Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
I ’m going to rip the smug smile off the bitch’s face, along with skin and meat, all the way down to the bone. My nails curve into my palms and dig in deep, leaving little crescents behind. I don’t need to look down to see them.
I feel their existence.
I know they’re there, the points ready to gouge out her eyes and wear them as rings. Let her insult me. The horrible feelings toward her are a shield of fantasy better than any metal. It doesn’t bother me. Insulting Jacob seems to be part of her default settings, although it ticks me off to listen to her derision.
But the way she grabs Marcus, the way she rubs it in my face that he belongs to her now… Worry and frustration tangle together in a twisted knot. He delivered her evidence to me. As if thinking about the woman watching us fuck isn’t enough to make me hate her, she’s somehow worked it to her advantage.
What, did he make her turn over the evidence and promise himself in return?
My stomach flips wildly. Yes. I’m willing to bet that’s exactly what happened.
He’s got nothing to say. She owns his tongue, too, and she’s locked it down in shackles and chains.
I watch them disappear into the crowd before one of the production assistants, walking at Belinda’s side, comes up to have their turn chatting with us and speaking to the interviewers.
Autopilot is an immediate defense mechanism. The press is appeased, however, and Jacob doesn’t know me well enough to see through the charade.
Celeste said Marcus made a deal. He gave himself to them, to her, to get me out for good.
What does she plan to do with him?
Jacob slides his hand down my wrist, linking our fingers together, and my mind is a million miles away, focusing on the crowd like I can somehow still see Marcus while I stand there frozen.
His face is seared in my head, from the rigid set of his jaw to the stern line made by his lips. His eyes dark, narrowed, determined. He actually believes he’s done the right thing, but has he? My breath quickens, and a chill races along my exposed skin.
Jacob tugs me along in front of the large screen erected against a wall of lights, featuring the title of the movie in repeated lines. Belinda is still speaking to us, chatting happily and posing for the paparazzi.
No, this is wrong. This is all wrong .
It’s clear Celeste is taking Marcus back to her place to fuck him, to erase any memory of me from his body and superimpose her own. What then? She’s not going to be satisfied with a quick fuck, and I’m willing to bet Stanic won’t either.
Whatever deal Marcus thinks he’s struck, it’s not going to end where he believes it will.
So what—
My chest constricts without warning, driving the breath from my lungs with such force I see spots. My back snaps straight.
They’re going to kill him.
It’s the only way to make sure he’s controlled, for good, and they aren’t going to let the opportunity slip by them a second time. They’ll do to Marcus what they did to my parents because they feel they’re owed.
I double over, the pain in my chest racing down to my lower abdomen like someone sucker punched me. Lava boils in my blood.
“Empire, are you all right?”
I’m about the furthest fucking thing from all right as a person can get, but my lips work and no sound comes out. There’s a disconnect somewhere between my brain and my mouth, and I’m left gasping for air like a fish on land.
Stanic and Celeste are going to kill Marcus tonight.
No one is going to be able to do shit about it unless I get out of here, and… What? What do I think I’m going to be able to do?
I force myself to straighten, my nostrils flaring as Jacob rubs a soothing hand across my back. I can’t lose Marcus.
There is no way in hell I’m going to stand back and let him die. There was no warning when the plane crashed, and I lost both my parents in the same night.
I can do something. Anything . I’ve got to try.
The rest of the world falls away, and I take a massive stride toward the door when something stops me.
Jacob, tugging me back, our hands still linked. “What are you doing?” he asks. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m going after him.” I gasp for breath, blinking rapidly. Duh . It’s not like I can make it any more obvious.
I have to stop Celeste from hurting him and repair whatever damaged relationship exists between us before it’s too late.
Jacob shakes his head, and a lock of hair falls rakishly over his face. Almost like he’s planned the movement as he tugs me forward. The cameras snap, whirring to capture every tiny moment and interaction between us.
“There’s nothing you can do for him. He’s gone home with his date. Tonight is for us.”
Us? Tonight is for me. It’s supposed to be for me and Marcus, and he’s in trouble.
I tug at my hand, but he doesn’t release me. “Jacob, I’m leaving,” I say sternly.
He bends down to whisper in my ear, “There’s no fighting against Maxim. Do you understand? If Marcus made a deal, then he’s as good as gone, and good riddance. So stay with me. It’s better this way.”
Wait. A. Minute.
I whirl around, tugging my hand back with such force Jacob has no option but to let go. “You’re with them.”
His bullshit act of feigned innocence… Man, he’s good. He’s so good he’s had me fooled from the start.
He blinks, another calculated maneuver, before slipping the mask back on that I’d gotten so used to seeing, thinking it was real. “I’m doing what it takes for myself. You should, too.”
I glare at him, pressing my wrist to my chest and rubbing a hand along my bruised skin.
“Stay away from me,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “Stay the fuck away from me, Kessler.”
Grabbing my dress in one hand, I storm toward the door, cutting my way through the throng of A- and B-list celebrities and influencers. My name is on too many lips, but I don’t stop. Marcus and Celeste have a head start, and with so many people here, it’s going to be hell on earth getting out.
Surely the car is parked somewhere with the driver waiting for us. Or did Marcus take the driver?
Fuck!
Growling, I stomp outside despite hands reaching for me to stop me. At least Jacob isn’t there.
He’s probably on his phone calling to let Celeste or Stanic or whoever the hell he works for know that I’m on the move. Which means I have to try to get to the apartment faster than them.
That’s undoubtedly their first stop.
She wants to rub things in my face. To make it as uncomfortable for me and Marcus as possible, she’ll want to take him for the first time in a space we’ve been together.
She wouldn’t be stupid enough to go to my parents’ place.
The apartment is closer.
The tiny clutch I brought with me is barely large enough to stash a phone and a container of lipstick, and I’ve got both crammed in there. Growling, I stop, diving for the cell. I pull it out and click through to call an Uber.
There’s no way they’re getting through this mess.
I’m forced to walk toward a less crowded cross street, alone and at night, which isn’t the best idea in the world. I’m spitting mad and terrified. Maybe that’s the winning combination to keep people away from you.
You look like a freak, and in this town, they purposely look the other way.
I don’t give a shit. The guards Marcus hired are probably still at the premiere looking for me. They’ll be looking for a long time.
The lift service eventually pulls up with a young dude blasting punk rock, waving for me to get in the back.
The ride to the apartment takes a thousand years, and damn, I’m lucky the dude doesn’t try to take me somewhere and engage the child locks. I’m on the edge of my seat with my knees bouncing and my fingers pulling at every tiny bead sewn into the front of the dress. Empire Stone to the rescue, right? It sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke. I’ve got nothing on me to act as a weapon and the threatening nature of a kitten.
How in the world do I think I’m going to pull this off?
Love isn’t enough.
I’ve learned it the hard way.
I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try.
“Stop here!” I yell.
The dude jams on the brakes, and he’s barely pulled to the curb before I’m out of the car and hustling toward the front door. The doorman gawks at me, working his jaw, trying to figure out the best way to greet me.
I push past him. “Did Marcus come this way? With a woman?”
“He did, Miss Stone,” the doorman stammers. “But he—”
I press the elevator button, and the door slides open. In the next beat, I’m inside, the box slowly bringing me to the top floors. I have to hurry. There’s no time to waste worrying about what to do or say. I’ll figure it out when I get there.
The reflection in the stainless steel shows a pale face, bright red cheeks, and wild eyes. It also gives me a great view of the killer heels I’ve been wearing, high enough for my toes to go numb and the pain to encompass my ankles as well. Those spikes will slide really nicely into someone’s eye sockets.
So I have at least one weapon on me .
The elevator dings, doors opening, and I’m in the hall as fast as my wrecked feet will carry me. Marcus’s door is open.
An inch of space shows the glow of lights from the inside. My mouth goes dry, my tongue gliding over my teeth, which somehow feel gritty.
Screw caution.
Time rides me hard as I stomp into the house and slam the door open, hoping to catch them in the act. Wouldn’t it be something to see the look of surprise on Celeste’s face?
The hallway is empty, and the apartment is dead inside. No one’s in the living room, and the bedrooms appear untouched.
Wherever Marcus is, he’s definitely not in the house. And I’m not sure he’s been sleeping here, either. Both bedrooms are made up, their sheets clean, the edges crisp.
They must have come here, though. The door wouldn’t be open if they hadn’t made a pit stop. So, where did they go for their next step?
I grind my molars, frustration a constant low burn in my blood. I tap the side of my head. “Think, Em. For god’s sake, think.”
I’m not the person you turn to in a crisis. I’m the kind who checks out and needs a stronger heart to take the lead. There’s no one else here. My parents are dead, and Marcus will be, too, if I fail.
The only place I haven’t checked is his office at the apartment. I mean, hell, the man only had to rip my throat out once and warn me not to go in there for me to get the message. Boys’ zone only, like the workaholic version of a man cave.
I hesitate half a second at the door before steeling my nerves and pushing inside.
The difference between this space and the one Marcus used at the house is startling.
There are no photographs on the walls. There are no shelves, either, only a few prints that look as though an interior designer plucked them from a warehouse somewhere.
His desk is a solid sheet of glass with a laptop to one side and a stack of scripts to the other. It’s such a sterile enviroment, all clean lines and angles and nothing homey about it. It’s one way to get work done, I guess.
I’m about to leave when a folded sheet of paper in the center of the desk snags my attention. And on closer inspection, it’s got my name written on it.
My brows draw low enough for my lashes to press against skin they shouldn’t be able to touch.
I tear into the note, unfolding the edges and scanning.
Em,
I knew you’d find your way in here eventually. No matter what happens to me, live. That’s what I need you to do. Live, for me and for yourself.
I love you.
I always have, and I will until my dying breath, whether it’s sooner or later. If we can’t be together in this life, then by fucking god, I will find you in the next, and I’ll love you there.
Yours, Marcus.
I crumble the note in my hands, reeling from those three words. He loves me. The man actually loves me. I keep the secret smile to myself because a part of me knows it. I’ve known it the entire time.
“Hell no.”
Everything inside me shifts into a dangerous calm.
He doesn’t get to do this to me. He doesn’t get to go out all macho and tell me he loves me in a fucking note. I need him alive to say it to my face because I refuse to let some bitch and her bully of a boss steal my future with him.
Our next life? Fuck that. I want this life, too.
I grab my cell and dial, waiting for the call to go through.
River answers with a chuckle. “You’re supposed to be at your big movie premiere tonight. Don’t tell me you flaked out early to go have sex with your new boy toy, and you need pointers?”
“Round up your media contacts,” I tell her without waiting. “We’re about to break the internet.”