Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (19 page)

"Nothing's impossible when it comes to us. You can trust me. That date was a business obligation. I had no choice. I didn't touch her."

My arms flail out in front of me. "I saw you kiss her!" He's lying again.

"No! I didn't. She leaned in and spoke in my ear, then kissed my cheek. You couldn't have seen the details from a distance, but I reprimanded her. There's been no one but you. You're the only woman my heart has ever allowed through, Ivy." The corners of his eyes wrinkle.

"No." I point a finger at him. "Don't even say my name." I choke on my last words and wipe a tear from my cheek. His pained face rocks me to the core. He's so broken, so distraught, so impotent. But the truth is he's no good for me, and I have to let him go.

"Ivy, seeing you lifeless on that table… The luscious, pink lips I'd spent my life fantasizing of caressing with mine were blue from lack of oxygen. The gentle hands I'd held in my dreams as we strolled the pier were still."

He swallows. "In my head, I knew I should call your death. But my core… My soul couldn't do it. These two hands," he raises them between us, "were meant to worship your body, but I'll never forget the sound they made as they crushed your sternum to pump your heart or the color of your blood against your pale skin as I sliced into your muscle to insert a chest tube."

He shakes his head. "Do you know what that did to me? I wailed to the heavens for you. If they took you, I swore to avenge your death. Then you opened your eyes, and I was… I was salvaged."

Tears cascade down my cheeks. "Jacade… no. Your words can't fix this." I look over my shoulder toward the exit.

"Don't go."

"I have to."

I turn from him and take the hardest steps I'll ever take.

Away from my heart, my soul, my future, my past… my beloved.

***

Ivy

I flop against my apartment door and squeeze my eyes shut. How could he not tell me? I'm such a fool. Here I am embarrassed about my scar, and he's the one who put it there. He didn't tell me. I guess I didn't ask either. No. He should've told me.

I drop my bag on the armchair and scan my apartment. Every time he was here, he knew. Escorting me home after the restaurant... Friday morning after the club... cuddling on the couch watching
Terminator
. He knew and didn't tell me. Then to see him with another woman... on a date.

What the heck is going on? He's lied to me and is dating some platinum-haired-stick-thin-stripper-like hobag?

Unrelenting pain stings my chest. Love isn't supposed to hurt like this. I believed all the fairy tales. Stupid prince charming doesn't exist. The creator of these stories should be put in a guillotine so women can throw stones at him, blood running down his face as we yell,
You foul man
!
Prince Charming doesn't exist
!
Take your hope and shove it up your ass
! Then a quick chop, and his head rolls into a basket. Done.

I text Aunt Helen.

Me: Working from home the rest of the day. I'll be in tomorrow.

Aunt Helen: OK, sweetie. Something wrong?

Me: I need to rest.

My phone vibrates in my hand again, but I ignore her message.

Why is everyone around me either lying or omitting the truth?

Jacade

Primary colors beam across the windshield as we pass through stoplights on Wacker Drive. Ivy's cluttering my mind as usual, but this time it's her sumptuous face morphing into each stage of betrayal—denial, incredulity, ferocity, and finally, outrage. Even if I could have found the right words, it was futile. I'd already lost her.

Shane pulls the Escalade to the curb in front of Carlos's at exactly one o'clock. I lower the window and wave off the valet. I tuck my shades into the front pocket of my jacket and turn to Shane with my hand on the door handle. "Give me an hour."

"You want me to circle the joint?"

"Probably a good idea."

"Ten-four, sir." The door slams behind me, and Shane pulls out into traffic.

The words
Carlos's
reflect from the polished windows beneath the red-and-white striped awning. I grasp the worn brass doorknob and stride inside. The place is packed. Good. The more people, the greater chance of Viktor hearing about it.

The young brunette behind the podium greets me. "Good afternoon. How can I help you?"

"Good—"

"Dr. Jordan. Welcome. Welcome." Heavy hands pound on my upper back. I turn to find Carlos's aged face beaming at me. "Your table's over here."

Returning his smile, I say, "Call me Jacade, Carlos. Been too many years for doctor."

He assesses me with a look of camaraderie and familiarity. For a moment, my guilt about Sly creeps in, but flees as quickly as it came. Bernard and I did everything we could to grant Carlos's request to help get that kid off drugs. Four stints in rehab, a job at the restaurant, and still he screwed up. No way was I going to go against the order to kill him and risk Ivy's safety for some druggie kid stupid enough to steal a car with a hostage in it—Viktor's fucking car. Nothing more I could do for him. He basically killed himself.

The pressure of Carlos's hand flat on my back leads me to a secluded corner by the kitchen. Good, privacy and an escape route.

Kara sits stiffly at an immaculate table set for two. Her snow-white hair slithers in a fishtail braid over her shoulder. Her lips form a thin line, and her eyes glow a demonic crimson in the red candlelight.

She doesn't smile as I approach. She's probably sore about my rejection last night. Sorry, honey, this pump is permanently out of service to you.

"Thank you, Carlos. Any news on Carlos Jr?"

"No, but I've made peace with it. I know I may never see him again." He shakes his head. "Meth is a killer."

"True. Let me know if you ever need anything." I'm accustomed to lying in these situations, but it doesn't mean I don't feel bad for the man. If he had been my son, I would've combed the corners of the earth until I found him.

"Thank you, Dr. Jor—I mean, Jacade." We exchange a friendly glance. "Your waiter should be here shortly." He nods and ducks his head as he leaves the table.

Kara's glowing eyes of hatred follow my every move as I unbutton my suit jacket and sit.

"Hello, Kara." My voice is stale.

"Hello."

Oh, she's pissed. "Shall we order?" Let's get this over with. I pick up the laminated menu even though Carlos knows what I usually order.

"I already ordered for us. I hope you don't mind," she says. I glance up at her and set the menu down. I lace my fingers together and rest my elbows on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth.

"I guess not," I say. She rolls her eyes. "Kara, do you have something to say? Because here's your chance." I'm not tap dancing with her today.

"I'm sorry." She lowers her head. "I'm having a rough day."

You and me both, honey.

Our waiter appears over my shoulder. "Hello, I'm Eric and I'll be your waiter this evening. Here are some breadsticks and marinara sauce." As he's setting the food down, he spills marinara on the sleeve of my jacket.

"I'm so sorry, sir."

He shares a look with Kara. "Don't worry. It's only fabric." Armani fabric, but I can buy many more.

"Here, let me." He reaches to dab at it with a cloth napkin.

I capture his wrist and pin him with my eyes.

I turn my gaze toward Kara. "Excuse me." I release him and leave the table. I stop in the hallway leading to the kitchen and scan the restaurant.

I don't trust the look Kara gave the waiter. Same amount of customers as when I came in. Possibly a few more.

I need to go. I pull my phone from my pocket and freeze at the unmistakable press of blunt steel to my upper spine. I manage to shoot a blank text off to Shane.

"Walk backward." A male voice I don't recognize growls in my ear.

Assuming I have a gun pressed into my back, I follow orders. Carlos watches the scene through the circular window of the kitchen door. We make eye contact. He scowls and gives me an arrogant nod.

Rat bastard.

The back door opens, and the midday light streams in from behind me.

"Move." He jerks the collar of my jacket and pushes me through the door.

My dress shoes crackle on the gravel in the alley.

"Hands up." I comply and turn to face a man pointing a gun at my stomach. A black SUV with tinted windows blocks the alley behind him.

"You should've sent a beer to my table if you wanted to shoot the shit."

He digs through my pockets and puts my phones, keys, and wallet on the hood of the car.

"Where's your weapon?"

"I'm unarmed. Just came from surgery."

"Yeah, right." He pats me down and removes my Sig from my waistband. He adds it to the pile on the car. He checks my legs and finds my Glock in my ankle holster.

He opens the rear passenger-side door to the SUV. "Get in."

"You can lower the gun. Obviously, I'm going with you." No way am I going anywhere with this asshole.

He doesn't lower the gun, but motions for me to get in. I take a step toward the door. When he looks at the ground, I nail him with a roundhouse followed by a lightning fast wheel kick. I take him down with my legs, and lunge for the gun. I get it in my grasp, but he grabs my wrist, and we wrestle with the gun above our heads.

Headlights whip around the corner at the end of the alley. Thank god, Shane got the message. Two men emerge from the SUV parked in the alley and open fire on Shane's approaching vehicle.

Shit. Shane! No! The windshield shatters but doesn't break. Let's hope that bulletproof glass was worth the money I paid for it.

Shane's tires blow out, and his Escalade crashes into the brick wall of the alley. I take advantage of the distraction and bash the idiot I'm fighting with in the face with my elbow. He lets go of my wrist and grabs his nose to scream in pain. I sit up and point my weapon at the other two men, but one of them is gone. Where is he?

The painful thud at the back of my skull gives me the answer.

***

Jacade

The scent of mildew assaults my nasal passages. Strong hands force me down by my shoulders until I'm sitting in a chair.

Zink-zink
!

Zip ties tighten around my ankles.

The cover is tugged off my head, and I squint into the light from one uncovered light bulb on the ceiling. Dirt floor. Cinder block walls. Viktor's bald lackey I shot last week stands guard at the bottom of the stairs. He braces his weight on a crutch under his right arm.

The dank basement smell mixes with some kind of heinous cologne. Viktor walks into my field of vision. Well, I guess the Kara ploy worked in drawing him out. Not in my favor at the moment, but at least I've got him.

"Trip, thanks for joining me."

"Like I had a choice, Merrill."

"Don't call me that." He frowns and limps to the chair across from me. He lowers himself like an old man. He rubs his buzzed hair and mimics a smile with his jacked-up face. His right hand is bandaged. Lots of weaknesses. I can take them both no problem.

He laces his fingers on his lap and stares at me.

"Like what you see, asshole?"

"I'm taking in the view of Bernard's prized son helpless and at my mercy." He waves at me as if I'm royalty.

"I'm not his son." We glare at each other. "What's your beef with me, Viktor? I haven't done shit to you. Except cream you in the cage last week and watch you cry like a pussy."

"Shut your mouth. You fucked everything up. I had Bernard by the balls for years. He wanted me to head the council. Now, he's backing you. Why is that, Trip?"

"I'm the better man, and you know it."

"Shut up."

"Ask Ivy. She told me what a disappointment you were in bed. You jealous I'm showing her how a real man fucks?"

Viktor stands and clobbers my cheek with a left hook. I lift my head and raise my chin. His left arm is feeble. I could do this all night.

"Maybe you shouldn't have tried to kill Ivy three years ago, Viktor."

"Shut up!"

He pulls a knife out of his pocket. He pops the blade and holds the sharp stiletto at eye level between our faces. His frantic eyes reflect off the polished steel blade engraved with the word
Godfather
. I roll my eyes. He shears the top button off my dress shirt, and it falls to the floor. He laughs and cuts off the remaining buttons.

Viktor nods at his goon and says, "Hold him down, Trey."

Trey hobbles to the back of my chair and pushes down on my shoulders. He pulls my shirt open. Viktor holds the blade in his left hand and pierces the flesh on my right pec. I gnash my teeth through the pain, but my eyes stay locked on his. It hurts, but nothing like the pain I'm going to inflict on him.

He quakes as he cuts a horizontal line with the tip of the knife. His left hand is useless. My punctured flesh burns, but I focus on his eyes. Come at me, bro. He slides the tip of the knife down in a vertical line from the middle of the first line. The knife reenters my skin, and he slices another horizontal line.

He picks up a cylindrical container from the floor and tips it over into his hand.

"I want to leave you with a little memento, Trip. Every time you look in the mirror, every single fucking time, you'll be reminded of the day you watched Ivy kill herself."

The rough
I
he carved into my pec stings, and blood trickles down my stomach and seeps into my shirt. I pin him with a lethal stare. He even breathes in Ivy's direction, I'll spear his eyeballs with shish-kabob skewers.

He raises his hand to show me the container.

Salt.

Fuck.

He flips his hand over and presses the salt into my open cuts.

I grind my teeth, but I can't hold in the agony. "Argh!" I buck in the chair and growl.

He pats the wound as he talks. "Do you think Ivy could handle this kind of pain?" His lips curve up in a sinister grin. "Yeah, me neither." He smashes more salt into my chest. "Can't wait to find out though."

Viktor backs away and dusts the salt off his hands. I drop my head and breathe through the blinding pain. The salt absorbs any form of moisture left in my perforated tissues.

"Don't feel guilty for killing Ivy, Trippy-Trip-Trip. That fucking slut deserves to die."

"Fuck. You." I grit the words through my clenched jaw.

"You're up, Trey." He stops at the bottom of the stairs. "Don't kill him."