Flash Burned (17 page)

They left and I stared at the ceiling, wondering how in hell I'd ever be
well
again.

Without Dane.

More flowers arrived that afternoon, brought in by Jackson Conaway, Dane's lawyer. His visit was equally brief. Deepest sympathies, lots of paperwork to complete that I would need to sign when I was up to it, accounts to go over, et cetera. I was the sole benefactor of Dane's entire estate. I even owned all that now-useless land the Lux sat on.

The magnitude of the dangerous game nine men had played, and my entanglement, boggled the mind. They'd put everything on the line. A luxury hotel with no rival in the Western Hemisphere. And for five of them, they'd been willing to sacrifice forty or so lives, Dane's and Amano's included. All for money, prestige, power.

A chill ran through me. I understood how billionaire status could put people in a league of such extreme authority that they might deem themselves untouchable. In complete control of social, economic, political, and even environmental climates. I'd read enough about the sway the broader conglomerate considered the “Billionaires Club” reportedly had so that I knew a more focused, more potent Illuminati faction could be even more influential. And this particular group had clearly thought themselves invincible.

I fumed over Dane being that arrogant. But I couldn't really be mad at him when I knew he'd been the one in the right. He'd tried so hard to change the direction of the poli-econ society when it had taken a wayward turn. He'd tried to protect the Lux and the people who worked there, including me. And had made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of others.

Still, my feelings, my emotions, were painfully conflicted. I wasn't sure who to trust, and that made me feel very alone … and wary. Because my most important job now was to protect what was
mine
. The baby growing inside me.

Before Mr. Conaway left, I inquired about Lux insurance and how we could cover the medical expenses of those who'd had to come to the ER following the explosion. And I wanted anyone dealing with post-traumatic stress to be offered help.

“We'll pay for everything,” I insisted. “In whatever manner we need to, whatever arrangements have to be made.”

“I'll take care of it, Ari. Don't worry for a second. Just get better. And call if there's anything you need. Anything at all.”

I breathed a little easier, knowing I could trust him to help Lux employees through this catastrophe.

But a peculiar sensation burned deep inside me. The only word I could attribute it to was …
revenge
. I wanted it. I needed it.

How was someone like me going to get it?

While I still stewed internally, I also considered the one visitor I'd anticipated, who had yet to make an appearance. Though Mikaela Madsen had sent flowers, she hadn't come to the hospital. I wasn't sure why I'd expected her to. We certainly weren't friends. Just acquaintances because of Dane. Somehow, though, I kept myself primed and steeled for her to breeze in and make this more her tragedy than it was mine.

Though it occurred to me that perhaps she was too devastated herself to face this and to speak of Dane.

I couldn't fault her and was actually happy she didn't visit. I did feel obligated, however, to send my own bouquet, which Kyle helped me with on his iPhone, since mine was part of the 10,000 Lux rubble.

A couple days later, when Dr. Lindsey deemed it appropriate, she stopped in with a discharge packet.

“We'll go to my house,” my father said as I settled in the wheelchair and Claudia rolled me into the hallway. “You can rest there.”

“No.” I shook my head ever so slightly, since it still ached. “I want to go home, Dad.”

“What's the point?” he countered. “Ari, Dane won't be there.” He didn't say this cruelly, just realistically. That was Dad's way. He'd never been particularly affectionate or demonstrative—whatever little bit might have existed years ago had been obliterated with my mother's cheating.

I said, “I just want to be there.”

He conceded, albeit reluctantly. Kyle went with us, carrying my dress and shoes from the night at the Lux in the clear plastic bag issued by the hospital. I didn't think about the aftermath of the explosion in terms of the grand opening that would have been days away from my release.

According to Kyle, PR had covered all the media inquiries and issued statements about the bombing, along with heartfelt apologies to those who'd been on-site. They'd also canceled all events and assured members their money would be returned in full.

I wasn't certain what sort of hit Dane's portfolio would take, but Mr. Conaway had been convincing when he'd told me everything would be resolved and I didn't need to worry financially. Ever.

I felt compelled to issue some sort of statement myself regarding the Lux, particularly to the staff who'd been there that evening. But it wouldn't have much bearing coming from Ari DeMille. And I knew better than to reveal my new identity as Mrs. Dane Bax.

I gave my father the code for the security gate when we approached it and slipped back into wrecked mode. Perhaps coming to the house wasn't such a grand idea after all. I stared at the enormous structure and realized my dad had been right. All I wanted was for Dane to be there. Waiting for me.

My breathing escalated. My stomach knotted.

Kyle slipped from the backseat and opened my door. He helped me to the patio and I used the keypad to gain access. We entered the foyer and he reached for the light switch.

“Leave them off, please,” I said. Hazy streaks from the overcast day streamed through the unadorned windows, providing a bit of shimmery illumination.

“Where do you want this?” Kyle asked, holding up the bag. Whoever had packed it had taken great care to fold the dress so no blood showed through the sides.

“Just put it on the chair.” I gestured to one of them in the entryway. Then I asked, “Would you mind getting my nightgown and robe from my bathroom? Last room at the back of the house. My makeup and hairbrushes, too. There's a tote under the sink that they all go in.”

I didn't have the spirit to step into the bedroom I'd shared with Dane. It was wholly representative of him, decorated to exude his personal style, his strength. I didn't even want to enter the dressing room adjacent to it—with all of Dane's clothes neatly arranged—which was why I'd had Kyle leave the bag here.

My dad said, “How about I make some tea?”

“You'll never find it. You know how OCD I am about the placement of everything.” It wasn't as though he could open the pantry and it'd jump out at him.

“I'll take my chances,” he muttered, then wandered off. I could tell I broke his heart. That pained me as well, but I couldn't help it.

Nor could I avoid thinking that if I hadn't let my anal, everything-has-its-own-place mentality cause me to tuck away my allergy and birth control pills in a nightstand table—rather than having them right out in the open, next to my glass of water—I wouldn't have spaced on taking them.

But that was all moot now, wasn't it?

Kyle returned with my things and I went into the full bath outside the dining room and changed from the outfit my dad had brought to the hospital, which I figured he'd picked up at the golf shop at his club. I winced as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Decided it'd be best to take a shower, which was possible since the bandages covering my palms and forehead were sealed, waterproof ones. Unfortunately, freshening up did nothing to alleviate the dark circles under my eyes and the vacant look in them.

Plus, I'd lost weight. More than one might imagine for being in the hospital for a week. My cheeks were a bit sunken and my skin had a sallow tinge to it. Precisely the same as after Vale had kidnapped me and bloodied my face.

Dane would go through the roof again were he to see me like this. And there was no doubt in my mind he'd want to kill someone—and this time, he probably wouldn't be able to stop because I screamed for him to do so.

That, too, was neither here nor there. Leaving me with an empty sensation burning in my stomach.

After fixing myself up, though my hair remained damp and loose about my shoulders, I walked the corridor toward the great room. My dad followed me with a cup of hot tea.

An odd numbness settled deep in my bones. I felt a little lost in the house in which I'd lived the past two months. It was foreign without Dane. Just a building that held no warmth, no hospitality, no sense of family.

As I stood in the oversized doorway, I surveyed the space. Dimly lit and cast in bluish-gray tones. Eerily striking despite the lack of intimacy it held. Much too quiet, without the doors against the far wall opened to let in the sound of the rapid creek water, the whistle of wind through the trees, and the crunch of leaves under the feet of forest inhabitants.

The room itself was perfection personified. Everything had its special, specific place. Flawlessly arranged.

Most of the furniture and accents were items Dane had picked up on his world travels. Nothing I'd necessarily consider personal effects. Unlike the carefully selected artwork and decorations in our bedroom, these were acquisitions. Expensive and sought-after ones that had gone to the highest bidder—Dane.

They didn't really mean anything sentimental. Just that he could afford them.

As I passed by the tall art niche, my fingertips grazed the glass pitcher I'd once admired. I tipped it over. The heavy carafe hit the heated stone floor with a loud crash that echoed in the silence. I quickly stepped out of the way of flying shards.

“Jesus, Ari,” Kyle said from behind me.

Drifting toward the wall of built-in bookshelves that spanned fifteen feet high and needed a ladder that slid along a metal rail for accessing the top shelves, I dragged my fingers over the titles of first-edition works and other prestigious volumes. Again, the ones Dane admired the most were all stored in our bedroom.

These were possessions of the privileged. Since I no longer thought of Dane that way—the privileged didn't die in villainous death plots was my thinking—I pulled novels from their perches and let them fall, sprawled open at my feet.

“Sweets…?” Dad ventured in a trepid tone. A very don't-make-any-sudden-movements-or-you'll-set-off-the-crazy kind of voice.

“Everything's just a little too perfect in here, don't you think?” I slid a palm over the shiny black grand piano and jerked the piece that propped the top open. It slammed shut with a resounding thud that echoed through the room with the haunting rattle of strings.

Then I crossed to the doors. One of the tables before them held a glass chess set. I toppled the pieces. Turning away, I spied the pièce de résistance. The gorgeous floral arrangement in the middle of a sofa table that ran the length of a plush couch positioned in front of the tall fireplace.

Rosa replaced the buds every week with fresh ones. Perfect sterling silver and white roses in velvety, verdant foliage. A long and low bouquet that stretched across most of the glass top and peaked in the center. The base was a lovely porcelain number, quite delicate, exquisite. A German or French antique, I'd always assumed.

I hooked two fingers in the fragile pottery and tugged until it crested the edge of the table and smashed against the stone as I walked away.

“Okay,” my dad said as he set my tea aside. “This isn't right. Ari, what are you—”

“Not the pictures!” Kyle yelped just a second before I swept my arm over the mantel and sent crystal frames flying. “Fuck!” He swooped in and knelt to start picking up the photos of mine and Dane's wedding night.

“Don't,” I said, a strange, evocative despair moving through me. What was the point of them, anyway? A reminder of what I no longer had? Would never have again? “Leave them just like that. Leave everything … shattered.”

More tears burned.

“Ari, sit,” my dad commanded in a stern tone uncharacteristic of him. I'd sufficiently freaked him out.

Because I was feeling rather drained, I collapsed on the sofa, curling against the pile of pillows in one corner. He brought my tea and I sipped as he spread the throw over my bare feet and legs. I wore the long nightgown and robe, so I didn't feel much of a chill. I didn't feel much of anything.

Kyle searched for the switch on the gas fireplace anyway. He found it, but before he flipped it on, I said, “No flames.”

This time, neither of them could call my reasoning crazy. They'd witnessed the mile-high flames at the Lux, too.

“I'm warm enough,” I assured them. “The tea helps. Thanks, Dad.”

“Sure.” He was back to that tentative voice. Not certain what to make of me. I'd never been the destructive type. That had been my mother's role. Maybe I'd inherited some of her irrational, violent tendencies after all.

Though I didn't feel irrational. I felt justified to be this hollow inside while I buried my rage, my pain.

“Are you hungry?” Kyle asked, also a bit hesitant.

“Not really.”

He gave me a slightly exasperated sigh. “You do have to eat, Ari. I mean, think of the—” He groaned, apparently not the least bit happy with where his train of thought led him. “Think of the baby.”

That was the ultimate in reticence.

“Don't hate the innocent,” I snapped.

“I'm not a hater,” he insisted, his blue eyes clouding. “I'm thinking of the kid as much as I am of you.”

“Thank you.” I tried a smile, despite the sudden turmoil making my stomach twist at the mention of what grew inside it. My gaze narrowed and I asked, “Do you really cook?”

He scoffed. Leaving the room, I presumed he was off to explore the gourmet kitchen.

My dad sat on the couch with me, at my feet. “How do you feel?”

“Empty.” I sighed. “Which is weird, because I'm clearly not. There is actually another human being sharing this body.”