Chapter 27
The night passes, and I miraculously sleep through it, rousing only when the sun beams through the windows without the darkening damper of my curtains. Marcus isn’t here. I didn’t expect him to be, but a part of me…had hoped.
I wanted him to be.
Maybe that’s the kicker of the whole thing.
How nice would it be to wake up and find him still sprawled at my side, protecting me through the night? But the sheets are cold, and I know he’s been gone for a while. I stop, listening for any sounds of life in the house, hearing nothing.
Curling on my side, I scrub my burning eyes, my hair dried into a crazy nest around my face and knotted near the ears.
But no nightmares.
What kind of fucked up twist is that? For the first time in months, after seeing a man shot to death in front of me, I didn’t dream about anything. It’s the kicker of this whole situation.
For the longest moment, I lay on my side.
Eventually, untangling the blanket from around my legs, I head into the bathroom to fix my shit before popping my head out of the room. The house looks the same. Death hasn’t left any new mark on the place at least.
The marble is cold underfoot, and the door to the office closed when I finally force myself to go check. It’s early, but usually Marcus is right to work, and with Parker’s death…surely, he’s got a lot more to do now. Right? But the inside is empty, and there isn’t a hint of blood left anywhere. The room is spotless; the sting of bleach burns the inside of my nose, and I lift my hand to my cheekbone, feeling the splash of hot blood on my skin.
He’s gotten the place cleaned up, hopefully to the point where even a crime scene crew won’t be able to tell what happened here.
I stare at the empty chair, the space on the floor where Parker dropped. The producer’s eyes had been so empty. People wanted to argue about the existence of a soul? I’m not sure if such a thing exists, but I know there was nothing left once he died.
A hollow shell of a man who had been nothing but a selfish prick, happy to embarrass me and make me feel like I’m the one acting crazy, like it’s all part of the business I was too young and naive to understand.
The scene plays in a circle in my head, Parker pressing the gun against me, Marcus slowly reaching for his. The standoff, where they both wait for the other to shoot. Only, Marcus is the first to pull the trigger.
And it’s inescapable, something I can’t outrun no matter how badly I want to. I slowly close the door to the office but bring the memories with me. Tears prick the backs of my eyes.
Why can’t I stop crying anymore?
I’m like a damn fountain of tears and worse, Marcus is usually always around to see me do it.
Like the way I completely broke down in front of him last night.
Seeing a man die in front of you will do that.
It takes me a long time to come back to myself and realize I’m standing in the doorway of the office, seeing nothing. None of this would have happened if Dad were the one in the chair instead of Marcus.
Except…Dad wouldn’t have been able to get out of the situation.
In all likelihood, he would have been the one to drop dead on the floor.
Marcus saved me, whether he wants to call himself the good guy or not.
I’d ruin you.
He thinks he’s going to get me in trouble or killed. Do I even get a choice in the matter? Do I get to choose my future, whether I want to be at his side or not?
Apparently not, if he’s willing to tell me all this now and hope I’ll keep my mouth shut about what happened.
“Coffee,” I mutter out loud. My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat, dust it off to be able to use it today.
A truckload of coffee isn’t going to erase what I saw.
Even rationalizing it feels distant at this point. My emotions are strong but too large for me to connect with anymore, like a part that is so far out of my league, I’ve got no business even reading for it.
And what Parker said about my parents—
I shuffle into the kitchen, and although my stomach gurgles, there’s no way I want to eat. Coffee will do, something hot to hold on to, to soothe my insides, because my Mom and Dad didn’t have to die. They should have been here right now, joining me in the kitchen while Mom barked orders to her assistant on the phone and Dad laughed at her insistence to get things done at six am.
And Parker Heath, the producer everyone wanted to work with, had not only known about their death, but tried to exploit me after the fact.
I still, my hands gripping the edge of the counter to keep in place.
“What did he say?” I whisper. “Something about the family. Payment to the family.”
Some kind of organization Parker and Marcus were both connected to?
I wish I remembered every word of his confession last night, but certain parts are a blur.
“They didn’t have to die.”
Tears stream down my cheeks and leave trails of acid behind, the espresso machine burbling until the small white mug fills. I press the button again to add a second shot to the first, fully intending to down it all and pump some much needed life back into my body.
It’s too early to go to the cemetery, but I need to talk to them again, to get every horrible thought and memory and feeling out of me. Maybe this time, I’ll get some answers, because now I know the truth too.
They hadn’t passed away because of a mechanical malfunction. Someone planned the murder, but not for them.
Marcus.
Marcus.
Why hadn’t he gone that day? I don’t even remember. I only knew I hadn’t been invited, adults only, and I’d sulked before going out to meet River.
I need my mom right now, and I fucking hate being alone. I’ve got no one. River is scheduled to head up to northern Cali this morning for another café visit, and not only do I not want to bother her, I’m not sure how much I can tell her.
We’ve kind of fallen out of communication, with me being so busy with shooting the movie and her social media growing by thousands of followers every week.
There’s no one to talk to about Marcus and how badly I want him, how torn I am between the smart thing to do, which is distance myself as much as I’m physically and legally able, or what I want to do. I want to jump his bones and lose myself.
The doorbell rings just as I lift the espresso to my lips, and I jump at the sound, coffee splashing across the counter.
My heart leaps and lodges somewhere beneath my sternum. Who the hell is ringing the doorbell at nine am? I set the mug down and switch it out for one of the knives in the butcherblock. The handle is too large for my hand, but the gleam of the blade in the sunlight is oddly satisfying.
Could it possibly be one of Parker’s goons, those guys from yesterday who towered over me and treated me like a piece of meat?
Maybe one of them knows Marcus isn’t here, and they’ve come for me again.
I swallow hard, my throat dry as a desert. Whoever it is, I’m not going to make it easy for them to take me again. He’ll be home soon. Wherever he’s gone, he has to be home soon.
I pad softly to the front door, the knife held out in front of me with shaky fingers. The shadow through the glass is wavy and indecipherable, but it doesn’t look like a dude, not from this angle. My heart still beats out of control.
“Empire? Sweetie?” Another knock sounds at the door. “It’s me. It’s Sherry. I see you there!”
I recognize the voice, and suddenly, the knife in my hands feels silly. I feel silly.
“Sorry, Sherry,” I call back. “Hold on one second.”
I bury the knife in the nearest fern where she can’t see it and ask me questions then flip the locks to open the door. My smile is genuine when I greet her. The older lady has always been nothing but nice to me.
Today, she’s in a flowery sundress cut low at the bust, with a thick line of necklaces drooping down to her bust. Her white hair is coiffed around her face in soft waves, accentuated by the sharp points of her cat-eye sunglasses.
“Hi! Sorry about that. Come on in.” I step back to let her inside the mansion, spying a folder clutched in her hands.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s fine. You probably weren’t expecting me to show up on your doorstep.”
“You didn’t want to text?”
“I tried. I didn’t get an answer, and you know me.” Her eyes sparkle when she pushes the glasses up into her hair. “I’m not one who wants to wait on things. Better to get it over with.”
“I thought you were coming yesterday, and I honestly got…distracted. I completely forgot.” I rub my temples.
“Yes, I’m sorry I missed you yesterday. I planned to come in the afternoon, but Marcus texted me that he had some things to take care of, and I should be in the office—” Sherry breaks off and shakes her head. “Anyway, I got busy as well. That’s my point.”
“Well, we might as well get comfortable.” I gesture her further into the house before I lose what little is left of my manners. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No thank you, love. I’m fine. I thought I’d stop by this morning and catch you while we’re both fresh,” she says.
“I don’t know about fresh, but thanks for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts.” I wave for her to follow me into the living room. “You said you have something you need me to sign?”
“Absolutely. I brought the papers. Take a look, and then we can get this matter settled.” Sherry rolls her eyes. “You know how Marcus can be sometimes. He’s a dog with a bone when he wants something done, but when it comes to certain paperwork, he shoves it to the back burner and lets it simmer until it’s almost boiled over!”
I want to tell her that, in fact, I don’t really know. He’s kept me far apart from his business. I’m not even sure if he has other clients. To be honest, the last few months have been difficult enough for me to get through, and I haven’t been the same person.
I haven’t wanted to know.
It’s been a struggle to look outside of my grief and find joy or life or purpose in anything. All I”ve wanted is my old life back, to find a way to rewind the clock and keep things exactly as they’d been before the crash, when I’d been happy.
And Sherry is staring at me as though she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
It felt lovely to not be alone, and even nicer to sit with Sherry for a bit, the folder on my lap and her presence calming. No death. No destruction.
“So these are the papers Marcus doesn”t want me to see, huh?” I ask with an anxious laugh.
She chuckles, close to rolling her eyes, though she keeps herself composed. “He had a lot of things to do for the estate when, you know, everything shifted.” She says it softly. “There are a few things he never got around to, and I think it’s because he just couldn’t think about it any longer. Unfortunately for him, I am a Type A personality, and I don’t like to leave loose ends dangling around in the ether, if you know what I mean.”
“I appreciate it.”
My stomach flips at her words. Estate. It’s easy to forget that Marcus has control over me and this house, everything left behind by my parents because they’d died before I became legal. I needed a guardian.
“It’s just a couple of signatures on your end, and this will all be wrapped up,” Sherry adds, holding out a pen.
“Do you have any idea what it is?” I ask as I reach for the pen. “I mean, besides estate stuff.”
“No idea. I only know he needs you to sign this to finish things up.”
I glance up at her sharply. “He needs me to sign it?”
Sherry bobs her head.
And it becomes painfully clear what’s inside the folder once I flip to the first page.