Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) (20 page)

“Are you okay in there?” Aimee’s soft knock and concerned voice traveled through the wood. I opened the door enough to peek out.

“I’m good.”

She gave me a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m good, Aim. Really.”

A few minutes ticked by when I came out. As we walked into the living room I could feel her eyes on me. People surrounded us, but I was the one Aimee kept in her sight. I looked around to see if Falcon had returned, but he hadn’t, and I felt dejected.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Aria put her arm around my shoulder.

“I’m really tired. Would you mind if I slipped out?”

“Of course I don’t mind.” She looked at me inquisitively. “Did something happen? You look upset.”

“No,” I lied. “I’m just ready to call it a day. My stomach is acting up.”

“Do you want me to get Declan to drive you home? The party will be over soon and it looks like it’s starting to rain.”

“No. I’m okay to drive.” I assured her with a hug. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

Concern washed over her as she watched me walk to my car. My heart was heavy. Of all the scenarios I’d let run through my mind, the one that played out left me with a feeling of emptiness. All I wanted to do was go home and get into comfortable clothes. I knew once I got there that my friends, Ben and Jerry, would keep me company.

T
he sound of heavy droplets smacked the windshield in concert with the image playing out in his head. Blake’s thoughts were as grey and clouded as the sky and it was all because of Falcon Grey. He wanted nothing more than to put his fist right in that bastard’s smug face.

He jerked the car around and threw it into park. His condo was in a secured building and he quickly punched in the access code. Fueled by anger, he bounded up the steps two at a time and slammed the door behind him when he was inside. Once again, Falcon had interfered in a matter that was between him and Paige. The more he replayed the scene in his mind, the more he wanted to hurl something across the room.

He paced in front of the window. The spectacular view of the Atlantic Ocean was a reminder to him of all that he had achieved. Compared to him, Falcon was a piece of shit. Indignation shadowed his mood. As he replayed the images in his mind he was battered with an incapacitating rage. There was no way he was letting him get away with this.

He paced the confines of the place, rounding the floor of the living room for what seemed the hundredth time.

“Son of a bitch!”

He threw himself down on the sofa. Crossing one leg over the other his foot shook violently as his ankle teetered on the bone of his knee. The door clicked, alerting him to someone’s presence. Only one person had accompanied him to the beach.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Marisol regarded the barked question with a murderous glare. She set her shopping bag down gently on the glass-topped table. Her expression was full of contempt. If looks truly could kill, her gaze would have annihilated him. She strolled toward him. The sound of her Louboutin’s graduated from a hearty click to a dull thud as she went from marble to carpet. When she stopped, she stood in front of him.

“Blake. Dear.” Her words were encased in an icy threat. “I would caution you not to use that tone with me. It might prove hazardous to your health.”

She looked him over, roaming from head to foot. There was only one reason for his reckless tone and because of it she extended a bit of leniency.

“Knowing what your plans were for the afternoon, I can only imagine what or who put you in such a foul mood. Perhaps we should wait to talk until you’re in a better frame of mind.”

She bent over the coffee table and lifted the top off of the crystal dish sitting there. A small, silver spoon lay nestled in the sparkling white dust. She emptied a measurement of it onto the glass mirror underneath and replaced the lid. Right next to the crystal dish sat a box made from oak. It was polished so beautifully that the depth of the grain was showcased. Marisol lifted the lid. Inside were a razor blade and a rolled one-hundred-dollar bill. She carefully scraped the powder into a thin line. When she turned around she held the tightly wound currency out to Blake. A wicked smile crossed her lips.

“Here you go,” she said sweetly. “This will put you in a better mood.”

Blake studied her. He knew she was right. He also knew he was lucky enough to get the best quality blow because of her. While he hated her superior attitude, he hated how he felt even more. The coke always took the edge off.

He grabbed the bill from her hands and rested the money on the edge of the glass just beneath the snowy line. While he still kept an eye on her, he put his head down. He dropped his gaze only long enough to snort the powder.

Blake threw the money on the table, sat back, and closed his eyes. The drug kicked in on contact, filling the synapse with redemptive bliss. He tumbled into its sweet effects as it cascaded the residual happiness through his entire body. His shoulders relaxed and his fist unclenched.

Marisol maintained a vigilant superiority as she watched the whole scene with interest. His addiction profited her in many more ways than just money. The one she liked best was control.

“There, now.” She crossed her arms across her chest with a smile of satisfaction. “That should help you to be a bit more civil.”

Like a queen on a throne she took a seat in the thick leather chair. She placed her hands on the rounded arms, her feet flat on the floor. The only thing that was missing from this scene was her scepter and crown. She bided the time patiently as she waited for Blake to become more pleasant company and relished the few moments of peace. He had become quite an annoyance lately, but she tolerated him because he was useful to her and Manny. So far his belligerence had been easy to fix. As long as his habit didn’t reach too deeply into her pocket, she liked the control it gave her over him.

“Feeling better?” She mocked sarcastically.

His eyes opened to narrow slits. In the blanketing, crystalline haze he forgot she was there. Straightening up, he made a noble attempt at lucidity.

“I just needed a minute.” He leaned forward, ran a hand through his hair, and then rested his arms on his thighs. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that someone must have made you angry and, apparently, you thought you could share your irritation with me. You questioned where I was which, might I remind you, is none of your business.”

“Oh, yeah.” For a moment clarity sliced through the miasma. “Sorry about that. I went to Declan’s and I was asked to leave the party.”

She smirked, enjoying the juicy tidbit. “
Declan
threw you out of his house? I didn’t see that coming.”

“
He
didn’t throw me out. It was that prick, Falcon.” Indignation cut through his numbing haze.

“Falcon? Carter’s friend?” She was surprised and amused. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do shit to him!” Blake’s euphoria was peppered with violence. “I was talking to Paige and the bastard cut in on me.”

She burst into laughter.

He shot to his feet. “Shut the hell up, Marisol!”

A rekindled hatred boiled in his veins making him careless, while the verbal slap earned him a dangerous look.

"What did you say to me?" Her tone was ferocious.

Blake rambled indignantly. “He doesn’t have exclusive rights to her! He’s ruining all the work I’ve put into that uppity bitch! I’m the one that gets to fuck her, not him.”

Marisol suddenly grew quiet and confused. She had no idea what he was talking about. As far as she knew Blake had gone to a christening. She couldn’t imagine why, of all places, he was trying to have sex at Declan’s house.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re acting like an idiot.”

He dismissed her with a look. “Paige—and I didn’t try anything at Declan’s house. I tried in Las Vegas.”

Her shocked look mirrored his arrogance.

“Yeah, that’s right, I tried to fuck her. She played games with me and I tried to collect. I was ready for a good time. As a matter of fact, I had just dusted up. I was almost inside her. If I hadn’t been so sidetracked by all those disgusting scars…then he showed up.”

He made her confused with two words—
Paige
and
scars
. She was rabid for clarification.

“What scars. Paige has scars?”

He sneered. "Yeah. Disgusting ones. All over her.”

She shuddered with excitement. Paige scarred? The thought was too delicious but Marisol savored it. If what he said was true, her disfigurement was probably a result of being cut by the glass when she pushed Paige through the window.

“Tell me about these scars.”

He smiled at her morbid curiosity. “They’re ugly. I went soft as soon as I saw them, I mean, who wants to touch that shit?”

Marisol closed her eyes and relished the news. There was no other explanation. She was responsible for Paige’s scars. It was more than she could have hoped for. Although her initial goal had been to eliminate them, it seemed that destroying them gave her more satisfaction. One by one she was obliterating the little circle that dared cross her. She had pushed Declan into moving traffic, sliced Aria’s flesh, and was party to Lacey’s death and Aimee’s rape.

As she assessed the collective destruction she drowned in malevolent satisfaction. She always knew that she was smarter than them. Maybe they would think twice before dismissing her.

As Blake rambled about the indignation he’d suffered and how he planned to retaliate, she tuned him out and offered him another line of coke. It might even feed his delusional invincibility. She was counting on it because eventually, he would also be held accountable. He was, or used to be, one of the people in that little circle. Even though, now, he was useful, he would have to be dealt with.

After rambling on, Blake finally fell asleep. Marisol left the room to make a cup of tea. Soon they would be returning to New York. She had to play this carefully. It would serve her purpose if Manny knew what Blake did in Las Vegas. Since her release, he had been adamant about them keeping a low profile. Any behavior that drew attention to the activities in his business was dealt with swiftly, harshly, and permanently. She would assure her husband that she was looking out for his best interest by telling him about the incident and reassuring him that she would keep an eye on Blake. When Blake no longer served her purposes, she would tell Manny that he had become problematic. It would work out beautifully; she would pull the strings and Manny would pull the trigger.

M
anny pushed the noise of the casino out of his head and instead concentrated on the information from his wife. What he had just learned was unacceptable. His merchandise moved quickly and smoothly. Blake’s actions could be a problem—and he didn’t like problems.

The cartel did business discreetly and Blake was becoming anything but. In an attempt to reposition Marisol at Bella Matrix Modeling, he had hesitantly agreed to let Blake feed cocaine to his connections in the business. Paris, Italy, and New York had a large and diverse fashion industry and Blake had many colleagues who indulged in recreational drug use. The vein of business that Blake tapped into was extremely lucrative, but risks to the organization would not be tolerated. Now that customers had been established it would be very easy to recruit a replacement when the time came. It was a disappointment because Blake had proven to be an asset until lately. Once he began using himself his behavior became erratic. Now his competence was in question. It complicated things. Drugs always complicated things.

Mari was a smart girl. He counted himself lucky because she knew all about the nature of his business, and she knew what it took to protect it. Her father had run it well. It was fortuitous that Manny and Marisol met. They understood each other. When she called him and relayed the information about Blake it pleased him because, of all people, it was her loyalty that he craved most. It would be most unfortunate should she ever prove disloyal.

In this instance her instincts were correct. This new development required delicacy. There was no question as to Blake’s fate, but timing was a factor as well as location. His elimination would not be in Ocean City or New York. Both were too obvious and reeked of connections with Mari. Of course, anything linked to Mari indirectly connected him; so much care would be given to the details. They had an upcoming trip to Las Vegas planned. That trip could prove to be beneficial in this instance. Even Blake wouldn’t be suspicious. He had gone to Vegas with them before so inviting him again wouldn’t raise questions. There he could more effectively deal with the offense. Permanently.