25 Leo Tie A String—Reuben Bullock & Reuben and the Dark #2
The vein in Fletcher’s forehead throbs. His stare bounces across all three of us. Unlike Sterling’s loud rage, Fletcher’s is a silent dagger in the gut to those who provoke his wrath. And he looks ready to fucking kill.
“He was there,” I surmise.
Sterling squeezes the bridge of his nose. “It would appear so.”
“How did he know?”
“His work,” she utters numbly. “He can access medical records through his psychiatry practice, use his credentials to bargain his way into places. Fletch . . . I’m so sorry.”
Gaze shuttered, Fletcher shakes his head.
“It’s not your fault.” I try to comfort him.
“He’s been snooping into your lives because of me!”
“But this was weeks ago.” Sterling’s brows knit, deep in thought. “He’s been following us for that long? Only attacking now? It makes no sense to drag it out.”
“He was biding his time,” Eden says through short, petrified breaths. “Stalking his prey. Christopher thrives on control. He would’ve been enjoying himself.”
She makes him sound like a serial killer. My innards flip and twist, wringing in sheer panic. That psycho had his hands on her. He stabbed Piper just to get to her. Who knows what else he’s capable of.
“I always knew something was wrong, deep inside of him.” Everleigh scoffs to herself. “But I was terrified to do anything about it. Even after that night, I remained in denial for years.”
“What night?” Sterling booms.
“He . . . he came home bloodied and bruised. His clothes were torn, all covered in stains. And he was angry. So, so angry. When I questioned him, he struck me.”
Fletcher’s grip on her thigh looks hard enough to crack bone. He isn’t quite as calm as his blank exterior would have us believe. Conversely, Sterling looks ready to blow as his face flushes dark red.
“Why was he bloodied?” he spits out.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, the remaining colour draining from her face. “It wasn’t until years later that I found a false bottom in his office desk while searching for anything I could use against him. I just knew that I needed an out.”
“What did you find?”
“Inside . . . there was a scrapbook of sorts.”
“A scrapbook?” I parrot around rising nausea.
“Full of photographs, notes, disgusting drawings . . . and a lock of hair.”
Sickness threatens to burst free from my searing throat. I’m sure we all wear matching expressions of revulsion. Everleigh doesn’t look up from her coiled fingers as she drags in air through clenched teeth.
“Christopher killed her.”
Whatever illusory calm Sterling’s held in place spectacularly ruptures. He turns and punches the wall with a loud roar, causing plaster to crack and explode, leaving a bloody smear behind. Everleigh flinches but doesn’t move to intervene.
“Who?” I shove the words out.
“There were photos of a body.” She breaks down into full, back-heaving sobs. “A woman he held captive and . . . and . . . t-tortured. He toyed with her like a caged pet before he killed her. Documented the whole thing too.”
Releasing her thigh, Fletcher stands to approach his friend, hands raised in an eternal plea for calm. He knows just as well as I do why this revelation is so disturbing. It hits a little too close to home for Sterling.
“What did you do?” My question is barely audible.
“I confronted him.” Everleigh weeps uncontrollably. “He denied it all, made me out to be unstable. I was so powerless. He gave me these pills to take, told me I was having a mental breakdown and needed to rest. I had no choice but to take them to appease him.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
She must’ve been petrified.
The thought of her being sedated and manipulated by some violent lunatic is too much to take. There’s no sense in asking why she hasn’t done more. This man spent years abusing her, relentlessly grinding her down, then attempting to manipulate her when she dared to stand up to him.
“When I woke up, the whole desk was gone. But I’d already taken something and hidden it for myself. I couldn’t wait for him to realise and demand to know where I hid it . . . so I ran.”
“What did you take?” I brace for her answer.
Chest seizing, she stands to leave the room. “Wait here.”
We’re all frozen in a state of dismay. Fletcher has to keep hold of Sterling to stop him from erupting again. Even if he’s the destructive one in this house, there’s no telling what Sterling could do when triggered.
When Everleigh returns, she stoops to place something on the coffee table. “This.”
My stomach plummets. Oh, fuck.
A single gold wedding band.
Thick, scuffed with age, but perfectly intact. That’s when the world decides to crack down the middle and split wide open, greedily gulping us down into some hellish lair of existence where demons don’t stay buried, but roam freely in the open.
Because I know that ring.
We all do.
The date engraved inside is clearly visible. It’s a day I remember well. Fletcher had to intervene and cover my best man’s speech when I got a bit tipsy. Sterling’s ma was furious. Though I blamed Maverick at the time for buying shots.
“I knew that I couldn’t beat him,” she says through broken hiccups. “But a part of me, no matter how afraid and damaged, still wanted to try. I took the ring, then ran for my life before he could kill me too.”
The fight drains out of Sterling, carrying him down to his knees. Fletcher follows him to the floor, arms hugged around his torso from behind. Both stare at that little slice of hell with blank, stunned eyes that beg for a far different reality.
“What is it?” Everleigh gulps hard.
“You know that Sterling is a widower,” I answer after a long, helpless pause. “But you don’t know why.”
The sound that spills from Sterling would rival that of a wounded animal, caught in a trap and attempting to gnaw its own leg off to escape. Sheer agony. Grief. Disbelief. The raw, unfiltered, soul-fucking-destroying heartache that no man could ever rival.
“N-No,” she stutters.
“His . . .” I clear my throat when a lump attempts to block the truth. “His, uh, wife . . . She was abducted and killed four years ago. The case has been cold ever since her body turned up.”
“Please,” Sterling keens, half garbled from tears. “No.”
She stares at him like the apocalypse is knocking on her front door, asking to be let inside to wreak havoc on all our lives. Ghostly pale skin gleams underneath teary curtains as the full weight of her husband’s crimes become clear.
Crawling to the table, Sterling seizes his wife’s wedding band. “Say it isn’t true.”
But no amount of begging can stop this freight train from colliding at fast speed, destroying our lives in a mere breath. All because a hunk of gold says so. But not any old ring. It’s the one that was never found on Isabel’s body when it was located, dumped in a woodland far from the capital.
I nod towards the ring in Sterling’s palm.
“That belonged to her.”