Uncovering You 9: Liberation (9 page)

Escape is impossible. Sometimes the binds of our psychology tie us together better than the strongest tethers.

But none of that means I have to be a passive recipient of Jeremy’s treatment anymore.

In fact, I refuse to be. The games are over. Experimentation is finished. No one can convince me otherwise.

I just wish somebody could convince Jeremy.

As always, I’m left on my own. It’s a challenge. Isn’t that the way I always wanted things, anyway? To be self-sufficient, not relying on anybody but myself?

I’m more like Jeremy than I thought. He doesn’t believe in luck. And
I
believe in self-sufficiency.

Aren’t those just two sides of the same coin?

I yawn and turn back. On my way, I glimpse myself in a mirror. There’s just enough light to see my face. Jeremy was right. The swelling has completely faded. I don’t think there’s going to be a bruise. My right eye might be a little puffy in the morning, but other than that, I won’t be much worse for wear.

Am I weak to accept Jeremy’s treatment of me without fighting back? I want to laugh. Me? Fight back?
Physically
? Most men out there would be intimidated by Jeremy Stonehart. What chance would I stand?

None, of course. But it’s not physical violence that even appeals to me. No, if I want to actually harm Jeremy Stonehart, I want to do it more insidiously than that.

If
something like this comes about again. I provoked him at dinner, no doubt. In a way, this was my fault. And he seemed repentant enough after…

Whatever. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. The bed’s big enough that I can even pretend Jeremy’s not there.

As I climb the stairs and walk down the familiar dark hall, I pick up strange sounds coming from the bedroom. Grunting. Rasping. Half-swallowed, barely distinguishable words, in a clearly distinguishable voice:
Jeremy’s.

My heart starts to beat faster and I pick up my pace. I rip open the doors and see him.

He’s thrashing back and forth, arms and legs caught in the sheets. “No. No. N-n-n-n-no-n-no,” he keeps saying, over and over again.

I rush to his side. His eyes are screwed shut. His jaw is clenched. His body jerks back and forth in uneven, convulsive movements. “No. No. No.”

He’s in the throes of some nightmare. I’ve never seen him like this. His sweat is all over the sheets. It lingers in the air like the remnant of a disease. And still he jerks back and forth, jaw clenched tight. “N-n-n-n-n-no!”

Is that the stutter he’s repressed? It must be.

I don’t know what to do. I look at him, too scared to interrupt, but too invested in his suffering to simply look away. “No. No. N-n-n-n-no!”

“Jeremy?” I say softly, trying to make my voice as calm as possible. I reach out to touch his arm. “Jeremy, it’s all right. I’m here. I—“

“
GET OFF ME, ROSE
!” he roars, flinging my hand away and jolting upright. He’s breathing hard, gasping for air, eyes wide, fully awake.

And me? I just cower, heart thundering, his words caught forever in my ears.

He looks at me without seeing. And then, shifts back into himself. His breathing slows. He looks at me, looks down at the tangled sheets, and a gradual understanding dawns on his face.

“How much did you hear?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “N-nothing,” I stammer.

He nods. “I scared you, didn’t I?” His fists clench. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you about…” he looks around the room, “…this side of me.”

Carefully, I pick my way over to him.

‘
Don’t touch me, Rose.’ What could he have meant by that? Was it just something his mind threw out, or is there deeper meaning behind those words?

“Have you always had nightmares?” I ask. He lifts up the blanket and I climb in next to him. His skin is hot to the touch, and damp like with a sickness.
Having me close seems to put him at ease, however. So I let him hold me.

“They come and go,” he tells me. Even though his voice is absolutely steady, I can feel his body trembling, just a little, beneath mine. This is the most shaken I’ve ever seen him.

“When was the last time?”

“Honestly? Years before you came along. I thought I was free of them.” He exhales a long breath. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

“What do you see?” I ask.

“Most of the time? Memories of my past life. Of who I was before I became…me.” He looks down at me. “Things I don’t want revisited, but things that come anyway.”

“You can tell me,” I say, and I hope to God he knows I’m telling the truth. “If you want. If you need to.”

“You’re sweet.” He kisses my crown. “But no, Lilly. I don’t want to burden you with the things that haunt me.” He starts to rise. “I need a shower. And then to work… to cleanse my mind of… bad things.” He sounds distracted. “There won’t be more sleep for me tonight, of that I’m sure. The gym? A workout would be nice. Somewhere I don’t need to think. Somewhere I can be utterly alone…”

He stops, and frowns at his words. Was he just thinking to himself? Maybe I’m not the only crazy one in this house.

He looks back at me. “Goodnight, Lilly. Until the morning.”

“Goodnight,” I whisper, and watch him go.

Chapter Eleven

Don’t touch me, Rose
.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get those words out of my head. They are on repeat as I drive with Jeremy to work. They’re all I think about as one of his assistants takes me away and shows me to my new office. They’re all I can focus on as some senior partner or other comes and lectures me on the details of my new job.

It feels good, albeit a little frightening, to be back amongst people. Particularly so soon after waking up in that unfamiliar room in Colorado with the first mention of brain damage fresh on my mind.

But my own concerns pale in comparison to what I feel for Jeremy.

It’s no secret anymore that we’re together. Everybody in the building knows it. They’ve seen the pictures. They’ve heard the chatter. And if they look at me a bit differently now that they know I’m sleeping with the most powerful man in the city, well, so be it.

Don’t touch me, Rose
.

That’s what he screamed when caught in the clutch of his night-terror. That’s who he thought
I
was, when I brushed his arm.

Why? He said he dreams of the past. Of the time he still lived under his father’s shadow. Charles and Jeremy go back all the way to that time.

Could he and Rose have the same connection?

Halfway through the day, I find myself lingering by the elevators, in the exact same spot I was that time Hugh found me.

Hugh is his father, and he works in the building,
I think.
Hugh is his father,
and Jeremy explicitly asked me if he had mentioned Rose when he came unannounced to my door in Boston.

There is a connection. I’m positive. But how far does it run?

I debate calling on Jeremy, and then decide against it. I don’t want to interrupt him at work. Besides, I have things I should be doing. Getting acquainted with all I’ll be responsible for.

I turn away—and am startled by the sight of Hugh, looking all the more like a sly, devilish bird, peering at me from the corner.

“Hello, my lovely,” he greets me. He strides forth and gently but firmly takes my arm. “My son’s paramour.”

I recoil inwardly from his touch. I try not to let my discomfort show. Now that I know exactly who Hugh is, and all that he’s responsible for, in screwing up Jeremy’s life from childhood and all the consequences of that upbringing, I want nothing to do with him whatsoever.

But I’m also not dumb enough to spit a gift horse in the face. Hugh might have valuable information for me. And it’s obvious he still wants something from me, or else he would not have come to seek me out on my very first day back.

“Does Jeremy know you’re talking to me?” I ask, pivoting smoothly to make it appear that the way he’s leading me is exactly where I wanted to go all along.

“I’m almost certain he has more important matters to attend to,” Hugh replies. “But despite that, yes. You’ve evoked some sort of curiosity within him. You’ve made him start to act like an unreasonable man. And my son, for all his flaws, was never anything if not reasonable.”

“So he allows you to call him ‘your son’ now, does he?” I ask.

Hugh shrugs. “The secret’s out. Not that it should have ever been one to begin with. It’s almost like he’s somehow…hmm,
ashamed
of me.”

“Gee. I wonder why that would be.” I don’t hide my disdain.

Hugh shakes his head. “Such a bratty child,” he says, half to himself. “Under my roof such remarks would not have been taken lightly.”

“Under your roof?” I scoff, and wrench out of his grip as we come into his private office. “The one you raised Jeremy under? Look what that got you. Such a
spectacular
success.”

Hugh gives a small, curious smile. “Isn’t it?” he wonders. “My youngest son, the largest shareholder of the stock market’s most coveted company. My youngest son, the darling of the country’s media. The roguish heir of a fortune he discarded to create his own place in the world.” His eyes focus on me, full of dark, sly understanding. “If you don’t call that a success,
Miss Ryder
, then I don’t know what it might be.”

“He didn’t do it because of you,” I sneer, my voice full of loathing. “He did it in
spite
of you. He did it to take back the part of the world that you stole from him.”

“Ah. Are things really so simple?” Hugh settles back into his chair across the table from me. “Do those distinctions really make a difference? What does it matter what the motivations are, if the outcome is the same?”

“It matters,” I say, but refuse to indulge him by elaborating on my stance. “What do you want, Hugh? Why did you bring me here? Is it to scare me with the collar once more?” I flash all my teeth in a vicious grin. “Because I’m afraid you’ll find me stalwartly immune.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head and waves my suggestion away with the most dismissive of gestures. “I’m not one for such theatrics. That last unfortunate incident was all Jeremy’s idea, I fear. I warned him against it too, you know. I told him you wouldn’t like it.”

“Whatever,” I say. “Tell me what you want so I can get back to my own work. I’m not paid to mince words with you.”

“No, you’re paid to warm my son’s bed,” he says while rifling through his drawer, not looking my way.

A violent spark of hatred blasts to life inside me at the accusation. I don’t rise to the bait. I just file it away as one more ugly grievance I have against the man.

“It’s sad, really, how hard you try to get under my skin,” I say. “Why? Is it jealousy? Are you envious that I get to share in your son’s success while you’re stuck playing your little games out of this hole?” I look around the darkened office. “You really are a rat.”

Well, so much for not rising to his bait.

“Here,” he says, ignoring my remark and emerging from his little cavern to extend an envelope to me. “You should take this.”

“Again?” I ask. The envelope looks identical to the one he brought to my room in Boston. “I said no the first time. Why would things be any different?”

“Take it,
Lilly
,” he says. “It’s worth more to you than you suspect.”

I lift my chin and turn away. Jeremy doesn’t want me accepting anything from Hugh. I’m not about to go breaking the rules now.

“Turning your back on me is a big mistake,” Hugh warns softly

I stop. The threat in his voice is undeniable. The words are also so eerily close to what Jeremy said last night that they bring me back to that frightening moment.

But I’m not about to cower before Hugh. He has no power over me. No influence. Whatever hold he has over Jeremy has long since expired.

So I spin back, defiant and even angry that he would dare threaten me now. “Why?” I challenge. “I’m not afraid of you, Hugh. I despise you. I know what you did to your son. I know how you treated your wife. I know the kind of man you are. You’re despicable
.
You’re not worth the dirt on the soles of my feet.”

“High and lofty words coming from one so preciously guarded,” he says. He shakes his head, unaffected by my outburst. “You don’t even know what’s going on around you. Do you? You’re truly blind to it all.”

I square my shoulders. “And what is it I’m blind to, precisely, pray tell?”

“Now, now, it’s not my place to do that,” he mutters. He lifts the envelope toward me once more. “You might find
this
a good starting point, however.”

“I don’t want it,” I tell him again. “I’m not getting caught in your web. You can stake your life on that.”

“Ah,” he smiles. “Don’t you see, my dear? It’s not
my
life that is at stake.”

I’ve had enough. I turn away and stride to the door. These types of threats are just meant to upset me. To make me more confused.

Well, the only one confused here is Hugh. I’ve dealt with worse. I’ve dealt with his son. Hugh doesn’t hold a candle to Jeremy in any way. He’s less direct, sneakier. The only way he’ll get what he wants—whatever that may be—is if I respond to him.

And if I simply shut him out? Well, that leaves him powerless. He’s bound by whatever rules Jeremy’s placed on him. If he’s trying to weasel his way out, somehow, through me, it‘s not going to happen.

At least, not with my willing participation.

“Two times, now,” he says softly. “That’s some lovely coloring you’ve got on your cheek. Tell me. Did my son give you that?”

No
.

I touch my face. I’d done an impeccable job of covering up the tiny bruise this morning. There’s no way Hugh could have seen through it.

I look over my shoulder. He has his hands steepled in front of him, fingers joined together to make an upside down V. He is the image of composure.