by W Winters
“He has one for Bethany too.”
“When did he make one for Bethany?” he asks, truly unaware.
“I asked him to make one for her when you went to her house that first day.”
“That first day?”
Instead of answering his question, of telling him how much I had his back when it came to Bethany, I continue. “I made one for Laura too. I did it the second she left me. And I know you already know. I know when anyone’s looking into her. I know you know who she is.” I take a step forward, feeling the expensive suit jacket get tight around my shoulders. Cocking my brow and keeping the air between us as light as I can, I say, “So answer me this, who doesn’t trust who?”
Jase’s smirk is slow to form but it does, easily enough. The smirk and resistance for him to admit it bring that irritation back to the surface. I struggle to keep hold of my restraint. Maybe he can’t feel the rage that’s seeping into my remarks. I can though; the heat, the tightness in my chest. My jaw’s clenched when I tell him, “I’m aware you already know the answers you’re asking for. You’ve been looking into my background and then hers for weeks, yet you pretend like you don’t know who she is?”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. Instead he stares back with a friendly look, although the intensity is at odds with the darkness in his eyes. “Don’t get pissed. Since when are you this sensitive?”
“Sensitive?” I dare to bite back in what’s nearly a snarl. “She’s mine. And she doesn’t concern you. I told you that. You don’t need to look into her background.”
“The fuck I don’t.” He puts on a façade that this is a relaxed conversation, but the tension grows around us by the half second. “Everything you do concerns me. Concerns all of us. You bring her in, whether you see it like that or not, and she’s around us. She has access to the same information we do, how we act, where we are. I know her name, her résumé and credentials. I need to know more. We need to know more.”
“Like what?” I question. “What do you need to know?”
“What does she want with you? And what do you want with her?” His questions are blunt and I break the hard stare between us to look back at the darkening sky behind us.
I answer him and my voice is low, barely speaking, “I don’t know. I have no fucking clue and that’s the truth.”
“I’m going to need you to be careful with her.”
“Why’s that?” I say and turn back around to face him. Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do with her? “Is she a threat?” The menacing tone is more than apparent in my question.
“She’s Bethany’s friend.” All emotion is restrained in Jase’s voice. His answer is simply matter of fact. It takes me a long moment to realize what he’s getting at.
He adds, “I don’t need you interfering, messing with Bethany’s head or getting to her.”
Jase is my boss. He’s powerful in ways I gave up any interest of being. So I glare back at him, listening to the thud in my chest and for the first time it feels the same as the first time I was arrested. With nothing else to do but wait, I slammed my fists over and over against the cinder block walls of the cell. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Licking my lower lip, I let my response linger on the tip of my tongue. Tasting it, debating it before finally looking Jase in the eyes to say, “She’s always been mine and that’s the only answer you need.”
Taking a step back, I pivot on my back heel and turn my back to him. The soles of my polished oxfords groan as I turn on the waxed floors of the high-end bar. The bar I helped build. Carefully and quietly guiding Jase. I’ve done more than enough for them. They will not interfere. Or I’ll make them regret it.
“At least you can admit that,” Jase calls from behind and I pause. “You think it will stay that way?”
His question is met with a rise of anger. “What do you want from me?” I practically sneer the question as I whip around to face him and close the distance in an instant.
“To know what you’re going to do. That’s what I want, Seth.”
“Leave her alone. She’s mine and I’ll take care of her how I want to.”
Jase’s clean-shaven jaw flexes at my defiance. With his dark jeans and light gray Henley he doesn’t look like the man I know him to be. He’s far too charming in his appearance. Far too laid back. Everything he does is intentional. Showing up to a meeting like this today, I knew he’d dispense bad news. It’s all in delivery, in appearances. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough,” I speak plainly, calmly, so that nothing can be misinterpreted. “I have no intention of sharing information about her. She’s mine and she’ll remain separate from the business. There are no exceptions.”
“We have Marcus and Walsh both breathing down our necks. The batch of sweets that was stolen, our man murdered and even though we framed it like we planned it that way, we still don’t know who did it.” Jase pauses, his eyes searching my own.
“We’ve got problems, Seth. We can’t find the stolen product. There’s too much shit going on and too many unanswered questions. I don’t like it.” I nod, hearing the sincerity and concern. The bar is silent as the tension wanes. “I don’t like you giving me even more questions and not answering them.” He slips his hands into his pockets and I take a half step back. “She is an unknown variable. A distraction when you should be focused.”
“I still have it for her,” I admit to him.
“Have it?”
“Whatever it is that you get with a girl,” I say.
Jase only nods, his dark eyes assessing. Wondering if I’m telling the truth. I’m wondering too. I know I’ll tell him whatever he wants to hear so he’ll back off.
“She’s mine. She won’t be a problem.”
“You can guarantee that there won’t be a single problem from this?” he asks although it’s evident he already has an answer. Like he can sense the problems that will arise.
“She isn’t a problem at all. More than that…” I pause as I decide to give him the intel she gave me yesterday, even though I haven’t read it all yet.
“There’s a former resident at the center your girl works at—Delilah something—she has drawings of the places Marcus took her.” His sharp eyes narrow at me, as if I’ve been keeping back information. He can fuck off with that.
“I’m going through the notebook but it’s old. Laura’s got more and she’s bringing them today. I’m going through them, with Declan of course.”
“Declan knows?” The fact that Declan’s in on it has the hair that must’ve risen on the back of his neck falling back into place.
“Of course,” I answer and give him a knowing look. “I talked to him before he left the meeting. He said not to transfer anything digitally. So I’ll mark the pages I think may be worth a damn and give them to him.”
“I’m curious to see if anything is relevant,” Jase says easily, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since he’s entered this damn bar.
“I know it’s been tense with the shit Walsh and Marcus have been pulling. You don’t have to question where my loyalty lies.”
“It’s not your loyalty I’m worried about.”
“What is it then?” I ask him straight up. I need to put this to bed. Jase breathes in deeper, looking more tired than he has in a long damn time.
He shakes his head, which renews a surge of irritation. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” He talks as he runs his hand down his face.
“Is that right?”
“We got a message from Marcus. Mailed with no return address, no postage or prints… It’s his handwriting though. Something about Fletcher’s right-hand man.”
Hearing the name Fletcher sends a trail of unease down my spine.
“When?” I ask.
I’m answered with a question of his own. “Who’s Fletcher?” He adds, “Yesterday. Just after you left.”
“A dead man,” I answer him. “Fletcher is long dead and in the ground. Can I see the note?” I ask, letting him know I remember where my
place is in this organization. I’ll make demands when it comes to Laura, but for business? It’s up to them. I don’t want to be in charge. I’m not interested anymore.
Reaching into his back pocket, he hands me the folded note:
Which will it be? Fletcher’s right-hand man? Or Laura’s father?
My stomach sinks and a cold wash of reality hits me hard. He knows. Marcus knows. Every hair stands upright on the back of my neck. Jase takes in every small change in my body language while reading that note. I know he does. The clenched jaw and difficulty staying still. I know he sees it all.
“What does it mean: Which will it be?” I ask him, repeating Marcus’s question. It’s harder and harder to breathe with this fucking tie on.
“I don’t know but do you see why I’m concerned now?”
Laura
The door doesn’t open slowly, it’s wrested open with intent and impatience.
The wind wails behind me, blowing past my shoulders and slipping into the sides of Seth’s open jacket. It’s a dark gray today, slim fit and accompanied with a black leather belt that probably costs more than the most expensive pair of shoes I own. I’m not cheap with my shoes either.
With a shiver tickling my shoulders, I pull the delicate cardigan tighter around me.
“You’re early,” he says as his tone and posture change, softening. The harsh grip he had on the door slowly slips and that makes my breath catch. That the sight of me could do that to him.
“Who did you think I was?” I ask, realizing his greeting was meant for someone else. “You were expecting someone?”
“No one… but you’re never early.” He’s displaying more than a five o’clock shadow. He must not have shaved this morning. “Come in,” he tells me, opening the door and holding it until I pass through, walking past him with each heavy and foreboding step. The roar of the fire in the living room straight ahead isn’t the only sound I’m picking up on. There’s also the steady thumping in my chest, harder than I’ve ever heard it.
Maybe it wishes to flutter and skip for the man behind me. The man who places his large hand at my hip, squeezing gently until he presses his hard chest to my back.
Thump, thump. The beat in my chest rages against my rib cage. If only I hadn’t taken that pill, I know how wild my heart would be for him. Caged but uncontained.
He lowers his lips to the shell of my ear and I focus my sight on the fire; I barely noticed it yesterday. The flickers of yellow and orange flames slip through black stones in the modern fireplace. There’s no wood, no fuel to speak of, but it roars intensely.
I can hear the moment he parts his lips, and my eyes instinctively close.
“Tell me why you’re early, Babygirl,” he whispers and the gentle tickle of his warm breath travels down my shoulder, both front and back. Eliciting a warning down my spine yet the goosebumps cause my nipples to perk and my core to heat as it travels down my front.
His hand moves to the front of my hip, curving against it.
“I didn’t like the waiting,” I answer him.
“No dress today?” he asks a little louder this time, less inviting, with less desire and more intrigue.
Instead of responding verbally, I shake my head. The crook of my neck must be more sensitive with his stubble rubbing against it as his thumb slips along the waistband of my favorite pair of blue jeans. I know it’s more sensitive because even the shake of my head brings a spark of knowing as the strands of my hair brush along my heated skin.
I have to step out of his hold just to breathe. I take one step in my tan leather booties and look down at myself. Dark skinny jeans and a simple oversized cream cardigan covering a blush tank top. It’s a more casual look than yesterday’s. “I had a date before you,” I comment, subconsciously teasing him.
I can see an alternate life in this instant. One where I’d never left him, one where we’re still together and the vision gives me shivers. In my mind, I watch as I place my purse down on the coffee table, taunting him about my coffee date until I confessed it was only Bethany. And he smiles all the while, knowing I was toying with him, knowing he had me all to himself. I can practically hear the laugh I make when he jumps on the sofa in front of us I’d so casually laid on, giggling as he slips between my legs and nips my neck for teasing him.
Another life, a different one.
But I can feel it.
“I know you were with Bethany.” Seth’s response is all business and the moment he steps around me, not touching me, his absence gives me a different kind of coldness.
The one that lingers with this reality.
“You’re tracking me?” I question him although it falls flat. Of course he is. He doesn’t even bother to answer. “Spies?”
Again, I get no answer. He simply walks to the kitchen, a small one at that for the large, open-concept main floor.
I listen as he pours the drinks, noting how there’s no art on the wall except a single piece. It’s a black-and-white modern artwork, very sexual with the silhouette of a woman’s figure straddling over a chair. It’s so close up, and the contrast muted, that at first glance, it’s only lines. Abstract art with no meaning. But then I can see what it is clearly, because I remember the day he took that photo of me.
My breath leaves me and I lose my composure the second I recognize it.
“I thought about getting rid of it.” Seth’s confession comes from the kitchen and rips me away from the memory I long to go back to.
His dark blue eyes pierce through mine, holding me captive as he lifts two glasses off the counter. “Sit,” he commands and caught in his trance, I move. I even place my purse right where I had in the fucked-up reality my head had conjured a moment ago. Instead of tossing it playfully, I set it down methodically and sit back against the gray sofa, gripping the edge of it and trying to hold on to my sanity.
“I bought it just before you left. Before that night. It hadn’t come in yet, but I got it for you.” My nails dig into the sofa, and suddenly the fire raging across from me seems too much. The heat is too overwhelming.
“I don’t like you bringing that day up,” I’m quick to tell him, feeling the anxiousness roll inside of me.
It’s quiet for a long moment. With my eyes closed all I can hear is the fire, followed by the sound of our glasses being set on the slick all-black coffee table and then of Seth drinking from his.
“It stayed covered for… it had to have been three or four years. I’d forgotten about it until I unwrapped it along with everything else that was shipped here.”
The sofa dips with his weight as Seth sits on the opposite end of the sofa.
“It stayed on the floor, leaning against the wall with its back showing, for a long time.”
I finally peek up at him through my thick lashes and dare to question, “Why? Why not get rid of it?”
“It was a reminder of what I lost. Those memories can give a man a lot of power. And motivation.”
I only nod my head before reaching for the glass. It’s cold and the beads of condensation are welcome when I grip it.
With my eyes on the painting, hung up to the right of the fireplace, not centered above it, I take a sip of the vodka and soda.
“Do you like it?” Seth asks easily. “I thought about taking it down before you came, but I wanted to know if you remembered.”
“My birthday,” I say, giving him the information he’d need to know that I recall exactly when the photo was taken. “I remember… I love it.”
His exhale is easy as he takes another drink. I watch as he swallows and he only glances at the art piece before looking into my gaze. “I thought you’d like it for the bedroom,” he admits and a flash of emotion plays in his eyes. He breathes out like his thought is funny before downing the drink and abruptly standing. “I couldn’t throw it out,” he says with his back to me as he walks to the kitchen. “I couldn’t touch it.”
As he makes himself another drink, not bothering with ice and simply adding more wh
iskey to his tumbler, I hold on to mine. Feeling the diamond pattern carved into the heavy lead crystal.
Even with the cool drink, my throat feels dry and tight.
“A painter hung it while I was out. He thought I meant to hang it. And I couldn’t touch it to take it down.”
“I’m sorry it bothered you,” I speak and my voice cracks before I down my own drink.
He’s there, placing his glass on the coffee table and holding his hand out for mine when I finish.
On his walk to the kitchen, he doesn’t respond to my comment other than to say, “Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it?” Damn, do I hate that response right now.
He can’t hear my faint yeah from where I am as he stands in the kitchen. After handing me my glass, this one full to the brim rather than only halfway, Seth takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt.
My pulse quickens when he continues to undress himself until he’s only in his suit pants. I watch as he takes off his shoes, slipping his socks into them like he used to do. His muscles ripple with power and precision. The fire emphasizes every dip I crave to touch.
He’s older, his shoulders broader, his body more muscular and toned. I can’t take my eyes from his taut skin and the way his body moves. The warmth from the fire is nothing compared to the heat that kisses every inch of my skin while watching him.
“Getting comfortable?” I ask him. Again, nearly teasing. He looks up at me first, dropping his polished black shoes to the ground next to the fireplace, closest to the hall we walked down last time. With an asymmetric smirk, he comments, “You didn’t change, did you?”
“So much of me has changed,” I answer him without thinking about what to say. Without forming a list in my head of every aspect of my life that doesn’t at all resemble who I used to be.
With my manicured nail tapping along the glass, I speak up, telling him something I decided I had to confess hours ago when I was thinking about how tonight would play out. “I made excuses for you today.” My hardened voice and the confidence in it, makes him hesitate before he takes back his seat in nothing but those pants. Everything about him reads powerful and dominant. “I blamed myself for your actions.”
