Page 29 of Mine to Tease

I thought it was just my paranoia or a projection of my own secrets for me to ever consider he could be involved with the mob, or Mafia, or something like it. But now it’s almost confirmed. “Damon, who are you?” I whisper. Does he know who I am? Has he known the entire time? My lip quivers and my throat feels raw as I fear the answer is yes. “No, no, no, it can’t be,” I say to myself as my emotion threatens to consume me.

Damon used to call me princess almost with a tone of disgust. And then he started calling me Ana without ever hearing anyone else use that name, the nickname only my brother and closest friends use. And that night he walked me home, he knew where I lived without me even telling him. I bought his excuse because it made sense. Everything has always made sense from him randomly showing up at the music venue I was at to him sneaking in my favorite snacks with all the others. Perhaps that’s because he’s had plenty of time to craft his lies, his covers, and to study me. The one thing that never made sense is why he hated me in the beginning without even knowing me. And after tonight, there is only one logical answer—my brother.

Aidan chose this building for my shop for a reason, and he never would’ve if he didn’t approve of the man downstairs, the man perfectly positioned to be my greatest threat or my greatest protector. Why did I not think of this before? They must’ve come to some sort of arrangement before I even arrived, but that doesn’t mean Damon was or is happy about it. Not only would Damon not have killed Aidan’s men if they were on good terms, but when I first got here, Damon couldn’t stand that I was his tenant. It was almost like he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He was such an asshole for so many weeks. It’s like he wanted me to give up and go somewhere else, as if that would mean he was free, free from whatever contract my brother has him under. He hated me because of my brother, because of my blood. But then everything changed. Or did it?

If Damon knows who I am and the world I belong to, that he clearly belongs to too, then he knows how things work. I’m meant to be a virgin, a bargaining piece for my father, now brother, to use for some grand alliance. It’s why I always kept that night in college a secret and one of the main reasons why I wanted this opportunity to live a private life in New Orleans for as long as I could. Because, deep down, I’ve always known that there will come a day when my brother is forced to put me to use. What if when Damon couldn’t get rid of me, he resorted to a different mission?

My heart feels as if it’s being ripped from my chest as fresh tears stream down my face. What if Damon has been using me for weeks to get back at my brother, to ruin his reputation and mine? Damon didn’t know that I wasn’t a virgin until after I let him into my home that night. And even though I told him before we crossed too many lines, no one else knew the truth, and without a physical exam, there was no proof. To ruin my brother, Damon would need proof. All that time he wouldn’t let me touch him, that could’ve just been manipulation to make me want him more. And right when he felt me slipping away, he made the exception.

I don’t want to believe it. Maybe I’m jumping to extreme conclusions, but it’s clear Damon has been lying to me. I was too caught up in my emotions earlier to think clearly. But there’s no way Damon could have had time to begin a sketch and dress Brinkley to match my dress and follow me to Brennan’s. He made the decision to show up at Brennan’s long after I left, and he didn’t follow me, he tracked me there—just like he’s been doing this entire time. And if I’m right about him using me against my brother, then it’s because he knew tonight was his last chance to fuck me.

“Oh my God!” I bring my hand to my chest as if it will soothe the ache. It doesn’t. Damon told me everything I needed to hear to let my guard down. And then he just so happened to do it, do me, in his tattoo parlor in full view of the surveillance cameras. Now he has everything he needs to ruin my brother or, at the very least, rid himself of me and this contract. In all of this, my heart was nothing more than collateral damage. Damon Dupont doesn’t love me. He never did. There’s no telling where his lies start, but that was the last one he will ever tell me.

As I spiral, shocked and horrified by Damon’s deceit, my heartbeat quickens and I feel short of breath. I hunch over as my cries tear from me. I loved him, I— How could he do this to me? How could I fall for it? I couldn’t give a shit about Mafia or mob politics or what this means for my brother or even my marriage potential. Fuck that! And fuck Aidan too! But right now, all I can think about is Damon. Aidan going behind my back doesn’t surprise me. It’s more surprising that I didn’t figure it out sooner. But Damon? I trusted him and he broke my trust and my heart. He made me feel like the most special woman in the world, and it was all a lie.

“It was all a lie,” I say. My voice sounds just as broken as I feel.

“Anastasia?” I hear Damon call from just outside the door. “Anastasia, it’s alright now. You can open the door.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Nothing is alright,” I whisper. “Nothing is alright.”

“Anastasia?” Hearing my cries, concern filters into Damon’s voice. The doorknob shakes as he tries to open it to no avail. “Anastasia, is everything okay? Ana, I promise you, those men have been handled. They can’t hurt you.”

“You hurt me!” I yell. I watch Damon via the security cameras as he lowers his hand from the doorknob to his side. He stands tall yet wears a look of defeat.

I want nothing more than to leave this place and never return. But doing so would require facing him, and right now I can’t. I’m naked, save for his leather jacket, cold, hungry, and heartbroken. Right now the door between us is the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart or killing him with my bare hands. Perhaps both.

“You found the folder, didn’t you?” Folder? What folder? I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes and spot a file labeled A.C. atop his desk. What the? I open it to find everything except my lease document. There’s a photo of me and even Brinkley, more information about me than the diary I had when I was twelve, and then handwritten notes of additional information. It’s Aidan’s handwriting.

My lips part and my eyes widen as I receive confirmation for my assumptions, at least half of them. Damon and Aidan have been working together behind my back. But…but if Aidan sent his men here to come after Damon and Damon killed them, then does that mean something went wrong? Does that mean I’m no longer safe with Damon?

“Anastasia, let me explain. I know you feel betrayed right now, but I promise you, there is an explanation.” I pinch my eyes closed as I remember the last promise he made me. He said he would spend the rest of his life making sure I never regret loving him or the night we just spent together. I don’t want to believe that was a lie. I don’t want to look back on every moment we’ve shared through the bloodstained lens of a vendetta. But right now I’m too blinded by rage, by heartbreak, to consider anything else.

As my grip tightens around the folder, threatening to rip it to shreds, I consider my next move carefully. Do I give Damon a chance to explain himself? Would I believe him even if I did? Or do I run for fear he’s going to use me against my brother? But if I do that, then the only place for me to run to is my brother. And he’s tied for last on my list of people I’d like to see right now alongside Damon. And if I go to Aidan, then any semblance of normality I’ve attained here in New Orleans is gone, and Damon is as good as dead for murdering his men.

As fresh tears fall from my eyes and a loud cry rips through me, I have no idea what to do or who to trust.

31

I hate that she found out this way. Of course, I don’t even know what she’s thinking. She could assume something a thousand times worse than the truth, and that’s why I need her to let me explain. Alas, she stops responding to me and remains in my office with the door locked. Though I can hear her crying and it kills me. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was perfect until…until it wasn’t. I should’ve spoken up sooner. I should’ve been the one to tell her the truth. I just ran out of time, and now we’re running out of time again.

“Anastasia, there are men on their way here to clean up…to clean up the remains. I don’t want you here when they arrive. So please, open the door and let me take you home. I’ll explain everything there.” I listen closely for movement but I hear none. “I’m going to go upstairs and grab you some clothes from your shop. When I get back down here, we’ll need to leave.”

Brinkley follows me as I hurry upstairs, worried she may try to sneak out before I get back. But then I remember the white fluff who has amazingly avoided getting any blood on him, and I know she won’t leave without him. Making my way back downstairs with the first thing I could find—a pair of light wash jeans and a white T-shirt—I knock on the door to my office once more. To my surprise, Ana opens it within seconds.

She doesn’t look at me as she snatches the clothes from my hands and slams the door in my face, but I get a good enough look at her to see how hurt she is. There’s a wrinkle on her forehead, anger in her eyes, tearstains on her cheeks, and a quiver in her lip that lets me know it’s taking all the strength she has not to break.

Please, God, please let me be able to make this right. Please let her forgive me. I just felt what it is to be loved, what it is to not be alone, and I’m not ready to give that up again. As I finish my silent prayer, Ana opens the door once more. She grabs Brinkley and, without so much as a glance, says, “I need shoes.”

“Oh, right.” Since I’m sure her store doesn’t carry tennis shoes, the quickest thing is her heels from earlier. I move to the front of the building and grab them. I should really put out that fire before we leave, but Gio and his men will be here any second and I trust them to handle it.

As I make my way back to Anastasia, I find she’s taken a few steps out into the parlor. With Brinkley in her arms, she looks at the men and the blood that now covers the floor. Her skin is pale and her eyes are wide. She stands in stark contrast to my own calm, detached demeanor, which I’ve developed through extensive training and years of experience in this business. It’s a character trait I hope she’s never forced to adopt. “Is this your first time seeing?—”

“Yes,” she quickly replies, her eyes moving to the cardboard box. Quickly, I step into her line of sight.

“You shouldn’t look too closely then. Hopefully, with time, you’ll forget what you just saw.”

She lifts her eyes to mine. “I will never forget, Damon. This night is forever burned into my brain. And, sadly enough, those men’s deaths are the least of the reasons why.” At that, she sets Brinkley down and quickly puts on her heels. She winces as they go on over her blisters from earlier. If she’d let me, I’d carry her home. But she won’t even acknowledge the hand I offer her for balance as she bends over to put them on. I take a deep breath and lower my hand back to my side.

---