Chapter 9
“Some men forgive. Some men forget. Others study the wound until it becomes a map.” –The Count of Monte Cristo
JUDE
Ifollow her to the apartment. She's looking over her shoulder.
Again.
And again.
And again.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Shit.
I really am in her head. It’s a strange position to be in when for years all I wanted was to be in her arms, in her bed.
It didn't even take much to let her thoughts become obsessive about me, at least I have that going for me after the shitshow that was last night. I still can’t figure out if she’s a really good liar or if she didn’t know about the money and my mom.
If the latter is true then my dad did me dirty for not just half my life but my entire life.
Good thing I’m going to annihilate his entire dynasty.
I tilt my head, is she crying? She swipes at her cheek and seems to give herself a pep talk.
Which means the guilt must be eating her alive.
Good.
Let it.
Let her choke on it the same way I have for years.
Guilt I couldn't save her.
Guilt I was too late.
Guilt I missed every sign because I was too focused on my own shit.
Guilt that I didn't know.
Guilt can go fuck itself.
I stay far enough back that she won't catch my cologne. Made that mistake already and regretted it for throwing me off my plan and her off her axis a bit too soon.
Amazing what the body remembers.
Certain scents.
Certain touches.
Certain people.
For years she was the one thing that made the noise in my head stop.
Her voice, the way it would roll over me and comfort me, though it was a pathetic stand-in for what I used to have, her in my arms, in my bed.
At least I still had her voice since I could no longer stand the person or trust she wouldn’t knife me in my sleep.
And now?
Now I plan on becoming such a permanent fixture in her life that eventually I'll start looking like the hero.
Amusing, how easy it is to manufacture perspective.
It takes a few slight changes and boom, a shift occurs.
She walks into the mailroom, this time, no longer looking over her shoulder but focusing like hell on the little box in front of her.
Will it? Won’t it? Is she sweating? God, I hope so.
I hope her entire body is on fire. My eyes trace the curve of her ass, the way she puts her hands on her hips before bending over towards her box.
And I realize, in this moment, I am a completely unwell with how fantastic her jeans fit.
Tight. So tight, I wonder if the threads would stretch out from the slap of my palm.
Fuck. I could grab ahold. Hard. Slap. Punish. Kiss. Tame. Fuck. Blood roars in my ears as I watch her as I try to slow down the intrusive thoughts and stop imagining myself slamming her body against those same mailboxes.
I was locked away too long.
I was gone too long.
The temptation to grab her and apologize later is too much. I want to punish her with my mouth, forget words, they’re useless, words spout lies, but my tongue will show her the truth that she won’t ever have it better than me, she won’t ever find it, no matter how hard she searches.
The cruelest sort of torture would be showing her how good it would be between us only to rip it away and laugh in her face, but I’d be torturing myself in the process, because even right now I’m having a hard time keeping myself from taunting her, from quite literally having a serious reason to go back to my room so I don’t do something stupid.
Arousal refuses to leave it hit and wont’ let go so now all I can do is watch.
My hand slides down the front of my pants, briefly, it’s enough for a low groan to escape.
Enough. Not here. Not now. But it would be so good.
She’s in the mailroom now. I can’t see her. Maybe that’s a good thing. I need to cool off. Badly. I follow a few seconds later and stop near the entrance.
Watching.
Waiting.
Her mailbox clicks open.
Bills, advertisements, junk, and then like magic, there it is. I hoped for it, now I know it’s true. Boom. Red paper.
Smaller than the rest and easier to miss.
Interesting how it looks exactly like the one I was sent a few weeks ago.
Clearly, the person behind the Dean’s List is also behind me being here.
A faculty member? My dad? Lilah herself?
She could easily send herself a letter to throw me off her scent.
She lied back then; she could easily lie again.
She almost tosses it aside before finally noticing.
Fuck, there it is. The moment it dawns on her. You can’t fake that sort of reaction.
The panic sets in followed by the guilt, the fear, the complete…wait, my smile starts to fade. That’s not fear. It’s confusion. Why is she confused? What happened?
Her eyebrows pull together.
She reads it twice.
Then a third time.
What the hell?
Slowly, she folds the paper and shoves it into her pocket.
Not scared.
Not devastated.
Confused.
Really confused.
This catches my attention.
She reaches for her phone and answers it. “I know, I know, I won’t forget.” She pauses. “A club? Really? Ugh, crowds, loud crowds and drunk people, can’t wait! They better have good drinks or I’m leaving!” She pauses longer. "Hey, did you get that email today about The Dean’s List?"
Silence ensues. Interesting. I shift my weight and wait for her response.
"Yeah, same. No, I got one too but..."
Her voice weakens. "But it was weird."
Weird?
My jaw tightens.
Weird, wasn't the reaction I expected or hoped for.
"I'm thinking maybe it's a prank, maybe you’re right and someone’s just bored or something." She continues.
Liar. I snort to myself. No chance in hell she believes that, not even a little. After another minute she hangs up and turns.
That's when I step forward. Her entire body goes rigid.
Interesting.
I lift a hand.
Give her a small wave.
Then walk toward my mailbox. The second I open it, I know she's watching. I can practically feel her staring.
I pull out the stack.
And there it is.
Another red paper like the one before.
A sharp inhale sounds behind me.
She saw it.
Good.
At least she knows I’m not the culprit, like I’d need to stoop that low.
I glance over my shoulder. "Something I can help you with?"
Nothing. She practically bolts as the mailroom door slams shut behind her with finality.
I look down at the paper. Still grinning. At least until I read it. My smile slowly disappears.
Keep your enemies close, keep her closer. It’s a test Jude, unleashing the past decides your future. Can I trust you? Or will you become exactly like him?
I stare at the words.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then laugh.
Low.
Dangerous.
Because suddenly I know two things.
First?
Whoever is behind this list isn't stupid and wants me to know.
And second?
They know exactly who I am, thanks Dad, targeting me early I see.
And more importantly, who my enemies are, mainly enemy number one. Lilah. Who else could they be talking about?
I fold the paper carefully and slip it into my pocket, I’ll add it to the stash back at my apartment. I’m suddenly even more curious about what Lilah’s note says.
"No fucking problem," I mutter. “It was the plan all along you idiot, keep her close, make her pay.” If my dad really is behind it and I’m ninety nine percent sure he or someone he works for is, then this just got a whole lot more fun, now I just need to make sure she’s out of his pocket.
I head upstairs. Because for the first time all week, I'm not thinking about revenge.
I'm thinking about the look on Lilah's face, I was only planning on staying in the apartment until I could find a house to buy or even crashing with my cousin but maybe I’ll stay longer, maybe this was the better plan all along.
I shoot him a quick text.
Me
Change of plans, I’m staying at the apartment, not getting drunk at your place. Raincheck?
AMONEY
Just crash at both places when you need space, got your room ready, oh and don’t be late for COCKtails.
Me
Mature.
AMONEY
Glad you’re back bro, I missed you. Also, was afraid you’d lowkey burn the building down with your dad in it.
Me
I was in Boston, hardly the other side of the world.
AMONEY
Right, but you’ve been avoiding the family like the plague.
Me
The Family is the devil, your uncles a good one though, hope he stays clean.
He doesn’t respond right away and then.
AMONEY
Nobody is clean in this world, least of all The Hales.
True.
But even as I read it a chill runs down my spine. “What, has he gotten you into?” I wonder out loud. And how far does my dad’s reach stretch, and how much collateral damage are we looking at when I crash my car into his empire and watch it burn.