High (26 page)

I smile. “You’ll be first on my list. I promise.”

She flicks her dark hair over her shoulder and takes a swig from the bottle. “Have fun.” She waves at me before sinking back down into a sun lounger.

I get off the boat and find my car. Now to drive back to London and finish this.

God, this office needs updating. The dark wood panelled walls, the green Chesterfield, the leather topped desk, it’s all so fucking pretentious it’s painful.

The door clicks open and Miles McQueen walks into the room, closing the door behind him. His ever present scowl is firmly in place.

He holds up a paper with an image of Blake and me from last night, the brief moment that I actually spent any time with her after I proposed. It’s a cell phone picture, but the paper has zoomed in on the ring on her finger. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” He snaps, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red.

“I came to you with an offer, and you turned me down. I believe your words were ‘Blake is just going through a phase’. Well does it look like a phase now?”

“You’re an animal.” He hisses.

“I’ve been called worse.”

He takes a few steps closer to me. “I’ll simply tell Blake what you really are. A con artist, a criminal, a liar.”

I laugh. “And you really think she’ll believe you? You shunned her, shamed her, sent her away when she needed you most. You pushed your own daughter to drug addiction, and all because she wouldn’t fit in with your regime. I told you before, she hates you.” I growl, trying hard to rein in my temper because this is the man who was supposed to love her unconditionally. “She loves me.” I breathe through my tightening throat. Those words shouldn’t be so hard, after all, that was always the plan, but my loving her back wasn’t.

He sighs and pulls at the knot of his tie, loosening it. “It’s impossible.” He shakes his head.

“Nothing is impossible, Minister. Get it done or I marry your daughter. You have two hours to give me something concrete. I catch a plane to New York tonight, whether Blake comes with me…that’s up to you.”

I have sent Rhett five texts and called him three times with no answer, and now his phone is going straight to voicemail.

“I’m sure he just left his phone in the car or something and now it’s dead.” Milly says, turning the radio back up.

That would be rational and plausible, but something is making me uneasy.

We pull into the parking garage and I don’t see his car, even though he said he would be here at seven and it’s now seven thirty. Rhett is never late.  God, maybe I’m just paranoid. I fucking hate those clingy, needy women, and yet the second he puts a ring on my finger I’m obsessing over half an hour.

“Let’s order pizza.”

“Yes! Pizza and a joint?” Milly claps her hand together.

Right now, a joint sounds awesome. I need to relax a bit. “You get the weed—I’ll get the pizza?” I offer.

“Done. I’ll be back in twenty.” She veers off out of the parking garage through the door that leads to the street. I head up to the flat.

I get in and start dialling the pizza joint when my phone starts ringing in my hand.

I frown as my dad’s name lights the screen. What the hell does he want?

“Unexpected.” I say when I pick it up. Silence. “Hello?”

“Blake, I need to tell you something.” I have heard my father pissed, I’ve heard him indifferent, but I’ve never heard him sound sad, and it has me worried.

“What is it?” I’m expecting him to say my mother has died, the house got burned down, something terrible.

“Rhett Torres is gone and he’s not coming back. I just thought you should know before you go looking for him.” My stomach bottoms out. That is not at all what I was expecting.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He sighs. “He was never interested in you, Blake. I warned you he was dangerous. He only ever wanted to use you to get to me. You agreed to marry him. I had no choice…”

“What did you do?” I demand.

“He asked me to have his brother extradited, and in exchange, he agreed to leave...” I hang up the phone and it slips from my fingers. I don’t want to believe him. My father has never done anything but lie to me, but even for him, this is an elaborate lie. My mind drags up the memories of Rhett’s face last night, how sad he looked. He’d just asked me to marry him. Why would he be sad? Because he knew he was about to betray me?

I grab my handbag off the counter and run back out of the flat, slamming the door behind me.

When I get outside, I hail a taxi and jump in. “Chelsea, please.”

My heart is beating wildly and hope has me in its grip. That fragile hope is the only thing keeping me from believing it right now. He wouldn’t leave.

The cab driver pulls up outside Rhett’s apartment and I throw him some cash, jumping out of the car. The closer I get the harder my heart seems to pump in my chest. I stop when I’m outside his door, wanting more than anything for everything my father said to be a lie. I want Rhett to open the door and smile at me in that way of his like I’m his whole world.

I slide the key he gave me into the lock and the door opens. Inside there are no lights on, no sign of movement.
That doesn’t mean anything.
I switch on the light and move through the enormous apartment. It looks the same way it always has, clinical, unlived in. I pick up my pace as I head for the bedroom. It still smells faintly of him in here, and that scent has tears pricking my eyes as I go to the wardrobe and pause with my hand on the door handle. I take a deep breath and listen to the sound of my own fear driven heart beats. The moment I open the door, I fall to my knees on the hard wood floor. It’s gone. Everything is gone. All that is left is one of my dresses I left here, all alone on the rail, just like me. My father was right about at least one thing. He’s gone.

My throat tightens and it feels like someone is clenching my heart in their fist. A very real pain rips through my torso. Any hope I had is destroyed, and with hope gone, all that’s left is the pain, the betrayal, the shattered mess that was once my heart, because I loved him. I loved him with the naivety of someone who had never loved or been loved. I loved him like an addict loves their fix because that’s what he was to me—my fix, my happiness. But it was all a lie, a fucked up, twisted lie. He used me and I allowed him to so fucking easily.

Tears stream down my face as what feels like every single part of me breaks and I plummet into a darkness so pitch black I’ll never find my way out of it. The cold waters of despair drown me in their depths, dragging me to a place that even I thought I would never go.

I lean forward as a wave of nausea washes over me, and as I do, I glance down at my hand, at the ring on my finger that now feels like it’s burning me. I rip it off and throw it across the room with a scream.

I want to scream and cry and purge myself of this feeling, this horrible fucking feeling. There is only one thing that can do that for me. I sniff back my tears as a plan starts to form in my mind. I crawl across the empty closet and pick up the sparkling ruby from its fallen resting place. I shove it in my pocket because the mere sight of it makes me sick.

I will not do this. I cannot do this. Rhett Torres can go fuck himself.

The guy places the little magnifying device to his eye, studying the ring.

He lets out a low whistle. “That’s a beauty. A bit out of my league if I’m honest, love. I’d say that’s worth over ten grand. You want to wait until the morning and take it to the jeweller up the road. They’ll give you what it’s worth.” I know that ring is worth a damn site more than ten grand.

“I need the money now.” I tell him, an edge of hysteria creeping into my voice.

He looks up at me and shakes his head. “I can give you five.”

“Done. Give me the money.”

He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. He probably thinks I stole it. I might as well have done. Either way, it’s dirty. But if it’s worth what he says and he can pay me half the price, the likelihood is he won’t care where it came from.

“I’ll be right back.” I watch through the bars as he disappears through a back door. This shop is full of trinkets and random things. The whole place is just a tragic representation of people’s derailed lives. Heirlooms they’ve been forced to sell; beloved items they’ve had to part with just to make next month’s rent. It should make me feel better about my own life, but it doesn’t. I seem to be sinking deeper into the darkness with each passing second.

He comes back with an envelope and counts the money out in front of me. I really don’t care. I don’t need the money, I never did. I just don’t want that ring, and selling it to a cheap pawn shop feels like much more of a fuck you then simply giving it away. I don’t want that ring to do something good for someone. I want it to represent everything bad, and this five grand is about to buy me a whole lot of bad and a giant fuck you to Rhett Torres.

He pushes the envelope through the small gap in the bars and I snatch it off the counter, shoving it in my handbag before I turn and leave the shop. Outside the air is warm, and a soft breeze tousles my hair. I wait to feel just the tiniest ounce of…something. Anything. But I can’t. All I feel is pain and sorrow.

I walk through the streets until my shoes hurt my feet. I walk until I find myself on a side of town where girls like me don’t venture. Even the fearless Blake McQueen wouldn’t normally walk these streets. But this girl doesn’t care. This girl has nothing to lose.

I spot a group of guys hanging around outside a bar called Reggie’s. I’ve waited in the car before while Felix has met one of his dealers here, a guy called Wayne. I know I can get what I need here.

I walk up to the door and the group of guys part like the Red Sea, smiling at me in the filthiest of ways. They all look a bit worse for wear, beaten down by life.

I push the door open and am assaulted by the smell of body odour, cheap beer, and cigarettes. Everything in here looks dirty and uncared for, and yet the place is busy. I feel like every eye is on me as I make my way to the bar. The bar tender cocks an eyebrow at me as he leans his gut against the bar and drags a hand through his grey beard.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?”

“Can you tell me where I can find Wayne?” I ask. He narrows his eyes at me for a second and then jerks his head toward the other side of the room. “Thank you.”

I follow his direction to the darkened corner of the room where two men sit at a table drinking beer and smoking. I stop at the edge of the table and my heart skitters in my chest. Everything tells me I should be afraid, but I’m not. If anything, I welcome the small shot of adrenaline in my veins.

“I’m looking for Wayne.”

One guy tilts his face up, his darkened gaze meeting mine. He’s not what I expected, but then, I don’t know
what
I expected. A black guy? A young guy? Not this guy. He’s middle aged, rough around the edges, but not dirty looking. He doesn’t look like a drunk or a druggie.

“Who’s asking?” He says with an Irish twang.

“Someone looking to make a purchase.” I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m a friend of Felix.” I reassure him.