28. Kingsley #2
They give me a couple of lines to say, the same things I usually do. The cold air doesn’t make it very enjoyable, but neither do Rip and Thomas. I can’t even bring myself to look Rip in the eye.
He notices that, too. I know it because he won’t stop staring at me, trying to pull my eyes to meet his telepathically. Even so, he doesn’t call it out.
Does he also realize how difficult it is to meet his eyes, considering he’s spent all his energy stabbing me in the back?
I swallow the feelings. If I let them get to me, I’ll sob like a fucking baby. I’m mature enough to admit that, but I’ll also do everything in my power to prevent it.
“That was good,” Thomas says. “I think that shot will come out nicely.”
“Not surprised.” I drop the club, letting it smack against the ground. “You’re Rip and Thomas Redgrave, world-renowned social media marketers.”
If I could snap a picture of the way their faces drop when I utter the name Redgrave, I would. Rip’s body goes stiff, and Thomas’ face turns red as a tomato. I fold my arms across my chest, waiting to see who will speak first.
I didn’t mean to use their real last name. Honestly, it slipped out, but I’m too peeved.
“Prince…”
“Don’t call me that,” I blurt, squeezing my eyes tight. “You don’t get to call me that. Not when you’ve been lying to me.”
Rip takes a step forward, his arm reaching toward me. “Hear me out.”
But I back away, my body revolting with disgust. “There is nothing to hear. It’s the truth. But I get it; it’s part of the business. Still, I wish you hadn’t deliberately gathered dirt to put my sister in jail.”
They stare at me in anticipation of my next words, but I have nothing left to say. What else can I? They were sent to dig up shit on us, and they did just that. That’s my bad, of course. My fault for letting Rip become such a prominent part of my life.
When he gathers I’m done speaking, Rip shakes his head, his eyes brimming with sincerity. “We didn’t put your sister in jail.”
I scoff. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” he states. Just like his eyes, his tone is sincere. But Rip could be as sincere as can be; I won’t fall for his lies again.
I look to Thomas. His breathing is heavy, and his eyes are bloodshot, as if there’s nothing going on upstairs. Rip nudges his brother, and suddenly he jolts back to life.
“We did a lot of things, Kingsley. And I’m sorry,” Thomas croaks. “We didn’t put Aralynn in jail, and we weren’t tipping off the police. But… but I did do something else…”
My heart drops. If he’s saying none of that was him, then what else can he have possibly done?
“What?” I push, tension rising in the back of my neck.
Thomas stuffs his hands into his pockets and focuses on the ground. He’s biting his lip, an internal battle being fought inside his head. I’m tired of their ridiculous games—they’ve been playing with me for too long. I’m about to tell them that when Rip speaks abruptly.
“I killed Sylvie.”
My head snaps toward him, the surrounding world seeming to crawl as I struggle to process his words.
I must be mishearing things. It’s impossible.
The person who stole my fiancée on our wedding day, the one everyone’s been telling me to find, the guy who made me lose a part of myself—he’s been right in front of me the whole time?
And I’ve been sleeping with him?
Bile rises in my throat, and it takes everything to keep it from spewing out. My limbs are numb, like they’re asleep, and the deadweight is dragging me to the ground. A sharp pain shoots across my tongue, followed by a sudden metallic tang. Shit, I bit it, not even realizing I was doing so.
My body doesn’t know how to react to everything.
I never let Sylvie's behavior, when she was alive and acting in ways a girlfriend shouldn't, get under my skin. Then she died, and her passing left me completely devoid of feeling. I was numb, and while feeling nothing isn’t ideal, it meant nothing could hurt me.
I'd trade anything to bring that back because now it's more than just hurt. There is an ache inside of me, but it’s trapped. It has nowhere to go and is confused, like I am. I am lost.
How the hell do I fix that?
Rip’s eyes dart between Thomas and me, shaky. “It was a job, Kingsley. I didn’t know she was your fiancée. I didn’t even know you! I’m sorry.”
My nails dig into the palms of my hands. “But you eventually realized it, right? And you kept going even after everything you learned about me, everything I showed you, and everything we shared. Right?”
“King,” Rip whispers gently, as if he’s worried I’ll break if he speaks too loudly. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, big with regret and a hint of something I can’t decipher.
“I don’t even know why I asked.” I glare, my body rigid with tension.
Then a loud, incredulous, bitter belly laugh erupts from me.
"This whole thing was a setup! You never meant well, and none of it was ever real.
Everything went according to plan for you, huh?
You snuck your way in while I was the most fragile because it was the perfect opportunity.
Can't even blame you at all; anyone would be a moron to pass a chance like that up.”
His eyes darken, and he waves his hands. “No. You don’t get to do that. Don’t erase everything and convince yourself it was fake because I fucked up.”
Rip states it like it's so simple. We built our relationship on a lie. How can I not believe all the parts and pieces of it were lies too?
Did he find it funny how I shared the story of Sylvie’s death and how it broke me? When I told him shit about me that even my sisters don’t know, personal shit that happened because Sylvie died, did he feel empowered? Was this all one big joke to him?
Have I been one big joke to him?
I have, and I played along like a clown.
I’ve become so comfortable, so reliant, so happy with Rip.
He is someone I never should have gotten close to, and now I’m left bewildered by his treachery.
He blindsided me, shattering the happy illusion he built up in my mind, and now I'm lost without him to guide me back to reality.
The false reality.
With a blur of red, I lung, pinning Rip against the solid wall. He doesn’t retaliate like normal, allowing me to get uncomfortably close, my breath hot on his face, as saliva pools in my mouth and I yank and twist at his shirt.
“You and Thomas will go to the charity event like none of this ever happened, then pack your bags and be gone in twenty-four hours,” I force out, his shirt balled into my fist. “If you’re here even a second after that, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”
Rip doesn’t argue. He nods once, his blue eyes fixed on the ground, a picture of defeat.
But I would bet money that he doesn’t feel as defeated as I do.