Ruthless letters, p.18
Ruthless Letters, page 18
“Elena Sparks,” he answers instantly.
Elena. Even through the haze of drugs, her name is sobering, and I jolt up in my seat, rapidly blinking my eyes clear.
The asker of the dreadful question whistles low. “Yeah, she’s fucking hot. So timid though.”
Tristan tenses beside me, shooting me a look that says, Be calm, because he knows where my brain’s already headed. It’s working through senses that have me wanting to punch both of them out for even thinking about her. She’s too good for the likes of them.
With Tristan’s silent command, I breathe deep, forcing air into my lungs. Ever since putting Alex against the wall a couple years ago, his father—the dick—seems to be harsher on me than other students. He’s conveniently around when I’m running late to class and finding reasons to call me out. Punching out his son won’t do me any favours, especially this close to leaving the damned place.
But they’re talking about her in front of me. Alex is definitely aware of my reactions where she’s concerned, and yet he’s here speaking so openly, like he’s trying to piss me off.
Then his eyes cut through the smoke, directly landing on me and the edges of his lips curl. Fucker knows what he’s doing.
Tristan’s hand lands on my arm, and I glance at the warning clear in his expression. I nod, forcing another breath down my chest. I won’t take the bait, no matter how tempting.
“She won’t be timid when I’m through with her,” Alex says, responding to his friend’s last comment. “The right pill, the right place, and I can have her on her back within seconds, screaming my name. It’ll do the little frigid bitch some good to have a real man on her. It’s worked in the past.”
Tristan’s hand clamps down, but even the Hulk wouldn’t keep me steady anymore. Not as his words provoke the monster within.
I don’t think about the consequences of what my actions will bring. My mind remains only on her.
I don’t feel Tristan grab at me. My senses remain only on Alex.
I don’t see his friend’s oh shit expression. Or Alex’s cocky grin. Or the bodies, as they scurry from my path. My eyes remain only on the red bleeding into them.
Seeing red is more than an expression people say when they’re angry. It’s a feeling—an overwhelming sensation that consumes the mind, body, spirit, and most importantly, the senses, until there’s nothing remaining but pure, blinding, red fury.
It wants more red though—to wade through a pool of Alex’s blood.
I lunge, clearing the feet between him and me, and send the couch he’s sitting on crashing to the floor. My hands grasp his shirt, yanking him away from the rolling furniture until we stop with him under me.
His hands come up to block me, not that it does him any good, and with my hand clenched in his shirt, I pull my other one back, slamming it straight into his smug, arrogant face. The crack of his nose is every wonderful sound in life blended together.
Blood spurts, hitting my arm, but I don’t care. I smash my fist down again.
And again.
And again.
Alex struggles, trying to buck me off, but with each hit, his blocks grow weaker.
Amidst my punches, I hear my name being called. Tristan, I’m sure, but I pay no attention. The only thing that matters is ensuring Alex, under no circumstances, ever speaks Dolly’s name ever again.
His face is a wrangled mess and he’s long stopped fighting, but the rage inside me—the need to protect Elena—isn’t satisfied yet. Not until he’s dead. Through the red, I hear my name again. It’s clearer—the fog starting to dissipate, as every punch I give to Alex clears more and more away.
“Ryker!” Arms hook around mine and yank at my body.
I lunge, forcing my body weight on Alex. More hands join in, this time from the front, and they push me off the dick.
“Ryker, stop, man. You did good.”
I pull away from Tristan, finally scanning beyond the red toward the rest of the room. Alex’s friends remain hovered over his mangled body. His face, an unknown mess to anyone who doesn’t know what he looks like, remains limp on the ground. If it wasn’t for his barely-there chest raises, I’d think I killed him.
Too bad.
Beyond them, a gathering of partiers, all staring with drunken, shocked expressions. The commotion must have travelled upstairs and gotten through the music.
How loud did I yell? How loud did he scream? All noises I blocked out in favour of hitting him.
I take inventory of myself. My knuckles are cut and bloody—mostly his blood—and my shirt is stained in red. I truly seem like I murdered someone. The sting on my knuckles is nothing compared to the sting of Alex’s last words.
“Someone call 911!”
“Already did. The cops are on their way with the ambulance.”
Cops. Ambulance. My eyes drop back to Alex.
I fucked up.
No doubt, Mom won’t look at me. I went to a party, got high, and destroyed the face of the principal’s son. I’m as my genes all but designed me to be, and Mom and Dad will pay the ugly price for my idiocy.
But at least he won’t touch Elena.
Elena.
Cops.
I nearly killed the principal’s son. One doesn’t walk away from this. Not when the Millers are involved.
My chest rumbles with the increased beating of my heart and I glance at Tristan, knowing he can see the horror in them.
I’m fucked. This is it for me. I may have well and truly shot my future in the face. I tried to reap Alex’s life and now they’ll take mine instead. If I changed the course of my future, fine, but there’s one more thing I need to do before I meet my maker.
I leap over Alex’s body, not caring if I kick the fucker on my way out, and push through the crowd of stupid onlookers, making it to the top of the stairs. The music has been shut off, leaving the party in an eery silence. If cops are on their way, it’ll be a matter of minutes before people start leaving, in fear they’ll be charged for underage drinking.
Lucky for them, the cops will have a different goal tonight.
Arresting me.
But before they find me—as they no doubt will—I take off. Even if running from the scene of a crime isn’t good, I still run.
Toward her. My Dolly. My Elena. The only girl I’ve ever fucking cared about.
I run like Hellhounds are on my heels, and I don’t stop until I’m at her front door, breathing in the scent of everything good. I glance at my broken knuckles, flinching at how she’ll undoubtedly react, but I don’t care. I need this.
Need her. To feel her. Taste her.
Before I never can again.
I lift my hand to knock.
ELENA
* * *
When I open my eyes the next morning, the first thing I notice is the cloud of dread overhanging the bed. However, I’m unsure if I put it there or Ryker. His breathing is light, barely there, but I know he’s awake and waiting for me.
I nearly don’t want to move. Yesterday may have been an enlightening and emotional discovery for me, but there’s still things I want to know. He already said his sentence was ten years. Math isn’t my strong subject, but four years is not equivalent to ten, which means he’s been released sooner than he should be.
I move, my muscles crying out in agony from being stiff all night. His cushioned mattress is easily the most comfortable thing I’ve ever felt, but clearly, I didn’t move enough throughout the night and my body is paying the price. My back cracks and my neck aches as I readjust.
The dark circles under Ryker’s eyes are the first thing I see when I glance at him. They frame smoldering green eyes currently watching me wake up.
Without another thought, I reach up, thumb stroking the dark spots. “Good morning. Did you sleep at all?”
“No,” he rumbles.
“Why?”
He studies my face again, searching for something, but I keep my expression neutral. After another moment, he blows out a breath, his warm air falling atop me, and he says, “I suppose I didn’t want to. I had a few emails to send, and then I wanted to remain awake. I… You know, when they put me in solitary confinement, imagining you was what got me through the week—what kept me sane. When I said it was always you, I meant it. Dolly. Elena. You have the most perfect name. The most perfect reactions.” He reaches out a single finger, dragging it over my chest to a perky nipple peeking out from the blanket. “The most perfect body. I pictured it exactly like this time and time again.”
“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint then,” I joke. Once my chuckle tapers off, I push myself into a sitting position, which slides his hand from my body, and I drag the blanket over me to cover my chest. “There’s still more I don’t understand.”
Instead, he cuts in with a question, his green eyes boring into me from where he remains still lying down. “What was going through your head after I kissed you?”
One side of my mouth pulls up into a smile as I bring us back to the weirdest and best day of my life. “Disbelief. I mean, when you showed up covered in blood, I thought it was some trick you were playing, and when you left, I assumed it was to go laugh it off with your friends.”
“You have no idea the amount of strength it took me to leave you. When I was kissing you, I was also fighting the urge to drag you upstairs and kiss the rest of your body, but there wasn’t nearly enough time to do all the things I wanted to do to you. I left, unsatisfied with a simple taste.”
“I would have let you,” I whisper, knowing I speak the truth. Ploy or not, if Ryker dragged me to bed, I would have willingly spread my legs. But I blink, forcing myself back to his previous question. “The thing that nagged me was the fear in your eyes. It was pure horror. Then Mom brought in the letter, and I didn’t know what to think.”
“It was all true,” he states, pushing himself into a sitting position too. The blanket dips low on his waist and my gaze involuntarily flicks down as he continues, “The words in that letter killed me to write. I was telling you to move on, while saying I would never let you go.”
“I didn’t want to believe it. It made no sense until I arrived at school. People were abuzz with the gossip. Then I saw the photos people took of Alex.” I shake my head of the past. “It was all anyone spoke about for the next week. I tried to get Tristan to talk to me, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. Mom said she knew nothing, and no one at school seemed to know why you did it. The media also had no comment, so I was left wondering what made you attack him.”
His eyes shut briefly. “It was the one thing Alex’s father and I agreed on. His father stuck a gag order on anyone at the party and shut the media up. At the time, I wasn’t sure why, since I was the one at fault, but for whatever the reason, it worked out for me.”
“Would it have mattered if I knew?” If, this entire time, I was aware he went to jail for me and why he did, I may have felt differently of him. Tried to visit him even.
Ryker shrugs one shoulder lazily. “I didn’t want you to see me as the hero. I suppose I wanted to keep up the bad guy façade, even after I left.” His eyes, shadowy depths, are chock-full of emotion, yet it’s one I can’t completely place.
Finally, I ask my final question, “Did you get out of prison early?”
Ryker slides from bed, pulling on jeans as he goes. He snaps them shut, similar to how he’s seemingly snapping shut this conversation. I lean back into the pillows, pursing my lips at his lack of response, as I seek for another way to get the truth from him.
The sheet is tugged lightly off my lap, pulling my attention upward, where he stands with it pinched between two fingers. My shirt dangles from his other hand.
“Up. It’s time you learn the rest.”
Ryker’s hand is a red-hot iron in my back as he nudges me toward a particular house in a nearby neighbourhood. It’s the type of home you imagine children running around in and parents tending to the yard. I scan the neighbours’ houses, noting the same kind of feel.
What business does Ryker have in this quaint house?
Ryker ignores me and strides straight toward the beige door. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a single key before stuffing it into the lock. It clicks and the door falls open.
“What—?” I stop short, gathering the many questions running through my mind. What are we doing here? Is this another house of his?
“Follow me.” He leads me through the front door and flicks on the hallway light. I stop short at the doorway, scanning the house beyond him. A single, empty coat rack and entranceway decorative table is all I can see. To my right, a basic living room is set up with a couch and a few chairs. Beyond him, down the long hall, appears to be the kitchen.
Wariness tugs at my brain, flashing alerts at me not to enter this den of unknowns.
“Elena, follow,” he commands again.
I swallow, finally asking the magical question, “What are we doing here?”
Ryker doesn’t answer, and instead, walks a few more feet. He stops beside the staircase and yanks open a door. A closet under the stairs?
Curiosity drives my feet forward and I step inside the house, shutting the door behind me but go no farther than the entranceway carpet.
“You can stay here if you’d like. But if you follow me, I promise you’ll receive your answers to everything.”
And then he disappears, ducking his head down into the doorway.
I hesitate, my fingers tugging at the edges of my shirt. What he’s offering sounds nice, but this is Ryker we’re talking about. God knows what’s in the cupboard. Perhaps this is it. This is where he ties me up and officially tortures me for days to come.
Seems like an awfully lot of work to take me to a new house when he’s had me in his though.
So, stupidly I continue forward, grasping the edge of the white door for a brief second before following. I’m expecting an under-the-stairs storage cupboard, but instead, am met with wooden stairs leading down into a bright basement.
Interesting placement for a basement.
“Ryker?” I call, placing one foot on the first creaky step.
“Come down, Elena.”
Back to first names, which is a good sign. This must not be some sick game then. I swallow once, then again, as I begin my way down the steps, more of the basement being revealed to me as I go.
As far as basements go, this one matches the standard. Being unfinished, the walls are cement, the ceiling uncovered, showing wooden beams. I shiver, crossing my arms, as the usual kind of chill one would find down here brushes my arms.
The main difference this basement has compared to every other one I’ve been in is the lair I’ve just entered.
On those very cement walls, various corkboards hang, papers scattered and tacked to them. Writing and lines are drawn all over a large whiteboard, in a pattern only anyone in the know understands. In the centre is a large table.
And like lairs go, scattered around the table are the villains of my story.
At the far end, Tristan. He’s leaning back in his chair, a knowing smirk stretching his face, and his arms, covered by his usual leather jacket, are crossed. The last time I saw him was outside my university, and I break my gaze, following to his left.
Brent. Not my Brent, but rather the stranger I’ve realized he is. His face remains passive while his eyes settle on me. I stare at him for a beat, frozen on the bottom step and wait for some kind of emotion to hit me. Anger, frustration, hate… anything. But nothing comes. Like even my emotions are frozen from the beautiful hell he’s put me through these past years. I believed I cared for him, but perhaps my emotions are tied up and numb from what Ryker’s been slowly feeding me. He blinks slowly, his eyes flickering once before they drop to the table.
I continue scanning the circle, stopping short at the new person.
Unlike Brent and Tristan—and even Ryker’s—seemingly normal appearance, this one stands out. His black—like, dyed, inky black—hair falls low on his forehead, framing two bright blue eyes. I falter, staring into the iciness of what has to be the most unique eyes I’ve ever seen. Attached to one brow is a metal ring. A tight black shirt stretches across his lanky frame, tattoos peeking out from the sleeves and neck, and he too is leaning back in his chair, ever the picture of relaxation. His position allows for the hair by his ear to fall to the side, and a small metal ball in his ear flashes back at me. At my examination, he grins, his tongue flicking out to lick at the ring in his lip.
Finally, I pull my gaze away, landing on the final person. Ryker. He stands by the head of the table, watching me.
“W-what is this?”
“This is the truth.”
ELENA
* * *
Ryker tosses a stack of files onto the table in front of me. I stare at them, unmoving, mind scrolling the endless possibilities of what they can be. My hand flutters to my neck, feeling my sweaty reluctance.
“These hold the answers,” Ryker comments. “Read for yourself.”
“Can’t you tell me?” I swallow through the lump forming in my throat.
“No. This is the rest of show and tell. I’m showing; now let the documents tell you.”
I glance uneasily around the circle again. They’re all statues, waiting for me to do something. I spare a final glance at Ryker before flipping over the flap of the first one.
Alex Miller’s face stares back at me. Two versions of him, in fact. The one I knew from high school—handsome, muscular build—and the one I only saw the other day. It’s taken from afar as he walks through city streets.
I flip the photo over, scanning the next page in the file.
Miller, Inc.
Alex mentioned one, but I don’t know what his company does. Counting back the years, how is he controlling one when he should be only finishing his degree now? I scan the page, noting the business’s details. He’s a holding company, managing names of other ones I don’t recognize.
