Page 9 of The Ties That Bind

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These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey

Is loathsome in his own deliciousness

And in the taste confounds the appetite.

ROMEO & JULIET

I campedout in that hotel room for two whole days waiting for Arabella to call. When I finally accepted she wasn’t going to, I packed up what little I’d brought and left. Lost in my thoughts, I took to the highway and flipped on the radio. I let the inane chatter of the station’s DJs wash over me until an hour later, sick of the noise, I flipped it off and let my mind wander back to happier times … back to before I’d lost my brother to his demons … before Arabella had ripped my heart in two and shoved it down my fucking throat.

Everyone thought I was made of ice and steel, incapable of feeling, but that wasn’t true at all. The problem was I felt too damn much and so I’d learned to hide my emotions, push them down deep where they’d never see the light of day. Where I couldn’t be hurt ever again. Where the blackness of my soul would suffocate the boy I’d been, the man I wished I could be if only things had been different. I’d once been a bright and happy kid, full of promise and hope for the future. But that boy was long gone and in its place existed a hardened warrior, numb to everything.

Or so I thought, until I heard her name and a spark of something pure and untainted flared back to life inside of me, casting light on the hollows of my cold, black heart.

I’d taken a major highway, anxious to get back to Chicago, so I couldn’t be certain I was being tailed, but something about the distance another driver coasted behind me—far enough so that I couldn’t make him out, but close enough that I couldn’t lose him either—had the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. Ever so gently, I pressed my foot to the gas pedal and increased my speed. It wasn’t a lot, but if the car behind me also sped up and maintained the same safe distance, my suspicions would be confirmed. When the speedometer hit 80 mph, I glanced into the rearview mirror.

Okay, definitely following me.

This was where other men might get nervous or fear for their safety, but not me. Keeping my eyes trained on the road ahead and my left hand steady on the steering wheel, I leaned across the dash and opened the glove compartment to retrieve my gun. I flipped my wrist and the barrel came open, showing a full chamber—exactly the way I liked it. A pistol wouldn’t be much if the guy behind me decided to open fire with an assault rifle, but up close and personal it’d get the job done.

Scanning the horizon, I located a sign ahead for the next exit. I slowed my speed and took the off-ramp toward a 24-hour truck stop. Instead of pulling in—I didn’t need witnesses to what was about to happen—I coasted by and checked out my surroundings. In my mirror I watched as the car sailed along behind me, coming closer and closer the further away from civilization I took us. This late-model Buick I was driving could never outrun a shiny new Mustang, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take the fucker on a wild ride while I tried to gain some advantage.

Flooring the gas pedal, the sedan’s wheels squealed for a split second before the tires finally gained purchase and I rocketed forward. For 30 seconds I pushed the vehicle to its limits and when I knew it had given everything its had to offer, I slammed on the breaks and twisted the wheel to the left, sending me into a wide spin until I stopped, blocking the path of the oncoming Mustang. The smoke from my tires obscuring my position, I slid across the bench seat and out the passenger side door where I crouched and listened.

Where I waited.

I expected bullets to rain down any second, but for the time being things were at a standstill. All I heard was the steady thrum of the car’s engine, its 420 horses leashed and calm. Carefully, I settled into a position that kept my body mostly protected, but allowed me to see over the tail end of the vehicle. The Mustang idled about 25 feet away. For several long, tense seconds the other driver and I stared each other down across the smoky divide. Finally, the driver cut his engine and, raising his hands in the air to show he was unarmed, moved to exit. I cocked my gun and waited, my finger on the trigger. Better safe than sorry, I always say. The door opened slowly and the driver stepped out from behind the safety of the door and walked around to the front. There, my assailant leaned against the hood of the car, arms folded, a knowing smirk staring back at me. As if they had no need to fear me.

They didn’t of course.

Rising from my crouched position, I smirked back and engaged the gun’s safety. “Hello Arabella.”

* * *

“Hello Xander,” she purred. “Has anyone ever told you that you drive like shit?”

“I might have heard that a time a two,” came my response as I fought a grin while remembering all the times she’d previously told me I was the worst goddamn driver she’d ever met.

She’d been teasing, of course, but the thing was, Arabella was the best goddamn driver I’d ever met and everyone else paled in comparison. I’d often thought if she’d been born a boy, she could have had a career as a race car driver. Then again, if she’d been born a boy she would have been raised just like me. And if she’d been born a boy, I never would have had a chance to love her. And lose her.

My eyes took in her curves, filled out since the last time I’d seen her. As a teenager, she’d had a body that drove me wild, but now with skintight leather pants disappearing into knee-high boots and a tight white v-neck that hugged her tits to perfection, I didn’t think I’d ever met a woman who looked quite as delectable as Arabella Wilson did now. I itched to run my hands over those peaks and valleys. As my cock twitched in agreement, I adjusted my stance to give it some breathing room.

In the quiet parts of my mind, I’d imagined this moment a thousand—no, a million—times over. What I’d say or do if I ever saw her again. What our reunion would be like. How I’d kiss her tenderly until she was putty in my hands, and then I’d punish her for how she’d hurt me. How she’d made me feel. How she’d made me want.

Yet even as I hated her for what she’d done—what she’d allowed her father to take from us—I didn’t think I’d ever been happier or more relieved than I was at this moment. But I was furious too. I didn’t know whether to shake her senseless for pursuing me so recklessly—putting us both in danger—or to crush her to my chest and never let go.

In the end, I did neither.

Stuffing the gun into the waistband of my jeans, I leaned against the Buick, my arms and ankles crossed. I’d adopted a casual stance but there was nothing casual about this encounter. This wasn’t a reunion; this was business.

“How’d you find me?” I asked.

She laughed. “Surely you don’t think you’re the only person who knows how this game is played.” She took a few seductive steps forward. “I’ve had you followed ever since you put Teagan in the hospital. Nice work, by the way,” she added offhandedly, as if she couldn’t have cared less that I’d beaten her stupid fucking cousin to within an inch of his life.

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