NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 29
He doesn’t need to believe me, only what I didn’t say and denied.
Amirah’s eyes latch onto mine. Her nostrils flare a tad, and I’ve been ready to fight with her ever since she texted me the other night and bitched me out for the Odette thing.
“She’s all yours,” Skinny Pricks announces. “Miss Van Doren, please don’t waste our time about—“
“Waste your time?” I shoot out, brows pinned together. “That’s your fucking job.” Then, reaching out for Amirah, I guide her out with my hand on the back of her shoulder. “You prick.”
The warm spring air hits our faces the moment we walk out, and Amirah rounds on me. I was expecting her to at least let us get out of a few yards of the front office of the police department, but she apparently has a vendetta she needs out right now.
“I thought I told you to stay away from me and my family,” she bites out, hair whipping around her forehead and her green eyes blazing hellfire back at me. “This is what you wanted. So why the hell are you here?”
“Forgiving you,” I deadpan.
Her face twists in confusion, then anger again, then it softens a tad. “What?”
“I told you that if you turned in your sisters, I’d forgive you, Rus. You half-ass listened to directions but, hey—“ I lift my shoulders. “—you did it.”
“So this was a test?”
“A change of plans,” I counter. “You weren’t part of them, but I need you for more than being behind bars.”
Amirah steps away from me. “What do you want now?”
“To be your date for your mother’s charity gala.”
She immediately shakes her head and wraps her arms around her body. “No. I’m not going to that. And I’m done paying up. Make up your mind and fuck off.”
I roll my eyes, not about to have a fight in the middle of the sidewalk. “We’ll talk about it when I take you home.”
“And that’s going to be a definite hell no.” She rounds my body and steps towards the curb to probably call a taxi when my arm shoots out around her waist, and I pull her into my chest.
Her softness contrasted with my hard feels perfect. It makes me want to take that ass I’ve been dreaming about since I said it right now.
However, she leapt and didn’t think I’d be here. I owe her to chill on shoving my revenge at her feet and taking out the others.
“You almost killed my sister.”
“I know.”
She shakes her head. “I know why, but…I can’t be near you right now. You’re too much. I don’t want to be around this anymore.”
“Then let me take you home.” I loosen my hold, but she doesn’t pry herself away from me, letting me smell her coconut scent that I kinda missed.
“Are you letting me go?”
No.
Not until I can manage all this.
Not until I feel like more of myself. I’m not sure I’m entirely done with Amirah after this stupid charity event. I just know I have to make some shit right.
“Mills.”
“Yeah?”
“You kinda scare me.” I can’t help the lift of my lips, and it’s not to be an asshole but because—well, she pissed me off.
“I wish I could apologize,” I tell her. “But I’m not myself.”
She bobs her head. “I’m…” Tears spring from her eyes, and I’m not sure what to do with them.
Normally, I can deal with female emotion, growing up with Ma and Grandma while they watched their Nicholas Sparks movies and flicks inspired by dogs.
But Amirah’s, I feel incredibly awkward and edgy.
“No need to say it again, Rus,” I acknowledge. “I know.”
“Then you…” A tear hits her cheek, and I can’t help but brush it off. Her soft skin under the pad of my thumb, the same one who clutched a knife to stab her sister repeatedly, sets my nerves to ease a tad.
The fact that she needs my forgiveness so much soothes away some hardness from my heart. And I can’t help but sink back into how I normally would react.
“Yeah,” I exhale, a massive weight off my chest fleeing away as I concede to it. “I do.”
Amirah’s greens snap shut, appearing relieved at my words, and I want to kiss the shit out of her.
And this is still so fucked up.
Bishop would never allow her to live if she did to him what she did to me, no matter the consequences. And no matter what anyone thinks, I look up to him because he taught Marty and I so much shit when we first joined B723 around the same time. Kyson is lenient on mostly anything, so I don’t see him giving me much shit about keeping Amirah out of it from now and finishing up the rest of the cunts involved in this.
Blue would have my head examined. Probably electric-shock my dick to get it to stop standing to attention when I think about the copper-haired vixen in front of me. Marty can’t speak because his wife was his victim once upon a time. If he gives me shit, I’ll answer him with my fist.
Regardless, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I need to shake her hand and wish her luck, but I still need her as my ticket in.
Nothing more and nothing less.
I’m going to give her back her future by getting her enrolled back at Thomas Jefferson University, and I just signed up to become her father’s blood donor on the down-low.
I’ve given her enough.
“I brought my car,” I urge, getting her eyes to crack open. “Let me take you home.” She nods, and I tuck her arm in with mine.
A little ways down the road, I’m parked along the side of the street. I open up her door for her and watch her slide in with her knees closed as she swings them over and in.
When I get inside, my car feels too small, the black leather seats too hot. She’s too close, and I can’t concentrate on carefully backing up and out of my spot. The fear of my fifteen-year-old self learning how to drive rears up, and I drive that sucker right back.
Amirah clicks her seatbelt and looks out the window, appearing to be in another world right now, just like I am. We’re barely acquaintances but have been through hell, and we’re still there. Neither of us are safe until her wicked sisters and mother are put down and away.
Her cell rings, and she hesitates before plucking it out of her small red purse. On the road, I try to keep my regard on the traffic, but her sweet voice fills the space when she answers the phone.
“Hello?” A male voice immediately replies, sounding completely pissed, but I can’t make out his words. “I’m fine.”
She tugs at the bottom of her pink shorts and sighs as she listens.
“Well, when would you’ve liked me to do it then, next year?…I’m on my way home…No, I’m fine. You don’t have to come up…Laurent, please…Can we talk about this later?…Because I just want a nap, and I’ll call you later…Sure…I love you too.”
She hangs up and reaches for her temple, rubbing away the tension I’m sure is forming there and how she might feel as if she betrayed her family.
I’m not sure why she did what she did, but at some point, she cracked.
And it’s none of my fucking business why.
“Are you going to kill my mom and sister?” Her question is one I saw coming but not right now and certainly not when she can’t escape me somehow.
“I’m not sure how to answer that, Rus.”
“You can start with a yes or no.” I tighten my hold on the steering wheel. My heart rate accelerating for no good reason at all.
On the same hand, I don’t want her to hate me.
But it’s going to come to that, won’t it?
I could lie to her and disappear. I can do all this without a trace back to me because I can. However, then I would become a liar. And I’m not stooping down to anyone’s level.
“Yes.”
I hear Amirah suck in a breath before her body naturally leans away from mine. This is what it always would be. I don’t understand why my brain keeps coming up with alternative ways this will end. There’s only one way where I can heal and move on.
“Please, don’t,” Amirah whispers, brushing my skin with her plea, and I steel my spine against it.
“Why?” The question leaves my lips before I can stop it. Nothing she is going to say will change my mind. “They’ve been holding blackmail over your head that doesn’t belong there. I can only imagine what else they’ve made you do, Rus. Why are you trying to save ones that don’t deserve salvation or your mercy.”
“Because I…I’m not like them.”
“You’re not.” I exhale through my nose. “You’re definitely not. You’re so much more. And you raped me for no reason, not that you knew at the time.” I glance over at her. “Do you know what I’m talking about?” Her mouth parts, but she doesn’t speak before I return my eyes to the road. “Vince, Rus. Odette said you didn’t kill him. Solange did. And the jealousy that courses through their veins for you runs deep and thick.”
“You asked her that?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know if you deserved my forgiveness when I was ready to give it to you.” I feel her eyes on me while she digests everything. “You were the only thing I could use that would piss them off. And, in turn, I didn’t know that I was fucking you over too.”
“How?”
“That shit doesn’t matter.” I park in front of her apartment and turn the car off. “It’s over, right?”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” she replies flatly.
“For you, it is. However, I do need a favor.” I open my door before she can ask me any more questions and round my car. I’ve already been interrogated enough by Skinny Prick and Balding today.
Amirah opens her door and climbs out. We walk silently inside and up to the elevator.
It’s then that I realize she trusts me when she might not know it.
And I’m a fucking idiot for wanting to protect her from the pain that she’s going to endure when I break her heart.
My head is whirling at how to rein in all the mixed thoughts and emotions channeling through at record speed. Mills walks inside the penthouse and suggests I take that nap I mentioned to Laurent on the phone.
Solange framed me and made me believe I murdered someone.
I’ve carried that weight with me since I was sixteen years old, always afraid that the same darkness that resided in my sisters somehow lay inside me. That I would turn into one of them—cruel, manipulative, and unsympathetic.
When I graduated, I threw myself as far away from them as possible as to not let the wickedness consume and feed off me. My stomach couldn’t take hurting someone so harshly that it’d cause them eternal pain.
But I did that.
And he’s sitting on the edge of the brick veranda, his feet dangling over the edge and above the bustling city below.
I watch him deep in thought and afraid that if I speak, I’ll startle him and send him over the edge. His shoulders are slumped and discouraged. Sometimes, I see light within his stormy eyes that, at one time, I know lived there.
I wish to have known him beforehand. We’ve met under the most awkward and uncomfortable circumstances, but now that he says he’s forgiven me, I’m hoping we can move on.
“You’re taking too long,” Mills quips out. “You could’ve pushed me over the edge already.”
“I don’t want to push you over,” I retort with a roll of my eyes. “Why must everyone die in your eyes?”
He glances over his black leather jacket. “Not everyone, Rus. I couldn’t kill you now if I tried.”
Swinging his legs over, I jolt from anxiety that he’ll fall when he jumps down and hits the hard cement.
“My gosh, can you stop being so insane?” I vouch, clutching my tee to steady my jittery organs. “You’re like a damn cat.”
His lips heave. “That’s the nicest shit you’ve said to me.”
I narrow my eyes before pivoting and making my way to the fridge, not bothering to ask him why he’s still here.
He wants a favor.
The thought slams into me, causing me to halt in my tracks. I can’t imagine what I could do to help him. I’m actually scared of what that might be.
“You needed something from me,” I say through a surprising steady breath. “What is it?”
“I need to go to your mother’s charity event,” he replies smoothly.
“To kill her and my sisters.”
“Yes.” I shake my head against his answer, not wanting it to seep in. I don’t want to think about what I pretend he is in my head. That he has a conscience.
“I can’t,” I convey. “Please understand.”
“I do.” He’s close; I can smell him. I want to turn and look at him, but my imagination will take hold and transform him again. He will never let this go until he’s done. And I won’t be his pawn too. No one will use me for their own gain again.
I hear my ringtone from the other room but don’t make a start to grab it. I’m torn between this conversation and what other disaster I’m going to face next. I’m aware that I can’t overstay my welcome here. That I’ll have to find my own place and figure out my own way. I should probably start looking tonight.
“Go answer your phone, Rus.” Mills’s voice sweeps over the back of my neck and shoots right down my spine. I inhale him without meaning to, but then deeply because it soothes me.
It reminds me that he’s the monster that’ll protect but shatter everything around me, like a big giant that doesn’t know his own strength and breaks everything around him.
But he’s just a man.
One who has been hurt more deeply than I could ever imagine. He safeguarded me from that—somewhat.
Striding to my room without a second thought, I barely catch the unknown call.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss Amirah Van Doren?” I twist my face because, as of late, I wish I weren’t.
“Yes,” I deadpan, about to let the man on the other end have it if he’s about to tell me about my expired warranty or something stupid.
“Miss Van Doren, this is Mr. Maro, the Dean of Thomas Jefferson—“
“I know who you are,” I snarl out, not able to help myself. I bet he barely did an investigation on Mills’s bogus claims. “If I left something, you can mail it or throw it away. I’m—“
“It’s not that, Miss Van Doren. I’m calling to tell you there has been a misunderstanding. We would like you to come back. Of course, I will dismiss all leaves of absence, and your teachers have agreed to get you back up to speed. If you’d like to still participate in the New York Fashion week contest, I’m sure you can—“
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” The room begins to shift a little as if I’m living in a trippy segment of Alice In Wonderland. “You want me to come back?”
“Yes,” he says flatly, announcing that he subtly fucked up. That he’s sorry, but he has too much pride to admit it. “I understand if you’ve enrolled in another school. However, I assure you, we’ll make sure you’re fully taken care of.”
“I’ve missed two weeks,” I retort. “Fashion week is in a week and a half.”
“Miss Van Doren, you are extremely talented. I have all the faith in the world that you’ll be able to pull this off.”
I don’t need it. That’s what I want to say.
But I hold my tongue and press on. I have one more semester, and I’m done. I’ll have my degree. I’ll be able to start everything I’ve dream of since I was a little girl.
“If you need more time, I understand…” Mr. Maros continues to spout out more crap that I don’t even register in my brain.
I got this.
I’m dealing with all this family crap; this is the only good thing going for me.
“How did you figure this out?” I blurt out. “How did you know my charges were a lie?”
“A woman called and spoke of a conversation she had with one of the young men accusing you. That there was a misunderstanding and for you to be re-enrolled immediately. She…claimed you had a lawyer, and we wouldn’t want to drag this on. We acknowledge our mistake and humbly ask—“
“I’ll come back.” I clutch the phone harder, afraid this is a dream that I’m going to wake up from. “When can I start?”
“Immediately.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Miss Van Doren. I’m positive. We’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“See you then.” He hangs up and I linger at the end of my bed, replaying what just happened.
Holy fuck, I’m going back to school.
I need to take a shower.
I need to eat.
I need to get all my stuff gathered for tomorrow—fabric, needles, my pattern, my bag for my dress, sewing machine.
I need gas, I think.
I need to make a list.
I glance around for something to write on when Mr. Maro’s words screech through my mind again.
A woman called and spoke of a conversation she had with one of the young men accusing you. That there was a misunderstanding
Mills.
I’m out of my room and marching down the hallway where Mills has his nose in his phone, hammering away at the keys like he’s on another mission.
“You,” I premise accusingly, but that’s what I’m doing.
He started it and ended it.
He fixed it, and I’m not going to ask what strings he pulled to get the dean to agree, but I’m not complaining.
Mills pries his eyes from his phone and looks up at me, waiting for me to continue on.
“You got me back into school. You patched up everything with the dean.”
“Yeah.” He says it with zero emotion as if it were nothing. Maybe it is, and perhaps he feels bad.
Regardless, I’m going back to school to finish my shit. Everything I’ve worked so hard for, and I’m almost there.
“Why?”
“Why, what?” I erase the remaining steps between us until we’re within an arm’s length of each other.
Peering up at him, I reply, “Why did you do all that? Are you bipolar?”
“No, but I do understand why you’d think that.” He pockets his phone and stares back at me like all this is nothing to him.
