhill when she starts working for him?” I raise my finger, feeling the lines in my forehead deepen with anger.
“He got her hooked; I think he did. Or someone there did. I think that’s when it started, but her dying… whoever it was, they got to her at his place, and Romano doesn’t know about it or even realize someone’s taking those girls from him.”
The pieces of the puzzle fall slowly into place, giving me the rough edges of a watered-down image someone doesn’t want me to see.
“It would be easy if it was Romano; he’s already a dead man.”
“As soon as this new cop is off our fucking backs, he’s dead,” I tell him, opening up the folder again to see Jennifer’s profile on top and Beth’s name listed as her only living relative staring back at me in black and white. “If Officer Cody Walsh doesn’t watch his step,” I say and lift my gaze from Beth’s name, where the tips of my fingers still linger to tell Seth, “he’s a dead man too.”
Bethany
The Coverless Book
Third Chapter
I'm pretending not to be tired. Like the weight and pull of sleep isn't a constant battle tonight. Every day after seeing the doctor, it's like this. Well, every day for the past five years except today. Today will be the exception, because of Jake. He makes me smile, and just smiling reminds me I still have so much left in me.
"I'm really happy you do this for me," I tell Jake, pulling the blanket around my shoulders a little tighter. We're having a picnic in the backyard overlooking the hill. The spring air brings a strong scent of lilac and I breathe it in. As much as I can, and for as long as I can.
This is what living feels like.
"The soups were perfect," he comments and adds, "I didn't know it'd get this cold at night."
"The summer nights are warmer," I tell him easily and then feel embarrassed. Of course they are, I think inwardly and my stomach stirs with nerves.
"We'll have to do it again in summer then."
The nerves turn to something else and they spread higher up to my chest at Jake's words.
"I'd really like that." I almost whisper the words and then have to clear my throat. As he picks two blades of glass, no doubt to whistle with them again like he showed me earlier, I take a chance.
"Maybe even before summer?" I ask him and lean close to nudge his shoulder with mine. Just a nudge, then I sit back upright, but he's quick to nudge mine against his.
"Definitely before summer too."
"Are you really sick? Like... like, sick sick?" Jake's question pulls the smile from my face in a single swoop. And the nerves settle back in my stomach. I pick two blades of grass, thinking maybe I could whistle too. But instead I let them fall, and the wind takes them.
"The doctor said I was sick years ago..." Instead of letting any bit show of what I felt that day Mama cried and cried in the car, I actually let out a small laugh. It's only a huff of laughter. Even though I'd like to pretend I'm not affected by the pain of the memory, my eyes gloss over.
"Why are you laughing?" Jake sounds truly concerned, and I'm quick to put a reassuring hand over his. That small moves changes everything. The electric spark, the sudden heat. I'm quick to take my hand back.
"Sorry, it's just a little joke I tell myself," I explain, shaking off both the memories and the touch with a quick sip of water.
"What do you tell yourself?" he asks skeptically as I set the cup down. I can't take my hand off of it as I nervously peek at him and answer, "That I'm invincible."
His smirk is slow to form, but it grows quickly, turning into a grin. "I like that."
His smile is contagious, and I find myself telling him, "I like that you like it."
I'm still biting down on my bottom lip and hoping I'm not blushing too hard when he looks me in the eyes and responds, "I like you, Emmy. I think I more than like you."
Three days came and went. I got lost in the pages of The Coverless Book, falling in love with both Emmy and Jake, rooting for them as he fell in love with her and she with him. I spent all of yesterday checking in with my patients at work before Aiden told me that wasn’t what my leave was for. I spent every waking hour trying to occupy my thoughts and time. All so I wouldn’t think about Jase Cross or my sister, and every moment in the months that I lost her.
Every moment I wish I could have changed.
Between the two, I thought about Jase the most. Because it felt better to think of him than her. Choosing pleasure over pain.
Three days went by, and I thought of him every morning and every night. I started to think I’d made it all up because I didn’t hear from him, not one word. Not until this afternoon when I got a text from a number I didn’t know, giving me an address signed with “J.” Followed shortly by the number of hours we’d already spent together. Eleven. I imagine he must’ve included the time he was in bed with me. One hundred dollars every ten minutes, six hundred dollars an hour, so I’ve barely made a dent in the time I owe him.
And I haven’t gotten anywhere. I have no new information that sheds light onto what happened to Jenny. He says he didn’t do it; I already knew The Red Room was a place for drug deals and a criminal hangout.
Nothing new. Time is stagnant and I can’t hold on much longer. I can’t rely on someone who isn’t coming through.
I made it down the long winding path around the massive estate and parked in the back where Jase told me to; I made it all that way without breathing.
Maybe that’s why I feel faint as I shut my car door, the thud echoing in the depths of the thick forest I stared into only days ago. The dark greens are covered by a slight dusting of white as the snow falls gently, creeping into the crevices of everything.
Pulling my scarf a bit tighter, I take the steps one by one to the front door.
Answers. I will get answers. Even if it’s only one question at a time. He has to know something.
The bite from the wind creeps up quickly as I raise my fist to knock on the door, only to hear a beep and a click before I even touch it. Someone else grants me entry. He already knows I’m here.
Warily, I push the large, carved wooden door open, and it glides easily with the softest of pushes.
Thump. My heart slams as I remember the last time I gazed at this wood, but the engravings were upside down as I dangled from Jase’s shoulder.
It’s only been days, but it feels like everything’s changed.
The massive foyer greets me with warmth, but not much else. The lighting of the wrought iron chandelier reflects on the shiny marble floor, radiating wealth with the spiral staircase, but that’s all this room contains. It’s empty and even in the warmth, even coming in from the blustery weather, it’s cold in here.
Click.
The door shuts behind me, and the small sound startles me. My quick gasp echoes in the room.
Clenching my fists, I inwardly scold myself. Pull it together.
He’s only a man. A man with answers. A man who will bring me justice. Justice Jenny deserves.
A man who is not here. I have no idea where he is. But I’m alone in the foyer.
My lips purse as I breathe out, letting my heavy bag drop to the floor. It’s topped with the weighted blanket Jase left.
My gaze moves from window to window, to the heavy front door.
I can’t help but to test Jase’s statement. That the doors are locked on the inside and there’s no way out. Something about Jase makes me feel like he wouldn’t lie. Like he doesn’t make threats, only promises of what’s to come.
I think it’s the severity of his presence. The confidence in his banter. Everything is always just so with him. It’s how he wants it to be, and everything is exactly that. How he wants.
It’s the impression he gives me and that impression is why I pull off my gloves and shove them in my coat pocket. Gripping the knob with both hands, I turn and pull. I yank it harder when it doesn’t give, feeling the stretch in my arms from tugging on an unmoving door.
Huffing the stray hair out of my face, I glance up at a small black square, smaller than the size of a sheet of notebook paper. It’s digital. Whatever lock he uses, it’s digital.
“Fingerprints and hand scans,” Jase’s voice bellows from the empty hall behind me, forcing me to whip around to face him, my hand on my chest. “That sort of thing,” he adds, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Jesus fuck,” I gasp with contempt. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
My heart thumps a yes, my core clenches with affirmation and my gaze drifts down his body, agreeing with the two of them.
He’s not wearing a suit today. And he looks damn good in his perfectly fitted suits. In jeans and a t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, showing off those corded muscles in his arms… he’s doing that shit on purpose.
Swallowing down my heart, I try to relax again. “Just testing what you said…” My explanation dies in the air as he stalks closer to me with powerful strides and in a dominating way that almost has me stepping back, bumping my ass into the door. Almost, but I hold my ground.
“Well then, I’m relieved you weren’t leaving already,” he comments, the words spoken lowly as he stops right in front of me.
The air between us crackles like a roaring fire.
How does he do this to me?
“I like it better when you’re an asshole,” I speak without thinking. I’m rewarded with a charming smile, and a deep rough chuckle.
“I’ll remember that, cailín tine.” Holding out his hand, he commands me, “Come.”
As I reach for my purse, Jase leans down, grabbing the handle before I can. His blanket is in plain sight on top and before I can speak, he comments, “You could have kept it with you; it may help you sleep.”
One step in front of the other I follow him, with only the sounds of our footsteps keeping us company while I try not to think too much about what he said and why.
He doesn’t care about my sleep.
He doesn’t care about how I’m feeling.
He wants to get his dick wet. He wants to tie me up and do with me what he wishes.
All of this is simply to keep me amenable.
Jase Cross may have the upper hand, but I’m doing this for me.
The echoes of my footsteps get louder in the narrow corridor as I think, I’m doing this for Jenny.
One step, one beat of m
y heart, one tick of the clock.
I have my questions lined up in a pretty row. Without warning, Jase halts and unlocks a door, but how? I don’t know. It simply clicks the moment he stops in front of it and with a flick of the handle, it opens.
I’ve never seen wealth like this before. And I imagine it shows in my expression, judging by the smug look on Jase’s face when he opens the door wider and says, “After you.”
“Where would you like me?” I ask him the moment he opens the door and I step in before taking a look. “Oh,” I murmur, and the word leaves my lips without my conscious consent.
The click of the door closing behind me is followed by a dull thud of a lock, some sort of lock, moving into place.
My belly flips in a way I don’t understand. Almost like when you’re driving down a hill too fast, or on a roller coaster. The anticipation of the fall, the sudden drop of reality making your stomach somersault.
As I spot the table in the middle of the room, that’s exactly what I feel. Followed by the same exact cold prickling I remember so well from three nights ago traveling along my skin.
“What do you think?” Jase asks me, and at the same time he reaches up to my shoulders to take my coat. I anticipate the feel of his fingers trailing along my skin as he does, but he’s careful not to touch me. I think he does it on purpose.
I think he does more things with intent than I first realized.
“It’s not at all like your foyer,” I comment and then drag my eyes back to the wooden bench in the middle of the room. It’s at odds with the large plush carpet that takes up most of the space. I have to look out further to the edge to note that under it is a barn wood floor, or something like it. A darker wood, with wide planks. The cream rug is the brightest thing in here, and thank goodness it’s large. Even with the three chandeliers at varying heights with a mix of iron and wood, the room has a soft, airy feeling. Dim and romantic even.
