“What do you mean burner cells?”

“Prepaid phones. The small crap kind you buy for thirty dollars or less from the store. Know what I’m talking about?”

I swallowed a lump. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.” There went that mystery.

“If we can catch him on this next exchange, it’s not only going to ensure the safety of the public, but yours too. And that’s all we’re trying to endeavour to do here, Miss Landon.”

I didn’t say anything for the longest time. I wiped the tears that had escaped and fought to stop them from falling. I didn’t allow the revelation to digest just yet. I needed to be alone first.

“I need to go,” I told him. “Please, this is all too much for me right now.”

He nodded in understanding. “Absolutely. I can imagine how hard this must be for you. If you need time, we’re more than happy to give that to you, but please understand that we need you more than anything right now. Like I said before, we don’t want to work against you, but the people I’m working with right now are desperate enough to do just that. I’m trying to protect you, Miss Landon.”

“I know. I understand. I just… I need to be alone for a little while and I’ll get back to you about this. I just don’t know how strong I can be –”

“He’ll be back in a week, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, he’s going to see you, and he can’t know about any of this. For your safety, you need to endure, and I swear to you, Claire, the second you get that information we need, you’ll be free of him.”

Free of him? Free of the man I’d fallen so unbelievably hard for?

But he’s not really that man, is he?

“Okay,” I said vacantly. “I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking, but I’ll think about it, just… give me some time for me to accept all this.”

I wasn’t sure if time ever could.

*****

It was as though I pressed pause on life. From the police station to my way back home, I was frozen. Nothing went through my head. I kept the feelings shut out and my mind empty.

But the second I stepped foot in my house, the barrier I’d put up crumbled to a million pieces, and I sank to the floor and sobbed.

The pain! Oh, my fucking god, the pain was too much. I curled up in the corner and cried, wishing more than anything for it to go.

Crying used to be cathartic. It used to help. Like bleeding an animal dry, I used to feel the pain slowly seep out of me until I was empty of all of it. But it didn’t work this time. Instead, the tears just kept falling, and the knife-like pain in my heart twisted, leaving me breathless and quaking.

He was responsible for the hell I went through for nine whole months, but that was nothing compared to the hell I was feeling at this revelation. How could he do this to me? How could he damage me like this? How could he look me in the eye and tell me he loved me? Everything that had been said to me started to make sense.

He likes broken things.

You’re exquisite. A work of art.

Are you aware of how beautiful you are to me?

I love different.

I stood up and climbed the stairs. Anger and pain merged and had me shaking with adrenaline. I slammed open the door of my bedroom and grabbed the sketchpad off the dresser. I tore the pages of him out and ripped them to pieces before flinging the book across the room. I felt savage. I wanted nothing more than to rage and smash things to pieces in the hopes of materializing the pain. As if making it tangible could somehow rid me of it.

I swiped the make-up off the dresser and pushed the television off the stand. I tore apart my room bit by bit, screaming out loud how much I hated him. How much I wanted him to die.

And then when all was screamed and done, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my miserable reflection. All those days learning to accept my appearance, learning to move on and embrace my scars – it had been all for nothing.

I touched the left side of my face, tracing over the harsh lines, remembering the pain I felt in that alleyway. The panic attacks, the depression, the fear that made me throw up every morning and sob until my breaths turned short and fast and my heart constricted…

All because of him.

“Why?” I whispered to myself.

It wasn’t why to one thing in particular. It was so many why’s that ran through my mind too fast to stop and analyse.

Why had I chosen him to kiss that day on the train?

Why did I give him my wallet?

Why didn’t I value myself throughout life enough to avoid that man in the bar?

Why did I agree to see him in the club?

Why did I let him into my house?

Why did I sleep with him?

Why did I fall in love with him?

Why did I believe him when he told me he would never lie?

And why the hell was I blaming myself for all of this?

This was his fault, right? This was all on him, yet somehow I felt like I’d contributed to it just as much. I willingly went along with everything he had thrown my way, ignoring the dark part of him and choosing to live in ignorance because of a selfish need to feel loved.

I played with fire, and it finally set me ablaze.

I just never thought it’d hurt this much.

*****

I sat on the ground of my bedroom for who knows how long. The sun’s rays disappeared, casting darkness into every corner of the room. My body continued to shake, my eyes ached, and my stomach growled from hunger.

Oh, how the world could change in such a short amount of time!

Its unpredictability was impressive, because I truly thought I had my road in life all mapped out. I expected potholes, sure, but I never anticipated sinkholes big enough to swallow me whole.

“Claire?”

The bedroom door creaked open, and I looked up in my flustered state to see Emily standing in the doorway. She stared at me with this tender concern that I wanted nothing more than to rip off. Had she hurt me too in some way I didn’t know about? Had Mom? Had anyone I’d ever gotten close enough to misused my trust and gotten away with it?

“Go away,” I told her hoarsely.

“What’s happened?”

I shook my head in response and felt the angry tears drop. Where were they coming from? What part of me had this endless supply of tears that refused to turn off? My face felt raw from it all.

I heard her footsteps in the room. She dropped down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Claire, please talk to me,” she pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

I looked at her. The softest blue eyes I’d ever seen stared back at me.

No, I thought, she’d never hurt me. Nor would Mom. They weren’t monsters. They’d never used me. They’d never want me to hate myself.

“My heart hurts,” I simply told her.

She took me into her arms and I cried, feeling it come from the shattered soul of my being. I had fallen so hard, and from the start, no one was ever going to be there to catch me.

I was broken.            

Chapter Twenty

Never make Ben your enemy

How do you function when you felt dead on the inside?

For the first few days I didn’t wake up with the need to puke. I woke up and cried instead. Interesting what a broken heart could do to you, replacing the old wounds from before with fresher, deeper ones.

I went through every moment I’d spent with him. How completely in the dark I’d been. All those days he answered calls in separate rooms. All the times he ducked out for errands. What sort of morbid things had he been up to?

I thought of all the times he kissed me, felt me, and held me close to him with burning passion. What did those moments really mean to him?

I remembered the look in his eyes every time they met my scars. The way he was always desperate to touch them. His fascination for them should have been the warning sign I recognized early on, right? I should have realized how unhealthy and obsessive-like it was for him.

But he blinded me.

Ben wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to me. He was the worst, most vile thing to ever walk into my life. He was a monster hiding in plain sight, and he was capable of all kinds of evil. He intentionally hurt me. He wanted me to suffer before he acted like the gallant saviour, reappearing in my life like he gave a shit.

How stupid of me!

As the hours passed, that depression morphed into bitterness that bred anger as strong as my love for him was. What was that anger capable of doing?

Without thinking, I grabbed his apartment key and left the house with one motive in mind: find out all about the man I’d been sleeping next to.

*****

I stepped into the apartment, loathing the way it automatically made my body feel protected and warm. I contemplated burning it down so I wouldn’t have to feel that deceptive ease again.

I trudged up the staircase and went directly to the second room where his office was. I opened the door and stepped inside, and was immediately assaulted by the smell of him lingering in the air. I ignored the way my heart beat harder in my chest and the dam in need of bursting behind my eyes.

It was time I turned those emotions off. That was the only way I could cope.

I looked around the room. He had a thick and sturdy jarrah wood desk with a green shade lamp and an assortment of business papers neatly stacked on one corner. Rustic looking bookcases adorned the walls, filled with heavy textbooks that looked ancient, collecting dust.

I tapped the spines of bookcases, hoping to hear a hollow sound. I’d seen fake book storages once before in a crime documentary years ago. And with all the revelations that had come to light about Ben, I understood him to be a secretive man, and this was the kind of thing a secretive person might do. It was a long shot, I knew that.

When I didn’t hear anything, I went to his desk, opened drawers, and leafed through the papers on his desk. All to no avail.

If he’s a damn good master at secrecy, he won’t be hiding shit in his apartment, dumbass.

Yeah, well, it was worth a shot. Hardman probably would have asked me to do this and –

“Ben’s not fond of snoopers.”

I jumped and turned around, instantly feeling so fucking stupid for not checking to see if Jamie was around.

Because he was, and he’d just caught me red fucking handed.

Wearing jeans and the same black leather jacket, he was leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets. Staring at me with those sizzling blue eyes, I didn’t feel the threat of what I’d just done lurking in their depths. He looked surprisingly relaxed and maybe even… amused?

“Hi,” I stammered out, fidgeting as I shut the desk drawer and crossed my arms. “I was um…”

He waited a beat and smirked. “You were um, what?”

Too anxious to respond, I just stared stupidly at him.

“What is it that you’re looking for exactly?” he asked, before adding swiftly, “And don’t lie to me either. Us Costigans are very good discerners. So tell the truth, darling.”

Tell the truth? How was I meant to do that to Ben’s brother? I thought quickly for a moment, wondering if I could somehow merge the truth by omitting the truth at the same time. Totally fucked up idea, but I was running on borrowed time.

“Trying to get to know your brother,” I said to him.

“You’ve been inseparable for a few months now, what could you possibly want to know?”

“He’s… reserved. I always feel like he’s holding back around me. Getting him to tell me anything too personal is impossible.”

“And you thought you’d find it in the drawers of his office room that he hardly frequents?”

Well, fuck, this guy was cracking down on me like it was sport to him.

“Well, I’ll have you know he gave me his key here,” I replied edgily. “I doubt he cares if I have a look around. That’s what girlfriends do. Besides, where else was I supposed to start in getting to know him?”

Jamie’s smirk intensified, and he gave me a look that made me feel stupid. “How about his brother for one?”

“Are you more open than him?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, skimming me up and down. “I’m very open, Claire. Whatever you want, I’m more than happy to give.”

I raised a brow at his flirtatious remark. What a peculiar man. Was he just as bad as Ben? I reflected on his words to Ben, about wanting to take over his role. Ben’s refusal had really irked him. But was it enough to resent him?

“So what would you like to know?”

When he pushed off the doorway and walked into the room, I felt nervous and caged in. He was a lot broader and fuller than Ben, and that arrogance was impossible to miss. He had troublemaker written all over him, and I couldn’t help but think his calm and steady composure was a façade. I was quite certain he’d make a move on me if he thought he could get away with it.

His question prompted all of my own I’d had of Ben, and it wasn’t hard finding one to ask straightaway.

“Why doesn’t he drive?” I asked.

“You’re asking the wrong thing first,” he replied, tapping his fingers against the spines of books the way I had. God, had he been there the entire time watching me?

I frowned. “What am I meant to ask first?”

“The next question is meant to be your first.”

Confused, I said, “The next one is about your parents.”

He smiled and eyed me roguishly. “Precisely.”

What the fuck?

“Did he tell you how they went?” he then said.

“Car accident.”

“Wrong. Well, sort of. Car bomb is more accurate.”