Page 4 of Jericho

"Can you move?" I ask, needing to do something with my hands.

The news is a revelation, and it makes my mind spin with possibilities. That's no place for me to spend another minute, not with the vows I made.

"Rumor has it that it was an inside job. One of his men killed him in a hostile takeover sort of situation," Jersey explains.

"Damien Gaines," I mutter.

Jersey dips his head. "That's the word on the street. They suspect he was dead for a month before they discovered his body."

"Let me guess… on some back road, left for someone walking their damn dog to find?"

Jersey tilts his head. "So you have heard about it?"

I shake my head. "No, just really familiar with the MO. Is someone working a case to bring him in for murder?"

Jersey scoffs, and I knew the second the question left my lips, it was a stupid one. The danger the guns pose to police and innocent civilians, as well as the overdoses contributed to the fentanyl they believe he's responsible for smuggling into the United States, will always be their focus. The death of one bad guy by another bad guy wouldn't even raise suspicions if it weren't the leader of the organization.

"From what I hear, no one is talking. They don't want to end up like Reese."

"Understandable," I mutter, but it's not like there are many rats in that organization.

I had an in and I ruined it by falling for a girl who was no doubt playing me all along.

I pour my cup of coffee, thoughts I try to shove down still somehow invading my head. By the time I leave Jersey in the kitchen and head back to my room, my fingers are itching to get on my laptop.

I drink my coffee, letting the burn scald my tongue for the distraction it provides, but within minutes, the liquid is gone and I'm left with no other thought in my head than to check the email I gave to her all those years ago.

I don't know why there's a flash of hope inside of me that with her father's death, she'd want me back. She sat there while the man she claimed to hate, the man she was promised to marry, mangled my face. She didn't so much as gasp when I cried out in pain.

Knowing that doesn't stop me from logging into the email I've managed to avoid for the last three years. After hating her the first five, I still checked it daily just in case I read the situation wrong and she did care for me like she claimed before we got caught.

I feel like a junkie giving into a hit for the first time in years. I know the high and the crash of disappointment is coming because she has never once used this email in all the years I kept checking it.

My eyes land on several unread messages. My mouth turns dry as I stare at the subject lines.

If things were different.

The days are long, but the nights are longer.

Should I miss a man who was evil?

The first email was written several months ago. The last one, the one I'm assuming is about her father, was written several weeks ago, proving she knew about her father's death before the body was discovered and identified by authorities.

I keep my palms flat on the desk because I still haven't convinced myself to open the fucking messages. The very last thing I need at this point in my life is to let my mind drift back to her. It hurts too much. She caused so much pain, and I'm not even talking about the physical pain and the scar left behind on my face. Her betrayal was bone deep. Her inability to speak up for me has altered every relationship I've had since her, being they're nonexistent, and I've chosen to lead a life of solitude.

My heart races, like I imagine it would if I were standing on the edge of a cliff, leaning forward and challenging gravity, as if it doesn't exist without a safety net.

I know the results of opening the messages will be just as catastrophic.

Hell, I don't even have to open the fucking emails, and I can already feel the way my brain chemistry is changing to make way for whatever these emails might contain.

My reasoning isn't based on any sort of science. I know I'm going to open the emails. I know I'll not be able to focus on anything else until I do. Just like I know they're all I'll be able to think about for years to come once I've read them.

It makes me hate her all over again. She should've just stayed in her own little corner of criminal enterprise and left me the fuck alone. But evil people will always do evil things, won't they?

A wave of guilt hits me right in the chest for thinking of her that way. Deep down, I know it was fear that kept her silent thatday. Her father was a brutal man, and that was what kept her from stepping forward and declaring her love for me. I was so willing to die for her, but when put to the test, she wasn't willing to die for me. I don't know that I have a right to fault her for that. A lot of people will take a step back when faced with that choice. It's natural to want to live.

I click the first email, knowing I have to read them in order, and the sight ofLUKEin the greeting makes me pause.

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