26
Juliet
I was getting married. I still had trouble believing he’d asked, and I said yes. Next, he wanted to take me to meet his parents.
“I don’t care if they approve or not, but I’d still like to introduce you,” he said, the following morning.
“Don’t approve?” I questioned, my forehead furrowing. “There’s going to be an issue because it’s me, right?”
“My mother couldn’t forgive me, but she didn’t disown me, either. She wouldn’t risk displeasing my father by giving her opinion. However, I think she’s noticed I haven’t been on an actual date in nearly two years. My father doesn’t care about love, but he does care about prestige. The Goodwins are that type of family, but I’ve already explained Abby. She’s a friend.”
“She’s not going to like this arrangement. She’s not going to like me,” I clarified, picking at my breakfast. He reached across the table and took my hand.
“I don’t care if she likes you. I know that seems harsh, but true. The only one who needs to like you is me.” He chuckled. “We aren’t living near them. We don’t have to interact with them, but I think meeting you would smooth things over a bit.”
“But I’m the girl,” I said, lowering my voice and looking out the window. Another sunny, blue sky greeted us, but I felt cloudy inside. A storm brewed under my skin. I didn’t want to meet these people he distrusted, but were still important to him.
“And I’ll explain that, too,” he said, not sounding as confident as he typically did.
“We could elope,” I offered, knowing I didn’t want a big wedding, and I definitely couldn’t tell Miller yet, or he’d go all wedding planner crazy on me.
“I already have a plan.” He winked. “But we see them first.”
+ +
As the plane landed, my hand gripped Tack’s. Sweat suctioned our palms together. My nerves caused my heart to skip a beat. After collecting our bags, we were met by a driver. The division I feared upon returning to the physical States was happening. Minute by minute, he slipped away from me, like one of those dreams where you are reaching for something, and it’s sliding just out of reach. Tack sat a little farther from me in the backseat. He still had my hand, but it was my palm placed on his thigh with his hand over mine. He stared out the window as we passed through the city. To my surprise, he took me to my home in St. Michael’s.
“It’s been a long day. Get some rest. I’ll have a driver pick you up tomorrow and meet you at the club.” The information seemed rather dismissive and that divide grew. He carried my bag up to my apartment above The Mouse Trap, hardly taking note of the place, and kissing me briefly before he left. I wanted to ask him to stay, to reassure me that the dream wasn’t going to crash. But I didn’t. He seemed as out of sorts as me.
It felt odd to sleep without him, although I’d done it for nearly two years. I’d grown as comfortable sleeping with him in the last weeks as I had easily fallen into sleeping next to him two years ago in a warm tent. The separation left me with an eerie feeling. My skin prickled with negative thoughts of things to come.
The next night, I dressed in a gorgeous dress he’d sent by messenger, stating he’d taken the liberty because he loved me in white. The dress was beautiful, with a low-cut lace bodice and a short skirt. I worried it was a bit risqué to meet his parents in something so high cut. I pulled my hair up and added more make-up than I’d normally wear. My hands shook as the driver pulled up before at an address I recognized, even if the building looked different.
The location was the spot of the original Front Door. My breath hitched as I stared at the dark green doors to the newer club. Despite Tack telling me he’d burned the building to the ground, the location alone made me tremble. I stared out the window a moment longer.
“Are you certain this is the address?” I asked the driver, Henry.
“Yep. Everyone knows Mr. Corbin owns the finest club in town.”
Consequences. The ironic name was stated in bold letters over the double doors. The valet opened my door and assisted me in exiting the backseat. I continued to stare at the club with its cold glass panels, three stories tall, the hint of low lights within. Irritation grew that Tack hadn’t met me at the curb. I entered and waited as I texted Tack. Trepidation was spreading through me like a wild vine.
A text returned. Introduce yourself to the hostess, she will direct you upstairs.
I didn’t like this response. I wanted him to come down and walk with me. With trembling hands, I stepped toward the hostess stand.
“Juliet Monte,” I introduced. The young girl in a skin-tight black dress which hardly covered her backside nodded and directed me to follow her. We walked up three flights of stairs, and my heart raced as I realized we would be entering the third floor. The scene of the crime might have been redressed, updated, renovated, but I felt sick being here. Tack stood outside the door of a small room and boisterously announced, “Here she is!” The pitch of his voice was too high. His tone false. He held out a hand, and his green eyes looked wild. He’d already been drinking.
Shaky fingers reached for his, and he tugged me to him. The motion was so sharp I stumbled in my heels and fell against his chest.
“You look beautiful,” he mumbled into my hair before placing his lips against my forehead. The greeting was so unlike him, the touch of his lips no more than a brush of air. I pulled back and looked at him. Once again, he had transformed into a Tack I didn’t know. Wild eyes. Crisp suit. False smile. He looked more like the man I saw when I entered a private room over two years ago—disconnected and dispassionate.
“Different but the same,” I muttered almost a question.
“What?” he snapped at me, as if I’d insulted him. I let his tone slide as he led me inside, feeling myself slip into a role as well. The one where I was quiet and reserved, and observing my surroundings but not part of them. A mouse.
The first introduction was to a woman who looked frail from drug use. Prescription or not, the look was the same. Her appearance matched the occasional woman my uncle brought home. Her skin was a pale gray color, heavily disguised with make-up. Her lipstick a touch too bright, contrasting the thick pearls at her neck. She was too thin.
“Mother,” Tack addressed her, kissing her cheek. “This is my Juliet.” His mother eyed me before stepping forward and air-brushing my cheek.
“You’re very brave,” she whispered before pulling back. Her eyes flicked from her son to me. A touch of sympathy and fear mixed with her statement.
“Thank you,” I answered, uncertain what she meant or how to respond. Tack’s hand had slipped to my lower back and he patted it in a patronizing manner. I didn’t care for the touch.
Next, my attention was drawn to a man who was clearly Tack’s father. The touch of gray at his temples only enhanced the striking appearance of a man who reflected what Tack would look like as he grew older. Confident. Cocky. Composed. Unfortunately, Terror was the appropriate nickname for Terrence Jackson Corbin III. His glacial blue eyes turned my blood cold. While I shivered under his gaze, sweat pooled under my arms.
“So this is the girl,” he said, sizing me up with those frozen eyes. I smiled slightly in response, but there was no approval in his glare.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I offered my hand, but his father didn’t take it, lifting his drink for a sip in obvious disgust at my presence. His glare said everything. You gave up your freedom for this. You went into banishment because of that. You split from my company for her.
“This is her,” Tack replied, again too loud, almost too cheerful. Falseness surrounded us. A drink suddenly appeared in his other hand, and he took a hearty sip.
“Tack, where are your manners? Perhaps you should get your date a drink,” his mother suggested, sipping her wine.
“Fiancée,” Tack announced, correcting her and holding up my hand for his parents to see. The announcement was apparently the official statement. His father’s eyes narrowed, taking in the size of my ring. His mother’s eyes widened. This was our engagement party, and they had no idea.
“What?” shrieked a female voice across the room, and I spun to see Abby Goodwin standing near an elegant-looking couple who could only be her parents. Abby sauntered toward us in a green dress that matched the front doors of the club. Her eyes remained on Tack. “What is this?” Through clenched teeth she spoke, and I realized no one in the room knew who I was, or rather who I was in relation to Tack. In that moment, I no longer knew who I was either. Had I been set up for another night of humiliation?
“Abby, you remember meeting Juliet.” Tack’s hold on my hand tightened.
“Yes,” Abby sneered looking at me. “What’s that cute name you have for her? Oh, right, your little rat.”
“Mouse,” I clarified, my voice choking on the word. I internally kicked myself for speaking and wondered why Abby and her family were even present.
“Holy shit,” a masculine voice behind me hissed and I spun to be met by a face I recognized. Rory Fontaine’s brown eyes ensnared mine. He was the spitting image of his older brother. I hadn’t seen him in more than two years, but I remembered him, and I was propelled backward in time. While his face had been hidden behind a camera, those eyes had been on me, hungry for his turn, which thankfully never came.
I spun to Tack.
“You said you’d lost touch,” I growled low, looking up at him for some explanation of this humiliation.
“Guess he came to see I got the girl.”
I squeaked in response, feeling like I fit the nickname Mouse, surrounded by so many devious cats. Tack’s expression fell as realization slowly bloomed.
“Juliet, I didn’t mean—“
“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” I said, holding up a hand and offering a false smile to his mother, whose dead eyes sparked in recognition of my pain. Numbly, I spun and headed for the hall, hoping to find a bathroom. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. As I walked out of the room, holding my head up as best I could, I heard Tack’s voice behind me. “Baby, don’t be like this.”
Every muscle in my body twitched. The anger surpassed my hurt. While I wanted to spin back to him and tell him, “No, you don’t be like this,” I just needed a minute. Finding a bathroom, I locked the door behind me and pressed against the wood, which was reminiscent of something made in a jungle. In fact, the door looked vaguely like the door of my tree house. I stared at the wood panels, a replication but too polished, too over-varnished and garish. How appropriate, I thought. Tack was the same—polished up and on display. I felt the same way, and I couldn’t stay here.
We’re going to play this my way.
My emotions warred within me. I didn’t want to play. I loved Tack, and I thought he loved me, but this was not him. I did not recognize who he was, other than someone I knew once upon a time on an island. This Tack reminded me of that night, and I would never be with that man.
A soft rap came to the door and hope traitorously leapt in my heart that he’d come to me to explain. As I turned the lock, the door came toward me in a rush, and I was forced back into the small confines of the washroom. My heart raced as I looked up to find Rory with his back to the door, blocking my exit.
“Hello, little…what is it he calls you? Mouse?” He bit his lower lip. His eyes narrowed, the leer reminding me of his brother, a man who watched me work, propositioned me, and when I refused, decided he would use my body to teach me a lesson. Maybe he noticed how often I stared at Tack Corbin. Maybe he saw I was interested in the mystery of Tack versus the evil of Rick. My curiosity was misplaced and misunderstood, and Rick decided I would be the sacrificial lamb for slaughter. The initiation into his exclusive rooms by his most immediate friends. They would each have a turn after Rick staked his claim. He forced Tack to follow him, in what I now knew was a tactic to prove that Tack would always be second to Rick. Rory and Smack were each going to have a turn, and while all the men feigned indifference, they watched the performance, as Rick called it.
She will submit to all of us. And then she’ll ask for it again.
I’d been in over my head, but that was no excuse for what they’d done. And even when Tack recognized I wasn’t as willing as he was initially promised, he still did nothing. I’d come to terms with that, but it all rushed back to me. The night. The sounds. The look in his eyes.
We’re going to play this my way. Blink if you understand me.
Blink.
I didn’t feel safe, and I refused to play. Whatever his way was this evening, this wasn’t my way. I didn’t need to meet his parents. In fact, I despised them for trying to prove their son’s innocence. His mother I faulted twice, for being a woman and not coming to my defense, despite Tack being her son. It was inexcusable, and her eyes on mine proved she knew the truth of her guilt. She was warning me to walk away, fearing her son was a monster after all, a terror like her husband.
I glared back at Rory. “Let me pass,” I spat, clenching my hands at my side.
“You know, you’re more beautiful than I remember,” he said, pressing off the door and stepping toward me. His hand reached for my jaw, not in the loving way Tack did, but in a manner where he cupped under my chin and clutched my jawbone. I winced.
“Get your hands off me,” I snarled, pressing against his firm chest, but his free hand encircled my wrist.
“Oh, my hands are going to be all over you, sweetheart.”
“Tack will kill you,” I snapped, worried for an instant this was the very thing Tack wanted to happen. My heart galloped and then plummeted to my stomach.
“Tack knows the rule. We share everything.” His face came closer to mine. His lips nearing my mouth but holding an inch away. “And I never had my turn.”
He spun me to face the wall, and I groaned as the breath rushed out of my lungs when my chest slammed against the tile. The same forest green color that filled the club caked the wall, but the rough texture was a false feature. The jungle was not like this. Rory’s body pressed against my back, his erection firmly placed against my backside.
“Get off me,” I hissed again, struggling with the weight of him behind me and my wrist pinned over my head.
“Oh, I plan to get off on you, Mouse.” The nickname crossing his lips at the shell of my ear made me prickle. I was trapped. Sensing my urge to scream, his second hand covered my mouth.
“My turn,” he groaned, releasing my wrist and slipping his hand over my breast. Tears sprang to my eyes at the violation. This couldn’t be happening again. Not like this. Not here. Not with Tack in the other room. With hands free, I tried to press off the wall, only to have him slam me back against the tile with the strength of his body.
“Juliet?” The soft sound of my name from Tack’s voice, sounding more like himself, the Tack I knew, made the tears fall harder. I struggled to make a noise.
“What the fuck?” The door slammed against the wall and Rory’s body slackened.
“Just taking my turn,” Rory said as he released me. I spun to see him thrown against the vanity.
“Jesus, man,” Rory said, straightening his coat, looking up in time to have Tack’s fist connect with his face.
“Tack,” I screamed, reaching for his arm, but he was too quick, hitting Rory in the abs next.
“What the fuck, I asked. Who do you think you are? She’s mine,” Tack yelled, gripping Rory’s designer shirt and yanking him forward. Rory spat a mouthful of blood at Tack.
“We were to share her.” Blood dripped from his nose as well.
“We never should have done that,” Tack said. “Never. Don’t look at her,” he demanded as Rory’s eyes shifted to me. One eye was already swelling as his nose continued to bleed.
“She wanted it,” Rory said. “Rick—“
“Don’t speak his name in front of her,” Tack commanded, jostling Rory. “He didn’t know shit. He didn’t know her.”
“And now that you’re all up in her, you do? That bitch killed my brother.”
“That woman is my going to be my wife, and I don’t care what she did,” Tack snapped and Rory’s one eye opened wider.
“He was your best friend.”
“He was a rapist,” Tack said, pushing Rory away from him. He shifted so his side was to Rory, keeping an eye on him. From his other side, he held out a hand to me. “Juliet.”
I shook my head, my body trembling so hard I didn’t think I could move.
“Juliet, baby,” Tack said firmly, demanding I take his offered hand. I still hadn’t moved, my body pressed against the putrid green tile. He’d taken the island and tarnished the memory in this club. My palms flattened against the rough wall, willing my body to disappear, as if I could slip through the hard surface like I used to hide in the jungle brush. He stepped toward me, and I flinched. Instantly, I was cradled into his arms.
“Hold on, Mouse. I’m getting you out of here.” I heard the words but didn’t feel them. Numb inside, I let my arms lay slack. “Mouse, help me. Wrap your arms around me.” He stumbled with the dead weight of my body. “Please, Mouse. Don’t give up.” With those words, I slipped a hand around his neck, using it as minimal leverage to hold myself against him.
“What happened?” His father asked as we reached the small entryway outside the party room.
“We’re getting out of here,” Tack said, pressing the elevator button with his elbow.
“We need to discuss her,” his father said, shifting his eyes to me.
“There’s nothing to discuss. I made a mistake.”
“We all agree you did that,” Terror Corbin snorted, implying a night years ago.
“Not that mistake,” Tack rectified. “A mistake in bringing her here. In hoping I could show you how beautiful and smart she is, and you would accept that I’d made my peace and so has she.” His eyes fell to mine questioning the blank expression on my face. He looked back to his father and stepped into the elevator when the doors opened.
“I don’t need your approval. I wanted it, as I always have. But I don’t need it for this. Not for her love.” With those words, the doors closed on his family, and we descended. I reached up and wrapped my other hand around his neck. He wasn’t going to set me down, but I still felt like I was falling.