Beautifully Damaged (36 page)

I knew my shoulders slumped since just hearing the steps required was overwhelming. Lucien, being so intuitive, seemed to realize where my thoughts were when he offered, "The other option would be to create a different kind of cooking school; one where people pay for a week or two of hands-on training. For that you'd only need a large enough space with multiple kitchens to accommodate your pupils."

My spirits immediately soared which had Lucien laughing out loud as he reached over and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

"You are very easy to read, Ember."

"I know."

"This is for Trace, isn't it?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I looked him up because I wanted to check out my competition."

"But his name..."

"...I know, it's different but, Ember, I haven't gotten where I am in business without learning a few things."

"I don't doubt that, sorry."

"...don't be. Would you like me to help you? I could write up the proposal since you'll need one for your investors. I could also help you scout out locations."

"I would love your help but I'd hate to take you from your own businesses."

He reached for my hand to hold in his own. "I would like to help you, Ember."

"Thank you, Lucien."

"My pleasure, Ember, it truly is."

At that moment a chill went through me which had me turning my head as my eyes landed on Dane who was watching me from across the room. I was about to go distract Trace before he saw the man and killed him right there in the club when I heard a curse so foul I honestly never heard it before. I looked back at Lucien who was looking at Dane and the look on his face scared the shit out of me.

"Lucien?"

When Lucien's eyes turned to mine they were very cold before he asked, "Why is that man looking at you, Ember?"

"It's a long story."

"Ember?"

"If Trace sees him he's going to kill him."

Lucien grabbed my arms in a grip that was firm but gentle and practically lifted me from the floor. His voice was eerily soft when he asked, "Did he hurt you?"

"No, but not for a lack of trying."

Rage filled him as his body shook with it and I knew, somehow, that what was fueling it had very little to do with me. I reached for his hand.

"Killing him solves nothing. Do you want to talk about it?"

Surprise flashed over his face before he looked back at Dane who was no longer there.

"Yeah, but not here. Trace and Trent should hear it, too, they need to understand with whom we're dealing."

"Okay."

We were fairly cryptic when we returned to the table and suggested another venue. Lucien had calmed down a bit by the time we reached the small jazz club. I pulled Trace aside because he needed to know about Dane but he already knew something was up.

"What happened at the club, Ember?"

"Dane was there."

Trace went completely still as I forged on. "Lucien's reaction to seeing him was..."

"...was what?"

I looked up at Trace as dread filled me. "There's a story there. It's why we're here. He wants to tell us."

I took Trace's hand. "I didn't come for you because I had to keep Lucien from walking over and ripping the asshole's head off. Killing him isn't the answer."

Trace's voice was menacing when he said, "Killing him is the only answer."

He pulled me to him and held me tightly before he released me and reached for my hand. He remained silent as we walked to the table but I could see that his wheels were turning but what he was thinking, I didn't know.

We settled at the table and once our drinks were delivered, Lucien's gaze lingered on me a moment before he turned his eyes to Trace. He took a deep breath, steeling himself from the story he was about to share, and then he began. "Sabrina moved here from Iowa with the hopes of making it on Broadway. She was beautiful, smart, talented but she did have one flaw in her character and that was she was too trusting. She worked for me and did so for almost a year before she finally caught her break and landed a starring role in an off-Broadway production. That was when she met Dane. He was one of the investors in the small off-Broadway company where Sabrina had gotten the role. His family is very affluent and great patrons of the Arts so it wasn't really a surprise that the Carmichael name was tied to the production. He was charming and quite literally swept Sabrina off her feet. He wined and dined her and being that she came from very meager beginnings, it was all very exciting to her. One night after dress rehearsal, there was a cast party and Dane was there."

Lucien's hand clenched on the table as he struggled to continue with the story and then he lifted very hard eyes to Trace. "He didn't just rape her; he beat the shit out of her: broke her leg, a couple of ribs and gave her a skull fracture. It was a fucking miracle that she lived through it and the first few weeks of recovery in the hospital. She had no family so I made arrangements for a live-in nurse to stay with her to oversee her recovery. On the day she was discharged from the hospital, I took her home and got her settled before I ran out to pick up her meds from the pharmacy. The nurse was scheduled to start the following morning and so I had planned to stay the night with her so that she wasn't alone. I returned only fifteen minutes later but the place was too fucking quiet and then I found her in the bathroom. She was dead, sitting in a pool of her own blood from the deep, self-inflicted gashes on her wrists."

"I went after that motherfucker, used all of my substantial influence, but he's fucking untouchable. I knew that his grandfather was a district court judge, his uncle the fucking DA for the state of New York and his father the chief of staff for the governor but what I didn't know was how far over the line the Carmichaels were willing to go to keep Dane's true character a secret. They have to know that he's a monster and they have to know what he's capable of because someone is paying handsomely to not only keep Dane out of the press but to clean up after him."

Lucien's eyes burned with rage when he added, "A few weeks after Sabrina's death I received a rather large settlement from an anonymous source; it was hush money. I used their money to finance the investigators I hired to build a case against Dane, all the good that's doing me since everything they've uncovered is inadmissible, but the picture they're painting of Dane is that of a sociopath: a really fucking smart one. His attacks are premeditated and carefully planned. His victims are all lower income women with little to no family so if they should fall off the grid no one is the wiser and if they step forward to file charges they get buried under a pile of legal shit that they can't afford to fight."

A chill went through me because it suddenly made sense why Dane picked me. Before I was with Trace, I worked as a waitress, my very small family lived hours away and the only person in the city who really knew my day-to-day activities was Lena. I was pulled from my thoughts when Lucien addressed me.

"I saw the way he was looking at you, Ember." He looked at Trace and his eyes were burning with retribution when he said, "I want in and I offer you every connection at my disposal but Dane Carmichael needs to drop off the face of the Earth."

Trace reached across the table and as Lucien took his hand he said, "Agreed."

I was scared because they were talking murder but then Dane Carmichael was a sick, depraved animal.

Trent sounded fierce when he said, "Count me in."

That night, Trace and I lay side by side staring at each other. I knew we were both thinking about Lucien's story. I was scared and I understood what fueled Trace when he thought of Dane. He was right about him, had been from the very beginning, and to know that I was the one in Dane's crosshairs; I finally got it. As if he was reading my thoughts, he whispered, "I will do anything at all to keep you safe. You can't go anywhere alone, Ember, not until we deal with Dane."

"What are you going to do?"

"I think it's best that you not know that."

"If you go to jail, Trace, how do I survive that?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to go to jail. We aren't planning murder, Ember."

It was relief I felt at those words and though I knew it was more than likely that he was just telling me what he knew I wanted to hear, I was happy to play ignorant.

He ran his finger down my cheek as his eyes followed the progress before he said, "You sung beautifully tonight. I really love watching you sing. There's a quiet confidence about you when you do, not to mention, you looked positively radiant up on that stage."

I smiled, a secret little smile, which had him asking, "What's that smile for?"

"Do you know what I'm thinking about when I'm up there?"

"What?"

"You. When I sing, Trace, I'm singing for you."

His mouth came down on mine as he rolled to pin me under him. His fingers gently touched my face before running lightly down my neck. He pulled his mouth from mine to run kisses down my neck and lower still to the valley between my breasts before he worked his way back up to settle his mouth over mine again. My arms wrapped around him so I could trail my fingertips up and down his spine. His mouth pulled away as he lifted his head so he could look at me. He didn't say anything, but then he didn't need to since everything I was feeling was looking back at me and then his mouth covered mine again.

All the talk about the past had me really missing my mom so one day I sat in the living room with a box of her things. Among her possessions were her high school year book, pictures she had drawn, even a few journals from when she was younger. I took the yearbook and settled back against the sofa so I could page through it.

I couldn't help the smile as I read the little words of farewell that seemed so standard for a yearbook: meaningless and trite words like "Have a great summer", "You're really nice", "Good luck next year". Teenagers really didn't get the magnitude of graduating high school and moving on. They didn't understand that it wasn't just another day in a life but truly a milestone. People that you'd spent thirteen years of your life with were going to become nothing more than memories. People to whom you occasionally checked their status on Facebook, or saw at a reunion, but who would no longer have any real impact in your life. The words written as our younger selves were very nearsighted.

I paged through my mom's yearbook, stopping on my favorite photo of my mom and dad because in this picture there was no doubt at all how happy they were. My dad was right; what they had was what I had found with Trace and to know my dad lost her after only six years -- it wasn't enough and yet somehow he survived the loss of her. My dad was a very strong man.

I flipped through a few more pages and found a picture of my mom with another woman and it was only when I read the caption that I realized it was Teresa. I studied the photo for a while and couldn't suppress the feeling that I had seen this woman before. There was something familiar in the line of her jaw, the curve of her chin and her eyes. Her brown hair was long, longer than my mom's, and her blue eyes were shrewd unlike my mom who looked happy and carefree. Did this woman have anything to do with my mother's death?

I closed up the year book and looked through a photo album and, again, there was Teresa. These photos were a few years older but Teresa looked much the same. She looked hard and, unlike my mom's quiet elegance, she looked cheap. I knew in these pictures that my mom was just finishing her degree in nursing but what was Teresa doing?

I noticed the necklace around Teresa's neck; it was a lovely gold filigree heart pendant with a large diamond in the center. I couldn't help but wonder where she got such an exquisite piece of jewelry when she was dressed in what looked like Walmart clothing.

About an hour later, I was packing up the box when Trace came home. He didn't tell me where he was going when he left earlier so I assumed it involved Dane. We had a new policy, don't ask, don't tell and I was okay with that.

"Hi, Ember." He walked to me just as I stood with the box which he took at the same time his mouth swooped down and covered mine. Even just a kiss had the power to make my knees weak. He pulled back and grinned before he asked, "Where do you want this?"

"Shelf in the closet."

He kissed me again, a quick hard kiss, before he turned and started from the room. "Would you like another cooking lesson tonight?

I had asked Trace to teach me to cook because, well, I could use the lessons but more I wanted to share with him his love of cooking. I followed him into the bedroom and leaned up against the doorjamb. I had intended to answer him but then I got distracted as I watched him put the box away. His t-shirt was pulled tight so, as he stretched, the muscles of his back were outlined under the cotton. The fabric was pulling a bit from the waist of his jeans and that small flash of skin had my mouth going dry. It was surprise on his face when he turned to see me standing there but when he realized I was drooling a wicked gleam came into those eyes.

He started towards me, slowly and deliberately, and then he stopped before he reached for the back of his shirt and pulled it forward over his head. I was like a junkie and Trace was my drug. I had no will power when it came to him. He was like my life-size cake-pop and then I noticed the bandage over his left pectoral. Desire gave way to concern as I lifted my hand to touch the bandage.

"What happened?"

He was smiling at me, which I thought was an odd reaction to a wound, but then understanding slowly started penetrating my fuzzy brain as I echoed the words he had said to me once upon a time.

"What have you done?"

He said nothing as he reached up and removed the bandage. I just stared as love, and something feeling remarkably like possession, filled me. The tattoo was of a silver skeleton key. The bow was delicately ornate and along the blade my name was worked into the design but the best part was that the tattoo was situated so that it rested over his heart. My eyes filled with tears as I reached out and touched it and I understood what he felt when he first saw my tattoo.