“Then stop. Everything. I’ll need you this week, but when we leave for Nassau, you pack your shit and get the fuck out.”
The man scowls. “So, that’s it. Fuck Cecile or anything else. You go to Nassau, execute your plan, and then wash your hands of me? And what if you get caught?”
“I’m not going to get caught.” Not with Candace.
“If you do, I’m not involved. I’m not covering for you, and I’m not cleaning up your mess.”
“Your sister got me into this fucking mess. Let’s not forget that.” It’s not a fair thing to say. Fuck, the whole situation is unfair. Maybe it’s wrong to fire him. But the man shouldn’t have put his hands on his wife. Nathan closes his eyes, assaulted by the thought of her body moving underneath Drew’s, her lips wrapping around his cock. He jerks to his feet and almost lunges for the man again, regardless of the gun in his hand.
Drew straightens, his gun falling, and clears the bullet from the chamber. There is the tinny sound of metal against tile as the bullet drops to the floor, rolling harmlessly away. “Are we done with this shit?”
Nathan crosses his arms. “We’re done.”
“I’ll be out of here by the time you’re back from your trip.” He tips an imaginary hat at Nathan and steps back. “Enjoy your wife. I certainly did.”
The rage explodes in his chest, and it takes everything in him to not chase the man down the hall and kill him.
Four years since Cecile, four years that had built a friendship between the two of them, one that—two months ago—seemed ironclad.
He turns and walks to the window, looking at the guesthouse, her lights still on.
She isn’t worth it. Not with everything currently at stake.
CHAPTER 38
I can’t sleep, my mind running laps, my conversation with Nathan only raising more questions. Thinking about my situation seems to do nothing but stress me the hell out. I kick off the covers and stand, my muscles jumping, my head aching with the effort of trying to not think. Swimming. Maybe that will clear my head, exhaust my muscles, and allow my body to finally sleep. I step to the curtains and slip through, unlocking the slider and stepping outside.
It is beautiful on this ledge of the world. The house sits on the edge of a stiff drop, looking down on the city below. It is a city that sleeps with lights on, skyscrapers announcing their greatness with up lights and a blatant waste of electricity, dotting the landscape with colorful dots all hours of the night. I turn to the house, following the simple, modern lines of the architecture, the house designed to make an impression, from the front as well as the back, the floor to ceiling windows disappearing into the night sky. As I watch, the house goes dark, the light in Nathan’s room turning off.
I wonder where Drew is, and whether he came for me tonight. Earlier, I put a note on the glass. On it, I wrote only ‘No.’ I figured that would be clear enough for him, yet cryptic enough that—if seen by someone else’s eyes—wouldn’t rat out our affair. I’m not ready to see Drew. Not ready to accept the fact that he may be involved in a plot to cause me harm.
I pull my t-shirt over my head and slide my pajama pants off, leaving them both in a pile on the pool deck, standing naked on the edge of the pool. I stare into the ripples of water, the lights constantly changing the color of the water, making the transition from cool to warm, from icy to red-hot. I dive when it is the color of blood, needing to see the color change while underwater, needing to feel transformed, from blood red to relaxation blue. When blue steals over the space, I close my eyes and start my laps.
I have memorized this pool, every inch of it, my mind and body knowing exactly how many strokes, how many kicks, how many breaths to take before I reach the edge. I swim, then tuck, roll, push, and return the opposite direction. Back.
Forth.
Back.
Forth.
Twenty laps. Thirty laps. Forty laps. I try for fifty, my legs giving out at lap forty-two, my chest aching, arms shaking, strokes slowing until I stop, in the middle of the pool, in the middle of the lap. I roll over and float on my back, keeping my eyes closed, my chest heaving as I fight to slow my gasps.
When I finally open my eyes, it is to an orchestra of stars—thousands of identical specks. Under them, on my back, I feel so small. Small and tired, my eyes heavy. I right my body, my feet standing, moving sluggishly through the thick water to the steps, my gait quickening as I leave the weight of the water and enter the heat of the night. I ignore my clothes and pull on the slider, shivering slightly when I step into the cool room, my weary arms pulling the door closed and locking it.
I wrap a towel around my body, and crawl into bed, pulling the comforter over my body and closing my eyes. And finally, without argument, my mind goes to sleep.
Something is wrong. The first sign came this morning, when Nathan called my room personally and asked me to come to the house. Asked. Physically said the words, ‘Will you come to the house?’ I don’t think the words ‘Will you’ have ever left that gorgeous mouth of his.
When I walked in, prepared for his hands, his mouth, his cock, Drew and Nathan stood in the kitchen, their eyes on me, watching me closely. An arrangement of flowers sat between them, roses and lilies spilling out of an arrangement that stood four feet high. I walked carefully toward them, my eyes flicking back and forth, trying to read the serious look on their faces.
“These are for you,” Nathan said stiffly, stepping to the side and gesturing to the flowers.
I looked at them in confusion, staying in place. “Are we expecting guests?”
Nathan flinched. “No. I ordered them for you. You like flowers, right?”
“Yes…” I stare at the flowers, trying to figure out what is going on. “Why?”
“Is it not big enough?” The tightness in Nathan’s voice causes me to turn, my eyes noting several details at once. His tight grip on the bar stool before him. The intense contact of his blue eyes. The way his polo hugs the muscles of his chest tightly, emphasizing the cut of his build.
I step forward, approaching the arrangement with trepidation.
“The flowers are fine. What is their purpose?”
“I can’t be nice?” he asks shortly.
I glance from him to Drew, and if the tension in the room was any thicker, we'd all suffocate. I try to laugh, the sound coming out wrong. “Did I do something wrong?” He knows about Drew. He must have found out about Drew.
He steps forward. “How unhappy are you?” He grips my wrists and pulls, turning me to face him. “Are you unhappy?”
I bristle, yanking my arm away and stepping toward the door. “Does it matter? I wasn’t aware that anyone cared about my personal happiness.”
“It matters if you are planning on killing yourself.”
His voice is so quiet, so deadly serious, that I pause in my exit, turning to face him. He stares at me, his face grim.