CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #3
He turned the TV off and dropped the remote onto the coffee table between the leather sofas. Then he moseyed toward the door and called over his shoulder, "You have five minutes."
He closed the door behind him, leaving the four of us to stand in the middle of his office.
Analise's hands began to tremble as her eyes bounced between me and my two brothers.
She wasn't small or weak by any stretch of the imagination, but one woman standing at roughly five foot seven was no match against three grown men, all over six feet.
"What do you wanna do?" Shawn asked, doing nothing to disguise his voice.
My brothers didn’t know the things I knew. They didn’t know that I knew this girl and I knew her heart. She wasn’t capable of doing the terrible things that Gerald wanted me to believe. But I couldn’t tell them that here, and I couldn’t explain it all in a way that they would understand.
No, for now, they would believe what they had seen on the television screen, and they would look out for my best interest.
But even still, I wouldn’t let either of them seek revenge on my behalf.
I held up a hand to shut Shawn up while I stared at her, cocking my head and giving the illusion that I was angry, hateful.
"Are you afraid of me now?" I asked her in nearly a whisper.
Her eyes danced over my mask, and I imagined she wished she could read my expression. But all she saw was a tall, menacing figure, looming over her, and still, she shook her head.
"I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she whispered in a small, meek voice.
Never, I thought as I replied, "Oh, no?"
Again, she shook her head, more confident this time. “Y-you know me. You—"
"Tell me, Analise, why shouldn't I hurt you?
" I interrupted her, not allowing her to speak.
Not allowing her to say anything else in this space that might damn either of us more than we already were.
I took another step, my toes nearly touching hers.
"Why shouldn't I ruin your life the way you've helped to destroy mine? "
Her eyes swam in pools of tears as she licked her lips.
Lips I had kissed. Lips I would’ve done so much more to if I’d had the time.
Lips I would’ve promised the world to just moments ago …
and, God! I still would. I wanted to! I wanted to tell her I would burn this whole empire to the ground just for the chance to kiss her one more time without being hostage to Gerald Crowley’s world of crime.
But I couldn’t say a fucking thing in this house.
Is anywhere safe?
I swallowed against the urge to scream, to grab the coffee table and throw it at that fucking TV, as I stared at those lips and desperately wished there were a way to talk to her, to be with her. But as long as we were here, I was helpless … and so was she.
She looked up at me, never breaking the stare she had on my mask, and in a trembling voice, she whispered, "Please … please, Jekyll. Don't hate me. None of this is—"
I forced a bitter laugh, causing her to flinch, and I continued to put on a show for the cameras, knowing I was hurting her and hating myself for every second of it. "Hate you? Dammit, Analise! I could fucking kill you right now, and you're worried about me hating you?"
My heart creaked and splintered beneath the weight of my pain as tears slipped from her eyes.
She seemed to forget my brothers were standing behind me, flanking me like twin pillars, holding me up and maintaining my strength.
Her focus was on me and me alone, as if we were once again standing beneath the shade of that gazebo.
"They're taking everything from me," she whispered, speaking in a weak tremble. "My freedom. My home. Everything I had. Please, please, please don't let them take your heart too.”
“You never had it, Princess,” I whispered harshly as my eyes left hers, only to scan the corners of the room, the shelves, the TV. “You used me.”
Where are the cameras? I wondered. I know they can hear us. I know they’re looking. But where are they? And where are they watching from?
"No,” she replied with desperation as she reached out to hold onto the lapels of my suit jacket. “Please, I need you to believe that. I need you to listen to me. I didn’t—"
“Shut the fuck up!” I roared, and she jumped with a gasp at the volume of my tone, riddling me with remorse for scaring her, but, oh God, she needed to keep her mouth shut in this house.
How did she not know that? “Stop with your bullshit reasons and fucking excuses,” I added in a quieter tone but just as malicious.
And then, as she stared up at me with her hands trembling against my chest, the woman I knew now became the little girl she used to be. Except this time, it wasn’t Jim she was frightened of. It was me.
Her dark eyes rounded with helplessness and fear as her bottom lip wriggled.
Her cheeks were sodden with tears, streaking through the makeup that had once been pristine.
And although she stood in this room, wearing her expensive clothes, I knew that deep down, she was still that little girl, looking up to the big, scary boy who was willing to do horrible things to protect those smaller and more helpless than him, wishing he’d do something to help her now …
But this time around, he was saying no, and as far as she knew, she was left to fight the bogeyman alone as she exhaled with a gasp and pressed her face to my chest.
She held on to my jacket, her breaths passing through parted lips to seep into the fabric and lay against my skin. I kept my arms at my sides, but, God, I longed to hold her. My lips wanted to kiss her again and again and reassure her of everything I still felt but couldn’t say.
But nothing would happen here—it couldn’t—and she needed to leave. She had a new life to get to, one that would likely be harder to endure than this one or the last.
“Leave,” I said, my tone short as I took her hands in mine and pried them off my jacket.
I took a step backward, taking my rightful place between my brothers, and muttered, “Your husband is waiting for you.”
Her eyes reflected a deeper fear in her soul at the mention of Benjamin. She clenched her fingers together and began to shake her head before stopping herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Please, I just need you to believe that. I need you to believe that I would never—”
“Cinnamon,” I hurried to interrupt in a harsh whisper, hoping she’d receive the message I was trying to give her loud and clear without me raising my voice and raising suspicion.
That I did believe her. That there was nothing Gerald Crowley could do to erase what I knew to be true.
Her brow furrowed with confusion as her lips moved, repeating that word silently. Cinnamon. She blinked away the tears as she looked up at me, and I thought—I hoped—I witnessed the dawning of understanding as it crossed her face.
She opened her mouth to speak, and I could only guess what she was about to say, so I spoke before she had the chance.
“Goodbye, Princess,” I said, gesturing toward the door.
She blinked, and a tear trickled down her cheek, following my gloved hand. There was more she wasn’t saying—I knew that, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t. Not when they were listening, not when she had a husband to go home to, not when she, by law, belonged to someone else.
Then she offered a curt nod and whispered a tight, “Goodbye, Mr. Hyde.”
The sudden use of the name hit my chest like a ton of bricks, and although I still hadn’t found the time to read the book, I knew the story enough to know it wasn’t meant to be a term of endearment, but one of hurt and distrust.