Текст книги "Exposed"
Автор книги: Brighton Walsh
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter Three
I gripped the phone so hard I was lucky it didn’t break.
Gage’s voice was low and controlled when he finally spoke. “You still there?”
I didn’t know how long I’d sat there without saying anything, just staring, disbelieving, at the photo. At Gage’s question, I tried to speak but had to clear my throat before I could force out any words. When I finally did, what came out was nothing more than a croak, but he took it as confirmation.
“I need you to listen to me, Ry, very carefully. She’s in trouble. They’ve found her. Someone from the Minneapolis crew must’ve seen the article, and word got back to Max. Aaron confirmed a few hours ago that Max is sending people for her. We don’t know who, and Aaron couldn’t give me an exact time, but it’s going to be soon. I’d bet my balls Max won’t sit on this more than a few hours.”
And even though I couldn’t stop staring at the picture of her, at the face that resembled the girl I’d once known, I still couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any sense.
I’d visited her goddamn grave.
Because of that, the denial came effortlessly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Almost as if he’d expected that response, Gage answered without hesitation, without exasperation. “Yes, you do.”
“No. I don’t. It says right here her name is Genevieve Meyer, and I don’t know anyone with that na—”
“Ry. You know who it is. You know.”
I shook my head, though he couldn’t see it. I couldn’t reconcile what he was telling me, what I was seeing in that photograph, with the past five years. I didn’t know which was real, which was a lie.
In the silence, Gage spoke again, “I’m sorry it had to happen this way. I wish I could’ve told you differently, but I need you to focus. It’s important. Someone could already be on the way to her. She’s in trouble.” He sighed and cursed below his breath. Then he said the words I never thought I’d hear again: “Evie needs your help.”
EVIE
It was late when I finally got home, the house empty and hollow, Eric having left for London several days prior. I both loved and loathed when I had the house to myself. It was the only time I ever truly got to let my guard down. It was the only time I was able to truly be myself.
Except I hardly remembered who that was anymore.
Hell, I didn’t know if I even wanted to know who that was.
Because the girl I’d left behind so many years ago was a complete fuckup with more problems than a mental institution and more baggage than an airport. And even though I didn’t want to, even though I fought the flashbacks with everything I had, my mind still betrayed me sometimes. It still transported me back to my childhood home—a small two-bedroom house in a shadier part of Chicago. It’d been all we could afford, though, especially after my father had been laid off shortly after I’d started high school. And even then, it had been fine.
Until it wasn’t.
Until suddenly the walls of that house felt more like a prison than a home. Until those very walls held secrets—secrets buried under years of silence and pain and avoidance. Secrets I still kept to this day.
Secrets I’d keep until my last breath.
My heart sped at the remembrance of that time. When I’d been fifteen, fumbling my way through my teenage years and totally unaware of the hell my life was about to become.
Forcing myself out of my memories, I hung my keys by the back door and walked farther into the house, shedding my coat and hanging it over a chair in the dining room. Whenever I was assaulted with flashbacks, I always had a hard time sleeping. I didn’t know if it was self-preservation, keeping myself from the nightmares that plagued my sleep, or if it was simply fear of the possibility that I might be transported there against my will.
After taking a long bath and indulging in a couple glasses of wine, I settled in on the couch in the family room to watch some comfort movies—old-school cult classics, the ones that always made me laugh no matter what—knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, anyway.
When I was partway through my third movie, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the time, seeing it was after one in the morning. Eric’s face lit up the screen, and I answered. “What if you’d woken me up?”
I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “That’d be some supersonic hearing you had, then, since you always put your phone on Silent when you go to sleep.”
The thought that he knew something as trivial as that, but not something as monumental as the fact that my parents were still alive and well in Chicago, not buried in a cemetery in Miami, filled me with the heavy cloud of guilt that was always pressed down on my shoulders.
“I’m just watching some movies. How’s London?”
“Busy. I’m running all over place, and this office is a goddamn mess. There’s a lot to get in order before it’s suitable for clients. Too much to get in order.” He cleared his throat, and I knew enough about him to know he needed to tell me something he thought would disappoint me.
“What is it?”
Blowing out a breath, he said, “Because of that, I might need to extend my trip.”
I figured that was coming, because all the business trips he’d taken since we’d gotten engaged had run longer than anticipated. “That’s okay.”
“I’m talking about another week, maybe two.”
“That’s okay,” I repeated. “Take the time you need. I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe they’ll keep you busy at work,” he said.
I thought about the office job I went to every day, the job I had absolutely no interest in, and knew that even if they did, it wouldn’t engage my mind. Despite my degree in journalism, I’d never put it to use, instead getting a job at an office, filing papers and inputting data into a computer. And I dutifully went to it Monday through Friday, put on my mask, and got the job done that I needed to.
Always pretending.
Before I could answer, muffled sound crept over the line from Eric’s end. There was a mumbled voice, a murmur of confirmation from Eric, then he said, “Sorry, Gen, I gotta run. I’m not sure what my hours here are going to be like, so I’ll try to call when I can.”
“That’s okay,” I said for the third time. “I’ll talk to you later.”
The line went dead, and I tossed my phone on the cushion next to me as I stared blankly at the comedy still playing on the TV. My favorite part of watching movies, of reading books, was getting lost in a story that wasn’t mine. A feel-good story that inevitably had a happy ending. It was the only way I was going to live one, vicariously through others.
Because despite outward appearances, a happy ending wasn’t in my cards.
* * *
I woke to a noise, my eyes popping open as I lay on the couch, having fallen asleep sometime during my fourth movie. Another residual effect from my teenage years—the ability to sleep light as a feather, the softest sound enough to wake me. Without moving an inch, I quickly took in my surroundings. The TV was frozen on the menu screen, the movie having long since stopped, not a sound coming from anywhere. I lay as still as I could and listened for any movement. What I’d heard was probably nothing more than a tree branch scraping a window or the house settling, but I couldn’t write it off immediately.
After minutes of listening for any further noise and finally confident that it’d just been something trivial, I sat up and reached for the remote to turn off the TV, then grabbed my cell phone from the cushion next to me and stood. I checked the screen, seeing it was close to five A.M., and breathed a sigh of relief that it was Saturday, and I had nowhere to be. The hallway light upstairs lit a muted path as my feet slapped against the hardwood, heading in the direction of my room and the bed I hoped would allow me peaceful dreams.
I was three steps from the stairs when a creak sounded from the floor at the same time a hand reached out from the shadows and connected with my arm.
Without thinking, without taking a moment to second-guess myself, I snapped into action, my foot going back and connecting with a solid mass of muscle at the same time I spun around, my other arm coming down hard on his and causing his grip on my arm to loosen. I used his surprise to my advantage, not staying to fight but instead twisting from his grasp and running toward the kitchen. Toward my keys and the door that would lead me to freedom.
I’d thought about this day countless times over the past five years. How it would happen. When it would happen. If Eric would be home when it did. Because I knew it was inevitable. I knew I couldn’t run forever, that at some point, someone would find me. I just didn’t know which bad guy I’d left behind would be the one breathing down my neck.
But in all the times I’d thought about it, in all the times I’d played this scenario out in my head, I’d always gotten away. I’d always managed to get to the door in time, managed to grab my keys and get into my car before the intruder could reach me.
Never once did I end up forced face-first against a wall, the cold drywall biting into my cheek as someone pressed along my back, my arms bound tightly to my sides as his wrapped around me, the solid weight of him holding me in place.
Even then, I didn’t stop struggling. Even then, when all the odds were stacked against me, I couldn’t blow out the fire burning inside of me, and I fought. Against the weight pressing into my back, against the restraints holding my arms down, I struggled to get free—always struggling to get free—but I was pinned. Trapped. With no way out.
Just like so many times before.
My breaths started coming in quick, sharp gasps, buried childhood memories creeping along my spine as I was transported back to a place I didn’t want to go. A place I never wanted to go, but one my cruel mind took me to without permission.
Drawn curtains and scratchy sheets and darkness and silence. Always silence, except for the muffled sobs I couldn’t seem to help.
“Stop fighting.” The male voice was low and harsh, frustrated. His breath brushed my ear, and I froze, my flashback evaporating in the blink of an eye. I froze because though I hadn’t heard it in years, I knew that voice. I recognized it as sure as I’d recognize my own face. Because it was a voice I’d heard in my dreams too many times to count. When my dreams were dreams and not the nightmares that so frequently plagued me, it was his face I saw. His voice I heard. His body I felt.
It was him. It was always him.
The one person who could make me feel better, the solace to my pain. My sanctuary when I’d needed escape. And I’d needed escape more often than not. More often than I’d ever let on. Because admitting that I’d needed an escape would mean admitting the truth, and I hadn’t ever been ready to do that.
I still wasn’t ready to do that.
“Stop fighting,” he repeated, though I’d gone still at his first words. “It’s me.”
My breathing was harsh, Riley’s matching mine as his chest rose and fell against my back, his breaths puffing against the side of my face. And despite the situation, despite the terror that still gripped my throat, I became aware of every inch of him pressed against me.
Judging by the bulk of him along my back, he’d grown a couple inches since I’d last seen him and had filled out, no longer the somewhat scrawny kid I’d known. I always wondered if he’d changed much over the years, but I’d never allowed myself to look. I’d never allowed myself to ask Ghost or Aaron about him, thinking it was better for everyone—me especially—to have a clean break. To forget about him as best I could.
But it was painfully obvious now, as that low hum of awareness I’d always felt around him buzzed through my veins, that I hadn’t forgotten an inch of his body. Hadn’t forgotten the sound of his voice.
Hadn’t forgotten how safe it felt to be held in his arms.
Chapter Four
As quickly as the thought had come to me, it fled, replaced by a wave of anger, my helplessness and fear transforming into aggression in the blink of an eye.
“Get off me,” I said, enunciating each word and pushing as much force into my voice as I could.
“Are you going to be a good girl and not fight?”
His tone, so carefree and steady, almost patronizing, only pissed me off more. “I said,” I spat, twisting my head around until our noses were only an inch apart, “get off me.”
He stared at me, his eyes flitting between mine in the muted light spilling down from upstairs. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he started relaxing his grip on me until, finally, he stepped back, the weight and heat of his body stolen from mine. I closed my eyes, resting my face against the wall, and breathed a sigh of relief as I tried to get my bearings.
When I once again had the mask in place, I pushed off from the wall and turned to face him. And even though I’d taken the time I’d needed to get myself in character, it hadn’t helped. I might as well have done nothing at all as the shock of seeing him once again after so long with only my memories to keep me company hit me full force, a roundhouse kick to the chest.
I’d been right—he had filled out since eighteen. While still not as bulky as Ghost, Riley had grown, his once lanky body transforming to something lean and muscular. His hair was longer than it’d been when I’d known him, no longer the buzz cut he’d once favored. The sides and back were trimmed close now, but the top was grown out a bit more and shaggy. His eyes, even in the dim light, were still just as piercing as they’d always been, the crystal-clear blue of the ocean reflecting back at me. His jaw was shadowed with a day or two’s worth of stubble—something he’d never done back when he was a kid. It made him look older, harder, harsher—another thing he’d never been in all the time I’d known him. Though he’d tried, though he’d put on a front because he looked up to his brother and wanted to be like him—something I knew he’d never admit to—he hadn’t ever really fit in with the crew. He was too laid back, too easygoing, too happy to truly fit in with a group of people who broke the law for a living.
And yet here he was.
How much had these past five years changed him?
Forcing myself to snap out of my musings on the kind of guy Riley was now—because it shouldn’t matter; it didn’t matter—I asked, “Why are you here?”
He was quiet for a moment, and if he was shocked to see me, he didn’t let on. Had he known I was here this whole time? I wondered if, despite my attempts to keep myself hidden from him, he’d found me anyway somewhere along the line. The thought that he’d known where I was but hadn’t made any effort to see me shouldn’t sting the way it did.
His face was a mask, hardly different from the one I put in place every day. Finally, he said, “Ghost sent me.”
I swallowed against the disappointment I felt, pushing it down, down, down. Burying it deep where it belonged. There wasn’t room here, in the life I lived now, for those kinds of emotions. Especially not when they were for Riley. “Why?”
He stared at me for another moment, then blew out his breath and shook his head, a hollow laugh leaving his lips as he looked toward the floor. “Apparently my ex-girlfriend, who I thought was dead, is alive and well, living in a fucking mansion in Minneapolis.” He looked up at me, his eyes locked on mine. “Engaged to a rising attorney.”
He didn’t let me answer, didn’t even give me time to contemplate the look in his eyes, before he plowed on, “A picture-perfect life to anyone looking in. Not for long, though. You’ve got a bull’s-eye on your back, and people are coming to collect. Soon.”
RILEY
The trip here had been brutal, both because I’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, thanks to the job I’d just come off of when I’d gotten Gage’s call, and because my mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Like Gage had told me to, I’d dropped everything and moved as quickly as I could. I’d thrown a couple things in a bag, jumped on my bike, and gotten the hell out of the city. Minneapolis was a long enough trek from the South Side of Chicago—one that was, thankfully, made easier by the middle-of-the-night road trip and the fact that I didn’t have a problem breaking every speed limit, but I was still edgy. Still worried I wouldn’t make it to Evie before someone else did.
And now that I was here, looking at her in the flesh for the first time in so long, I didn’t know what the fuck I was feeling. Over the course of the past five years, I’d run the gamut of emotions when dealing with grief, eventually ending with acceptance.
Yet here she was, standing in front of me, alive and well. A part of me wanted to simply turn around and leave, forget all of this. But then another part of me—a part that was too fucking big for my liking—wanted to grab her and shake her, brush her hair back from her face and look into her eyes, feel her under my hands and make sure she was real.
“I’m not—” she started, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair.
I still couldn’t get over it—how different it was from the short, blunt styles she’d always preferred. Before, she’d dyed her hair a different color every week and had dressed in all black. Combat boots and baggy black jeans all topped off with a fuck-everything attitude. Now, she stood in front of me, her long, vibrant red hair hanging in loose curls all the way down her back, an oversized ivory sweater falling off one shoulder, not even a bra strap to interrupt the creamy, pale skin dotted with the freckles I’d once had memorized. My fingers itched to see if she was as soft as I remembered.
She looked up at me, her eyes pinning me in place just like they used to. With her jaw set and her shoulders straightened, her arms crossed right under the tits I was sure were bare beneath that sweater, she said, “I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
I clenched my teeth, at both my reaction to seeing her in the flesh and her defiance. I’d already anticipated her reluctance. As much as Evie had changed—and I had no doubt she’d changed as much as I had these past five years—she wouldn’t have been able to drop this part of herself completely. The part that always pushed back, the part that always had to be in control—the part that had craved it.
While I’d definitely anticipated that aspect of her, what I hadn’t anticipated was the pull I still felt toward her. Shoving that aside, forcing it down where it belonged, I said, “You’d rather stay here like a sitting duck? Waiting for whoever Max sent? Whoever is coming? Because”—I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice—“don’t doubt this, Evie. They’re coming.”
She rolled her shoulders back, jutted out her chin. Defiance pouring from every inch of her. “I can take care of myself.”
Raising an eyebrow, I said, “Can you, now? Take care of yourself like you did when I had you pressed up against the wall? If I was someone who wanted you dead, make no mistake, you would be right now.”
Her eyes hardened even further, into the look I used to be wary of. The one that used to tell me I needed to tread carefully. That was the great thing about no longer being together, though. I didn’t have to tread for shit. “If you think Max will let you go after a talk, you’re wrong. You have something he wants. Whether that’s literal or figurative, I don’t know. But either way, he’s not going to stop with just a slap on the wrist.”
With her arms still crossed, she stared at me, none of her softening at my threat. Willing to do anything to get her to concede, I tried a different tactic, even though the words burned my throat as they came out. “What about your fiancé? What about keeping him safe? Whoever is coming isn’t going to stop with just you, if they find him here.”
It was the first time I saw any kind of emotion other than anger cross her face, and I clenched my fists at the wave of unease that washed over me. I hadn’t felt jealousy in a long, long time, and I sure as hell wasn’t ready to feel it now. Not for her. Not for the girl who, up until half a dozen hours ago, had been out of my life—dead to me—for the past five years. She wasn’t mine anymore, and I had no right feeling anything other than indifference now.
“He’s out of the country until the end of the month, probably.” She shook her head and glanced out toward the window across the room. As she did so, the softest whisper of movement from somewhere else in the house caught my attention. “I can—”
So fast she didn’t see it coming, I had my hand over her mouth, her body clutched tightly against me, chest to chest as I pressed her back into the wall around the corner. We hadn’t turned on any lights, and it was still dark outside, providing the cloak of coverage we needed. Lowering my mouth so my lips brushed against her ear, I breathed, “We’ve got company.”
She went still as stone in my arms, and I carefully removed my hand from over her mouth, clutching her harder against me and telling her without words to stay still. We stood there, waiting, watching, for what felt like an hour, when in actuality it was mere seconds.
Whoever had broken in was good, because as hard as I tried to hear something, anything, there were no noises. I peered over my shoulder and strained my eyes, looking for shapes in the shadows, and finally, just when I started to wonder if I’d mistakenly heard something, a dark form loomed on the wall across from us. Evie tensed even further in my arms. I gripped her hips and pushed her back against the wall, pressing her into it, hoping she got my meaning and stayed put while I dealt with the problem.
I didn’t know who was here, if it was just one guy or a handful. And if it was the latter, I didn’t know if I’d be able to take them all down while keeping Evie safe. Making sure she got out was my number-one goal. That was why Gage had sent me here, because he’d known that even after so long, after years of her absence, after accepting her death, I would still do anything for her.
Before I could focus anymore on the what-ifs, the shadow disappeared and a dark shape loomed in front of me.
I didn’t even pause before I took the first swing.
