Page 7 of The Ties That Bind

The last time I’d dialed this number—the worst day of my life—it’d been hours before she’d picked up and the likelihood of Arabella doing so now was practically non-existent. Hell, who was to say she even had it anymore? And yet I’d kept my phone, hadn’t I? Something told me despite how things had ended between us, Arabella wouldn’t have severed that final tie to me, to us. That she would have kept it with her just like I’d done with mine.

A small glimmer of hope took root and, my fingers shaking, I reached out to the source of my greatest pain.

Juliet: If you get this message, call this number immediately: (312) 555-5610.

And then I waited.

When a phone trilled loudly in the silent room a few hours later, I jumped, sloshing the remaining whisky in my glass over the rim and all over my clothes. My heart in my throat, I picked up the burner only to discover it wasn’t the one ringing. Across the room, my iPhone continued to buzz and bounce on the Formica countertop, the caller on the other end of the line demanding that I pick up.

Rubbing the groggy sleep from my eyes, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and inhaled while my head pounded, a stark reminder of the bottle I’d finished off less than an hour ago. Placing my palms on my knees, I pushed my way to my feet and ambled over to where my phone lay. Just as I picked it up, it went silent again, but not before I saw who was calling.

With a sigh, I set it back, screen side down, and braced my hands against the counter. Staring at myself in the cracked mirror, I took a few deep breaths and willed my erratic heartbeat into a steady thrum in my veins. When I’d gained some measure of control, I turned on the sink and splashed water over my face before cupping my hands together under the faucet and glugging down as much water as I could. It’d been a long time since I’d had a hangover, much less one from day drinking, and I didn’t intend to get one now.

Before I could finish drying my hands on the scratchy, threadbare towel hanging next to the sink, my phone started ringing again. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. I’d ignored Jayce’s latest email demanding an update, which he obviously hadn’t appreciated. Now he’d taken to calling me in hopes that he’d be able to pin me down.

Staring down at the screen, a face so similar to mine that most people couldn’t tell the difference stared back. Marshaling my resolve, I swiped my finger across the glass and brought it to my ear.

Before I could greet my brother, he launched into a tirade about what a useless piece of shit I was and how if he wanted anything done right, he had to do it himself. I knew he liked to think that was the case, but I’d done things he never could have stomached and I was absolutely positive that had our positions been reversed, the family would be in a much different state than it was today. I might not have the business acumen that he did, but he didn’t have my stomach for violence, nor or the constitution to mete it out. Still, I let him expend his vitriol because there was no use in trying to stop him. If I didn’t take his bullshit, one of his other employees would have to and I didn’t want that on my conscience.

“Do you feel better now?”

“No fuck face!” he shouted into the receiver. “I do not feel better. I won’t feel better until you tell me you’ve taken care of that goddamn slut.”

I clenched my jaw and bit down my retort. Having been there the day I’d first kissed Arabella, I’d been worried Jayce would have ratted me out to our father, but as far as I knew, he’d never figured out who the girl was. At least, he’d never said anything that lead me to believe he knew. Once, when he’d caught me sneaking into the mansion at 4 o’clock in the morning, he’d eyed me shrewdly and asked if I’d ever hooked up again with that slut from the mall. When I’d answered that I hadn’t even gotten her name, he’d dropped it and never mentioned her again.

“I told you it’ll take some time. Do you want this done fast, or do you want it done right?”

“I want it done now!” he screamed.

I swore I could feel his spittle coming through with his words. Based on the way he addressed me now, without an ounce of patience or care for possible eavesdropping, I guessed Jayce was either high as a kite or coming down from a major bender. Either way, he wasn’t being careful and that annoyed me. Jayce had always been an asshole, but since he started snorting coke a couple of years ago, both his temper and his idiocy had reached epic proportions. It was a miracle he hadn’t already been arrested. Or killed.

“Calm down,” I responded, not sure if I actually wanted him to. Maybe if I needled him enough, got him worked up nice and good, the drugs in his system would do my job for me. This conversation was a good reminder why he needed to be put down like a rabid dog that could no longer be controlled.

“I told you I’m working on a plan that puts us in the free and clear. This can’t get tied back to us. Do you want to spend the rest of your life rotting in a frozen jail cell?”

“Fuck you,” was his response.

That’s what Jayce always said when he didn’t have anything smart to respond with.

“Look,” I said, my irritation leaking out. “I have to go. I’m waiting on a call that I can’t miss.”

“One of your fuck buddies?” he asked.

“No, not one of my fuck buddies.”

I don’t know why I even bothered. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to what I said if it wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

“You know Careen?” he asked, switching topics fast enough to give me whiplash.

Did I know Careen? Yeah, I did. And I also knew I wanted nothing to do with her. That girl was a walking nightmare.

Without waiting for my answer, he plowed forward, his words coming fast and erratic. Yeah, definitely high.

“So, Careen has this friend. I can’t remember her name. Jolene maybe.” Losing his train of thought, I heard him muttering under his breath, “Careen. Jolene. Careen. Jolene.” Then, turning his focus back to his story, he said, “No, not Jolene. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she’s got a body that won’t quit and she has certain … desires, shall we say … that take a special kind of man to satisfy.”

God, I hated it when our conversations veered into this territory. I didn’t want to know what he’d done to the poor girl. I never wanted to know what he got up to behind closed doors. I’d heard the stories and it was some fucked up Joffrey Baratheon shit. Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad analogy for the rest of Jayce’s life as well. He was an over-indulged coward with a cruel streak a mile long.

When I didn’t take the bait, he started yelling at me again. “I’m talking to you fuck face! When I speak, you answer, do you hear me? When I’m telling you about a Grade A piece of ass, it’s your job to listen. Capisce?”

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