Sugar Rush (22 page)

And he's nailed the dilemma. Balancing pros and cons, trying to figure out what my priorities are and where I need to be focusing my attention. Avenging Sela and ridding this world of JT, or living happily ever after with a kernel of regret for letting him go free. Those are my choices and they are not easy ones to make.

“Regardless of what you decide,” Dennis continues in a low voice, “you've got to let some time pass before you move on it. You've got to start publicly repairing your relationship with him, and get some distance between you and the tension you two have exhibited to others over the past months. It might mean you need to continue working side by side with him for months to make sure you are shown in the best possible light. Think you could honestly do that?”

“No,” I say immediately. “I can't be around him. If JT stays in The Sugar Bowl, I'm going to need to walk. I can't live that type of lie.”

“Then my advice is still the same,” he says. “Let JT buy you out. Make it amicable. Part on good terms. Then you walk and don't look back. When some time has passed, and if you still need vengeance, then we'll talk some more and I'll get you set up.”

After the waiter brings out our meals, which look delicious, and leaves, I ask Dennis, “So what's up for you after your trip to Vegas?”

“I've actually got a wedding to attend in Ireland this weekend, so I'll fly out from Vegas to New York, and from there into Shannon. My cousin's getting married and I will take any excuse to get back to the motherland. While I'm not a big fan of weddings in general, Irish ones are a hell of a lot of fun.”

“Yeah…red hair, fair skin, tough-as-nails attitude, and boyish charm. I kind of pegged you as Irish,” I say with a smirk as I cut into a huge scallop. “But I don't detect an accent.”

“I was born in New York, but both my parents are from Ballinderreen, a little village in County Galway. They're Irish folk musicians and emigrated to the Big Apple to see if they could find their fame and fortune there.”

“And did they?”

“No more than what they found playing in the local pubs back home,” Dennis says with a laugh. “But they liked the opportunities, especially for their kids, so they stayed.”

“You go to Ireland a lot?” I ask.

“I do,” he says while lifting a bite of steak to his mouth. “And I don't have any major projects on tap, so I'm going to stay there for a few days, then I have a guys' trip planned to do some deep-sea fishing down in Panama. Wanna come?”

“Who are the ‘guys'?” I ask.

“People who could potentially help you down the road one day,” he says with a knowing smile.

“I think I'll pass,” I say with a chuckle. “You told me to be all straight and narrow in case I need help with JT down the road. I don't think a trip on the books with your boys would look good.”

“That's true,” he says as he cuts another bite of steak. “Maybe one day…after all this shit's done.”

“One day,” I agree.

We enjoy our meal and discuss other things that don't revolve around bribes and murder. We talk like friends, and this I like a lot. There's no doubt that once this period of my life starts receding into the distance, Dennis Flaherty will remain a friend to me and Sela. I hope Dennis can find love again, because he deserves to have what I've found.

The day is half over and it's been productive so far. I have my attorney working on the necessary paperwork to get JT out of my business. Dennis is taking care of the payoff to VanZant. And this evening, Caroline and Ally are coming to dinner. Actually, I'm going to take Ally out to dinner and Caroline and Sela are going to talk over wine and cheese. Or maybe pizza and beer, who knows.

This was Sela's idea. She wants Caroline to know what happened to her and that she now has someone she can talk to about it. Someone who understands the pain, humiliation, and self-hatred. I have no idea how much Sela will tell her. She's not sure herself and said she'd play it by ear, but whatever she chooses to reveal, I'm sure it will be exactly the right amount. Caroline is someone I trust with my life, and Sela knows her secrets and can be trusted with her as well.

And then all that's left to do is to wait and see what JT decides to do.

Beck calls me again and I let it ring through to voice mail. He called about ten minutes ago and I didn't answer, knowing he would hear the tension in my voice. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to lie to him when he asked where I was. I listened to his first voice mail, my heart twinging with guilt that I'm avoiding him, but I know he'd go crazy if he knew I was sitting in JT's driveway right now.

I have no business being here. It's stupid and illogical, but I can't fucking help myself. Maybe I need to stand in his presence one more time before he goes down, or maybe I feel like I could help urge him along to make the right decision. Whatever the insanity of my reason, here I am and here I will remain until I hear what he has to say.

Beck's first voice mail to me was simple and sweet.

“Hey babe…just finished lunch with Dennis and on my way home. Wanted to know if you needed anything while I was out. Call me if you do, otherwise see you in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

That was half an hour ago, and I would bet my last dollar that the voice mail he just left is wondering where the hell I am. I'm sure he's at the condo now, flummoxed that I'm not there when I should be and didn't leave a note as to when I'd be back. Not that he keeps track of me or anything, but it's just a common courtesy we've offered each other since we started living together. If I'm going out, I'll leave him a note. He does the same for me.

I didn't do it this time, not because I was afraid of the lie, but merely because I was so distracted with thoughts of JT and what he could possibly want to talk to me about, I just didn't think about it as I left the condo and locked up behind me.

But that's done and Beck is just going to have to wait for me to come home tonight and tell him what I've been doing. He's going to go nuts, and I expect it will lead to a massively huge fight. This is unfortunate, because Caroline's coming over to talk, and it's going to suck if Beck's pissed at me, but oh well. He'll get over it eventually.

JT's home is beautiful, but I expected no less given his spending habits. It's three levels done in a dark gray plank siding with brown trim. The driveway is paved in cobblestone and curves past a raised garden bed filled with bushes and small flowering trees that provide privacy. I can glimpse the bay between his house and the one next to it.

Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I turn the car off and exhale slowly before exiting. I grab my purse, hitch it over my shoulder, and nervously tuck my hair behind my ears. My pulse is thundering, not at the prospect of seeing JT, but of him possibly recognizing me, and I suppose that will happen within the first few moments of him seeing me.

I step onto the front porch, but before I can even raise my hand to ring the bell, the massive carved wooden door opens and I'm standing face-to-face with JT. Although Beck described his appearance to me, I'm still shocked by his appearance. Deep purple with tinges of green covers most of his face, and his jaw is swollen and bruised. A cut is sutured on one cheek and his lower lip is scabbed. His left arm is in a cast, which he gingerly supports against his ribs.

I take all of this in even as I watch JT examining my new hair color. His eyebrows raise a tad in surprise, but otherwise he doesn't seem to recognize the girl he once raped all those years ago. In fact, he doesn't comment about my appearance and merely steps back while motioning me inside.

“Thanks for coming,” he says by way of greeting, but it sounds hollow and wooden.

I step into his house, which immediately opens up into a great room that overlooks the bay with peaked ceilings and large windows. The floors are covered in blond wood polished to a high sheen. His furniture is contemporary, done in silver, mauve, and black with chrome accents.

JT turns his back on me and veers off a short hall to the right. “Let's go back in my den. The furniture's more comfortable in there.”

Clutching my purse a bit tighter to me, I follow JT. He moves slowly and there's no doubt he's in pain from his beating. Even as nervous as I am to be here, seeing him like this brings me a small measure of joy.

He enters another large room that sits at the back of the house, also with large windows to take in the beauty of the bay and the San Francisco skyline, but here the furniture is a bit more transitional and definitely more comfortable looking. JT's clearly been spending time on the sumptuous-looking couch because there's a pillow and a blanket lying there.

As I take in my surroundings, JT walks over to a bar and pours himself a glass of what appears to be bourbon. He doesn't look at me but asks, “Want something to drink?”

“I'm good,” I say, pleased that my voice sounds strong and calm, even as my heart is thumping hard over being in such close proximity to him. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

JT tilts the glass back, slugs down the liquor he just poured, and pours another two fingers. When he turns back to look at me, he merely leans back against the bar and says, “Did Beck tell you everything?”

There's no sense in lying, but no need for details either. “Just that you lost a bet and needed money fast. Judging by the look of you, I'm guessing that's true.”

JT grimaces and nods, cutting right to the chase. His voice is bitter when he says, “I can't give up The Sugar Bowl, Sela. It's all I have. I called Beck's dad last night and asked him for the money, but he declined. I'm out of options and you're sort of my last resort. I'm hoping you could talk to Beck on my behalf.”

This is interesting news…that JT went to Mr. North. Even more relieving that he kept his word and turned down JT.

JT looks at me with hopeful eyes and I find it utterly ironic that he's coming to me for help. I try to keep my tone neutral when I say, “Beck's mind seemed made up. I'm not sure what I could do.”

“Oh, cut the shit,” JT growls as he stands straighter. Waving the glass he holds in his good hand at me, causing some bourbon to slosh out, he says, “You hold a lot of power over Beck and don't pretend otherwise. But you are right…I think his mind is made up, but I bet you could sway him if you wanted, and I have a counterproposal that will interest him.”

But I don't want to sway him, asshole. I want you to suffer.

“What could that possibly be?” I ask, because this is the real reason I'm here. I need to know what JT may have up his sleeve, and it has to be something if he thinks it will change Beck's mind.

JT downs the rest of the liquor and sets the glass on the bar behind him. When he turns back to me, his eyes are cold and calculating. “I'm prepared to renounce my inheritance rights to the North fortune. I've even had my attorney draft up a proposed agreement if Beck will loan me the money to get me out of my current jam and let me retain my rights in The Sugar Bowl.”

I can't help the sudden gasp of surprise or the way my eyes open wide over JT's statement. It's a dead giveaway that Beck has indeed told me all there is to know.

JT gives a malicious laugh. “I can tell by the look on your face you know Beckett North, Sr., is my father too, but more important, you're stunned
I
know this information.”

“But how?” I mutter. If Beck's dad is to be believed, he never told JT.

“My mother,” JT says simply. “She told me years ago. Wanted me to know so I could claim what was rightfully mine one day.”

Holy shit. He knows. He knows Beck is his brother, and by the looks of it, he's got his sights set on the North money.

“That won't change his mind,” I whisper, because I know without a doubt it won't. Beck doesn't give a shit about his father's money.

“Bullshit,” JT yells at me, his face turning red underneath the purple bruises. He takes a step toward me and snarls, “You could persuade him. You fucking hold his nuts in your greedy little hands.”

I take a wary step back, clutching my purse tighter. JT's face is a mask of livid rage as he matches my movement. My pulse skitters away from me as I consider making a running break out of this house. “I think you need to discuss this with Beck. Maybe this will sway him, but I shouldn't be involved with this.”

I take another step back but JT's words freeze me in place just by the sheer hatred in his tone as he rasps, “You fucking bitch. This is all because of you. Beck changed the minute you walked into his life, and I frankly can't understand what in the hell he sees in a whore like you.”

By all accounts, I should turn and get the hell away from this enraged man who had once hurt me so badly I didn't think I'd ever recover. But instead, anger swells up and I stand my ground with the knowledge I have a gun to protect me if needed. “You asshole,” I sneer at him. “This is all on you. You made stupid decisions and now you need to man up and accept the consequences, you jackass.”

It's almost as if a pool of red-hot fury fills JT's eyes and his jaw tightens so hard I'm expecting him to crack teeth. I think for a moment he might tell me to get out of his house, but instead he starts to walk toward me in almost a zombielike fashion, his right hand curled into a tight fist as his chest rises and falls sharply. I know without a doubt he's overwhelmed with rage at the situation and with me, and he intends to lash out…probably physically. Before he can reach me though, my hand dips into my purse and I pull out my gun, holding it aimed directly at his heart.

He stops in midstride and his eyes slowly slide to the gun. I expect him to be cowed, but instead when he looks back at me his lips curl upward and he taunts, “Going to shoot me, Sela?”

“You take another step closer, and I will,” I tell him with a quavering voice. “Now I'm going to leave—”

“You won't do it,” he says softly, talking right over me. His voice so assured, he starts moving toward me again. Deliberate steps without a stutter of caution in them.

Almost a cocky swagger.

He looks utterly deranged and my hand starts shaking as my finger tightens on the trigger.

“I dare you,” JT whispers, and then gives a husky laugh. “I dare you to fucking do it, Sela.”

My hand shakes harder and he's only two steps away from me.

“Go on,” he urges me softly, putting one foot in front of the other. “You know you want to.”

Tears sting at my eyes because the urge to pull the trigger is so intense, and yet my moral conscience isn't letting me do it. It's not letting me fucking avenge myself nor protect myself.

JT takes the last step and he walks right into the gun until the barrel is pressed into his chest. He laughs at me and says ever so softly, “Can't do it, can you?”

I don't admit defeat though, and bring my other hand up to steady the gun. “If you don't—”

JT moves so suddenly I can't react. His casted arm swings hard, catching me at my wrist and causing my gun to go flying, where it clatters across the hardwood floors. JT's good hand—and I find out quickly enough it's his dominant hand because it's brutally strong—wraps around the front of my throat.

“You goddamn filthy cunt,” he screams at me, spit flying from his mouth and spattering on my face. With his hand clamped tightly on my throat, he marches me backward across the floor. “Think you can come into my life and fuck with what's mine?”

My butt slams into something and I vaguely recall a large desk sitting catercorner. Although my momentum is stopped, JT's isn't and he pushes me right onto the desk with his hand on my throat. He leans his entire body weight into me…against me…and vomit rises in my throat that his body's touching mine.

I bend backward until my spine hits the desk, JT coming to lay on top of me. For added leverage, he places his casted arm across my chest. Scenes from my rape flash before me, except now I can see JT's face in my memory as clear as day. Now that I know who he is, I can see his ugly face twisted in sickening pleasure as he pumps away on top of me. Both my hands come up to latch on to his wrist in a desperate attempt to dislodge his grip. My legs start kicking furiously, trying to get purchase on the hardwood floor, but just the tips of my sneakers can touch and won't grab hold to give me leverage.