JASON and KEANNE (2 page)

  I screamed – a high-pitched keening cry that spoke of my deepest pain. My mind broke at his words. How?
How
could he read me so fucking well?

  “You
were
a victim.”

  “FUCKING LET ME GO!”

  “The same way I was a victim---”

  “
NO
!” I turned to him and tiptoed so I could scream right at his face. “
I’m not a fucking victim!
I’m not like you because you didn’t have a choice. I did! I did but I chose it anyway!”

  He let me go at that moment – the very right moment because this time I had lost all of my strength. I fell down, sobbing, numb to the pain as the stony ground scraped the tender skin on my knees. “He was my best friend’s older brother. Of course I knew he was married. I
knew
but I chose to be with him anyway.”

  I felt him kneeling down, his shadow blocking the thin rays of sunlight that had managed to sneak into the path. But somehow the darkness he cast over me was comforting, a blanket I could use to hide my shame as the words kept tumbling out like poison I had willingly swallowed and now was forcing myself to throw up.

  “He would call me while she was doing her best to make him come, while she was crying for him to love her. He would call me when she was down and made me listen to her. He told me he needed me to know that I was the only one who truly mattered, that it was because of me that his marriage would never be the way it was supposed to be.”

  My sobs worsened, my coughs became dry, and my throat burned. I waited for him to judge me like almost everyone did, but he did not.

  “You didn’t have a choice,
ma petite.
” His acceptance hurt because I knew he meant every damn word, knew it the way I had learned my heart could still beat even though it had been smashed into a thousand pieces.

  This time, the sobs came from my soul, deep, hoarse, and wrecking through the last barriers of my self-control.
Why?
I wanted to scream it at him, the skies, all the fucking sun gods who ever came to be. Why did this man’s words feel like absolution when he wasn’t a fucking priest?

  “I was twelve and my stepmother was twenty-four. You’re fourteen and he was twenty-seven. We both didn’t have---”

  “
NO
!” I couldn’t accept that, could never accept it. “
I HAD A CHOICE BECAUSE HE TOLD ME!
Don’t you fucking understand? He told me he was married. He told me he didn’t love her but would never leave her because she was sick. I knew something was wrong with her but I still stayed – I still fucking stayed with him because I thought he needed me!”

  The moment the words left my mouth, I screamed. I screamed and I screamed, trying to drown the clamors from the past. Within the cage of my memories, I felt him cupping my chin gently, as if I was a fragile flower and not a teenage slut, a modern-day Lolita, a whore in the making.

“Sssh,
ma petite.
Look at me. Look at me.”

I wanted to die as our gazes met once more. His blue eyes saw too much, but worse than that was its gentleness – it was the kind that could heal, and I did not want that.

  I didn’t deserve to be understood. I didn’t deserve to be forgiven, didn’t deserve to be healed.

  I tried to jerk my head away, but still he held me, forcing me to bear the brilliance of his eyes. “Do I have to really spell it out?” I demanded wearily. “His wife killed herself when she found us naked in their room. Their own fucking room!
I
killed her. I deserve to---”

  “
Live
.”

  It was the sun god talking, the sun god demanding that I take all his brightness in and let it shun the darkness inside me.

  He came, he saw, and he conquered.

  I started to cry again, but he didn’t relent, forcing more sunlight into my life when all I wanted was the blackness of death.

“You deserve to live, ma petite,” he said fiercely. “The same fucking way I deserve to live because I won’t let my fucking bitch of a stepmother win and control my life!”

  His eyes captured mine, brilliant and blazing, claiming me as one of the flowers that
had
to bloom because his golden rays had touched it. “You must fight too,
ma petite.
Not just for yourself but for your mother. If you kill yourself, you know –
I know you know she will kill herself, too
. Is that what you want to happen?”

  I couldn’t answer.

  “That man you trusted was a selfish bastard. He did need you, ma petite, but he did not love you. And you did love him, but you do not need him. He only made you think you needed him because he needed you more, needed to have your trust so he could violate it. His dick might not have made it into your pussy, but he still raped you---”

  “He didn’t rape me!” I cried the words out because I hated the way he kept painting me in white when I didn’t even deserve to be painted in any way at all. I was meant to disappear, the same way mistakes should so they couldn't ever make matters worse. “He told me. I always knew---”

  He cut me off in a hard voice, “He raped you.”

“No---”

“He fucking RAPED your mind,
ma petite,
and that’s the goddamn truth. You were a child whose innocence should have been nurtured, but instead he chose to defile it.” His eyes darkened with remembered helpless rage. “My stepmother knew my weakness was my fear of my father, and later on, my love for my brother. With you, ma petite, he knew that your weakness was your yearning for a father – and he used it to control you.”

“I didn’t see him as a father.” I could not let him whitewash the truth.

“Yes, you did. He was just too smart to let you know it.”

“I wanted to kiss him.”

“Because he made you want it. He was controlling you, like a fucked-up father – but a father nonetheless.”

I shook my head wildly. “You’re just saying all this to convince me to live---”

“Yes, I want you to live. Because there will be a day when the two of us will have our time to seek vengeance. And when that time comes, we will be as ruthless as they are. We will punish them. We will make them suffer a thousand more times than we suffered.” His eyes glittered. “I am Greek,
ma petite.
I can forgive, but I will
never
forget.”

When he came to his feet gracefully, he took me with him. His eyes still burned, and at that moment he reminded me of a midnight sun, of how even the most beautiful stars in the sky also had its dark side.

 “Together,
ma petite,
” he told me in an idle voice that did not fool me. “Live. Live for your mother, live for me, live to see their day of reckoning.”

I could not stop staring at him as he spoke, could not stop myself from surrendering to his command. It didn’t matter if it was foolish to have my heart slowly beat again for someone else.

I was dead when he met me, and his words alone brought me back to life.

From this moment, I didn’t just belong to this stranger. I wanted…no, I needed…I needed to be like him.

“What’s…your name?” My voice came out as a thin whisper. All of a sudden, I was feeling too much and I didn’t know how to handle the onslaught of emotions wreaking havoc on my body.

My fingers instinctively dug into his arms, feeling like this man next to me had become the anchor that would keep me from falling – the sun my life would revolve around from here on.

His smile was lazy, but I wasn’t fooled. “Jason,
ma petite
. Jason Christakos.”

Jason.
The same name of the legendary Greek warrior who was successful in conquering impossible hurdles to possess the Golden Fleece – the same man who was so loved by a sorceress she had been driven to murder.

He touched my face, and the simple contact was like invisible lightning striking my body.

“I promise you,
ma petite,
I will help you gain your revenge. And then you shall be able to live again, if not whole, then at least not broken.” He moved closer, pressing the gentlest kiss on my forehead. “I promise you that.”

Present Time

Keanne rubbed the eraser gently on the paper, taking care not to accidentally erase the other lines. After, she gently blew on the paper to get rid of the eraser’s crumbs before resuming her sketch, making sure this time to add rounder cheeks for the little girl. She leaned back when she was done, gazing critically at her work.

  It was the first illustration for the story book, mostly done in penciled drawings and pastel colors reminiscent of Beatrix Potter’s
Peter Rabbit
, which she had absolutely loved. But this time, instead of a sweet brown rabbit and his friends, Keanne had drawn a chubby little girl with glasses – one who looked remarkably like her – right next to a sun god riding a chariot, one who looked exactly like, well, Jason Christakos.

“Do you ever stop shining?” the little girl asked as she covered her eyes. The Sun God’s rays were too bright.

The Sun God appeared surprised. “Of course not, my little flower. I am the sun. I always shine.”

She gave him a look of Serious Concern. “But Sun God, don’t you get tired, too?”

Her lips twitched as she finished reading the lines. Oh, if Jason could read this now! While he had loved her first series of books, even buying boxes of it because he liked how she portrayed him as a hero who could conquer all odds, Keanne wondered if he would feel the same about this one.

Mmm…probably not.

But that did not matter. These days, Keanne lived to disobey Jason Christakos. He had things going all too easy for him. He only had to smile and people would bend over backwards to follow him. Jason might fool most people, but he did not fool her.

  He was a ruthless man, heartbreakingly so.

  As she flipped to the next page of her sketch pad, Keanne’s phone rang. Amie’s name flashed on the screen, and she immediately spoke the voice command to get Siri to answer her mother’s FaceTime call. “Mama? What is it?” She checked the time and frowned. “Isn’t it 2AM there?”

  “Yes.” There was a look of distraction on Amie’s face. She wore a silk robe and was obviously in her bedroom. It was dimly lit, but the moving shadow in the background made Keanne wince a little. She was old enough to understand that Amie was young enough to still need companionship, but she would rather not be confronted this way about what
kind
of companionship that would be.

  “Have you seen the news,
cherie
?”

  “Umm…no. I was working on my book.”

  “Well, go on and look for any gossip website. You will see soon enough.” Amie’s voice sobered. “It is time for you to return the favor,
cherie.
And maybe this time, you will also get what you want.”

  And with those cryptic words, her mother ended the call.

  Frowning, Keanne clicked on the browser icon and went to the site she had bookmarked for reliable gossip updates. Her eyes widened. And then she was running.

****

Overkill, ma petite – simply overkill.
Jason Christakos sighed, but the sound was more amused than resigned as he watched his protégé drive into the club’s parking lot with her usual flair for drama.

Keanne Summers had come a long way in the four years they had been friends, and it was not just because she had finally shed the baby fat, ditched the glasses for contacts, found the right treatment for glossy hair, and got a dermatologist to help her maintain her unblemished skin.

Even though she still had not come down, all eyes were on Keanne’s SUV, which – like its owner – was unapologetically attention-grabbing. Her ride was a Volvo S60R with a hot pink custom paint job because - as she had once seriously told a perplexed Jason – Keanne wanted to be the
girl
version of Edward Cullen, whatever that meant and whoever that Edward may be.

The door opened and out she came, fashionable and sexy in a sixties-inspired dress with its high collar and long loose sleeves. Of course, it was also short enough to flaunt her shapely legs and killer red heels. She was the picture of youthful fun and glamour, with not the smallest hint of the bitter and disillusioned teenager she had once been.

  Their gazes met.

  A playful smile immediately curved on Keanne’s lips even as her fingers brushed her chest, using the private sign of communication they had once designed out of desperation. That simple touch over her heart meant one thing.
I am here for you, mon bébé.

 
The silent words numbed the agonizing wound inside him, enough for Jason to regain a little of his sense of humor. A few minutes ago, he had thought it would take him forever to smile. But with his little spitfire in front of him, he didn’t just want to smile. He found himself able to forget.

Jason made Keanne wait just to provoke her. His cue came when her forehead started to furrow, and Jason swiftly crossed the street to get to her side. When he reached Keanne, his hot-tempered little doe was scowling.

He grinned, unable to help it.

She threw her hands up at the sight, a very French gesture that made Jason’s lips twitch unexpectedly. “You made me wait!” Angry sparks shot out from her gray eyes. “Why do you always insist on making me wait?”

  Jason’s grin turned into a full-fledged laugh, a dark seductive sound that had women all around them wishing they were the one who had elicited it. If they had, then perhaps one of them might have had the luck to spend a night in the divinely gorgeous Jason Christakos’ bed.

  “But of course I must make you wait,
ma petite.
How else are we to ensure that you do not become like one of your peers?” Jason’s faint shudder was not altogether feigned. “I do not want you to think you are
all that
.”

  Keanne snorted. “Oh, you mean between the two of us, you’re the
only
one allowed to have an ego?” Even as she spoke, Jason’s hand had already comfortably gone to the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the club, where the line of waiting guests had already wrapped around the entire block.

  As the club’s guards immediately waved them in, their faces alone guaranteeing their entrance, Jason said arrogantly, “I am Greek. Of course I am the only one who should have an ego. And as a woman, you must pander to me.”

  She spouted French curses at him, and she was still doing so despite Jason’s laughter by the time they were escorted to one of the private second-floor lounges reserved for VIP guests.

  He waited for her to slide into the tiny velvet-covered booth before following, folding his long denim-encased legs under the black mirror-surfaced table.

Keanne fell silent when Janet, the sexy brunette who identified herself as their personal server, finally left, the subtle message she imparted about what “personal” meant still lingering in the air.

  Her sudden withdrawn attitude bemused him. “
Ma petite
?”

  In seconds, she had closed the distance between them, her arms going around him. "
Je suis désolée
,” Keanne whispered against his neck.

  Ah.

  “You remember your promise, no?” Her words were strongly accented, just like his own English would hint of his Greek bloodline when his emotions ran high, threatening to overcome his rigid self-control.

  She did not wait for him to answer. “Quand cet homme méprisable…” Keanne inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay under control. When she spoke again, she returned to English, using it as another shield for her feelings. “When that despicable man came to my school, demanding to see the principal, wanting me to be expelled – do you remember that day?”

  He did.

  They both did.

  “Do you,” she asked fiercely, “remember what you told me when I called you in tears?”

  Jason’s eyes closed as the painfully bittersweet memory came to life with vivid clarity.

 
Her sobs had been heartbreaking to hear, but he had steeled himself against it, knowing that the time had come for her to save herself.

  “Please come here, s'il vous plait,” Keanne had begged, her words a jumble of English and French. “Please, please, please---”

  She had begged him over and over, crying her heart out, and he let her. But when she fell silent, Jason said flatly, “No.”

  Her moan was full of betrayal, and everything in him wanted to go to her – his little dove, the one thing in his world that was right. He had fucked up so many times with all the people he had loved, but with Keanne he made sure he did everything right – and he would be damned if he would let pity sway him from doing otherwise.

  “Listen to me.” Those were the very first words he had used to command her when he was younger, to train her to be as strong and as ruthless as he was in clawing her way back to the top.

  Her sobs quieted, and his chest constricted at the way Keanne was doing her best to follow him.

  “Later, when you come home, I will be waiting for you, ma petite. In my arms, you can cry – I want you to cry, I want to comfort you. I want to be there for you. With me, you can be weak – but not with anyone else.”

  “Oui,” she whispered, but her voice still shook.

  It made Jason bite out sharply, “No more tears!”

  He heard her swallowing hard, and when she spoke, her voice was still hoarse but firmer. “Yes.”

  Good. She was speaking in English now. Her shield was up, and that was exactly how it should be.

  “Only with me, Keanne. Never forget that. You cannot be weak with anyone else. All these years that I have helped you become strong will be for nothing if you give up now.”

  She did not answer.

  He did not allow it. “Do you understand, Keanne?”

  An eternity passed. “Yes.”

  “Then go. Remember that you are stronger and better than what everyone may say. They do not deserve your tears – do not deserve to see you flinch even the smallest way.”

  This time, her answer was stronger, colder. “Yes.”

  “Make me proud, ma petite. And when you come home, only then can you cry.”

 
Keanne lifted her head even as she kept her arms around Jason’s neck. His face was drawn with pain, and the sight of it made her want to lash out. “This time,” she told him in a shaky but determined voice, “You can be weak with
me
.”

  “
Keanne…
” Jason was seldom bereft with words, but now he was, and all he could do was pull her back into his arms. Again, she embraced him, her touch fiercely protective. It moved him, leaving Jason torn between amusement and self-disgust. Keanne was like a tigress defending her cub at this moment, and yet the irony was that her cub was over a foot taller, a lot heavier, and light years older in experience.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered.

  “There is nothing to talk about.”

  “Yes, there is. We both know there is.”

  How could an eighteen year old see through him so easily? Was it really because they were two of a kind, both of them trying to recover from the same kind of evil?