"I'm going to run in and grab some stuff, and I'll meet you at home," I tell Alex, climb out of the SUV, and turn to enter my office. He slides to the edge of the seat by the open door, grabs my hand, and pulls me back. His lips are so soft, so full of affection, tenderness, and gratitude.
"I love you," he whispers before releasing me.
I can't talk, I'll lose all control of my emotions, and unravel. There is such a sense of relief that comes with the verdict. I didn't fully understand how worried I was I would lose the case and be the reason James was free. But that's all gone now. We won. James Wells is on his way back to the state prison to live out the rest of his days. And Alex will never have to deal with his father again.
An hour later, I pull into the garage, and walk into the kitchen just as my phone beeps with a text from Alex.
Had to stop for something special…be home soon. LY
Although many want to place a gold-digger label on me, just because I'm in love with a man that has several billion dollars, I don't really expect lavish gifts—any gifts—from Alex. That's not why I love him, and it never will be. But I have to admit, I am intrigued and a little giddy at the prospect of what Alex considers special. He always puts a piece of his heart into everything he gives me. My hand instinctively goes to my neck, to the ruby and diamond pendent with entwined hearts he gave to me the night he told me he loved me for the very first time.
The next day, John shot me.
I drop the notes from my meeting with Jack on my desk, drop my briefcase on the floor, and fall into my chair. Across the room, on the table next to the chaise lounge, is a box with a big purple bow on it.
Alex.
I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest, and walk over to it. A tag is attached to the bow with my name on it.
Should I wait until he gets home to open it? No…if he wanted me to wait, why did he put it here where I was sure to find it when I came in?
I pull on the end of the bow, run my finger along the edge of the top, and pull it off. Piles of crumpled white tissue paper fill the box. I pluck the paper from the box, and toss it over my shoulder, barely aware of them floating to the floor. About a quarter of the way down is an envelope with my name on it. I open it, and carefully pull out the card. On one side is an embossed red foil heart. On the back is a handwritten message:
Never forget the past. Change your future, or your past may haunt you.
Will you survive a second time?
I drop the note on the table, tear through the paper, determined to find whatever is in the box. The tissue paper has red drops on them, and the deeper I dig, the more saturated the white paper becomes. My hand is shaking. I know I should stop. This is not a gift from Alex. But something is driving me to get it over with. The outcome is not going to change the longer I wait to find out. My anxiety, however, may cause me to have a heart attack before Alex gets home.
I lift another piece of paper, and stumble backwards. "No, no, no—" I shriek.
Taking a tentative step forward, I peer over the edge of the box, and pray my eyes are playing a trick on me. Inside the box, sitting atop blood-smeared, white tissue paper is a black leather flogger with little metal balls on the end of the tendrils.
My stomach pitches and roils. Unable to focus, I stagger forward, and fall onto the chaise. The horrible visions assault me, drag me back to the day John used that flogger to rip the skin from my back. Hanging from the bar, stripped, and bleeding—I begged him to stop, cried, and screamed when the pain was too much. He laughed, I can still hear it in my ears, and I can't stop the sobs that now gently rock my body.
I will never be free of him, never know what it's like to not look over my shoulder and expect to see him, never have dreams that don't turn to nightmares where he kills me or someone I love. I curse Jake for not making sure his shot had killed John, and I curse Alex for not demanding Jake finish the job. Because that's the only way I'll be free—the only way Alex and I can have peace, and a future.
John has to die.
"Kylie?" Alex calls from the hallway.
I wipe the tears from my face, sit up, but I can't turn around. Even the sight of the box, knowing what's inside, scares the shit out me. "In here," I answer.
He sits next to me on the chaise. "Hey, baby, I have a-", the smile on his face falls when he looks at me, and he swipes at the tears I missed. "What's wrong?"
I point to the box on the table behind me. Alex walks over to it, the paper rustles, and he curses when he sees what's inside. He drops next to me on the chaise, the note in his hand, and peers at me. "Where did it come from?"
I shrug. "It was here when I came in. I thought it was a surprise from you, so I opened it."
Alex stands, walks out of my sight, and calls for Jake. The two men discuss the "gift" I've received, but I'm not listening to them. I'm gazing out the window which looks out over the large expanse of grass. A few leaves have dropped from the trees and are scattered around. I always feel so safe here, in this room, in this spot. I hate that will change now. The one thing from my past which still affects me so deeply, sitting in a box in my sanctuary.
I catch the tail end of the conversation behind me. Jake asks Alex about a possible motive behind me receiving the flogger after all these months.
"This isn't the first time I’ve received things like this," I offer, a quick glance over my shoulder, before I look out the window again.
Alex sits next to me on the chaise, and Jake stands near the window. "Yeah, I know, Reyes told me about the dead flowers."
I drop my eyes to my lap, play with the hem of my sweater, and recall the discussion between Reyes and Alex. They think I might be doing this—for what?
"Has there been anything else, Kylie?" Jake asks. "Not just gifts, but other things you haven't told us about?"
My thoughts freeze. I have no idea what to do. Tell them everything? See if they decide I'm losing my mind like Reyes believes? Or just handle it on my own?
Handling it on my own has had horrible consequences in the past, and so has ignoring it—it's really a fifty-fifty split—I'm probably no worse off for telling Jake. Maybe he can do something. And if he doesn't believe me, well, he and Alex are already questioning my sanity.
"The other night isn't the first time John's BMW has followed me. It happened in town, but nothing like the other night."
I glance at Jake, with his arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow cocked. "Someone's been following me, too, but I can never get an ID on them."
Jake looks down his nose at me, and I suddenly feel like a little girl being reprimanded for taking the last cookie and lying about it. "That it?" he asks.
I bite my lip and shake my head. "Recently, I've been receiving emails from an unfamiliar address. They state basically the same sentiment as the note you're holding."
Alex turns to me. "Why haven't you told me about all of this?"
"I tried…the other night."
He closes his eyes, drops his shoulders, and I look at Jake.
"So, you've never seen the person following you? What about the driver?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No, at first I thought the person stalking me was John, but I called the hospital, and he was always there."
"Why would you think it was John?" Alex's tone is a little softer, and his frown isn't as deep.
"I had the same eerie dread I always felt when John was near me." I shudder at the memories of John attacking me in the hotel, breaking into my house—always accompanied by fear.
Jake points at the box behind me on the table. "This was here when you got home?"
"Yes."
Alex looks at Jake. "It wasn't here when we left. I turned the light off on our way out.”
"And no one could have gotten past the security system," Jake says.
Security system? "What security system?"
Alex grabs my hand and squeezes it. "I had it installed while you were in recovery."
"But I've never disarmed an alarm when I've come home," I state, my gaze traveling back and forth between Jake and Alex.
"It works with the gate, the garage remotes, and the surveillance cameras," Jake explains. "It disarms when any of us drive onto the property."
I nod, purse my lips together, and let the information sink in. It's not looking like Alex and Jake are going to be dissuaded from thinking I'm crazy and apparently stalking myself.
"So, the box wasn't here when you left, no one can get past our super-secret, high-tech security system, and I'm the only one who's been here.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed. Judged. “I guess that means I left myself the one thing which terrifies me most in this world and forces me to relive the worst day of my life in vivid color, complete with sound, smell, and taste." I plaster on a fake smile. "Makes perfect sense to me."
"No one is saying you did this, baby." Alex tries to placate me, which really just pisses me off even more. "We just need to know everything, so we can figure out what's going on."
I stand and take both of them by surprise. "Okay, well, this has been great, but I have a raging migraine, so I'm going to get a large glass of something alcoholic, take some painkillers, and go to bed. You guys figure out if the boogeyman is real, living in this house, and deflecting attention by claiming to be the victim. I'll be on pins and needles awaiting your conclusions."
I stalk past them, and head to the bar, fully aware I'm being immature, but also not giving a shit. The problem with declaring you didn't do something, it's nearly impossible to prove otherwise.