What's Done in Darkness (12 page)

“Jackass,” I muttered.

“What?” Katrina asked.

“The guy I was talking to, he just sneaked past me to the front door!” I shook my head. “I'll bet his girlfriend came in here and he had to make a quick getaway because he was talking to me.”

“I thought you weren't interested,” Katrina said.

“I'm not. But does he think I'm blind? Going out the bathroom window would have been a better move.”

“Maybe he just went for a smoke,” Katrina offered.

“Yeah, whatever.” I shrugged. “Who cares?”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Katrina, Christian, and I made the rounds at the popular Key West bars. We went from one establishment to the other, and at each bar Christian drank more and more.

I found it disconcerting, but Christian was a happy drunk tonight. He and Katrina seemed completely lovey-dovey, all giddy and expressive with their affection for each other. Sometimes they made out right in front of my face, which made me feel like an oversized third wheel. But hey, I wasn't their chaperone and I wasn't about to tell them to tone it down.

We went home after one in the morning, Christian stumbling much of the way there. Upstairs, Katrina led him to their bedroom, accomplishing that task on her own.

“Good night,” I told them before they disappeared into the room.

“Good night,” Katrina replied. Christian only grumbled.

And then, exhausted, tipsy, and still disappointed about Brian bailing on me, I retired to bed.

*   *   *

A loud sound jarred me awake. Frantic, my eyes flew open. As my brain became conscious, I registered the now familiar disturbance.

The loud voices. And the sound of objects hitting the walls.

“For goodness' sake,” I whined, grabbing the second pillow on the bed and throwing it over my head. How much of this aggressive lovemaking did I have to deal with? And did these two
never
sleep? It was one thing when they'd been living here without me, but couldn't they exercise some discretion? Couldn't they see that they ought to tone it down a bit?

Unexpectedly, things got quiet. Thank God, Katrina and Christian had come to their senses and remembered that I was in the apartment. Relieved, I made myself comfortable on my pillow once more and hoped that I would fall asleep again soon.

Then
, bam!
The sound of a crash had me bolting upright. Surely that wasn't simply lovemaking.

“Get out!” Katrina yelled at the top of her lungs, making it clear that they were fighting.

My body tensed as there was more yelling, but I couldn't make out distinct words.

“I swear to God, Christian!”

The voice was louder now. Katrina had moved from the bedroom to the living room.

“Stop it! Get the fuck away from me!”

Was Katrina in trouble?

I lay in the bed, paralyzed with fear. Every fiber of my being told me that this was a bad situation.

The voices got louder. “Then why did you tell me that you loved me?” Christian demanded. “What was today about?”

“Let go of me!”

My stomach tightened. The situation was escalating. Was Christian going to hurt Katrina?

“Why have you been messing with me?”

“You're drunk!” Katrina yelled.

And then I heard something, a slap perhaps? I jumped out of the bed, unable to take any more. I threw open my door and found Christian and Katrina standing in the living room, staring each other down. Christian's hand was on his left cheek, as though nursing it after being smacked.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Both of their eyes flew toward me.

Katrina's face crumbled, telling me that she was relieved I had come to intervene. I rushed forward, instinctively standing between her and Christian.

“Keep out of this,” Christian told me.

“Keep out of it?” I looked at him as if he were crazy. “How can I, when the two of you are fighting like raging bulls?”

Katrina whimpered, and I faced her. She wrapped her arms around me as she started to cry.

“Stop the bullshit, Katrina. You're the one who slapped me.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, saw him rolling his eyes.

“He gets like this every time he drinks,” Katrina said, her voice soft, shaky.

“Jesus, Kat. What are you on about?”

I released Katrina so that I could face Christian. He smelled like a brewery. “I think you should go back to the bedroom.”

“So she can fill your head with lies?” His eyes moved from mine to Katrina's. “Why'd you have me come here from England?”

“Because I didn't know you were a raving drunk!” Katrina shot back.

“Stop it.” I extended my arms between both of them to keep them apart. Not that that would truly stop either of them from lunging at the other.

“What about today?” Christian asked. “You're supposed to be my wife.”

Wife?

Katrina's eyes bulged. She shot me a quick look before meeting Christian's gaze again. “
Wife?
Do you hear yourself? Shit, you don't even know what you're saying when you're drunk.” Then she faced me, her face contorting with pain. “You were right the other day. My arm.” She extended it and pointed to the now faint bruise. “It didn't happen while making love.” She sniffled. “It was Christian, out of control.”

“What?”
Outrage filled Christian's eyes, mixed with what looked like a tinge of confusion.

“When you're drunk, you don't know what you're doing,” Katrina told him. “Every day, I keep thinking you'll be better the next day. But you keep disappointing me.”

Fleetingly I wondered why Katrina hadn't told Christian to stop drinking while we were out. Instead, she'd imbibed with him, and she'd never once pulled a beer from his hands.

“You drank as much as I did!” Christian yelled, echoing my own thought.

Then he took a step toward her, and Katrina flinched. I jumped in front of her again. “Don't touch her.”

Christian glared at me. “Fuck you. And fuck you, too, Katrina.”

Pointing a finger, he moved toward me. I sucked in a breath and braced my shoulders, preparing for the worst. But then Christian turned and stalked off into the bedroom.

“Stumbled” was more like it.

My shoulders drooped with relief.

When the door slammed shut, Katrina whimpered and pulled me into another embrace. She began to cry even harder, her body trembling. I let her get it out for about a minute before saying, “God, Katrina. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“It's his drinking. He just gets so out of control.”

I eased back to look her in the eye. “Why did you keep drinking with him? You know how he gets. It doesn't make sense.”

Looking down, pain streaked across Katrina's face. But she said nothing.

She looked so vulnerable, not at all like the strong woman I'd come to know her as. And then my stomach tensed as I remembered what Christian had said about her being his wife. Had he conned her into doing something incredibly stupid?

“What was Christian talking about when he said that you're
supposed
to be his wife?” I asked. Angling my head, I eyed her with worry. “Please tell me you didn't do something crazy.”

“He…” Pausing, Katrina sucked in a deep breath, and my concern intensified. “He proposed today,” Katrina explained. “He set up this whole romantic scene at the beach.…”

“What?” I quickly looked at her left hand. “He gave you a ring?”

“He offered. I told him I couldn't accept it. Not yet. We've been fighting a lot … you've heard us. I think it's just too soon.”

I gripped her by the shoulders and looked dead into her eyes. “You may have known him since January, but he's been here in Florida with you less than a month. That's way too soon to be proposing marriage.”

“I know.…”

“Maybe this whole arrangement … you ought to rethink it. He may have seemed nice when you met him, but you've really got no clue who he is. He could be a serial killer for all you know. I'd tell him to leave.”

Katrina began to shake her head. “It's only when he's drunk that he's a problem. I'll talk to him, make sure he stays sober. Things will be fine.”

“Are you really that into him?” I asked, knowing that my words sounded harsh. But from everything I'd seen, they had nothing in common—except their insatiable sexual chemistry.

“He's a nice guy, and he's got a big heart. He wants to start a foundation in his brother's honor, a resource to help people fighting mental illness. His brother suffered depression all his life, then committed suicide last November. We're both passionate about making this foundation a reality.”

Learning that about Christian surprised me, and for a moment I didn't know what to say. Suddenly I was asking, “You're concerned about mental illness?”

Was that a flash of irritation I saw in her eyes? But her tone reflected sadness when she began to speak. “My college boyfriend … he suffered from depression, too. One day, he was driving home. He drove right into the path of a truck. All witnesses said he didn't hit the brakes.” Katrina's voice cracked. “I couldn't help thinking about our last conversation, how he said he felt like a failure and didn't think life was worth living. I … I thought that going home to his family would boost his mood. But I was wrong.”

“Oh my God,” I said, and placed a hand on her arm to comfort her. “I'm sorry.”

“I always thought I'd marry Shemar,” Katrina went on. “And since he died, Christian is the first guy I've met who really gets me. And he really loves me. A part of my heart is still with Shemar, but Christian loves me completely.”

I didn't know what to say.

“Maybe I'm in denial,” Katrina said softly. “Maybe I was just tired of being lonely.”

Finally she was getting it. “I think you need to kick him out,” I said gently. “At least until he gets his act together.”

“I don't want to hurt him.”

“So it's okay if he hurts you?”

Katrina's lips turned down in a frown. It was obvious that the idea of hurting Christian was causing her grief.

“Maybe I will,” Katrina finally said after a moment. Then she offered me a small smile. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“That's not even an issue,” I told her. “I'm concerned about you.”

“I'll be fine.”

“How?” I asked. “Christian is in your bedroom. He's still drunk. At any moment he could become irrational again.”

“I know,” Katrina said. She bit her bottom lip, and that told me that she was afraid, even if she didn't want to admit it.

And then, not even knowing what I was doing, I walked to her bedroom door and opened it. “Christian, you need to leave.”

No response.

“Christian,” I said, louder.

And then I heard his snoring. He was on the bed, already passed out. Sensing Katrina, I looked over my shoulder. She was standing behind me, looking into the room as well.

“He's sleeping it off,” Katrina said. “Yes, he's an ass when he's drunk, but he'll be fine in the morning.”

Short of calling the police, we couldn't get him out of here anyway. He was out cold.

I decided to trust that Katrina knew what she was talking about. That once sober, Christian would be fine.

At least I wanted to trust that. So I let the matter go, but it didn't sit well with me.

Not at all.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next day, Christian acted as though nothing had happened the night before. In fact, he and Katrina seemed to be back to their lovey-dovey selves while working side by side in the café.

I, however, was on edge. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd said to Katrina. Christian had come here from another country. He had no ties to the U.S. He could do something insane, then get on a plane and take off and never be heard from again. Never apprehended. God only knew who he really was or what he was capable of.

His anger frightened me, so I was certain that it had to frighten Katrina. But I suspected that she didn't want to admit that. Either because admitting that she was scared would mean admitting that she'd been foolish to have a man she didn't know cross continents to come and live with her or because she was one of those women who were willing to excuse away bad behavior. She could blame Christian's anger on his drinking all she wanted, but the bottom line was that the guy was irrational and she needed to be wary of just how far over the edge he could go.

I couldn't help wondering how her decision to keep Christian around would affect
me
. I didn't want to get caught in the middle of a relationship war.

I was cleaning a table when I saw Christian walking toward me. I tensed, then tried to force myself to relax. I hoped that he hadn't caught my unease. I didn't want to appear afraid around him.

“Jade,” he said softly. “I just wanted to apologize for last night.”

I didn't face him, just kept wiping down the table, although it was already clean.

“I don't even remember what happened,” he continued, “but Katrina told me I was a little shit. I was drunk, and I'm sorry. I promise to keep my drinking under control.”

I glanced at him then, saw that he was making the sign of a cross over his heart. “Sure, whatever,” I said. Then I lifted the tray with dirty plates and mugs and started toward the kitchen.

Christian fell into step beside me. “Listen, I know you don't know me well, but I want to assure you that I'm not the kind of guy who would hurt anybody. I don't even know what to think about what Katrina said. I don't remember putting a bruise on her arm.”

“Which is exactly the problem,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Christian asked.