Revenge Read online

  "She didn't only survive a gunshot wound, sir. She also took a significant crack to the head against that rock."

  "Those injuries have healed. That's not the problem."

  Alex's words are thick, his voice toneless. He lets out a long, low sigh. His shoulders slump more, the gleam in his eyes is rarely apparent these days, and his incredible inner light has dimmed.

  Once again, regret nearly drowns me. If he had never met me. If we had never fallen in love—

  "Give it time," Jake says. "She's working through the PTSD. She's strong...and stubborn. She'll never let John Sysco keep her from getting well. But this is Kylie, boss, and she will decide when she is ready to let go and move on.”

  I back down the hall quietly and out of sight. Jake's footsteps echo through the foyer. Then I silently step into Alex's study.

  I love it in here. It's warm and comfortable, despite the dark mahogany walls, floors, and massive desk. The deep, plush, light-colored rugs provide a homey feel to the space and break up what could be dreary. It also feels incredibly soft as my bare feet sink in. I breathe in the tantalizing scent of the lemon wood oil and the earthy oak of Alex's cologne.

  "Hey, baby. How long have you been up?" Alex is behind his desk, the light streaming in around him from the large windows facing the front circular drive. He saunters over to me, brushes the hair from my forehead, and kisses it.

  "Long enough to take a hot shower." I glance at the leather couch. Pillow. Blanket. Alex slept in here last night—again.

  Alex shifts next to me. "I was restless last night after you fell back to sleep. I didn't want to wake you, so I came in here and tried to get some rest." His voice is soft but lacks its usual confidence.

  I gaze into his eyes, but he immediately looks away. He's lying to me. He didn't want to stay in bed with me, probably fearing I would try to come on to him again. My heart seizes. I hate the thought of Alex not wanting me anymore. If we can just get past this—if he will open up and let me back in—things will get back to normal. If we make love, Alex will remember how great we are together.

  Tipping my face to his, I kiss him softly on the lips. He doesn't pull away. A surge of heat and excitement courses through me. I move my hands to the back of his head, deepening the kiss. A low groan escapes his chest. I step into him. Feeling his body against mine sends a shiver up my spine.

  Alex glides his hands up my arms, tightly grasping my shoulders. He pulls my hands to his lips and steps away from me. "I'm starving. Want to see what's for breakfast?"

  Before I can answer, he turns and starts out the door, pulling me along behind him.

  My heart plummets, and I swear I can feel it dying.

  Once again, he distanced himself from me when I tried to get even a little bit intimate with him. Something has shifted in our relationship. We used to joke, tease each other, and flirt. I miss his playful grin, and the way he would wink at me when I was upset with him. We still kiss, but it's usually only quick pecks, not the long, passionate kisses we used to share.

  We sleep together, snuggle all night long. But we never have sex. Hell, we don't even make out anymore. We are apparently in a very loving, committed, but completely platonic relationship.

  I want to ball up my fists and pound on his chest. Scream at the top of my voice, "You're breaking my heart! Why can't you let me love you?" I never would've accepted this life before the shooting. But now? I'm weak. And it's all because of John.

  Alex pledged to love me forever, to always be committed to me. He will never break a promise, even if it means living with a woman he no longer loves.

  And I'm not sure what scares me more—staying or leaving.

  * * *

  * * *

  Alex is talking, but I'm not really listening. My brain is fuzzy, and I'm completely distracted. All I can do is stare at him—study the way his lips form words, his smile when he says something he thinks will make me happy, and the movement of his throat when he swallows coffee. One look from him with those stunning blue eyes and I still melt into a puddle on the floor.

  Maggie—she basically runs the house and is an incredible cook—takes the plates from in front of us. I'm suddenly aware of other things going on around me. Jake pouring coffee and talking with his sidekick, Thomas. The morning news on the huge flat screen in the family room. A picture of Alex pops onto the screen.

  "Christopher Terry follows the investigation, trial, and conviction of James Wells. Wells was convicted in the nineteen eighty-six murder of Ellen Stone Wells. Many may remember this case, which involved the parents of local businessman, Alex Stone. Yesterday, Mr. Stone was announced as the two-thousand-twenty recipient of the Philanthropist of the Year. The three-hour investigative report will air on Sunday at nine p.m. Now, let's go to Dan Rogers with a look at traffic this morning."

  I stare at Alex. He finishes his coffee and reads the paper as if the news report never came on.

  "Did you know about this, Alex?"

  "Yes, I was informed yesterday about the award. I meant to tell you, but it slipped my mind."

  I walk around the table, slide onto his lap, and rest my hands on his shoulders. "You forgot you're going to receive one of the most prestigious awards in the city?"

  He runs his hands up my thighs, rests them on my hips, and tips his head back to look at me. "It's not a big deal, Kylie. It's just another reason for rich people to get out their formal attire and drink cheap champagne."

  "It's a very big deal. You deserve this recognition after all you have donated to your charities. If people knew even half of what you have given anonymously…" I lean forward and kiss his lips. "I'm so proud of you."

  "Thank you, baby." He tries to lift me off his lap, but I'm not done talking, and not going anywhere yet.

  "Okay, now what about the other story? Did you have any idea that was in the works?"

  Alex gently nudges me off his lap and stands. "Yes, I guess I was provided fair warning." He grabs his coffee cup off the table and walks into the kitchen.

  I drop my hands to my hips, the way I always do when Alex gives me vague answers to my questions. "Meaning?"

  He glances at me and smiles. I tilt my head to the side. Your heart-melting smile is not going to distract me.

  He walks over to me, takes my hands from my hips, and lifts them to his lips. "Meaning I received a few phone calls from Mr. Terry requesting an interview to discuss my mother's death. At the time, I was a little preoccupied with the love of my life being in a coma. I never got back to him. I presume he decided to go forward without my interview."

  Thomas checks his watch, stands, and nods at Alex.

  "It's time for your therapy appointment. Thomas will take you, and Leigha will pick you up for your day at the spa."

  "You know, at some point, you're going to have to remember I'm an adult and capable of driving myself from point A to point B without chaperones." I lean in and kiss his neck.

  He grasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes, but today is not that day, and tomorrow's not looking good, either."

  "Hmm, well, don't postpone it much longer or I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands."

  "Don't threaten me with your willfulness. You're not ready to drive, beautiful." His voice is deep and sultry, and an electric current rips through my body.

  "And if I disobey you? Will you spank me? Because that might just spur me to break your rules, Mr. Stone."

  A playful grin spreads across his face. How long has it been since I've seen him smile like that? I'm suddenly a hot, frenzied mess, and I want him so badly I'm ready to drop to my knees and beg him to make love to me.

  "Go to therapy, Miss Tate, and stop trying to provoke me."

  Ice floods my chest. How can Alex go from being so happy and flirtatious one minute to cold and indifferent the next? I long for things to be like they used to be. This is pure agony. I wish I could curl up in a ball until I wake from this nightmare where Alex no longer loves me.

 
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head for the door without another word to Alex.

  4

  "Kylie, come on back."

  I follow my therapist, Dr. Watson, down the hallway to his office in the far left corner. He’s been my therapist for the past three weeks. Alex hired him before I even woke from my coma, I think. So sure I would need psychological help to deal with my ex shooting me.

  Somewhere in his late forties or early fifties, Dr. Watson looks like a throwback from the sixties. Gray hair, long, braided ponytail hitting the center of his back, his khakis look like they were new about fifteen years ago, and I have only ever seen him wear Grateful Dead t-shirts.

  He has a nice view of the downtown area with its centuries-old architecture and winding streets which lead to the docks. I sit on the love seat nestled between two bookcases filled with various psychology books.

  "So, how are things?" He opens my file, writes something on a form inside, and looks up at me. "Any change in the nightmares?"

  "Not really." I sigh, sit back, and sink into the fluffy cushions.

  "How about frequency? Still about four-to-five nights a week?"

  "Yes, that sounds about right."

  He bends his leg, props his left foot on his right knee, and lays the open file across his makeshift lap desk. "What about in terms of the violence…or the events that occur in the dreams?"

  "It's the same dream. I'm running, John is there, and he shoots Alex."

  "Are you using the tips we talked about to manage your symptoms? The breathing techniques? Are those helping?" Dr. Watson makes some notes on a legal pad resting on the file.

  "Yes, somewhat, I guess. When I start to feel anxious, I try to slow my breathing. Regulate it the way you showed me."

  "And eating a healthy diet?"

  "Yes, Maggie makes sure of that."

  "Good." He looks up and smiles. "What are you doing for exercise? Have you started running again?"

  I turn slightly, rest my arm along the back of the couch, and support my head in my hand. "No, I have a hard time discerning reality from nightmare when I run, and it typically ends in an anxiety attack. I'm convinced John is lurking somewhere with a gun aimed at me."

  He raises his eyebrows. "Have you thought about other forms of exercise?"

  I release a long, heavy sigh. "Alex set me up with his martial arts instructor, but I haven't been able to engage in it. We were supposed to do it together, but Alex thought it would be better to train separately."

  "Hmm, okay. Well, how about re-establishing connections with friends?"

  I shrug. "I talk to Ryan and Paul almost every night, but I haven't seen them in a couple of weeks. Leigha is picking me up after our appointment, and we're going out."

  "Anyone else? Other trips outside the house?"

  "That's a little more difficult. Alex doesn't want me to go out on my own. I have drivers and chaperones everywhere I go."

  "Why is that?"

  "Do you ever ask a question that doesn't begin with 'why'?"

  He shakes his head. "Not often."

  We sit, staring at each other. "Come on, Kylie. Why doesn't Alex want you to go out by yourself?"

  I'm overheated and sweating. I rub my palms over my jeans and glance at Dr. Watson. I blow out my cheeks and slowly release the air. "He can't control what happens and, therefore, can't ensure my safety. I'm like a china doll—always on display but never played with because I'm too delicate and may break."

  Dr. Watson widens his eyes and tilts his head to the side. "Well, it sounds as if Alex may be suffering with his own PTSD." He closes the file and places it on his desk.

  Brilliant. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Alex is unable to separate what happened to me from what happened to his mother. He wasn’t able to save her from being murdered by his father when he was a teenager. It affected him so much he was never able to connect with people—not even his family. Until I came along.

  We fell in love. He opened his heart, made himself vulnerable. But John’s bullet just showed Alex that once again he was unable to protect the person he loved most in the world. It didn’t matter that I lived.

  He will never make that mistake again.

  And I will never be anything more than the person he has to protect at all costs.

  The porcelain doll on the shelf. And nothing more.

  * * *

  * * *

  The receptionist looks up from her computer screen as we enter the spa. "Good morning, how can I help you?"

  Leigha saunters up to the desk while I take in the surroundings. Soft pan-flute music is playing. Lavender, eucalyptus, and mint scent the air. Glass shelves are filled with soaps, lotions, and other products to make skin flawless while calming the senses.

  Leigha steps next to me, holding two flutes of champagne. "They'll be taking us back to our private changing room in just a moment," she says in her most haughty voice while passing one of the glasses to me.

  I chuckle and take a sip. Leigha is one of the most down-to-earth, unpretentious people I have ever met. It's probably why we get along so well. That and the fact we share a unique bond—the women who love Stone men. She and Alex’s brother have been dating for more years than they keep count of anymore—something of a sore spot with Leigha.

  I sigh. After the morning session I just had with Dr. Watson, I'm ready for a couple hours of pampering and rejuvenation. The champagne helps, too. Nothing like a massage and a bottle of bubbly to take my mind off my worries.

  If Alex could see me now—he’d have a conniption. At the very least, he would forbid me from drinking alcohol. Worried it wouldn’t mix well with my meds.

  Thank God for Leigha…

  A young lady dressed in a white polo shirt and white pants escorts us to our changing room. We each take a shower stall and strip out of our clothes, wrapping in the plush white robes and slippers, both embellished with the spa crest in gold thread. Champagne glasses refilled, we follow our escort down a long hallway to a set of frosted double doors. She pulls them open, revealing a large room with a dozen chaise lounges. A large stone fireplace occupies the entire wall at the opposite end of the room, a roaring fire heating the space. The lights are dimmed, and the same soft music is playing. In one corner is a table with a large pitcher of cucumber water, a pot of coffee and a couple open bottles of champagne in an ice bath.

  "Please feel free to help yourselves to the beverages. Victoria and Joanna will be taking care of you for the remainder of your time with us. They will be along shortly."

  Leigha puts her arm around my shoulder, her champagne glass dangling from her fingers, and snaps a selfie of the two us. Sliding onto one of the chaises, she drops her phone on the small round table between us, and closes her eyes. "I really should do this more often."

  "I hear ya," I say, lying on the chaise next to hers. "I can't remember the last time I had a massage."

  "If you can't remember, it was too long."

  "We should make this a once or twice a week habit." I hold out my champagne glass.

  Leigha clinks her glass against the rim. "I agree. Let's make it happen."

  Over the next few minutes, we chat about whether or not her boyfriend, Will, is ever going to propose. A young woman with short brown hair appears, wearing the same uniform as the last girl. "Leigha?"

  Leigha stands. "See you on the other side. Have a fabulous massage."

  "You do the same." I close my eyes again. The music transforms into lightly colored waves. I drift farther from the shores of reality into the dark waters where sleep resides.

  "Well, well, if it isn't Kylie Tate."

  My eyes pop open. Heat flushes through me. Rebekah. The woman who has tried her damnedest to come between Alex and me—who nearly succeeded with her lies about a fake affair—stands in an identical robe with a glass of champagne. She slithers onto the chaise vacated by Leigha.

  "How's your closed head injury?" She takes a drink of her champagne, her gaze never leaving mine. />
  My pulse races. I want to smack the glass right out of her hand and choke the shit out of her.

  "Getting better every day. Thank you. How's your escort service?"

  "Same rude little bitch you've always been, I see. I hear you drove your ex-boyfriend insane, and he attempted to kill you."

  "Yes, turns out the two of you have a great deal in common. You're both psychotic and have failed at getting rid of me."

  My body temperature surges. How dare she twist John's sadistic actions into witty repartee? My temples throb, pressure builds at the base of my neck, and my head is pounding. Pain radiates through my clenched jaw. I want her to feel the pain of a bullet breaking through skin, ripping through muscle, and tearing apart vital organs.

  She tosses her head back and tilts it to one side. "I never wished for your demise, Kylie. Although, I do feel Alex would be infinitely happier without you in his life."

  "So he can be even more unhappy with someone like you?" I lean my head back and close my eyes. "You do realize that even if I'm not with Alex, he'll never want anything to do with you? Ever."

  "That may be, but then again, word in our circle is Alex feels trapped. Doesn't want to stay with you, but can't leave you, either. I mean, how would it look for Mr. Philanthropist of the Year to abandon his brain-damaged girlfriend so soon after she came out of her coma?"

  A heavy weight sits on the center of my chest. It's difficult to breathe or speak. Is that true? Is Alex staying with me for appearances? It kills me to think anything coming out of Rebekah's mouth could be true. But it's possible I have become just another of Alex's charities.

  Leigha walks in and halts. Her face twists as her eyes fall on Rebekah.

  She snatches her cell phone from the table. "What the hell are you doing, skank?"

  Rebekah glances over her shoulder, rises, and puts out her hand. "Just chatting with Kylie. How are you, Leigha?"

  Leigha pushes Rebekah's hand aside. "Don't for one minute think I'm falling for your little game, Rebekah. I know better than to trust a snake like you. Why don't you go slither back into your hole in the ground? Kylie and I aren't interested in the venom coming from your forked tongue."