When Hearts Unravel (The Orchid #6)

Chapter One

When a kid turns six, he’s probably waking up in the morning with his heart pounding, wondering if he’ll get that Lego superhero set with the villain included or the monster truck Transformer he begged his parents for.

He’ll try to temper his excitement because he’s a big boy now, or so his mom said the night before.

But when I turned six, I didn’t get toys. I didn’t get a smile.

Instead, I became a murderer.

Dark hair spreads like a fan on the hardwood floor. Vacant eyes staring at the ceiling, a dried tear streak marring her cheek. Her key-shaped necklace stained in red.

The image shifts—I’m taller, a full-grown man now, but no less afraid.

Crimson rivers seep out of a bullet wound, the blood quickly staining the pristine blouse. Helpless, frightened eyes snare onto mine, icy fingers gripping my hand as life bleeds out of her.

The two women I’ve failed, and the price was their lives.

Unfortunately for me and my diagnosed HSAM, or highly superior autobiographical memory, I can never forget.

“No, no, no.” I thump my fist against the one-sided window in Mystique’s back office, which overlooks the writhing bodies partying on the dance floor below.

It’s one of the more popular clubs inside The Orchid, the crème de la crème, exclusive establishment for the rich and famous within my family’s company, Fleur Entertainment Holdings.

The pulsing bass shakes the windowpane, and if this were two years ago, before what happened to Raya, I’d be down there in the crowd, beautiful women draped over my arms, basking in the attention from the loving masses.

But this isn’t two years ago.

My phone rings and I toss four Velowake pills into my mouth before chasing them down with whiskey.

“Anderson. How can I do you for?”

Orgasm on demand? A nice spanking because you’ve been a bad girl? Or maybe some good breath play because you want me to take control away from you?

I swallow a chuckle. Fuck, I’m going out of my mind.

Of course you are. Sane people don’t wake up naked on the balcony, not knowing how they got there.

“It’s me,” a familiar soft voice answers.

I straighten, the smile slipping off my face.

Ava, Raya’s daughter. My mistakes have living victims, and she’s one of them.

“I…I just want to wish you a happy birthday and to tell you it’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself.”

Her words are a right hook to my liver, and I want to throw up.

Hands trembling, I snatch the bottle of Velowake and toss three more pills into my mouth.

Four won’t cut it today.

“You there?” Ava asks.

“Yeah. I’m here.” My voice is hoarse. “I’ll never forgive myself and neither should you.”

“It’s been two years. It’s those bastards’ fault. They should pay for this, not you.” Her voice rises, then a shaky exhale comes across the line. “Just don’t—”

I end the call. I can’t do this.

“Fuck!” Why does everyone want to forgive me? “It’s not your fault, Rex.” “It’s shitty luck.” “Don’t borrow guilt that isn’t yours.” Why can’t they let me take responsibility for once?

Because it is my fault.

All of it.

My phone buzzes from an incoming text and I know it’s Ava again. She and her younger sister, Cora, rarely contact me. They aren’t supposed to after they escaped to Monaco two years ago, a journey which cost Raya her life.

It wasn’t supposed to end that way.

Ava

Those bastards will get what they deserve, mark my words.

Ava

Mom would’ve been fifty today. If she were here, she’d wish you a happy birthday. And she’d be grateful because if it weren’t for you, Cora and I wouldn’t be alive.

Guilt twists my insides. I shouldn’t have hung up on her. Ava meant well. She’s twenty-three, and she handles her emotions better than you. Instead of grieving her mom’s death, she called you because she knew you’d feel like shit.

Blowing out a breath, I send her a reply.

Rex

Thanks for the birthday wishes. Take care of your sister. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t text me again. It’s too dangerous.

My phone clatters to the table, and a dull pain radiates inside my skull. Sleep, my mind screams at me. You need sleep. Maybe that’s why you have blackouts.

But if I sleep, the nightmares…memories come.

“You should listen to her, you know,” a sardonic voice murmurs from the doorway.

I close my eyes. Of course, he’s here to witness me at my rock bottom. Always getting a front-row seat to my dark moments. “What are you doing here, Casey? Eavesdropping?”

He chuckles. “You asked me to come. Here I am.”

“I must’ve been drunk. You can go now.”

“Nah. You look like shit. Aren’t you supposed to celebrate today? Your birthday on top of kicking off the cruise line? The imminent success of your genius brainchild, as you like to remind me?”

The Orchid’s inaugural cruise, a one month luxurious journey in the Mediterranean, and a three-billion-dollar venture, is the first large-scale enterprise my oldest brother and CEO, Maxwell, asked me to take on.

Definitely not the run-of-the-mill campaign I usually lead in my chief marketing officer role.

I’m supposed to be part of its maiden journey to make sure everything goes well.

My siblings have never trusted me with important tasks before. Like I’m worthy and dependable. Like I’m not just a jokester and the prince of pleasure.

Maybe if I pulled this off, this emptiness inside me would disappear and I wouldn’t feel so guilty about Mom and Raya’s deaths.

The thought is hollow. How can a cruise for rich pansies make up for two lost lives?

But I can’t disappoint Maxwell and the others.

Dejected, I slide my hand into my pocket and clench the red marble I always carry around. It reminds me of everything I’ve lost and my role in the family.

“Rex? Did you hear me?” Casey asks.

“What do you think I’m doing? Getting ready for the party, you dipshit.”

“The dipshit you invited.” He smirks.

Rolling my eyes, I ignore him. Casey would never know because I’d die before telling him, but he’s right. He keeps me afloat. He’s been by my side through thick and thin for most of my life. Whenever I’m drowning, he’d hoist me, slap my face, then tell me to start swimming.

Casey sighs. “You need me. Who else would put up with you for all these years?”

I feel his pitying gaze boring into me as he tsks under his breath. “Thirty-seven doesn’t become you. You’re crashing out from all the partying, drinking, and not sleeping.”

“It’s called chronic insomnia. And if I look like shit, then you do too. There isn’t a party you say no to either.”

“That’s because I’m your best friend and someone needs to save your ass. Rex, stop punishing yourself. Stop playing Russian Roulette with your life. What are you trying to prove? That you’re no longer the scaredy cat from when we were kids?”

I recoil from his words, thinking back to the little boy who had the world but didn’t know better, who let fear rule his life until it cost him and his family everything.

I’m not that kid anymore.

A ball of fire bolts up my esophagus. Before I know it, I’m in Casey’s face and yanking him up by his collar. “Get out of my business. Fuck off.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he shoves me off him. “I won’t watch you destroy your life. That’s what you’re doing. If I can’t save you, no one can. And fuck, I care about you. Your family cares about you too. Let us in.”

I’m a murderer.

I shove him out of the room and slam the door shut, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave.

And you think a cruise will make you feel better. Good luck with that. I shove the thoughts away. Beggars can’t be choosers. At least it’s a target, something to do.

Don’t disappoint your family, Rex.

“If you won’t let me in,” Casey pounds on the door, “find a therapist, a doctor, a fucking professional. Get help! Don’t be a coward. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

I stride back to the overlook window, eager to get away from Casey’s voice, because I don’t know how to unravel my emotions or thoughts.

Then, as if fate wants to rub salt in my wounds, I spot her down below.

An innocent, lost lamb surrounded by hyenas.

Sleek black hair fastened into her usual no-nonsense bun, an unassuming white dress covering her petite figure, Olivia hugs her large handbag in front of her like a shield.

Dr. Olivia Lin, to be exact—gifted, perfectly put-together psychiatrist and my younger sisters’ best friend.

The fucking order to my chaos.

The woman I avoid.

I don’t need anyone else poking inside my fucked-up mind. God knows the last brain doctor did a number on me.

But Olivia—the woman with eyes who see too much—I remember how she looked at me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, a few months ago at my brother, Ethan’s wedding.

She caught me fake smiling at the happy couple, not because I wasn’t thrilled for them.

I was. But I was also spiraling because I realized I could never have that happiness for myself.

After all, how do I atone for Mom and Raya’s deaths?

“Rex?” Casey hollers. “Fine. Go brood in silence. I’m out of here. But make no mistake, this doesn’t mean I’m giving up on you. I’ll see you on the damn cruise.”

My earlier guilt eats away at me.

I shouldn’t blow up at him. This isn’t me. I’m the charmer, the Anderson everyone loves. People come to me for a good time. They come to me to get away from my brooding brothers.

The neon strobe lights bathe the dance floor, highlighting the swaths of skin revealed by short skirts and barely there tops.

Bodies writhe sinuously against each other, the promise of sin and chaos to follow, most likely in the adult-entertainment kink clubs and specialty rooms on our Rose floors, five levels within this building I’m intimately familiar with.

But somehow, I can’t look away from the fully clothed woman in white.

What are you doing there, little lamb?

The innocent good girl.

In the rare moments when we’d be in the same room, I’d spot her rolling her eyes, her skin flushed, when I cracked lewd jokes with my siblings. Because I’m good at that—saying inappropriate things to make people laugh.

Olivia never bought it though. There were always disdain and pity when she looked at me. And the occasional, “You need help,” she’d mutter when she brushed past me.

My fingers press against the cool glass and I’m hit with an irrational urge to race down there and drag her kicking and screaming out of my den of sin.

Then I’ll throw her back into her small, organized office, where she can treat her precious broken toys and ticking time bombs within the safety of four walls.

Or perhaps I’ll tug that hair out of her neat little bun and mess it up.

As if she heard my thoughts, she whips her head up and stares at me.

Those bottomless dark eyes. The flawless ivory skin. The unblemished white dress.

If she wants ticking time bombs, I’ll show her one.

The dark desire rocks my mind. I’ve felt it before whenever I see her from a distance, all prim and proper with my sisters. But it’s never been this intense, this visceral.

My pulse riots and lungs constrict, and even though I know she can’t see me, I can feel her seeing right through me.

It makes no fucking sense. I think back to the blackouts happening more frequently now.

I’m definitely going out of my mind.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Sweat beads on my skin and I yank my tie loose and unbutton my collar. I run my fingers through my hair, disheveling it because that’s what the public expects from me.

I blink, and Olivia disappears from view. Did I imagine it all? Is this another symptom?

When is the damn Velowake going to kick in and put me out of my misery?

A minute later, my heart skips a telltale beat. Then another. It scatters to the thumps of the music—a car careening down a steep hill at a hundred miles per hour.

My lungs rake in a ragged inhale, the sudden oxygen waking my senses.

I smile.

There it is…the rush from Velowake—a brutal cocktail of synthetic caffeine analogs, adrenal regulators, and REMorphin, a compound designed to short-circuit dreams before they started.

No more nightmares. No more thoughts. No more feelings.

I’m Rex Anderson, the man who doesn’t take life seriously. I don’t feel. I only have fun.

I’m the party prince—peak confidence, alpha energy, sex god.

I don’t feel. I only have fun.

Slowly, I straighten, wipe the sweat from my forehead, and check my appearance in the mirror. I watch in detached fascination as my lips twist into the usual charming grin, my toothpaste commercial worthy smile bright.

Ignoring the chaotic clattering of my heart, I grab my phone and leave the office.

I have a party to attend and a crowd to win over.