Chapter Three. Ember #2
“Ember.” Sam lifts his head, meeting my gaze, and the sadness there has deepened, and in those few seconds, as impossible as it is, it seems like he’s aged by ten years.
Grooves bracket his mouth, his olive skin pulls taut over his stark cheekbones, and the fine lines flaring from the corners of his eyes appear to etch deeper.
“Sometimes I feel like I’ve failed Kim because I failed you,” he whispers.
But before I can address that or ask him what he means, he lightly shakes his head and continues on, his voice hardening, “We need to talk about your future with House of Cross. You—”
“Future?” I bark out a biting laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking joking. What future?”
I shake out my hands, stalking away from Sam, and head for the fully stocked, built-in bar across the room.
The smoked-glass counter and shelves contain all the premium and top-shelf alcohol in thick crystal decanters.
A bottom cabinet contains an assortment of glassware, and I grab a squat tumbler from the front, then place it on the bar top.
I weaned myself off the meds for IED three years ago against my doctor’s advice because I didn’t like the idea of anything controlling me, not even prescriptions.
Reckless? Yes, and a negative, foolish message for anyone living with mental health issues.
But dealing with the nest of vipers I do, I’d rather increase my therapy sessions and chance the explosions than not be clearheaded.
Still, as I snatch the stopper from the decanter of whiskey, l can admit mixing alcohol with my simmering temper is probably as unwise as combining it with meds. Not that it’s going to stop me.
Only after I fill the thick glass tumbler nearly to the top do I turn around to face Sam again.
His brow wrinkles as he stares at the full glass of amber liquid, and the wrinkles deepen when I lift it to my mouth for a long sip.
My eyes close as the smooth, smokey caramel flavor rolls over my tongue and down my throat before hitting my belly with a burst of heat.
“Whatever you’re planning, Ember, don’t,” Sam sternly warns.
I open my eyes and slowly smirk at him. Not because there’s anything faintly humorous about this situation but because if anyone can claim to know me, it’s him. Though that’s not exactly true either.
He groans. “Now isn’t the time to act off emotion.”
I snort. “Since when has that ever been me?” I gaze at him over the rim of the glass, taking another sip.
“Contrary to what most of you probably assumed, I wasn’t surprised at the terms of Marcus’s will.
Shit, I was actually stunned that the muthafucka left me anything.
Was it a smack in the face that he left Asad CEO and stole my birthright from me, yes.
A shock? No. I was angry at the disrespect, the humiliation.
Marcus couldn’t resist one last chance at taking my pride and shitting on it.
So, no, I’m clear-fucking-headed about my next move, and it has nothing to do with what Marcus left or didn’t leave me just now.
I’ve been planning my next move for years, but misplaced loyalty and guilt kept me here longer than it should’ve.
And that’s my fault since my dear departed daddy has never given me anything but his ass to kiss.
But now that he’s in hell playing don’t drop the soap with Satan’s little minions, my conscience is clean. ”
“Goddamn, Ember,” he snaps.
I shrug. “I’m just saying. There’s absolutely no emotion involved in my decision to walk away from House of Cross.”
“The fuck!”
“Exactly.” I nod as if he asked a question. “Fuck this company. Fuck this so-called family. And fuck Marcus Cross. May he rest in piss. I mean, peace.” I tap my lip and scrunch my face as if in deep thought. “Nah. I said what I said.”
“No.” He gives his head a hard, emphatic shake, holding his hands out in front of him. “You can’t do this, Em. I won’t let you do it. You’re letting them run you off. Letting them bastards fucking win.”
“No offense, Sam, but I’m a grown-ass woman, and you can’t let me do anything.
This is my decision and mine alone. And the only person winning is me.
I’m exorcising hate, negativity, and the ugly out of my life.
I’ve only stayed because of some misguided, warped sense of loyalty to a muthafucka that ain’t never had any for me.
Do you know one of the last things my mother said to me was to keep loving him, to not leave him?
I kept one of those promises even when he made the other a near impossibility.
I stayed. I kept my word to a name and legacy that’s never recognized me publicly or privately.
To a man who was a figment of my mother’s imagination.
To a woman who is just a memory, and if she was alive, I have to believe would tell me to get the fuck on.
And let’s be real. They need me way more than I need them. ”
“Technically, that’s true, Em—”
“There’s no ‘technically.’” I interrupt him with a wave of my hand while setting the half-full tumbler down on the bar, irritated he would try to downplay my worth. “It’s the fucking truth.”
“Dammit, listen to me,” he snaps. “That rumor about Marcus being murdered. It’s more than just rumor. I found out just before coming here tonight. The medical examiner confirmed that your father died from a massive injection of heroin.”
I suck in a breath that stings the back of my throat with freezing needle pricks.
“That’s ridiculous. Marcus was a lot of things, but not a drug user. And the man would act like a damn manbaby when the doctors at HoC had to draw blood for insurance purposes. There’s no way he would voluntarily stick a needle in his arm. Are you sure they said…”
Sam nods. “I’m certain. The ME even sent over a picture of the pinprick in his arm at my request.” I didn’t ask to see the image because … yeah. “He was killed, and we don’t know by who or why.”
I stare ahead, over Sam’s shoulder, not really seeing the sturdy furniture, the books lining the walls, or the massive door.
He was killed, and we don’t know by who or why.
My father was murdered. From an overdose.
Yes, there’d been speculation and innuendo since his death, but to have it confirmed as fact … Damn.
I reach down inside me, attempting to analyze how I feel, determine exactly what are the emotions swirling around inside me. Am I upset, despondent? Regretful that someone prematurely shortened his life? Enraged that this unknown person has taken the only father I’ve known from me?
Maybe.
Underneath a thick sheet of ice, a viscous, convoluted …
mess twists and writhes, but I’m either too numb or too afraid to touch it right now.
So I don’t. I edge away from it as if one nudge will send cracks spider-webbing across the surface, allowing the emotions to seep, then spew forth. And no one wants that.
Especially me.
“Do you now understand why you just can’t up and leave?
We have no idea who killed Marcus. Or their motive.
We have no idea if this hit originated within the company or outside of it.
Your identity as Marcus’s daughter isn’t common knowledge, but if there’s the slightest chance that the order is from within our circle, you could very well be their next target.
Without complete knowledge of the motivation behind his murder, it could be anything from business related to wiping out the Cross line.
Either way, you’re safest at the Castle, here in this house, or at your place with security until we have the threat contained. ”
I blink, waiting for the punch line. Because there has to be one. But when he doesn’t crack a smile or hit me with a “just joshin’,” I let my own frown loose.
“Oh, you’re serious.” I huff out a breath and pour a healthy amount of disbelief into it.
“This house? Safe? The place that has been my torture chamber until I moved out on my own? The same place now owned by the woman who beat the shit out of me too many times to count? Who I still wouldn’t eat a dinner with or her pathological son unless I had a taste tester?
” I squint at him. “And my home is the only place of peace I have. I already have a state-of-the-art security system installed there, and no one can pee in my direction without an alarm going off. Damn if I’m inviting strangers into my one and only safe space.
Nope, I’m good. Besides, the only time I’m safe in the Castle is when I’m in my lab, locked behind a steel door requiring a retinal and fingerprint scan to enter.
And I still make sure I’m carrying. So please, tell me again how safe I am with my so-called family close.
No, Sam.” I shake my head. “I’ll take my chances on my own among all the strangers and serial killers California seems to spawn like starlets and weed. ”
Turning around, I pick up the glass and finish off the whiskey in two big gulps, not even flinching at the potency. Hissing a little at the tingle in my jaw and along my neck, I set the tumbler back down, debating whether I should make it a twofer.
“You would really not just watch your grandfather and father’s company—your legacy—fall, but be the cause of it?”
I stare at him for several seconds, then slowly smile, showing all thirty-two.
“And roast corn nuts over the open flames.”
We both know what he’s referring to. Even now, with just the two of us alone in this room, he won’t say the words aloud, but it’s the dirty, illicit truth behind House of Cross and the Cross empire.