Jules recovered first.
“First of all, Julian deserves jail.” She shook with fury. “Second of all, I’m going to jail for what I’ll do if I ever come across him. I will cut his balls off, do you hear me? I’ll slice them open with a machete and shove them down his throat so he chokes—“
“Okay, I think we’ve had enough violence for the week,” Ava cut in. Worry creased her forehead. “Stel, are you sure he’s taken care of? He’s not going to escape or anything?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. Harper Security has him.”
“What about Christian?” Bridget asked. She was in what looked like her office, and a giant portrait of some old Eldorran monarch glared at me from behind her. “Does this mean you’re back together?”
“We’re…” I hesitated. “Working things out.”
“That’s great!” Of all my friends, Jules was the most enthusiastic about Christian. Probably because he’d lowered our rent so much when we moved into the Mirage. “He’s not that bad of a guy. I mean, sometimes he does bad things. Those files were totally not okay, and you had every right to break up with him. But…” Her voice softened. “He really loves you.”
I swallowed past the knot of emotion in my throat. “I know.”
Luckily, the conversation soon moved back to safer ground with Jules detailing all the creative ways she’d murder Julian (much to Ava’s chagrin).
My friends’ company grounded me back in reality.
When lunchtime passed, however, I gently but firmly insisted that they go about the rest of their day and that I didn’t need babysitting.
I appreciated their company and concern, but I’d exhausted my social battery for the day. I needed alone time to recharge.
The door closed behind them, and I sucked in a breath of silence.
Nina was also gone for the day, so it was just me and the empty penthouse.
When I first moved in, I thought it was cold and impersonal, like a model showroom. Now, being here felt like returning home.
That was the couch where I’d created my collection, those were the plants I’d lovingly tended to for months…
And that was the office where I’d found the files that shattered it all.
I stopped in front of the entrance. For once, Christian had left the door open.
If you have time today, look in the drawer where you found the files. There’s something there for you.
Staying away was impossible.
My heartbeats collided with each other as I walked to his desk and triggered the secret drawer mechanism.
The compartment slid out soundlessly.
I experienced a twinge of surprise when I saw its contents.
Instead of black binders, the drawer was filled with letters. There were at least a dozen of them, handwritten on simple cream stationery.
I recognized Christian’s bold, elegant scrawl immediately.
I flipped through them, my heart rate climbing with every sheet that came into view.
They were all addressed to me and dated from the day we broke up.
One letter for every day we’d been apart.
Emotion swelled in my throat at the thought of Christian sitting here night after night, writing me notes I might never see.
Except I was here now, at his request, and I couldn’t have stopped myself if I wanted to.
I sank into his chair, picked up the first letter, and started reading.
52
CHRISTIAN/STELLA
CHRISTIAN
“Hello, Julian.”
I examined Stella’s stalker, who was strung up with heavy cuffs locking his arms and legs into a vertical spread-eagle position. Nails pinned his palms to the wall behind them, while black and blue bruises mottled his body like an obscene piece of abstract art.
We were in the warehouse I’d bought for this specific purpose. Remote, soundproofed, and guarded enough that an ant couldn’t crawl across the floor without me knowing.
Not all of my guys were okay with dirty work, which was fine.
I only needed a few who were, and they’d done their job prepping the bastard for me. I couldn’t have him waiting too comfortably while I tended to Stella.
My gaze flicked to the floor.
A small pool of blood stained the smooth gray concrete.
That was also fine.
It would grow soon enough.
Julian’s face was so beaten up it was unrecognizable, but the heat of his glare made me smile.
He had a bit of fight left in him. Good.
That would make our session so much more fun.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but you might have trouble writing any more notes in the future.” I snapped on a pair of gloves, my voice casual as I examined the array of tools available to me on a nearby table.
A different dozen blades. Brass knuckles. Screwdrivers, whips, nails, hooks…
Hmm. Choices, choices.
“Fuck you,” Julian spat.
My men had been relatively soft with him. It must’ve given him a false sense of security that what he’d gone through was as bad as it got.
I smiled. If you only knew.
“Language, Mr. Kensler. Honestly. Did your grandmother not teach you manners?” I selected one of the blades. I had a soft spot for knives.
They were lethal, precise, versatile. Everything I liked in a weapon.
“Here’s the thing.” I pressed the tip of the knife into his sternum. “I don’t like getting my hands dirty. Blood doesn’t go well with any of my clothes. But sometimes…” I dragged the knife down his torso. Blood welled and snaked down his body like thin rivulets of red. “Someone pisses me off enough that I make an exception.”
I paused at the soft flesh of his belly, then rammed the blade in so hard he would’ve collapsed had he not been strung up.
An inhuman scream ripped from his throat, followed by a second scream when I yanked the knife out.
“Here’s the thing, Julian.” I continued like nothing happened. “She’ll never be yours. She was always mine. And your biggest mistake…” I dropped the bloodied knife on the table and selected a meat cleaver. “Was hurting someone who was mine.”
I didn’t say Stella’s name. It didn’t deserve to live in a place where pain and death reigned, but we both knew who I was talking about.
Blood stains. Bruised skin. Terrified eyes.
My pulse pounded at the memory.
I usually stayed in control during these sessions. Cool, calm, even conversational as I worked on the subject.
But whenever I pictured the haunted look in her eyes, or the purple and black marring her gorgeous skin, something dark and icy rooted in my lungs.
Rage, and the primal need to tear anyone who even thought about hurting her apart from limb to limb.
If I’d been one minute late, she would’ve died. Her light snuffed out, just like that.
The rage coiled tight and exploded through the sharp blade of the cleaver, which smashed through flesh and bone until an animalistic howl of agony split the air.
“See?” My chest heaved from the force of my swing as Julian’s right hand hit the floor with a thud. “Hard to write again. Or type.”
That was all it took for his fight to melt like ice cream on hot concrete, which was disappointing.