She spins on her heel and disappears back to her room. It takes all my strength not to storm after her and…and what? Hold her? Shake her? Make her mine again, when I know full well I don’t deserve her? I thrust my hand across the surface of the kitchen counter sending my plate and coffee cup careening across the room, splintering into a mess of broken pieces when it crashes to the floor. It’s a mess; everything’s a mess.
My shoes crush the pieces further when I walk from the room. I have to get out of here. I need to clear my head. The fury, confusion, and unbearable pain are tearing me up, and I can’t see past Tia in prison, innocent.
I grab my jacket and keys and head toward the lift. My finger pauses for a moment over the button, and I give a cautious glance over my shoulder toward Tia’s room. Some playlist ‘to hang yourself by’ is now blaring, and it actually make me smile. She always loved to lose herself to some seriously depressing shit, but I know it always seemed to help, in some sort of reverse psychological way. I press my fingerprint over the call button and the doors instantly glide open. I only need an hour, maybe two.
I’m about to step into the underground garage but change my mind. I need fresh air, not the A/C, and this time of day, the traffic will be at a standstill. I doubt I’d get above 8 klicks per hour, and I can walk quicker than that. The air is sticky warm and has a density to it that you only get in an overpopulated city filled with fumes, smells, and a million sweaty bodies just existing. I’ve adapted to city life, but my heart will always be in the country, specifically Tartarus Hall. If I ever manage to get the shit sorted with Kraus Corp, I can quit the city for good. It’s only part of my plan, but it’s a start, as is getting Tia back there, first for a weekend and then for good.
I draw in a deep breath once I reach the brow of the Blackfriars Bridge. The light breeze carries enough freshness from the river that I don’t feel the need to cough my lungs up. I’m exaggerating, the city isn’t that bad. The oppressive heat of the long summer days makes it worse, that and the weight of my mistakes. I drop my head, as a heavy cloud of regret descends, and I recall with high definition the conversation that changed my life.
“She did what?” I drop the pen in my hand. My mother has brought some documents for me to sign. She rarely visits me, even when she is in the States. She prefers to keep her distance, especially since I was arrested. I got caught with Misty’s brother in his car running a stop sign. That wasn’t such a big deal, but the illegal firearms and half a kilo of cocaine he had stashed in the trunk were. It’s still up in the air whether I’m going to get charged at all. I didn’t know about his haul. Still, anyone with a brain cell would say the same.
My uncle hired the best lawyer, but since I have dual citizenship and two passports, the courts thought it was best that they keep them. The whole thing is a fucking nightmare, dragging out and making it almost impossible to get home, almost. Once Tia’s exams are finished, I will tell her everything, but she needs to focus, and usually, I like being a distraction, but not like this. I stare at my mother’s twisted expression. I think she’s trying to look sad. If her face wasn’t so frozen, she might pull off mild concern, but since her lips have a cruel smirk, I know she’s relishing this moment.
“She stole your great-grandmother’s diamond bracelet and had the audacity to claim Oskar had given it to her. Even said he had it written specifically in his Will.” She tuts at the silly notion, derision coating each work like treacle.
“He may have given it to her, Mother. He was very fond of her. I believe he loved her like one of his own, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that this is just a misunderstanding.” I keep my tone level, even if I can feel the rage bubbling in my gut. Sometimes it feels as if my mother has hated Tia long before she was even born. It’s wholly disproportionate and pisses me off at every turn.
“Your signature is on the Will, Atticus. Did it have her name anywhere?” She tips her head and gives a sly, knowing smile. My jaw twitches with tension, and my fingers slowly curl into tight fists. Her eyes dip and widen with worry.
“No, no it didn’t. This is a mistake. She wouldn’t do this. I know her.” The edge in my voice makes her step back and then, with obvious effort, she walks toward me and places her trembling hand on my shoulder.
“Darling, she’s not the same. Money changes people. Atticus, my love, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is saccharin sweet and just as sickly.
“Please mother, don’t feign compassion. Tia is nothing like you. It’s one of the reasons I love her.” I stand and her hand falls from my shoulder. She steps back as I brush past. I need some distance. Taking a bottle of water from the cooler, I take a long pull before I fix her with my own icy glare. “We both know money is the only thing that holds your interest. Cruelty runs through your veins, and I have no idea what makes that stone heart of yours beat, but it isn’t fucking love.”
“This family. This family is what keeps my heart beating, and I will do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.” Her words are punctuated by her palm hitting the hollow shell of her chest for emphasis.
“Whatever, hmm?” I raise my own knowing brow, but it does nothing to settle the turmoil churning up my insides.
“You know what I mean.” She sniffs dismissively.
“I wish I didn’t.” I watch her lips pull into an impassive tight line. “She didn’t take the bracelet, Mother. I need to see her. I have to sort this out.”
“And how are you going to do that, my darling? You have no passport, and until the investigation is quashed, you can’t leave the country.” She shakes her head lightly but wisely keeps her distance because her words aren’t what I want to hear right now.
“I did before. I’ll be careful.”
“You were reckless, and if you are caught, you’ll be in jail too. No, I won’t allow it. You’re uncle will sort the misunderstanding, but it will take time.”
I curse, dragging a fretful hand through my hair as I feel the helplessness of my position begin to grip every part of me. My chest feels tight, blood rushes in my ears, and I swear my vision is tinged with a red mist.
“Tia doesn’t have time. She needs me.”
“Does she?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She…look, it’s not important. Trust me, Atticus, you can’t help her.” My mother turns away, only to spin back when I yell.
“Tell me!”
“Fine, look…” She’s flustered, reaching into her bag and fishing around for something. She pulls a slim envelope and cautiously hands it to me, then steps back and around the other side of the table as if she needs a physical barrier. I feel a chill sweep my skin, and I have to shake the desire to rip more than the envelope to pieces. I open it and pull the papers free. My mother’s toxic words choke the air. “I was concerned about her influence over your grandfather, and I hired a private investigator to follow her. It took some time, but he took these pictures and there are transcripts of some of her conversations.”
There are several photographs of Tia and a boy, a classmate, judging by the location. All are in and around her school, outside her art block and one outside the local pub. She told me she didn’t have friends, not real friends and certainly not anyone close. This guy is more than close.
He has his arm around her waist and shoulder in several of the pictures, and the way she’s looking into his eyes is like a sucker punch to my chest. I’ve seen that look; I live for that look. I draw in a shaking breath, and my fingers are actually trembling when I slip the last photograph to the top. This one damn near tears my heart right out. He has her face cupped, lips smashed together.
“I want the actual recordings. I want to hear them myself.’” I force the words through a jaw so tightly clamped, I feel like my teeth are about to crack. My eyes quickly scan the pages, the words are blurring with betrayal.
“I will see if I still have them, but the point is she was cheating on you with this local boy and plotting to steal from us. What more evidence do you need?” She’s quick to dismiss my request with her own forgone conclusion.
“I need to see to the girl I’ve loved for most of my life, that’s what I need!” I yell, and she jumps only to steady her self when my voice waivers.
“Atticus, you have your own problems to deal with: the investigation and your engagement. Let me handle this little mess.” She softens her voice and steps toward me like you would a dangerous animal, a wounded dangerous animal.
“I told you there isn’t going to be an engagement.” I drop the papers and photographs on the table, my hands braced on the table for support. My head hangs over the array of images and words that are destroying me.
“That was before Tia broke your heart and stole from your family. Do you really want to throw everything away now?”
“I…I don’t believe any of this. I need to see her.” I shake my head and let the tears blurring my vision fall.
I never saw her. I couldn’t leave the country, and in all honesty, after looking at those pictures a million times, reading the transcripts, I was so damn angry I couldn’t see past the betrayal. My pride was battered, and my heart was fucking broken.
I wrote to her, and she never replied, which I took it as a tacit admission of her guilt. Why else wouldn’t she answer my questions? Why didn’t she call? She fucking owed me an explanation, and I got nothing. I loved her so much, and hated her so much more. Still, when the trial came, I didn’t want her to go to prison. I offered a statement in her defence. It didn’t help. I had done all I could, and then I walked away.
Two years ago, I found out the truth. It was too late, far too fucking late. She was already out on parole, gone off the grid. Then, out of the blue, she shows up on the Kruse payroll, just as millions of pounds disappears. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I do believe in motive. And the only thing I could see in that police cell was my second chance. Besides, what’s another hundred million?
I rest my palms on the handrail of the bridge and watch a glass top river cruiser full of tourists chug up the river and vanish beneath me and out toward the eastern docks and the Millennium Dome and Thames barrier. The muffled sound of the recorded commentary mingles with the constant mid level white noise of passing traffic and pedestrians. I try to clear my head of all the possibilities and focus on one thing at a time. My only problem is I can’t focus on anything other than her and that is a big fucking problem. I know if I was her, the first chance I got I would be hell bent on revenge, but she was never like me, was being the operative word. I glance at my watch, and although it’s only been maybe fifteen minutes, I push off the railing and start to walk back to the apartment. It was stupid to leave her alone. I should’ve known better; I do know better. I pick up my pace to a light jog, my long strides eating up the distance until I am taking some calming breaths in the lift.
The doors open, and I release my held breath and actually chuckle from relief. The music is still blaring and looking at the mess still on the kitchen floor I doubt Tia even knew I’d left.
I walk to my office door and quickly check the entry system for any breach and relax a little more when my suspicions are quashed at no sign of forced entry.
I turn when the music gets louder. Tia’s head pokes around the open crack of the door.
“What would you like for dinner?” I ask, closing my office door behind me and searching her face for any sign of…what? Guilt? I almost laugh out loud. There’s only one person who should be wearing that cap, and she isn’t standing before me. Tia gives a noncommittal shrug and is about to shut the door.
“Homemade pizza?” I offer and watch her freeze. The memory hits just as hard as I hoped. Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the door, and she briefly closes her eyes. When she looks back at me, a tentative smile ghosts her perfect lips, and I have to fight my own smile to avoid scaring her away. Yes!
“I’d really like that, Cass.” Her soft voice is like a balm and a shot of pure electricity at the same time. My heart jolts. She steps into the corridor, glancing over her shoulder before padding silently toward the kitchen. We always made pizza together. Always.