THIRTY-TWO
“Pizza will be here in fifteen minutes,” Dax yells as soon as Sylvie and I fall up the stairs. It turns out the only thing Sylvie likes more than shopping and driving like a crazy-woman, is movie night. She hauls me up the stairs by the arm, before propelling me into the room like a derby-girl performing the whip. I stumble, pull a one-eighty, and land on my arse at Dax’s feet.
“Ouch.”
“Sylvie! Slow the hell down!” He glares at her until she mouths the word sorry and then turns back to me. “Bruised butt?” he asks, leaning down to help me up.
“Probably.” I grin up at him, using his weight to pull myself up. “Sylvie’s a little enthusiastic about getting home.”
“Perhaps you should have come with me then?”
I lean into his ear. “Are we arguing again?” I ask, using his words from earlier. Only, between the two of us, we’ve made them something else. They mean more. Are we flirting? Do you want me? Shall we play?
“Red lace, Jules?” he whispers back. “Not what I expect from a practical girl like you.”
I pull away and shrug my shoulders, kicking my shoes off at the heels and sighing as the cool wood eases the burn in my feet. “Maybe you need to let go of your preconceptions. We both know what those get you.”
“Blue balls,” he grumbles under his breath, but I’m secretly thrilled. He might have pulled away, but he still wants me. I’ve just got to figure out why.
“Ten minutes, Jules,” Sylvie interrupts. She pulls off her shoes, shoves them through the banister railings, and drops them downstairs. Dax shakes his head. “That’s enough time to shower and change if you light a fire under your butt. Hurry! And wear the cute fluffy sleep set. It will be comfy for sofa time with the movie.”
“Is this becoming a girlie sleepover thing?” Dax groans.
The strangest little thrill thrums through me at the idea. It would be my first, but I’m no longer a child—I never really have been—and the irony of trying to flirt seductively with Dax while simultaneously feeling excited about a childish sleepover isn’t entirely lost on me. Not to mention, the last thing I want is for Dax to look at me like he does Sylvie; like a dependent.
“Yes!” Sylvie yells, just as I snap, “No!”
“It is, but you’re invited too, Dax. Now come on. Cold pizza is only good for breakfast.” With that, she jogs up the stairs and slams her door behind her.
“Cute fluffy set?” he asks. I blush. She’s destroyed the seductive image I’ve desperately been trying to conjure.
“Don’t ask me. I have no idea of half of the clothing in those bags.”
Dax laughs loudly. “I had Mrs Grainger hang them in the closet for you.”
“Mrs Grainger?” I ask, heading for the stairs. He follows at my back.
“Margaret Grainger, our housekeeper.” I hover, trying to think of something else to say that doesn’t focus on the house or Sylvie or silly fluffy Pyjamas and sleepovers. There’s nothing. Dax must realise it too. He cuts the silence between us with a sigh. “Go. Get these fluffy things and get comfortable. I’m looking forward to having you on my couch.”
Having me?Interesting choice of words. He grins the second my eyes widen at his potential meaning.
He lets me climb the first stair before he stops me with his hand on my wrist and his head on my shoulder. He speaks against my neck. “Let’s keep Sylvie happy and then you and I can have a discussion about sexy red lingerie.”
Climbing two steps, I glance back and give him a soft smile, unsure of how to respond. I could tell him the truth, that they were Sylvie’s idea, but I like the playful way he teases me. We’re easy together again and, as pissed as I feel about the way he treated me, I want to know why more than I want to punish him for it.
He double-taps my butt. I scoot up the stairs, determined to be on that couch and ready before the tingle disappears.
My room is immaculate. The scent of lemon and verbena hits me as soon as I open the door. Only one thing draws my attention to being out of place. The full-length mirror hanging on the wall is now swung out at a right angle, revealing an opening. I peek my head around the fake wall and my jaw literally drops. There’s an entire hidden closet behind the wall. On my immediate left, two fragile lamps illuminate an alcove decorated in floor to ceiling mirrors. In front of them, flush with the opening, is a mirrored dressing table complete with a plush stool tucked underneath. To my right, reflected in the mirrors, is the closet itself, arranged across three walls. Sleek, fitted white shelves line the space. On either side, I could hang every stitch of clothing my family owned, and directly opposite the mirrors are enough cubbies for at least forty pairs of shoes.
Straight ahead, a short corridor leads down to another open section of wall, that if I’m not mistaken, opens into the adjoining bathroom. I hadn’t noticed that either.
Just as Dax said, my new clothes are hung neatly on the left wall. My old clothes, Dax having probably rescued my bin liner of belongings from his car, are ironed, folded, and laid out on a modern, duck-egg blue upholstered bench. I pull open a selection of drawers to find my lingerie laid out, the matching bras on a rail above. In the drawer below are the two pairs of pyjamas and the three chemise nighties that Sylvie insisted were “too damn cute not to buy.”
I grab the fluffy set and lay it on the chaise. I strip and dress quickly. While my reflection assures I don’t look like a total idiot, I secretly wish I’d insisted on a few items that bridged the gap between homely and seductress.
A rustling sound in my room snaps my attention back. Sylvie? My red set is missing, but I suspect it is still laid out wherever Dax took that photo. I grab the little black number, identical to my red set, that Mrs Granger must have assumed was mine, and slip out into the room.
“Is this what you are looking for?” I tease, waving the lace on my outstretched finger.
“No, but if you wear them, this might not be such a wasted effort.” Ben leers, eyeing the material and then tracing my body, wrinkling his nose at my choice in bed wear.
My hand drops, the lace scrunches in my fist. “What…what the hell are you doing in here?”
“Asking myself that same question,” he grumbles. “What did he say to you? They said he spoke to you alone. I want to know what he said.”
They? The guards or doctors? Who was spying for him?
“Yeah? Well, I want you to leave, but I think we’re both going to end up disappointed.”
“I can’t go.” For a split second he actually looks sorry, but as quick as the guilt rises it fades again. “I need to know what he said.”
“Why don’t you just come clean?” I argue. “Get it all out in the open and stop playing games? Surely you don’t enjoy this? Was it you? Did you shoot Tom?” I’m brave or dumb to confront him, but I’m done playing games. I want to know things too. I want to know why they were on the stairs in Olive Tower. I want to know why he’s hiding his involvement and why he thinks I know anything. If Ben attacked Tom, he’s had ample opportunity to sneak into the hospital and finish the job. Instead, he’s stalking me.
Ben shoots up from the bed and walks me backwards straight into the dressing room. He shuts the door behind him, leaving us trapped in the smaller, windowless room. “Is that what he told you?” he growls. The fury in his reddening face and tight lips suggests he’s not the one who pulled the trigger…or if he is, it wasn’t intentional, perhaps?
“He didn’t even mention you,” I admit, struggling to keep my back straight and chin up as he leans over me. God, I’m so sick of aggressive men. “He only wanted to thank me.”
“And you only saw me and him that night?” Ben presses; some of his fire quenching with my answers. “No one else outside? No one else hanging around?”
“No” I shake my head. “Just you and Tom.”
“None of this makes any sense!” Ben slams his hand against the wall. I don’t even flinch.
“Glad you worked that out. Mind leaving now?”
He doesn’t hear me, or at least he pretends not to. He presses his forehead to the back of the door he’s blocking and mumbles under his breath. After a long moment, he whispers something like ‘okay’ and then spins to face me. “I need you to find out what happened. Or at least let me know if he tells you about it.”
Is he kidding? Maybe he’s stupid? He thinks he can stalk me, threaten me, and then recruit me into his madness? I’m going with stupid because this isn’t even funny.
“Why the hell would I tell you anything?” I hiss at him. His eyes widen, clearly not expecting me to stand up for myself. “You’re untrustworthy. A liar. A stalker punk. Probably a spy. Not to mention, this is the second time you’ve trapped me in a room and threatened me.”
Tension lifts from his shoulders as he laughs at me. “Oh, Honey Bee,” he drawls. “I haven’t threatened you. I’ve warned you.” He leans in and places a kiss on my forehead. I’m too damn stunned to react, but he doesn’t require a reaction. He’s so sure he has my compliance, he’s already ditching me. The lock clicks and he slips into my bedroom, only looking back to whisper his expectations.
“Just get the information I need. And tell no one I was here.” He pulls the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head and drifts into the corridor with his head tucked low to his chest, avoiding the cameras.
There’s no way I’m going to let him sneak around under Dax’s nose. No way will I’ll let him bully me into getting what he wants.
I storm into the corridor behind him, wave my hands at the cameras and scream at the top of my lungs. “Dax!”
Ben stumbles at the top step, turning to glare at me with teeth bared. “You stupid fucking fool! You’ve no idea what you’ve done.”
I fight the chill that creeps up my spine and shout again. It isn’t necessary. I can hear Dax’s feet charging up the steps below and my shouts even pull Sylvie from her room to see what the commotion is about.
Defeated, Ben slumps onto the top step and removes the hood from his face. “You’re going to regret this,” he warns as Dax rounds the landing and starts shouting.
“Where have you been? What are you doing up here? Do you know I’ve had people looking for you? Why the fuck was Jules shouting? Move!” Ben shifts his butt to the wall and allows Dax to pass him.
“I wouldn’t let him out of your sight,” I caution. “He’s known for running away.”
Ben snorts. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going anywhere. There are at least five guys at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me, right?”
“Three,” Dax corrects. “But three is enough for you, Mouse.”
“It’s been a long time since you called me that,” Ben mumbles. I can’t tell if he’s upset that Dax calls him by the nickname or if he’s nostalgic.
“It’s been a long time since you behaved this way.” Dax’s rebuttal drips disappointment like acid. Ben flinches at the burn.
Reaching me, Dax places a hand on each side of my face and scans me thoroughly before asking, “Why were you shouting? Are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” Ben huffs. “You know me better than that, Dax.”
Dax doesn’t even turn his head. He continues to scrutinise me, speaking over his shoulder all the while. “I thought I did, Ben, but I’m not fucking asking you, so sit there and shut up until I’m ready to speak to you.” Once again, he addresses me. “Are you okay?” he reiterates gently.
“Yes. He was in my room. He snuck in while I was getting changed.” Dax glances down at the pyjamas and pulls a face. I try not to laugh.
“Is this practical enough for you?” I whisper conspiratorially.
He grins but loses the smile fast. “What did he want?”
“Information,” I answer honestly. “He wants to know what Tom said to me when we were at the hospital.”
Dax’s eyes widen. “He does, huh? Did he threaten you?”
“Sort of, and not really.” I can’t honestly say whether he was threatening or warning me, but he wasn’t exactly intimidating. He simply expected me to work with him. Still, his methodology was plain rude and suspicious as hell. “It’s not the first time he cornered me while I was alone.”
“The laundry room.” Dax nods, remembering my message earlier. He releases me and faces Ben, chilling on the step. “Who’s working with you?” he asks.
“The same people working with you. I’m not your enemy, Dax. I never was.”
“Then you need to come with me, and we’ll straighten this out once and for all.”
Ben doesn’t move. He takes a breath and hums then lifts his hood again. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”
“Great idea or not, get downstairs now.”
“No.” He shakes his head, still obscured by the hood. “No cameras. Trust me, this is as much for your sake as mine,” Ben says. There’s urgency and desperation in his voice, as if he needs Dax to understand. It works. Dax’s posture relaxes, his shoulders loosening. He glides to his bedroom door and opens it.
“Fine. My room, now.” I move to join them, but Dax’ hand falls upon my shoulder. “No, Jules, not you.”
“You forget, he came to me for the info. I’m already involved.” Already I can tell my argument has fallen flat. Dax won’t budge.
“You are, but if I can keep you out of worse shit, then I am going to do that. Let me hear him out. If you need to know any of it, I’ll tell you.”
“Besides, it’s movie time,” Sylvie interjects, speaking up for the first time since appearing around her doorframe. Her eyes dart between the three of us but linger on Ben the longest. Her brows pull together and there’s a flicker of bitchy Sylvie until she blinks, and it’s gone.
Dax jumps on her suggestion far too enthusiastically. “Good idea. You two watch the movie. The pizza is already downstairs getting cold.”
I glower, but it changes nothing. Sylvie reaches out and touches my arm. Reluctantly, I step away, hating the snide grin on Ben’s face. He winks at me as I pass, releasing within me the urge to shove my fist down his throat.
I follow Sylvie downstairs, but my mind isn’t on the movie or food. It remains up there with the conversation they’re having without me. I deserve to know what’s going on. I deserve to know the reason my life has been pulled apart.
“You need to let it go,” Sylvie advises, pausing the movie mid-action. “You heard Dax, if you need to know, he’ll tell you.”
I grunt at her naivety. “We both know he won’t tell me anything.”
“Then you need to accept that, too. If he keeps you away from it, it’s probably for your own good.” She doesn’t even sound like she believes the shit she’s selling.
I call her on it. “Would you let it go?”
“Me? No. I’d let them think they were getting their way and then I’d find out for myself by other means,” she admits.
“Other means?”
“Tits and ass, Jules. They are like truth serum for some guys. Just show a little skin, work your hips, and get what you want.” She shimmies her shoulders, her breasts shuddering obligingly.
“Holy shit, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course, do you really think I’m happy wandering around this house with too much money, home-school tutoring, being watched twenty-four seven and only security guards for company?” I hadn’t thought about what kind of life Sylvie had, but aside from the wealth and luxury she sounds just as trapped as I am in my life. “I have to find some way to amuse myself.”
“I see.” I don’t really want to think about it. The idea that she sleeps around because she’s bored doesn’t sit well with me. It sounds a lot like self-abuse. A lack of self-worth. But my views come from a life lived at another extreme. I have no cause to judge.
“Look. No matter where you come from, or what your bank account looks like, the real currency in life is power, and knowledge is power. The more you know, the more power you can claim from people. I might only be a silly teen in most people’s eyes, Dax included, but one day all of this will be mine, and I refuse to be walked over. I will be respected or feared, but never underestimated.”
I understand her viewpoint. It doesn’t differ far from my own. Knowledge—my education in particular—is my way out of my situation. It’s the same for Sylvie, the only difference is that her knowledge comes in the form of understanding her allies and competition. If she wants to get ahead, she needs to become influential in her circles. If I want to get ahead, I need to establish some influential circles to begin with.
“Good advice.”
“If you want to win the game, you need to be prepared to play.”
“I’m not sure I was ever really a player.”
“Even a pawn can become a queen. Understand their rules and then wreck them. Play to win, girl, or get off the damn board.”