Sugar Free, Page 4

  Killing another human being--even one who brutally violated me--was more traumatizing and damaging to my soul than I could have ever imagined. I was such a fool to initially even think it was an appropriate course those months ago, and now with the benefit of hindsight, I wish with all my might that I had never concocted the foolish plan to kill JT. I wish I would have gone straight to the police and let them handle it. I wish I'd turned to my dad to let him comfort me when I learned my attacker's identity.

  In this moment, I even wish I had never stepped foot in the ballroom of that Sugar Bowl Mixer where my intent was still to confront and kill JT, but instead I met Beck, his business partner, who enslaved my body, and later my heart.

  Yes, I'd even give up Beck if I could go back in time and change things so I wouldn't have this guilt pressing down on me.

  And it's not just guilt that I took another life. I think given time, I'm going to be able to accept that in that moment I had no choice. I was reacting on survival instinct and I think most people would have done what I'd done.

  But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for the course of events I started with my stupid plan for vengeance, which led to the police knocking on Beck's door and looking at him as a potential suspect.

  I will never forgive myself.

  Beck did an admirable job at the Townsends' of portraying the devastated friend but also the one with strong shoulders who bore everyone else's grief. We "learned" some details of what happened to JT from his parents, who were contacted soon after his body was found.

  Apparently, his private chef who cooks for him a few times a week walked into the bloodbath a mere twenty minutes or so after I stumbled out of JT's house. When I think about how close I came to being caught, nausea rolls within me and I have to fight it back down. I have to fight with my own need for self-preservation not to offer up a prayer of thanks for letting me escape before his cook arrived.

  JT's dad recounted to us that the police told them that JT was stabbed in the neck with a sharp object, but that it hasn't been recovered, and it appeared to have struck his carotid artery, causing him to bleed to death pretty quickly.

  Yup. I can attest to that.

  They also told his parents that they believed JT knew his attacker because there were no signs of forced entry.

  Can also attest to that.

  Finally, they confirmed that there was some type of struggle before JT died, but until forensics could finish their investigation, they couldn't guess as to what occurred in the minutes before his death.

  I could tell them the details but I won't. I promised Beck I wouldn't and I'd let him handle this.

  We stayed for a long time, finally leaving the Townsends' home around midnight. The long drive back into the city was silent, both Beck and I lost in our heavy thoughts.

  I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to say something comforting to him.

  I wanted to pour out my guilt and beg his forgiveness again for even getting him into this mess.

  But he had put up a wall, and I could sense it as clearly as if he had told me point-blank that he needed some space. His body was stiff with tension, his jaw locked tight when I'd turn to look at him in the glow of the dashboard lights. He never said a word to me on the way back, seemingly fine to suffer in silence rather than with my support.

  This confused me and hurt me, and yet...I really didn't know how to even strike up the right type of conversation that would assure me that he still loved me and give him the emotional support he needed.

  At this point, I'm so confused about where we stand that I feel like I'm on the verge of a complete breakdown.

  Beck moves quietly down the hall toward our bedroom and I follow behind, flipping off lights as I go. He immediately goes into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. I can hear him in there using the toilet and then flushing. The water turns on, and I can envision him washing his hands. A few more moments of silence, and then he opens the bathroom door, pulling his shirt over his head before he steps out. When the material clears his face, he finally looks at me standing by the bed and I have to hope he sees the look of need on my face.

  I need him to say something.

  Just one tiny word or even a smile that lets me know that while he's burdened greatly by everything that's happened, it hasn't changed his feelings for me.

  Instead, his eyes sort of pass over me and he turns to the closet to deposit his shirt in the clothes hamper.

  "Beck," I call out desperately, my voice heavy with need and fear.

  He immediately whips around to face me, his gaze filled with worry. "What's wrong?"

  My eyes roam all over that face, and I try to take in every single feature that gives me a hint as to what he might be feeling in this moment. From the mussed-up hair indicating a long day without a comb to it, to the fatigue lines around his eyes, to the deep furrow in his brow as he looks at me. His eyes don't shine but have turned a dull matte and his shoulders hang low.

  He takes a tentative step toward me but doesn't say anything.

  The silence is almost damning, and my gaze sort of drifts to the window where most of the Financial District buildings are darkened except for strategically placed architectural lighting.

  Perhaps we're finished.

  "Sela...what's wrong?" Beck asks softly, and I look back at him. He's standing in the same spot, staring at me expectantly.

  "Do you still love me?" I blurt out, and those fucking weak-assed tears start to build up again. "After all this trouble I've caused?"

  For a split second, he doesn't react, but just stares at me impassively. Then it's like a curtain is lifted over his face and understanding makes his eyes soften with empathy as he gets everything about me in one clear moment.

  Two long steps and he's in front of me.

  His hands go to the sides of my head, hold me in place, and he leans his face down until our noses are almost touching. "Of course I love you."

  "I'm so sorry," I whisper, the tears making a fool out of me as they spill out.

  "Don't," Beck orders me, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own. His command is almost harsh, but his voice gently cradles my battered self-esteem. "Don't you apologize for a thing to me. You did nothing wrong."

  I blink and more tears fall. "If only I'd--"

  "Don't," he orders me again. "I'm not going to listen to it. If you've got some insecurities about what there is between us right now, then you ask them and let me reassure you, but don't go about doing it by way of pointing a guilty finger at yourself. You hear me?"

  I blink, clear the wetness from my eyes, and nod at him in understanding. It's not that I wholeheartedly agree with what he's saying to me, it's just that I know a different way that he can reassure me that I still have his heart and he has mine.

  Pushing to my tiptoes, I press my lips against his and speak against them urgently. "I need you."

  "You've got me," he says, causing his lips to open, and when he tilts his head slightly to the right, I tilt mine in the opposite direction and slip my tongue into his mouth for a deep but brief kiss.

  When I pull back, I look up at him and say, "I need you to fuck me."

  Beck's eyes have been flatlined for the past several hours, burdened with death and consequences, but with those simple words fire sizzles and his jaw tightens. "You want me to fuck you? Right now?"

  "And hard," I murmur with a nod, pressing my body into his. I feel his dick starting to swell and give a little grind against him. "Really hard."

  He doesn't answer me but responds by spinning me around, pushing me into the wall and then stepping up against my backside. I feel every single inch of him, even with the barrier of clothing still between us. For the first time in hours, I feel connected to him, despite the way in which he's tried to protect me and the ways in which we banded together against the detectives' questioning.

  Only with the physicality of his touch and the fire I just saw in his eyes can I truly be assured that
things might be okay between us.

  Beck nuzzles his cheek up against the side of my head as his right hand slips down the front of my sweatpants and straight into my panties. He pushes his fingers straight into me, going deep. He makes me squirm and plead, "More, Beck. I want more than that."

  He gives a dark rumble of a laugh. "I'll give it to you, love. Always trust that I'll give it to you."

  Beck moves his fingers in and out of me, his lips on my neck and whispering filthy promises peppered with reassurances.

  "You think my fingers are driving you crazy, Sela? Just wait until I fuck you with my cock. Then you'll see how much I burn for you...always."

  Beck drives me wild until I'm begging for it, and then my pants are gone and apparently so are his, because he's driving his cock into me from behind while I'm pressed up against the wall.

  He holds still for a moment, gets his bearings, and then pulls my hips back slightly all while pressing a hand in between my shoulder blades to keep my torso against the wall. Placing his teeth at my shoulder, he gives me a tiny nip and whispers, "What you and I have, Sela...no one will ever comprehend it. No one will ever come in between it. But it's real and it's ours, and I'm never letting it go."

  I sigh out a long breath of relief over his words as well as pent-up sexual frustration. I circle my hips and get Beck focused back on the task at hand.

  As requested, he fucks me hard, his pelvis slapping against mine. In between grunts of pleasure, he whispers in my ear, "Is this what you wanted, Sela? Is this how you wanted me to prove that you're still mine?"

  I nod, gasping and writhing with no control over my actions.

  "Don't ever doubt it," he tells me after slamming deep and rotating his hips. "Don't ever doubt that you are mine and this pussy is mine and that I'm never giving it up. I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect what's mine."

  My orgasm explodes in response to his proclamations...his thrusts...fuck, I don't know what it is, but when Beck declares that I'm his, my body acknowledges it by surrendering every piece of control and ownership of feeling to him.

  That orgasm didn't belong to me.

  That belonged solely to Beck, and we both know it.

  I can't explain the heightened sense of awareness, but I come wide awake and realize that something is wrong. I immediately know Sela's not in bed with me and the bedside clock says it's just past five A.M.

  We didn't go to sleep until nearly two, and that's because I was busy fucking reassurances into my girl.

  I fucked her hard up against the bedroom wall as she requested, and when she came, I pulled out and threw her down on the bed. Put my face between her legs and made her come again.

  Flipped her onto her stomach and rode her hard and fast from behind, and because she wasn't coming again fast enough for me, I pressed a finger in her ass and that did the trick. She screamed in relief...release...pleasure...all of it. Only then did I finally let loose, pouring every bit of myself into her.

  Only then did we let the trauma of the day overcome us, and we fell to the mattress together, immediately succumbing to sleep.

  By all accounts, I shouldn't be awake. I'm beyond exhausted from the mental stress of the situation, and yet I'm hyperalert as I realize that Sela's not here and the leaden feeling in my stomach tells me there's something wrong.

  I hastily roll out of bed, grabbing my underwear from the floor and putting it on.

  "Sela?" I call out, unable to bear the wait of a search through the condo.

  I almost collapse with relief when she answers back softly, "I'm in the living room."

  I find her there on the couch, legs curled under her and an empty cup of tea on the coffee table. She's sitting in the warm glow of the end table light, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts. Her new blond hair is no longer a shock to me, and because it suits her so well, I can't really even remember how gorgeous she was as a brunette.

  "What's wrong?" I ask her as I sit on the middle cushion right beside her. I angle my body to face her, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

  I expect her to hit me up with another plea to let her confess to the cops, because I know she's questioning our course of action. But I'm not about to let that happen, because I don't doubt it. Sela's story would be too improbable and I know the Townsends would put their weight and money behind the investigation so as to not have their son's reputation tarnished. I also know that motive is paramount and she had the ultimate reason to kill him. I just can't risk that the police would be open-minded enough to entertain a self-defense claim, when Sela went to JT's home with a weapon.

  Bracing myself against her plea, I'm stunned into momentary inaction when she says, "I didn't tell you everything that happened before I killed JT."

  My mind races as I flit through the details she'd given me, but most of that involved her physical actions so that I could be sure I cleaned up everything. But past that, the story that led up to her killing JT is actually sparse. I don't put that on Sela's doorstep though, as I was rushing her into the shower so I could in turn rush to JT's house and take care of business.

  Then the cops showed up.

  Then we went to the Townsends'.

  Then we fucked hard and went to sleep.

  "What happened?" I ask encouragingly, although I know deep in my gut that what she's getting ready to tell me could be a game changer. I have to force myself to look at her with open acceptance of whatever may come out of her mouth.

  She doesn't pull any punches. "JT knew you were his brother."

  A zing of adrenaline courses through me, but immediately recedes. It's an interesting fact, and one that surprises me, but I'm not sure that it's harmful or helpful to us at this point.

  "The reason he called me over there...his plan was to get you to let him stay in the Sugar Bowl...was that he was going to renounce his right to a part of your father's inheritance."

  "How the fuck could he do that if he's not even in the will?" I ask astonished. At least I don't think he's in the will. My father said JT doesn't know about his paternity, so I just assumed...

  Sela shrugs. "He said his mother told him years ago. Said she wanted him to know so that he could claim what was rightfully his."

  I consider the truthfulness of what JT told Sela in those moments before he died. I can accept his mom would tell him the truth, because she's a born gold digger. It's why she married Colin and I could see her wanting to make sure JT wasn't denied anything. But for him to use those words with Sela...

  Renounce his rights?

  It doesn't make sense. Just because he's a biological child of my father doesn't mean he'd inherit anything. Not if there's a will in place. That I know for a fact, and I also know without a doubt my father has a will. Not that I've seen it, but he's a financial advisor and guru. He knows the importance of estate planning. Fuck, he oversees estate planning for his clients.

  He has a will, I'm sure of it.

  "You think your father was lying to you, don't you?" Sela asks astutely.

  "If JT used those exact words, then yeah...sounds like he knows there's a will and that he's in it."

  "Which means your dad lied when he said he hadn't told JT," Sela concludes.

  "Probably," I mutter as I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I mean, it's possible my dad put JT in the will but didn't tell him. Figured it would be a surprise after he died and he wouldn't be here to deal with the negative fallout that such a bomb would cause.

  Christ...I was going to have to pay my dad a visit and ask him. I think about how devastated he looked last night at the Townsends' and I wonder if he was feeling guilt removing himself from the situation with JT. The Townsends and my parents had no clue last night of the potential Vegas connection to JT, because at the time the cops had informed them of his death, they weren't aware of that connection. But still...my dad knew JT was in trouble because I told him to stay out of it without giving him any details.

  "That's not the worst of what I have to tell y
ou," Sela whispers, and my eyes fly up to her.

  She looks positively green in the face and tears swim in her eyes. She's cried so fucking much the last twenty-four hours and I can't stand it.

  My hand automatically reaches out to her, but she holds her own up, palm out. "Just listen to me. What I'm getting ready to tell you is really bad, and I'm sorry for the hurt I'm getting ready to cause, but you need to know everything."

  Fuck me.

  Paranoia unreasonably takes hold of me.

  She's getting ready to tell me it wasn't self-defense. That she carried out her murderous plot as originally intended. Drove to JT's house with the intent to remove him from both of our lives permanently, and somehow...not sure how...but she didn't use her gun. For some reason, the letter opener was the better deal. Maybe she was going to shoot him and there was a struggle. That totally explains the bruises then.

  So it was self-defense. I can see the fucking bruises right now from where I'm sitting. She was protecting herself and that's that.

  So maybe something else happened.

  Is it possible that JT did something else to her?

  Raped her?

  "It's about Caroline," Sela says, and I step backward from her in surprise, my momentary paranoia completely forgotten.

  "What?"

  "JT told me something about Caroline, and I couldn't say anything when Caroline was here. In fact, I had no intention of telling her or you this ever, especially not her. But I think you need to know. It's eating at me and I think it's because you need to know. I can't keep the truth from you."

  Acid roils within my stomach and a feeling of dread starts at the base of my spine and crawls its way up until my hair is standing on end.

  "Tell me," I whisper, my throat raspy from the effort to keep down the backwash of bile.

  Sela's fingers twist in her lap, a sure sign she's nervous, but to give her credit, she never loses eye contact with me. "When JT had me on the desk and was choking me, he told me there was one last thing I needed to know before I died."

  Oh fuck...no, no, no. No fucking way.

  I push up off the couch, crack my knee on the coffee table but ignore the pain. I turn away from Sela, afraid to look at her. Afraid to hear what she's going to say.

  "He's the one that raped Caroline," she murmurs, the anguish clear in her voice.