Chapter 48
Walker
Leaving the high-end tux shop knowing that Jansen is somewhere nearby invisibly watching me adds to my already fraught nerves. I was measured, pinned, and tucked, all in silence with no sign of Trips…it felt like I was being fitted for a coffin instead of a suit.
Knowing that Jansen is around helps, though. At least enough to trudge through the muck on the sidewalk until I get to the jewelry shop I scoped out online.
While I could probably make the things I want myself, they wouldn’t be as nice as what this woman can do. She’s a master of her trade. And as I’m currently working on tricky machine prototypes, I don’t have the time anyway.
The bell rings above me as I step in, the artist herself sitting behind the counter, a collection of tools scattered around her at her worktable. “Hello!” she chirps.
I force a smile onto my face. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend with every passing day. “Hi. I was wondering if I could hire you to commission two pieces for me?”
She immediately sets aside her tools, wiping her hands on her apron. I place my sketchbook on the counter, opening to the drawings I’d been noodling around with when I can’t sleep. She adds a few technical adjustments, and we come to an agreement on materials and an estimated price.
The bell rings as I’m pulling out my card for my down payment, and I turn to find Jansen, furry hood up and giant mittens on, striding toward me. “Jay—” I admonish.
“What? You’ve been in here forever, and I want to see what kind of present you’re getting our girl.”
The woman blinks at us both, then ducks her head with a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Plus,” Jansen continues, “I might want to get her something, too.” He walks up to the display cases, pulling off his mittens and jamming them into his coat pockets.
We all have personal funds. I haven’t really spent any of mine for over a year.
None of us have—they’ve been off limits.
But we’re nearly at the end. I figure I can’t ruin much at this point.
And even if Trips’ awful father is still watching our accounts, a purchase at a jewelry store shouldn’t look threatening.
Hopefully.
I just can’t wait any longer. Every day is excruciating, and soon, she’ll be legally tied to just one of us.
I said I’d work on my jealousy, and I have, but I’m not letting her go through life without staking my claim.
Even if it’s just a token, I want her to have something from me she can carry with her, whatever the future brings.
Jansen taps a case, pulling me from my thoughts. “Can I get that one?”
I walk over to where he’s looking, the jeweler joining us with her set of keys. “That easy?” I ask, looking down at what he’s picked.
“It’s beautiful. Just like she is.”
It is, and she is, so I guess it makes as much sense as anything else that comes out of Jansen’s mouth.
He settles his bill, and after I add a rush fee to half my order, we head into the cold, both of us leaving in different directions, just in case.
I don’t know whether we still need this level of caution. I don’t know much of anything at this point when it comes to where we’re at with the plan. Finals messed up our rhythm, and I haven’t seen Clara, even from a distance, for two weeks.
My skin itches with want.
We knew Jansen would struggle with this separation. But I never guessed how much it would bother me.
I need her in my arms, her lips against mine, her scent and softness and warmth wrapped around me.
Without it, I feel like I’m unraveling, losing any semblance of kindness or courtesy.
I’m becoming a rabid beast on the hunt for his favorite prey, only she’s locked away behind a stone wall, unreachable and silent.
The wedding can’t happen soon enough.
Clicking ‘send’ on the most recent anonymous message to the evil father we all wish would finally succumb to his cancer, I sigh, wishing I could do more.
The list of people I want off this planet just keeps getting longer, and if I were a different man, I’d be worried about my humanity. As it is, I can’t say I give a fuck anymore.
Bryce doesn’t deserve to live. Neither does Westerhouse the Second or his firstborn son, especially after we’ve seen how easily they use their political power to protect themselves.
When we found out after digging through Bryce’s burner phone that GoldenRod69, a.k.a.
Trevor Westerhouse, had been chatting with Clara’s ex in one of their anonymous dark web chat rooms?
Well, that just sealed the deal on that devil.
Annoyed that all I can do is send horrific videos and photos to an evil old man, I pull up the tracking data for Bryce, only to find he’s done his usual route from home to the gym to the grocery store. Just like he does every Monday. Nothing new there. Nothing I can use to make him disappear.
Pulling up the phone records and texts from his burner phone, I find nothing there either. Annoyed, I browse through his normal phone, and a grin sneaks across my face.
It might not be what we wanted, not actually, but it’s as close as we’re going to get.
“RJ?” I call, hoping he can hear me from the living room.
Sure enough, a minute later the thud of his feet on the stairs brings him to my side. I say nothing, instead showing him what I found.
“Oh shit. Do you think this is a good thing?”
“It means Westerhouse the Second has moved him up to the top of the list, don’t you think?”
RJ slumps onto the couch beside me. “Yeah, but—”
My excitement dwindles. “This is going to suck for Clara.”
“Especially if we can’t warn her.”
Staring at the ceiling, my fingers twitch, needing a pencil. So I set aside my laptop and grab my sketchbook, experimenting with half-formed ideas until I find a lily and a rose staring up at me.
RJ glances at my drawing once I’ve stilled beside him.
“That’ll work,” he whispers, his eyes solemn as he stands up.
I pull out my phone, opening the text chat with Clara that we all know is monitored.
I snap a picture of my drawing, adding what will hopefully be a clear enough code: Lilies and roses at your wedding?
We wait. For days.
But she doesn’t reply. Not to that message or any of our other ones.