THIRTY-FOUR
Apair of arms wrap around me. Slim but firm. Strong but not muscular. I’m pulled into a shoulder, clad in thick, lemon-scented, cotton. A smooth neck and cheek presses against the side of my face and a gentle voice soothes, “It’s all right, Honey Bee. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Ben.
I should pull back. I should throw my defences back up and ask him what the hell he’s playing at, but he’s giving me exactly what I want. Escape. A moment. Comfort.
“I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
How did he know I was there? Why did he whisk me away? How did he know what I wanted? A sharp, burning breath punctuates each question as I take his advice and let go of the air I’ve been holding back.
“He didn’t it mean how it sounded,” Ben mumbles into my hair. “Don’t cry.”
I’m not crying…am I? I extend my senses, pulling out of the dark bubble I’ve wrapped myself in and focus beyond the young man holding me as though I’d fall apart without him. He’s right. His shoulder is soaked through.
I pull away embarrassed and stumble into a wall at my back.
“I…sorry. How did…? Were you…?”
“I was already there,” he admits, somehow understanding my disjointed chittering. “I saw Frank slip into Dax’s office and snuck into the tunnels to listen in. I didn’t even know you knew about the boardroom door, and I didn’t want to freak you out, so I fell back into the shadows.” I hear a trace of regret or apology in his tone but clearly not enough for him to voice it aloud.
I snap at him in shame rather than genuine anger, “You ought to have said something.”
“I didn’t know you’d stick around to eavesdrop,” he throws back.
Damn, he’s right. We’re as bad as each other.“I didn’t intend to, but they were talking about me and–”
His hands fly up and appear from the dark so unexpectedly that I flinch. He takes a step back and uses a softer, calmer tone. “Hey. No judgement. I was doing the same thing, and I did it intentionally.”
“Why?”
He heaves a tired sigh before answering. “To get a better look at the bigger picture.”
“Why?”
“Because people I care about are getting hurt. Wouldn’t you do the same?”
Would I? Yes. I’ve pretty much proven I do anything to keep my people safe. I guess can’t judge Ben for that, but I’m curious too. “Do you mean Tom?”
“Yeah. He’s more my brother than Dean’s…Dax’s. We grew up together. Before Dax ever got involved with Celeste Trevainne.”
Celeste Trevainne. Her again, but Ben makes her sound like a bad experience. Like a regret. Still, it confirms that this house, business, Sylvie, and Dax…were all hers once.
Ben continues talking and filling in blanks I didn’t know existed.
“Frank, Dean, Tom, and I were as close as family once. Frank raised us to think of him like a father, a guardian against the hells of the Vale, but, looking back, I think he was more like Fagin from Oliver Twist. When Dean stumbled onto Trevainne, he brought us all with him, thinking he was saving us too. That’s why Frank thinks he can say whatever he wants and it’s also why you shouldn’t worry yourself about the things Frank says. He’s only every really concerned about himself.”
Well, that was news to me. With the way Dax speaks to Frank, I figured he was an employee. There’s no love lost between them now. I’d never have guessed to a deeper or longer connection. With Ben, yes, but never Frank.
“You all knew each other? From the Vale? I thought Frank was just another bodyguard.”
“Yeah, we knew each other and no, Frank isn’t a bodyguard. He thinks of himself as an adviser. Which suits him because scheming is his most used trait. Think of him like an uncle; one that over estimates himself and his importance.”
“You don’t like him much, do you?”
Ben snorts. “Frank took me under his wing when my parents turfed me onto the streets at six. I was a dead kid walking, but he swept me up and taught me skills to survive. He did the same for Dean after his mum died. We were kin. Not blood, but chosen. While I’m grateful for that, I’m also fully aware of why he did it…and it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. I don’t know. Feelings are complicated, right?”
True. I can appreciate that. If I had a choice growing up, I’d have chosen anyone over Eric. Turns out he wasn’t blood anyway, and it was never my choice to begin with.
“Frank taught you and Dax, but what about Tom?” I ask, picking up on the deliberate absence of his name. With Ben so willing to talk, I keep pressing for answers to understand and learn. There’s a dynamic in this house that has me mis-stepping and second guessing everyone and everything within it. I want to know what I’m in the middle of here.
“Dean kept him out of the worst of it,” Ben admits. “Made sure he stayed in school. Nobody would have known he slept in abandoned buildings or under bridges with the way Dean would keep him clean and well turned out every day. He was one of us, just not in the same way. Then Trevainne happened, and Dean became Dax, and we lost him to this…” I catch the shadow and movement of Ben’s arm swirling out to his side.
They lost him? It’s similar to what I overheard Frank say. “That’s what Frank was talking about?”
“Yeah. But Frank’s wrong too. He’s a grifter; always was, always will be. He likes the money and security that this place offers, but he’ll always be looking for the next big deal.”
Though his explanations lack serious detail, one thing is glaringly obvious. “You don’t trust him,” I state.
“At this point, I don’t know who to trust,” Ben admits sullenly.
“Not even Tom?”
He hauls in a breath and releases another tired sigh. “No. Not even Tom.”
A silence drapes between us that only seems to emphasise the darkness. Standing here, my eyes have adjusted to the dark, but there’s still nothing to see but shadows blanketing shadows. There are slits of light further down the hallway; streaks so thin and fine, your eye is tricked into wondering if they are there at all. Reflections? Tunnels? Exits? Who knows.
There are distant and muted mumblings. Conversations further away? As I listen, I pick up the sound of humming machinery and water hissing through pipes, but all of it removed as though I’m wearing headphones.
“Where exactly are we?”
“Right now, we’re behind the restaurant.” He points to the slither of light.
“The restaurant?”
“Yep. It’s in the main office wing. It’s a fully functioning business over there. Dax’ll probably show you more of that.”
I’d read about it on the business flyer Sylvie gave me during our tour. So, they connected the main house to the business wing via Dax’s office and the boardroom? I guess that way they could bring the important visitors to the fancy main entrance and schmooze them in style?
Ben continues, and I listen. I’m getting more information out of this conversation than I have from anyone else in days.
“The next exit is on the south corridor, but that’s always busy at this time of day, so I was taking us towards the escape tunnels. They lead out to various points on the grounds.”
Holy shit. This place is like a warren. “All the way outside?”
“Yes.”
“This is how you’ve been sneaking around?” He doesn’t need to answer. It’s obvious, so I continue. “Do you know all the tunnels by heart?”
“Yeah. I’m good with directions, and even better at sneaking into places unnoticed. It’s why they call me Mouse. As soon as I found these tunnels, I made a point of mapping them.”
“Does anyone else know about them?”
“Why? Are you thinking of hiding out in here indefinitely?”
“What?” Staying in the musty darkness is not a choice I’d willingly make. The air in here is dry and itchy as it scratches its way down my throat. The smell is similar to wood shavings with a subtle trace of mouse droppings. No. Staying in here for too long isn’t any kind of plan. “No…”
“I’m kidding, Honey Bee.” His chuckle is loud and diffuses some of the tension between us. He bumps my arm gently before answering my question. “Tom knows most of them, having explored with me. Sylvie knows the one that leads in and out of her room and Dax knows about the one that leads into his room, but I don’t use that because he has it alarmed.”
With so many tunnels and secret entrances, could I even consider this place secure? If Ben’s figured them all out, who else might have done the same?
“Could someone else get in? From outside?” I can’t hide the edge of panic from my voice as a dozen possibilities scramble through my mind.
“You’re worried?”
“Wouldn’t you be, if people were after you?”
“Jules, no!” Ben takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face him. His face is a mask of shadows, but his stark blue eyes, which almost seem to have their own light, capture my attention. “Look, most of the tunnels are lone routes. One way in, one way out. Some are connected like this one. I think they were passageways for staff. Others are obviously escape routes; one even attaches to a panic room of sorts. Whoever originally built this place was paranoid or something. Or maybe they were smugglers? Whatever they were, they made sure all exits were on Trevainne land. Any outsider that wants to sneak in would first have to get onto the grounds. And if they made it through Dax’s perimeter security measures, they’ll already be storming the house, not sneaking through tunnels. It boils down to this; nobody, outside of Sylvie, me, Tom, and Dax know about them. Like I said, I’m surprised you even knew about the boardroom one.”
“Dax told me to come in that way,” I admit.
“He doesn’t let anyone use it, no matter know about it. He trusts you…”
I snort. I’m not sure about him trusting me. After everything I heard, he probably just doesn’t think I’m important enough for it to be an issue.
After a long silence where I continue to internally berate myself, Ben shows me how attuned to my thoughts he really is.
“Are you okay now? Don’t think too much about what you heard. I know you and Dax have something—”
I cut him off. “Me and Dax have nothing going on!”
He makes a humming noise filled with disbelief and unspoken accusations. “You and Aiden then?”
Okay. Strange question. “Aiden’s not even here. Why would you ask that?”
Ben hesitates before answering, “No reason. Come on, I’ll get you outside so you can get some air. You also might want to work on your sneaking skills. That’s three times now that you’ve been caught out because you move without thinking.”
He has a point. I need to watch where I put my damned feet. “I can’t even hide without screwing up.” I aim for humour with a little self-deprecation sprinkled on top, but Ben’s response is serious.
“Hiding is fine. Sometimes you’ve got to hide. Just try not to blindly react.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your life is a series of blind reactions, Jules. Each time you fail to take control—move with intention—you let everyone else take charge of your actions, leaving you with no choice but to react. It’s like you forgot you are your own person. Make choices. Move with purpose. Be conscious of yourself.”
“I intended to get the hell away from what I heard. There was intention.”
“No. You stumbled back in reaction to what you heard. Same as you did on the stairs and the same as you did in the Tower. You moved without thinking and it got you caught. If you had intended to leave, you would have turned around, snuck out the door and back to the apartment without making a sound.”
“How is that different?”
“Intention, Jules. Ask yourself if you control your every move or if you find yourself exhausted because you are constantly reacting to what others do first? When you are hungry, do you seek food, or do you wait for someone to present you with a sandwich? When you are bored, do you seek a pastime, or do you wander around until someone tells you what to do? When you are backed into a corner, do you wait for them to withdraw, or do you force them out of your space? Who is the master of your life, Jules? Because the answer should be you.”
Fuck. I’m embarrassed. It hurts getting schooled by someone who barely knows me but has already seen me so damn clearly. Way too fucking clearly; the sandwich with Dax, my listlessness yesterday, his appearance in the laundry room and my closet…Ben and I need to talk about his obvious stalking issue. Sadly, he is also fucking right. I’m not the master of my life. What he’s saying resonates with Sylvie’s advice, too. Like I’ve been a chess piece in someone else’s hands instead of a player moving her own pieces. It hits home and reminds me of the resolve I felt this morning and of the plan I still need to enact.
“Actually Ben, you’re right. I need to go back. I’m meeting with Dax. It’ll look strange if I don’t show…plus he has me tagged.” I lift my phone out of my pocket and hit the button to light up the screen. The light blinds me for a second, but then I catch the soft expression on Ben’s face as he stares into my eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, flicking his glance away, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Frank was right about one thing; I need something from Dax. Something I’m determined to get.” But not because I’m a gold digger, because it’s already mine.
“You know I’ll probably listen in, right?” he admits brazenly.
“Do what you have to.” I shrug. I don’t plan on sharing anything intimate with either of them. It doesn’t hurt me if Ben knows I want to continue my course and clearly, he’s stalking everything I say or do, regardless of consent. I suspect he’s the kind of guy who holds onto secrets like they’re currency. “We’ll be having a serious talk about your voyeurism kink soon, though. I’ll even introduce you to my favourite book: the dictionary. We’ll start with the letter P for PRIVACY.”
Ben snorts. “Okay. Whatever you say, Honey Bee. I’m going to take your hand now. Keep the phone light off in case someone notices it in a doorway crack.”
I tap the screen light off and hold out my hand. Despite my blindness, Ben has no such difficulty and wraps his fingers around mine and squeezes. I wonder how much time he spends alone wandering in the dark.
“I think I get it now,” he mumbles.
“Get what?”
A small huff of a chuckle buffets the air. “Nothing, Jules. Just stuff.” His cagy response is suspicious considering he’s been more than honest with me so far. Like everyone else in this house, Ben omits facts, but he’s not once lied to my face, not even that first night in the hospital. He was careful not to say certain things, but he never openly lied, either. The thought is oddly reassuring.
It’s a realisation I take full advantage of with my next question.
“Were you selling the information in that envelope?” I ask bluntly.
“No. I wasn’t.” His response is fast and assured. His returning question catches me off guard. “Did you read what was inside it?”
I give him the same definitive response, “No. I didn’t,” then tack on another question. “Are you working for Franz or any of those fucks?”
“I’m loyal to only myself, Tom, and Dax.”
“Not Frank?”
I sense more than see him shake his head. “It took me a long time to realise that Frank used me. He saved me, but he used me too. So no, not Frank.”
I notice he didn’t mention Sylvie either, but I don’t ask about that. From the sounds of it, she’s a newer fixture in all their lives—if you can call ten years new.
We arrive back at the office door, and I risk one last question, a more personal curiosity than anything else. “Why do you call me Honey Bee?”
“Because from the second you appeared on the stairs of Olive Tower, you’ve been a constant buzzing in my head,” he admits.
I have to admit I’m a little offended. “Sorry that I’m such a persistent irritation.”
“Yeah, me too,” he whispers before knocking on the door twice and vanishing into the dark once more.