Secrets and Scars: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (Fatal Hearts Series Book 3) (14 page)

I wanted him, and he wanted me. It felt so right. But before he could fill me, before he completed me, I placed both hands on his chest.

My eyes told him everything he needed to know.

He nodded, and without saying a word, moved off the bed. He picked up his jeans from the carpet, pulled a string of condoms out of the pocket, and tore one off.

Did he always walk around with condoms? Or had he come to me expecting to celebrate? I smiled. It didn’t matter what his intentions were; all I cared about was having him inside of me. I wanted him to teach me how to live again, how to feel again—how to have sex without pain.

He slid on the condom, and when he kissed me again, I cried. He wiped the tears away with his thumb and asked if he should stop.

I shook my head and breathed in his masculine scent. “I never want you to stop. Make me feel good.”

With that, he positioned himself between my legs, the palms of his hands fiery against my hips. Then he took my hand and placed it on himself. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft.

“Where do you want me?” A trace of a smile touched his lips.

With a low moan, I guided him into me. I gasped at the size of him. He completely filled my body, my mind, my world. Then he was moving inside, thrusting and almost withdrawing, only to push into me again. I wriggled my hips and arched my back to get as close to him as I could.

Alvin had almost made me forget how good it felt to make love. But Owen would make me remember.

Everything I had experienced with a man before Owen had been nothing but a taste, a prelude. This moment was the real thing.

Our movements were fluid, as though we had made love many times before, as though our bodies knew one another already. My hands traveled easily down his muscular body.

As he thrust deeper and faster, I met his urgency with my unsated hunger for him. In no time, we found our rhythm, the harmony that fastened our bodies together. My body quivered with liquid fire, and then it finally exploded into a billion fiery stars.

Not long after, Owen lost his patience and allowed ecstasy to arrest him, to shake him, to break him. My name was the last word on his lips.

“I told you I was just getting started.” Owen lay beside me, breathless and sweaty, smelling of sex and cologne. One of his hands cupped me gently.

“You mean that’s all you’ve got?” I giggled.

He got back on top of me and slid his hands under my butt, careful not to touch the still painful parts of me. “Do you need more convincing?”

“I might.” His mouth swallowed my laughter as he kissed me, and we started all over again.

***

After Owen left, I gave Lester a call. I still needed to understand what had happened so many years ago. So I asked if he had found anything relating to Alvin’s mother’s HIV.

“Yes, I do have more info on that. I was going to send you everything I found, in case you wanted to keep it for your records. Do you want me to mail it to you, or should I tell you over the phone?”

“Tell me now.” I wrapped the belt of my bathrobe around my hand.

“His mother was indeed HIV-positive.” He paused, and I heard a ruffle of papers. “Police reports and hospital records show that she was raped in 2001. She seemed to have contracted the virus that way.”

My hand went to my throat. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

Of course my heart went out to the woman; I had gone through the same ordeal. But it all made sense now.

Alvin had lied. He had made it sound as though he had contracted HIV in the womb, but he had already been born when she was raped. His plan all along had been to mess with my already fragmented mind, to terrify me.

“Do you know who took care of Alvin after her death?”

“His mother’s employer adopted him. He’s also the one who covered Alvin’s mother’s medical bills.”

“Is he still alive?” I picked up a hotel pen and notepad. It would only be fair to inform him of Alvin’s death.

“I’m afraid not. He died five years ago.”

I dropped the pen and puffed out a breath. “Okay. Lester, thank you so much for everything.”

“That’s what you paid me for. I only wish I had been able to warn you about Alvin Jones before he kidnapped you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I survived. That’s all that matters now.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

My short run from the car to the front door left me soaked to the bone. The black lace knee-length dress I had worn to Miles’s funeral now clung to my skin.

As I turned the key in the lock, I couldn’t feel my hands, couldn’t feel any part of my body. Not from the cold, rainy weather, but from the emptiness, the chill left behind by Miles’s death. The chill that had followed me since I’d left Jamaica. Even though Owen warmed the center of my heart, Miles’s death left a film of un-melting ice on the surface. The chill in my body had only intensified as I’d watched Miles’s coffin sink into the ground fifteen minutes ago.

As shovelfuls of earth hit the top of the coffin, I’d struggled to breathe. After my silent goodbye, once the coffin was no longer visible, the walls around my emotions crumbled. He had not been my soulmate—I knew that now—but I still wanted him in the world. I missed him with a mind-numbing intensity. I needed to feel his presence one last time, to spend a moment alone with him.

The next thing I knew, I was pushing through the throngs of guests and jumping into my car. How I managed to drive myself in my broken state without ending up in an accident was beyond me. Somehow I made it to the house in one piece.

The air inside the place I used to call home was cold and sharp, relentlessly slicing into my unhealed wounds. I had to force myself to breathe through my mouth as I moved into the front hall and closed the door behind me. Miles’s body was at the cemetery, but surely his spirit had to be in this place we had shared, where we had made so many happy memories in the short time we were together. 

With water dripping from the hem of my dress onto marble, wood, and carpet, I tore up the stairs and burst into the bedroom—our bedroom. I didn’t stop to look at the bed we’d made love in, or the photos of us on dressers and hanging from the walls. There was only one place I wanted to be right now, the place I hoped still held traces of him.

As soon as I walked into his closet, his cologne swirled around me, drawing me close, hugging me. A shiver of pain ripped through me.

For a moment, I stopped in the doorway and closed my eyes, breathed him in. Fresh tears trailed down my cheeks. Behind my eyelids, I fooled myself into believing he was present, standing right there in front of me. I watched him stride into the closet, pick out something to wear, his brow furrowed, just as he had done the morning he’d walked out of the house, never to return. His scent used to calm me once; it made me feel safe, loved. Now it tore me apart. It shredded my heart into even smaller pieces, and ground those pieces into a powder.

I swiped away my tears with the back of my hand and opened my eyes.

The dim light bounced off the mirrored furniture and shelf details. It made my sore eyes ache. But I couldn’t close them again; I needed to see the things he’d seen before he died. I needed to see everything in its place before it was packed up.

I pulled out one of the deep drawers, the one that hid his dirty laundry so well. Two shirts lay crumpled at the bottom, never to be worn again: one crimson, one Persian blue. I pulled out the blue one and held it up to my nose. I searched for more than the scent of his cologne this time. I wanted to smell him—his skin, his sweat, his essence. I found it in the collar, in the armpits—faint but detectable, enough for me to wallow in. Enough to bring him closer even as he drifted away.

I sank to the floor, the shirt still pressed to my face. My eyes flooded with tears, and my heart spilled over as I remembered the last time he’d worn it. The night he had cooked dinner for my mom and me, the night he’d walked away from the table with no explanation. I should have known then; I should have seen the signs, should have read between the pauses in his words. I should have listened to the rhythm of his breathing. I should have discovered his pain earlier, the secrets he’d buried so deep.

I should have helped him.

Now it was too late, and all I had of him was the scent he left behind. That, too, would fade with time.

“I’m sorry, Miles,” I said through my sobs. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I loved you and I’ll never forget you.” I gulped in air. “Thank you for sharing the best part of you with me for a while. I hope you find peace on the other side.” The shirt dropped from my hands and onto my lap. “Goodbye, Miles Durant.”

Before I left the closet, I took both of Miles’s shirts with me. I tossed it, along with a pile of my clothes, into a suitcase and slammed it shut.

Maybe one day I would wake up and not think about the life we’d shared, about the things I did and didn’t do. Maybe one day I would close my eyes and not see Miles’s face smiling back at me, only to be poisoned by the sight of Alvin’s murderous grin. 

Maybe one day.

I dragged the suitcase down the stairs. I would return for the rest of my belongings another day.

The front door flew open before I had a chance to reach it. Owen burst into the house, followed by flashing lights and shouted questions from a sea of reporters behind him. He still wore the same black suit he’d worn at the funeral, but his tie was loose, his hair damp and unruly from the rain.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” he said, drawing me to him. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to the hotel.” He took the suitcase from me and gripped my hand protectively, just as he had done many times in Jamaica.

He moved me toward the door, ready to tear through the crowds with me by his side. He wanted to protect me, but it was too late for that. The reporters would not quit. The questions would follow me until I answered them. The sooner I faced them, the sooner I could start moving on.

When we got to the bottom of the front steps, I pushed my damp hair from my eyes and brought Owen to a halt with me. “It’s okay. I’ll answer their questions.”

“Miss Parker, is it true that Miles Durant was actually Alvin Jones, the boy you tried to kill when you were teenagers?”

“Did he really rape and torture you on his private yacht?”

“Is your name really Kelly Pearson? Did you lie to everyone about your true identity?”

I detached myself from Owen and bent my head to speak into the closest microphone. “Yes. Yes, it’s true. All of it.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

I rose from my leather chair and looked at my employees assembled in front of me. As I stood there, I assumed I looked as confident as I always had, but I didn’t feel it—not by a long shot.

The funeral was two days ago, and now they knew everything: everything I had done, everything I had gone through. My deepest, darkest secrets.

Did they even have an ounce of respect left for me? How did they feel about the hypocrite who unveiled other people’s secrets while hiding her own, and for so long?

But today was not the day for me to worry about that. I had come to the
Sage
offices for one purpose only: to announce the decision I had made about the company.

“I’m so happy to see all of you.” The lump inside my throat expanded with each second, and I swallowed, wishing I had a glass of water.

I prayed I would be able to finish my speech without breaking down. They looked up at me expectantly, shock shadowing most of their faces and swimming in their eyes. “You kept
Sage
afloat while I was... away. I appreciate you for that. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. As most of you know, the past few weeks were extremely hard for me.”

“It wasn’t the same here without you.” Jolene looked up from her notepad. “I’m sure I speak for everybody when I say it’s good to have you back. We all prayed for your safe return. We’re sorry for your loss, and for what happened to you.”

A murmur of voices suddenly filled the room as everyone agreed with her. It seemed they had all been waiting for someone to start with the condolences so they could all chime in. Before I could go on, several people got up and came over to hug me.

Despite my promise to myself to remain strong and unemotional, I couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks.

Sitting alone in the dungeon, on the Vendetta, I’d thought I would come back to a staff that had turned their backs on me. I’d expected to return to the office to find my desk littered with notices as my employees abandoned ship.

When everybody was settled in their seats again, I wiped away the tears, pulled myself together, and continued with my speech. It was time to deliver the bad news. “After everything that has happened, I’m sure you understand that I’ve had to make some difficult decisions. I’m afraid one of those decisions has to do with
Sage
. It’s the most difficult one of all.” I took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the polished table. “It hurts me deeply to tell you that I’m selling the magazine.”

Even though nobody had said a word while I spoke, another level of quiet fell over the room.

Everyone remained seated, gazing up at me, as though expecting me to say I was joking. But I had thought long and hard about my decision. It had to be done. I had to move on from the person I used to be, to pursue a better version of myself. I had learned the hard way what an impact the stories I published had on people.