Beauty in the Broken

My bodyguards follow. Their order is to protect me, not to pose questions. In front of Harold’s building, I stop to look up at his window. The drops sting my eyes and tickle my nostrils. Visiting Harold is against the rules, but surely Damian won’t punish me if I explain my reasons.

My footsteps echo on the stairs. Away from the rain, the dirty smells assault my nose and cling to my wet clothes.

I don’t have to wait long after knocking. The door opens, revealing Harold in surprisingly clean clothes.

“Well.” He looks over my shoulder at the guards. “Where’s Damian?”

I push past him. “I need to talk to you.” Turning to Brink, I say, “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go in alone.”

“I’ll leave the door open. I only need a word.”

I move toward the far end of the room. The place isn’t tidy, but it’s cleaner. Harold seems to be getting his act together.

“Where is it?” he whispers.

“I don’t have it.”

“Then why are you here?”

That’s when I know my answer. “To tell you I’m not doing it. I’m not getting you the evidence.”

He sneers. “Don’t you want to know? Not so long ago, it was all you lived for.”

“Damian will find it. He’ll do it for me. You may as well save yourself the torture and tell me now what you did with his body.”

He scoffs. “What about your freedom?”

“It’s not important, anymore,” I lie.

“What about the murder? If I talk, you’ll be locked up, again.”

“I’ll tell Damian everything. He’ll get me a good lawyer.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles. “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know me. I’m not the starved, weakened woman you fetched from Willowbrook.”

His gaze slips over me. “You’re making a big mistake, Angelina.”

“Goodbye, Harold.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he says to my back as I walk through the door. “I’ll have the last word yet.”

Damian

Work takes its toll. There’s always too much of it and too little time, but when my guard, Drew, calls to say he’s found something on the security recording, I drop everything and go home.

Drew waits in my study as instructed. He stands on attention when I enter.

“Sir.”

I go around the desk and push the play button on the laptop. It’s the night of the business dinner. Lina is dressed in her diamonds and cum-stained gown. She walks to the stairs like a crab with her back to the wall. She’s halfway up when Zane comes down. He stands in front of her, blocking her face from the camera, but when she takes another step up, it’s obvious she’s upset. They’re having words. She bends backwards over the rail as far as she can, but he reaches out, fast like a snake, and fastens his hand around her neck. My vision washes out until everything goes white. Static noise crackles in my ears.

I can’t formulate more than a clipped question. “Sound?”

“I can get it, sir.”

“Do it. Now. Anything else?”

“Not so far, sir, but I still have a couple of weeks’ worth of watching left.”

“Watch everything, every second.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“Out, sir.”

“Out where?”

“Brixton.”

I still. “What is she doing in Brixton?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Disappointment stretches ugly, black wings in my chest. “How many guards?”

“Five, including Brink.”

I nod. “You’re dismissed.”

He’s scarcely gone when I dial Brink. I bark out my question when he answers. “Where’s my wife?”

“Brixton. She’s safe, sir.”

“Doing what?”

“Visiting her father.”

Anger burns through my veins. Why does she insist on defying me? Just when I thought we’re making progress she takes us right back to square one.

“Sir?”

“Bring her home.”

Hanging up, I throw the phone down on the desk and drag my hands over my face. I don’t look forward to what I have to do, but I’ve never shied away from making good on my promises. My priority is Zane.

Going through the house, I find him in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich.

“Dami,” he says when I enter, clearly surprised.

“Where’s Jana?”

“Picking up supplies. Want me to fix you a bite? I didn’t expect you home for lunch.”

With a swipe of my arm, I clear the counter. The half-made sandwich and utensils crash to the floor. The plate cracks in two. Mayonnaise splatters the tiles.

Zane doesn’t move as I advance on him. His expression is sober. He took a risk and knows he’s been caught. He’s not going to deny it.

“Why?” I ask, my voice not betraying the violence sweeping through me.

“How?” he deflects.

I bang a fist on the counter. “Does it fucking matter?”

“You spied on me.” His tone is bitter. “Of course, it matters.”

“I trusted you.”

“She’s playing you.”

“What are you doing, Zane? Playing me, too?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I love you, Dami.”

“I’ve been clear from the start.”

“I hoped you’d…” He looks away.

“You hoped I’d what? Turn bisexual?”

He bends to pick up the mess, but I kick the plate away.

“Is that why you hate Lina? You’re jealous?”