Page 4 of Tricked By Jack
I kneel on the frozen dirt that covers some of Ruby’s favorite belongings. From my pocket, I withdraw a single rose—pristine ruby-red petals that almost glow in the fading light. With deliberate movements, I snap the stem, the crack echoing in the quiet air. The broken flower lays against the dark stone like an accusation.
My fingers trace the edge of the headstone, feeling the cold seep into my skin. “I met her today. Looked Eve Mortis in the eyes, and she didn’t even flinch when I mentioned Valentine.”
A slight breeze stirs the leaves overhead, sending dappled shadows dancing across the grave. I imagine it’s Ruby, listening.
“She hides behind confidentiality. Ethics.” The words taste sour. “As if any of that matters when a monster sits across from you. She knew, Rubes. She had to know what he was, and she did nothing.”
My hand moves to my chest, pressing against the raised scar beneath my shirt. A constant reminder of my own survival, one I’d trade instantly if I could bring my sister back. The memory of her death comes unbidden, sharp and vivid as it does in my nightmares.
Valentine holds a knife at Ruby’s throat. My gun, steady in my hand. The shot hits perfect, centered. Except… Ruby never moved away. And the realization that she wasn’t going to didn’t hit me until after I pulled the trigger.
One clean shot through both of them. Valentine died instantly. Ruby followed shortly after, her eyes wide with… fuck, I don’t know. A part of me thinks she tried to convey forgiveness through her dimming eyes. But that’s probably nothing more than wishful thinking.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the two words inadequate against the weight of what happened. “I should have been faster. Smarter. I should have seen what he was doing to you sooner.”
The sun has nearly disappeared now, the cemetery cloaked in deepening twilight. In the distance, I hear the heavy clang of the main gates closing for the night. I should leave, but I linger, needing to finish this before I can move forward with what comes next.
“Eve Mortis has blood on her hands,” I continue, my voice hardening. “She probably sat in her office and listened to Valentine’s confessions and plans. Writing them down in her notebook instead of stopping him.”
The broken flower gleams red against the darkness of the stone, a symbol not of Ruby but of Eve—pristine on the outside, fractured at the core. It’s fitting that it rests here, marking the grave of the woman Eve failed.
“I’m going to make her feel what you felt, Rubes.” I trace my sister’s name one last time. “Eve Mortis is going to fucking pay.”
Standing, I brush the dirt from my knees in a gesture that feels ceremonial. The cemetery has fallen completely silent, as if holding its breath. Even the distant sounds of the city seem muffled, respectful of this moment of decision.
With those words, I turn from the grave, my path clear before me. There’s work to be done. A reckoning to be crafted. Eve Mortis believes she’s safe behind her glass desk and her composed façade. She has no idea what’s coming for her—who’scoming for her.
Back in the car, I pull my phone out and do a quick internet search for the owner of the building Eve’s clinic resides in.
As soon as I have the details, I tap the number, holding the phone to my ear while it rings.
“Good afternoon and thank you for calling McAllister Holdings. How may I direct your call?” a chipper voice asks.
“Shaun McAllister, please,” I reply.
The woman tells me to hold, and it only takes two minutes before Shaun answers my call. “This is Shaun McAllister. How can I be of assistance?”
A wicked smile spreads across my face. “I want to talk to you about one of your tenants.”
Chapter 2
The Bride
September
The bass vibrates through the soles of my feet, traveling up my legs like an electric current as I twirl and move my hips in time with the music.
It’s almost midnight on a Thursday, and instead of being in bed like a good girl, I’m clubbing with Shelby. Instead of being dressed in something stitched together with control and restraint, I’m wearing a dress that reveals more than it conceals.
One thing I can say for certain is I don’t miss my old life. Not one bit.
I didn’t choose to leave my practice, the business I never picked for myself. But I had no other choice when my old landlord unexpectedly terminated my lease the first week of March.
The bastard didn’t give me any warning and didn’t even do it in person. I just received a cold, one-paragraph notice citing building restructuring.
After a week of trying to get his attention by call, email, and even one unsuccessful trip to his office, I gave up. Apparently, that’s what two years of never causing problems and always paying my rent on time was worth.
I used to believe structure made things safe. That if you stayed inside the lines long enough, the chaos would pass you by. But chaos doesn’t knock. It slips under the door like smoke. It poisons the air you’ve convinced yourself is clean.
