by Cora Kenborn
Or something like that.
“Another one.” Turning the empty glass upside down, I watch the brown droplets run down the inside of the glass then disappear into the scuffed wood. Gone. Just like that. Like they were never there.
I wonder if that’ll be my legacy. When this is all over, is that all Dominic McCallum will ever be? A drop of whiskey that plummeted inside a glass cage until finally being swallowed into nothingness.
That’s fucking depressing.
“Bartender!” I yell, flicking the glass with my middle finger. “I asked for another one.”
A middle-aged blonde with inflated tits leans across the bar and wrinkles her forehead. Well, she would have if the damn thing wasn’t frozen in a Botox space-time continuum. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, honey?”
Groaning, I scrub my palm down my face. Maybe she’s right. My lips feel numb. Good. Maybe after a few more my whole body will take the hint and fall in line. Is getting drunk the answer to my problems? Probably not. But neither is sitting at home driving myself insane wondering if Barney the Emo Bitch is sitting across from Angel sabotaging the little time I have left with her.
Fuck this.
Tossing more than enough bills on the bar, I stumble toward the door. Once outside, I hail a cab and head home where there’s more than one bottle of whiskey waiting for me.
And every one of them has Alexandra Romanov’s name on it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Angel
“Don’t you have to be on set today or something?”
“Huh?” Glancing up, I pause mid-type and offer a half-hearted smile. “Oh, not today. Unions—got to love them. Even Rosten can’t impose a seven-day work week on us.”
Before she can ask another question, I return to my phone, finish typing, and hit send on the fifth text I’ve sent Dominic in the last three hours.
Where are you? I’m starting to worry.
I stare at it, willing him to answer. Of course, he doesn’t. I called him twice after Violet and I got back home from Amalia, and both times it went straight to voicemail. Between the nightmares and worry, I barely slept anyway, so I started again early this morning with the same result.
It’s not like him, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong.
Feeling Violet’s eyes burning into the side of my face, I lift my coffee mug to my lips and stare out from the balcony. She tried bringing up my relationship with Dominic a few times last night, but I evaded her questions with two bottles of wine.
“How close are you and McCallum?” Swiveling around, she plants her feet in between our chairs. “And no changing the subject this time. I want a straight answer.”
Shit.
I didn’t want to have this conversation without talking to Dominic first, but Violet’s my best friend. She knows me better than anyone. “Pretty close.”
“Are you fucking him?”
“Violet!”
“What?” she asks, landing a hard gaze on me. “It's a valid question. You don’t do dates, or hook-ups or one-nighters, Ang. So, if you let this guy in your pants, it’s not casual.”
I was right. She does know me. Letting Dominic touch me that night at his house was so out of character I swore I’d never do it again. But I did. Over and over until I became addicted. It’s not casual. I don’t think it ever has been.
Flustered, I stare into my coffee. “I feel safe with him, Vi.”
Violet digs her feet into the floor, pushing the chaise back at least a foot. “Oh my God. You’re in love with him.”
My eyes widen. “No, it’s not like—”
“Don’t deny it.” Leaping to her feet, she points a finger at me. “It’s written all over your face with little fucking hearts.” Palming her forehead, she curses while pacing the balcony. “Did you not hear a word I said? Did you have cotton in your ears?”
My eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”
She spins around mid-pace. “I told you before you left to be careful. I warned you that a man who plays people for a living has two faces, and you never see the ugly one until it’s too late. I told you as long as you don’t fall blindly in love with the pretty one you’d be okay.”
Words I repeated to myself over and over…until I forgot them.
“Vi—”
“And what did you do?” Letting out a shrill cackle, she throws her hands in the air. “You shit all over everything I said and fell in love with the pretty face.”
“Stop it!” The outburst comes out of nowhere, and Violet’s eyes widen. “I understand you want to look out for me, but you’re out of line. You’re making generalizations.” I shake my head. “You don’t know him like I do.”
But she doesn’t back down. “You’ve never been one to follow anyone blindly like this. It’s like you’re a little wind-up toy that keeps dancing as long as he turns your crank.”
“Was that meant to be as offensive as it sounded?”
Letting out a long sigh, Violet lowers beside me. I’m about to tell her this conversation is over when she tilts her chin, and I see the ravaged look on her face. “The deal was for you to split the money and cut ties. You get the name and the mansion, and he gets to not be a loser. This was never part of the plan.”
“This was never part of the plan.”
“They were never part of the plan.”
“You were never part of the plan.”
It’s faint at first. The scratching. Like a tree branch grazing a window in a storm. But then it gets louder and louder until it becomes a thousand knives being dragged across asphalt.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
I close my eyes, barely hearing my own voice. “What plan? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Forget it.”
The truth, a soft voice whispers in the back of my head. Fate always finds a way.
My eyes fly open. “No, I won’t forget it. You told me you gave him our address to give me a better life. But that’s not what I’m hearing. It’s sounding like you and Dominic had more of a conversation than either of you ever let on.”
Violet’s tough demeanor weakens. “I knew about his Romanov scam.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When I sent him to the apartment, I knew what he was after.” She lifts one shoulder in a deflated shrug. “Word gets around if you pay attention. I have two eyes, Ang.” She turns to look at me, pity in her eyes. “Even I could see the resemblance.”
I can’t process this. It’s too much. I grip the edge of the chaise, rocking back and forth in perfect rhythm with the noise in my head.
“I won’t apologize. Look where you are.” She flings an arm out toward Bel Air, then swings the other toward the mansion. “Look what you have. I’d do it all again to see you live the life of a queen.”
“As long as Dominic’s not a part of that life, right?”
“I don’t think he’s being truthful with you, Ang. There’s something about this whole thing that rubs me the wrong way. He’s a ruthless bastard who I think is playing you. I kept my mouth shut as long as I could, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say anything. You’re my best friend. I’m your glue, remember?”
Maybe once upon a time. But even glue leaves a stain.
“So is Dominic.” I turn away from the devastated look on her face. “I love you, Vi, but if you’re going to badmouth him in my own home, then you can leave.”
Even as the French doors click behind her, I don’t move.
Violet once told me that Angel Smith chips, but she does not break. That might have been true before, but things change. People change. Chips become cracks and cracks become fractures.
And eventually, Angel Smith breaks.
I look around, disoriented at first. It’s dark. So dark I can barely see my own hand in front of my face. The only hint of light comes from the single bulb shining brightly in the middle of the wreath outside the window. It’s pretty. I’ve always liked Christ
mas wreaths.
Christmas.
A rock hits my stomach so hard, I almost double over. Why does Christmas hurt? I don’t have any feelings toward it. It’s just another day to me.
“Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.”
Pulling my attention from the window, I settle it on the dark outline a few feet in front of me. “Who’s there?”
Why can’t I see anything? Reaching out, I slice my fingers through the darkness only to knock into something hard. Where am I? I remember taking a hot bath and then climbing into bed. Extending my other arm, I knock into something soft. Muffling a gasp, I jerk them back.
But I’m not in bed. I’m not even in my room.
I’m shaking so hard, my teeth clack together, but I seek the objects out again, eventually recognizing wood and cotton. And I’m sitting on the floor in between them.
Then I hear it. The scratching. A light wisp along with movement. My breathing escalates as the dark outline draws closer and closer. I have nowhere to go. Balling myself as tightly as I can, I tuck my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around my legs, my tattered cotton nightgown wet and sticky.
Face your fears.
Slowly, I open my eyes, the light from the wreath candle illuminating her long dark hair, her hollow green eyes, and her tattered, wet, cotton nightgown.
It’s me.
I’m looking at me. I’m sitting in front of me.
But that’s impossible.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice brittle and thin.
“Shhhh,” she whispers, holding one finger against her mouth.
I’m about to demand more answers when gut-wrenching screams filter in from outside the door. They don’t stop, and along with them come angry shouts. They both grow louder and louder until my heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest.
“What’s happening?” I cry, but just like before, she doesn’t seem concerned.
Turning toward the horrible sounds, she pauses a moment before looking back at me, a serene smile on her face. “He’s coming.”
“Who?”
“The Angel.”
Jesus, what kind of dream is this?
Rising up on my knees, I press my hand to my chest. “I’m Angel.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Are you?”
Before I can answer, the door to the room flies open. Shadows and light spill through, momentarily blinding me. But it’s the footsteps that kick my pulse into overdrive. Slow, purposeful steps that lead nowhere but to the end.
The girl’s smile returns. “He’s here.” She holds out her hands. “Are you ready?”
I don’t know why I nod. I just know I’m supposed to. So, I take her hands, the sticky smell of pennies binding us. As we kneel together on the hard floor, we take a deep breath and together say the words we both know so well.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five…”
I wake to the sound of my own screams as I thrash violently while tucked in between the dresser and the bed of a guest room in the east wing.
“Six!” I shriek, tears streaming down my face as I collapse, my eyes rolling back into my head, and a tortured whisper on my lips as I slip into darkness. “Six…”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dominic
God, my head feels like somebody drilled a hole in the side of it and stuffed it full of rocks. I don’t know how much whiskey I drank last night, but it’s enough to wish for death this morning.
Or afternoon.
Hell, I don’t know what time it is. All I know is it’s too bright to be awake.
Anchoring a pillow over my head, I drape my forearms across it and block out the world until the phone rings again.
Why the hell didn’t I just turn the damn thing off?
Because then you couldn’t see her text, dickhead.
I admit it. I’ve seen all five of them. Read them. Reread them. Analyzed them like a damn chick. Everything short of answering them. I can’t. Not until I get my shit together and figure out what I’m going to do about Violet.
And Rubio.
And Rosten.
And Luciano.
“Fuck,” I groan into the pillow. “I wish they’d all just die.”
After the third time my phone rings, I’m pissed. Throwing the pillow across the room, I roll back across the mattress, hitting the answer button without bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Stop fucking calling me!” I’m about to hang up when a familiar voice catches my ear.
“McCallum, wait. This is about Alexandra.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Brent.”
Ah, yes. My Bound Fate spy. “Why are you calling me so early?”
“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”
I rub at the new headache forming between my eyes. “Your point?”
“I would’ve called you earlier, but I had to wait for Noah to leave. He has enough problems with Rosten, and if he overheard, he’d do something drastic and ruin his career.”
On hearing that fucker’s name I sit up, the rocks rattling around in my skull calming to a dull roar. “What about Rosten?” Shit in my head starts untangling. “You said this is about Alexandra.”
“It is.” The line goes silent for a moment. “Look, I want you to promise you’ll think of Alexandra’s future before you go flying off the handle.”
“Just say it,” I bite out between clenched teeth.
He lets out a labored breath. “I got to the studio early on Friday because Noah likes to run lines on set before the crew shows up. I arrived before him and found a Bound Fate script just lying around. You know how Rosten is about stuff getting leaked.”
“Get to the point.”
“Right. So, I swung by reception, grabbed a keycard, and went up to his office. Susan wasn’t in yet because like I said, it was early. But I heard voices.”
I close my eyes and grip the sheet. Not because of the bright light, or the headaches, or the rocks in my head. But because of the impending storm I know is coming.
“I heard Isabella and Sebastian’s lines, and not the tame ones. The ones that make me walk off set. I was about to go in when the door opened. The last thing I wanted to do was get caught eavesdropping, so I hid around the corner, but…” He pauses, almost as if he’s battling with himself to say the words I know are coming. “It was Alexandra.”
“She works for him.” The words are hollow, even to my own ears.
“She was crying, Dominic. And before she left, Rosten…” He hedges, a tense silence passing between us. Then he says the three words that knock the air out of my chest. “He touched her.”
“He did what?” My voice is dead calm, but the grip on the sheet is merciless.
“She looked catatonic, man. Like no one was home. Then she just walked away. Noah never made it to the set because he got food—”
I disconnect the call. Although my chest feels like a dull knife is digging into it, I don’t yell. I don’t smash empty whiskey bottles against the wall. I’m calm as I take a shower. I’m calm as I get dressed. I’m calm as I drive to Burbank. I’m calm as I go through the checkpoint and metal detector at Silverline. And I’m calm as I make my way toward the main executive building.
But the minute I notice a shadow trailing behind me and catch a glimpse of a familiar face in the glass door, all hell breaks loose.
I spin around, catching her by the arm before she can run away. Although she struggles, I knock her off balance, and she tumbles against the side of the building. Before she can get her bearings, I pin my forearm against her throat. “What the hell is wrong with you, DeLuca?”
Excessive? Don’t care.
My “give a fuck” well has run dry.
“Why are you at Silverline Studios?” she croaks, her black nails clawing at my arm.
“Does it matter?”
Her face is turning a little red, so I lighten up the pressure. Seizing the opportunity, she digs her nails into my arm so hard she draws blo
od.
“Fuck!” I yell, dropping my hold. “You crazy bitch! How did you even get in here?”
“My best friend gave me an access pass so I could be on set Monday,” she hisses, staring me dead in the face like she didn’t just turn rabid. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here today.”
“She’s in love with you, you know,” she says, ignoring me. “She’s never let anyone this close to her, and you’re going to break her, aren’t you?” She pokes her bony finger into my chest. “Well, I’m not going to let you. I’ll ruin you first, McCallum.”
I don’t need this shit right now.
“Is that right?” A quiet storm builds in my voice as it drops low. Every step I take forces her back against the wall again. I can feel everything I’ve worked for slipping away as the kid with blood on his hands who defied Luciano Ricci gains strength. “Try it and see what happens. You have no idea what I’m capable of or the reach I have, lady. One word from me, and you’ll take a swan dive off the Colorado Street Bridge.”
Violet’s face blanches. “Oh my God. That was you.” Her expression shifts from indignation to fear. “You did kill that photographer.”
Shit. Now I have to take care of this problem, too.
“I didn’t say that. However, people get what they deserve.” Bracing my palm by her head, I lean in close. “You go poking around in other people’s business, don’t be surprised if they poke back.”
Her voice shakes as she lifts her chin. “You got what you wanted. Leave her alone.”
“No. Now go away before I call security.”
“This isn’t over, McCallum,” she warns, backing away. “You can’t just threaten me and walk away.”
I flip my middle finger over my shoulder as I walk toward the glass door. “I just did.”
The minute the elevator door opens, I feel it. That stirring in my blood. The kick in my pulse. The rush in my ears. It’s bloodlust and it’s hungry.
