Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (4 page)

I crumble the paper in my fist and lay my hands on the sink next to her thighs. The countertop feels cool on my skin compared to the ardor between us.

Confining her body in my arms, she looks so innocent and trusting. Her hair is knotted and snarled from dancing and last night's fuck fest, but somehow has kept its sleek texture. Her eyes are puffy, and the sandman's crust clings to the corners. Despite everything she would think would make her hideous, her beauty is unparalleled.

My eyes concentrate on hers. Blue to mossy green. I would give my life to be able to start over with her when I was a teenager. I could comfort her pain, live in her joy, and love in her heart.

What I wouldn't give to have countersigned all her feats and tribulations, sprinkled my desire for her over the years, and etched my fingerprint on every area of her body. I would've planted the seed of my love in her heart from the beginning. Our passion would have had time to flourish and entwine into one blissful life.

"No more tears. We're all okay. Well, most of us anyway." A grin forms on my face before I can restrain it.

"What happened to Viktor?" She wants answers, and she's not going to stop until she gets them.

I close my eyes and drop my head to think about how to address her weighted question. My entire life has been centered on protecting this woman. I never wanted to drag her into this mess, and now she's the queen in Viktor's ludicrous chess match with me.

Her voice is assertive. "Look at me."

I lift my heavy head and find myself treading water in the sea of her eyes. Someone needs to throw me a lifejacket.

"You can tell me." I want to be open and honest with her, but right here in her bathroom? I don't want to tell her and in the same breath beg her not to leave me. I was only trying to apologize and get her cleaned up.

I know Bryn's going to reveal what happened. Better if it comes from me. I can control the situation if I'm the one disclosing the information.

She glides her dainty fingers along my jawline. "Please..." The uneasiness in her eyes consumes my soul.

Here goes nothing.

"Your uncle shot Viktor in the hand before he could hurt anyone."

She raises her hand to her mouth. I'm the monster crushing this woman's life. What have I done? Maybe I should have chosen my words more carefully. I could have said Viktor was injured, or he was taken down. Oh well. It's irrelevant because Bryn saw the whole thing.

Her gaze shoots around the room as she mumbles, "Uncle Bernie... shot... Viktor? Why would he carry a gun? He wouldn't shoot someone… would he?"

Are these rhetorical questions? Cause I'm not saying another goddamn word. She's going to have to ask her uncle.

***

Ivy

Jacade told me to take a shower and left the bathroom to answer a call. His words whirl in my head as the scalding water sluices the grime from my body.
Uncle Bernie shot Viktor
. Those four words are oil bubbles floating in water. They won't mix no matter how much I shake them.

The timeline of my life plays out in my mind. When did I first meet Viktor? When I was sixteen. He got me arrested the first night. Jerk.

When did I get engaged to Viktor? Two years later at eighteen.

How long were we engaged? Six months.

I met Uncle Bernie the day after I left Viktor's house. I was walking into the Southside womens' homeless shelter when we collided. I helped him bring the trays of food items he was carrying inside. He stopped by to see me the next day and every day that week. Within a month, Uncle Bernie offered to pay for an apartment until I got on my feet. I was hesitant since the last person to offer help was Viktor, but I accepted because it seemed like I could trust him, and I was desperate for a way out.

After the apartment, he wanted to pay for my education, but I wouldn't allow it. I even repaid him for the rent on my apartment. He didn't know it. I made payments by taking a reduced paycheck every week until my debt was paid off. I was shocked when they bought me a car.

So, did Uncle Bernie randomly show up at the club, see Viktor holding a gun to Bryn's head, and shoot him? Of course Jacade wouldn't confirm or deny any of my theories. He told me to ask Uncle Bernie. You can bet I will.

***

Jacade

I would have much rather been in the shower with Ivy than make this phone call, but I had no choice. Bernard sent me a text message on my personal cell.

B: How did surgery go the other day?

He wants me to call him on the burners.

"Yeah." My tone is curt. Bernard and I aren't phone people. We've been bred to speak in person, so you can frisk someone for a wire.

"Anything?"

"No." Viktor hasn't been sighted since his cronies carried him out of the club with their guns drawn. "I told her you shot him. She wasn't going to let it go, Bernard." I brace myself for an ass chewing. At least I was the one to break the news and not Bryn. I rest my backside against her kitchen counter.

He doesn't say a word. I glance at my phone to make sure I haven't lost the call.

He exhales and sounds drained. "How'd she take it?"

I snigger. "About as well as you'd expect. She has even more questions. Be prepared." 

His voice intensifies in my ear. "Viktor did this on purpose. He knew if he involved Bryn, Ivy would push harder for answers. Let me know as soon as he surfaces. He's mine."

No, he's mine, old man.

Ivy stares at me from the hallway. My eyes examine her white terry cloth towel clinging to the shapes of her body. I follow a bead of water from the tip of her left earlobe, down her throat, and into the depths of her cleavage. Her nipples crown under the feathery material.

Jesus, woman.

"Gotta go." Turning to my side, I drop my burner phone into my pocket and put my personal phone in its place.

***

Ivy

He stands in my kitchen looking totally out of place. My cracker box of a kitchen with imitation wood cupboards and old appliances is nothing like his chef's paradise.

His leviathan frame rests on the edge of the countertop, his feet crossed at his ankles. He's still on his cell phone when his eyes meet mine. He ends his call and gawks at me.

I roll my hair in a long twist over my shoulder to ring out the water. He hasn't said anything to me, but his demeanor makes me giggle. "What?" Great, now I'm the giggling bimbo.

"We're two to one." His tongue sneaks out to saturate his corpulent lips. What the hell is he talking about? Feminist Ivy turns and shrugs at me from the chalkboard where she has written, 2:1? Yeah, I'm perplexed too.

"You've seen me twice in a towel. Now I've seen you once." Oh crap, he's right. I saw him in his office and right after working out. My hand flies to the top of my folded-over towel. Not sure why because he can't see anything. I think.

"Too late, baby. Already seen it and filed it." His smile is contagious as he drums his index finger to his temple. "Plus, I still get one more. Gotta make it even."

He strolls over to me and grabs my right hand. "I need to go make some arrangements. I'll check on you later." He pulls me behind him to the door.

"It's Friday. Won't I see you at work today?"

"Bernard closed the office today, and you're staying home. You've had a traumatic night." He kisses my temple.

"I'm okay. Really."

"Stay home and get some rest. Shane will be here shortly." He glances at my arm over my breasts. "And put some damn clothes on." He swats my bottom through the towel and exits.

I take a deep breath. He sucks the oxygen from the room when he leaves. I sigh and grip the towel to my body. Now what?

I call Bryn, but she doesn't answer.

Bryn texts me while I'm toying with the idea of going over to her house.

Bryn: I'm fine. Resting today. We'll talk later. <3 you.

Bum
-
bum
-
bum
-
bum
.

My phone jostles in my hands as a thumping noise on my porch startles me. I open my front door to find Shane perched on a ladder and drilling something into my wall. He glances down at me but resumes his work. Oh darn, I'm still in my towel. Well, he was polite about it.

"Hello, Ms. Summers. Feeling better this morning?" I do my best to conceal my chest with my arms.

"Yes, I'm a little shaken up, but I'll survive. Can I ask what you are doing?"

"I'm installing a security system." He pushes a screw through a bracket and drills it into the wall. The porch light blinks off. Shane doesn't look phased. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and places the end in his mouth. The light streams onto his current project.

"Okay, breaker's off. The retina scanner goes in first?"

A handsome young man in his early twenties with long, straight, blond hair draped over his shoulders climbs my steps and stands in the doorway. He leers at me from bottom to top and smiles a shit-eating grin.

"Ms. Summers, this is Rory. Rory this is Ms. Summers," Shane says.

"Nice to meet you, Rory." He flashes his brilliant white teeth and nods at me.

I spin and march back into my living room. Jacade could've asked me first. Through my annoyance with Jacade, I overhear Rory say to Shane, "Dude, ya think Trip will share her?"

Shane's stern voice answers his question. "Don't call me dude. And if you value your life, you will never think that thought again."

Huh. Who's Trip?

I scurry to my bedroom and put on my pajamas. Jacade's right. I'm bone-weary and ready to drop. The exhausted hamsters in my head need a break. Maybe in sleep I can pretend for a moment last night didn't happen.

Ivy

Tourists and natives clamber on the streets of Columbia. A barista scoops beans into the grinder, and the glorious smells waft through the humid air. The taste of the life-giving brew on my lips awakens my sleepy brain. I can't believe I slept all the way through till Saturday. My body must have needed the rest.

"Did you make me a cup?" My eyes pop open to my hot ass doc standing on the other side of my dining room table. I choke and spill hot coffee on my lap.

His biceps bulge under a black, V-neck sweater. Five pocket, straight-leg, gummetal gray jeans conceal his brawny legs. White, retro Air Jordan high-tops with silver accents finish off his casual attire. How fitting; Dr. Jordan is wearing Air Jordans.

I brush the droplets from my lavender pajama pants. "In the kitchen. How'd you get in?"

Jacade strolls into my kitchen and comes out with a cup. "Retina scanner. I wanted to test it to make sure it worked."

"Oh yeah. Is all that necessary?"

"Yes." His voice is final. "Your safety is a priority. We're not taking any chances with Viktor."

We stare at each other.

"My landlord isn't going to be happy about the holes Shane put in the drywall when he installed that security system."

"I took care of it. Don't worry." He smiles over his cup. "Go get ready. I'm taking you out today." He walks by me and taps the tip of my nose with his finger.

He saunters off into the living room and speaks over his shoulder to me. "Dress warm. No heels."

No heels? What's he planning where I can't wear heels? Because in my book, no heels means no fun.

As I walk to my bedroom, rampant butterflies materialize in my tummy and bash off my cushy stomach lining. Not sure I'm ready for the intensity of an all-day date with Jacade.

My favorite stonewashed, boyfriend-fit, shredded jeans should meet his dress warm requirement. Sure, they have holes in them, but they still keep you warm. Hmm. No high heels. My red Converse high-tops with a wedge heel make my hips look svelt in these skinny jeans. I pair my shoes with a fitted, red-and-white flannel shirt, leaving a few snaps open at the top.

My hips still look big when I check my final look in my bathroom mirror. A little bronzer, mascara, and nude gloss keep my makeup casual. I curse the family member who gave me these crazy curly tendrils that refuse to be straightened or tamed.

Here goes nothing.

Jacade lounges on my living room couch scrolling on his cell phone. He doesn't see me right away, so I take the opportunity to admire him from afar.

His legs are spread wide and his forearm rests on the arm of the couch. The memory of Viktor sitting in exactly the same chair with the same posture a couple of days ago sends a shudder through my body. I hug my midsection.

"Hey, beautiful, you ready?" he says without looking up from his phone. How did he know I was ogling him?

"I think so. I hope I'm dressed appropriately for whatever we're doing." I smooth my jeans on my thighs and tug at the hem of my shirt.

He rises from the couch and strides to me. His eyes widen as he takes in my outfit. His gaze stalls on my breasts and his eyebrows narrow. Maybe this shirt is too tight. He scans my hips, then looks down to stare at my shoes. He tilts his head to the right like a dog listening to his owner's voice on the telephone.

He clears his throat and bends to look me directly in the eye. "No heels."

"These aren't heels. They're wedges." Pointing my right toe, I look down at my shoes and rotate my foot.

"Same thing," he says.

"They are not."

"Go change. Now."

"But these match my outfit." His nostrils flare, and his shoulders rise with his deep breath.

"Ivy, go now, or your ass will be the same shade as your wedges."

What does he mean my ass?

"Is that so, Dr. J?"

"It so is."

"Well, then, I'm definitely wearing these." I prop my hands on my hips and do a Vanna White knee bend.

His eyebrows rise, and he stares me down. My serious expression crumbles, and we both laugh. He rushes me and tackles me to the ground. He pins my wrists above my head and kisses me. Raising himself on his arms, he peers down at me. "We've gotta go. Bring some tennis shoes with you."

***

Ivy

His car parked by the curb automatically unlocks as we approach. The sun sparkles off the glossy hood of a black Jaguar. He opens the passenger door for me, and I lower my rear end into the comfy seat, slipping my running shoes on the floor next to my feet. I pull my legs into the car and look up at him. He leans one arm on the roof, the other on the door and whispers in my ear. "You look utterly fuckable in that outfit, by the way." He shuts my door, and moments later, slides into the driver's seat.

He puts on a pair of sunglasses and drapes his left hand over the steering wheel. He laces our other hands together and raises them to his lips to kiss my fingers. I lift my eyes from our grip, and I'm stunned by how his dark shades fit his strapping features. The devilish bad boy in sleek Prada sunglasses.

"How about a little music?" I signal yes with my head.

"Any preferences?" I shake my head no.

"You haven't lost your voice in the last couple of seconds, have you?" I shake my head no.

"Good, because that would be disastrous. Play track four." The intro to "Take Me Home Tonight" blasts from the speakers and into my ears. He can't be serious.

I throw my head back and laugh. "You didn't just put on Eddie Money."

He gives me a sinful grin and lowers his head so his shades slip down the bridge of his nose. He stares at me above the rims and imitates holding a microphone in his right hand. His shoulders roll in a wave to the beat as he belts out the first verse. Wow, he can dance, and his singing isn't too shabby either!

With his nose scrunched and his teeth biting his bottom lip, he presses his back to the seat and grinds his hips in the air. Lord, have mercy. Those hips. His left hand flies to his chest and drums over his heart. His lips serenade me as if he's a Chippendale and I'm a bachelorette strapped to a chair. Hell, I'll go home with you every damn night.

"You're nuts!" Laughter emerges from deep in my belly. I grab his fake microphone and sing the sultry lyrics for the woman's voice in the song. We finish our duet into his fist.

He opens his hand and mimics dropping a microphone on a stage. "We nailed it."

"For sure." I lean back in my seat and turn my head to him, a huge smile plastered on my face.

He places his left hand on the steering wheel and stares at me. He pushes his sunglasses up with his index finger. My mischievous schoolboy has returned.

He presses the flashing ignition button, the gearshift flips up, and the touch screen glows a phosphor blue. He hits another button, and the sun's rays hit my face as the roof folds in origami fashion into the body of the car. I suppose he does resemble Bruce Wayne.

His face sobers, and his voice carries a hint of diffidence when he speaks. "Do you still trust me?"

What a complicated question, Dr. Jordan. Lots of stuff went down last night, and no one has elaborated on the situation. He pulls a black handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans and holds it in the air between us.
The
handkerchief. What's he going to do to me in the car... on the side of the street... in broad daylight?

His eyebrows rise above the rim of his sunglasses. I nod even though this time I had to think about if I trusted him or not. I show him my answer by turning my head toward the passenger window.

"Mmm." He hums his approval in my ear. My vision fades to black as the silky handkerchief covers my eyes, smooth and cool against my warm skin. He secures the knot snug around my head and gathers my hair, laying it over my left shoulder.

His balmy breath prickles my ear. "All right, gorgeous. No peeking."

No peeking? Slut Ivy has already cut slits in her handkerchief. Cheater. Feminist Ivy has hers tied up in her hair. She's not playing any of his games today.

***

Ivy

My body barely moves with the twists and turns of the road. The molded passenger seat in this high-performance vehicle cradles my butt while the powerful engine rumbles beneath my feet. My loose hair whips around in the air like ribbons in a rhythmic gymnastics competition. The sun follows us and places summery kisses on my cheeks. The weather is unseasonably hot for September, and Jacade cranks up the Jag's air-conditioning. Why did he tell me to dress warm?

The butterflies in my stomach have gone ballistic and not being able to see has upped the stress on my fragile nerves. The car stops and his soothing breath returns to my earlobe. "Keep the handkerchief on. I'm coming over to get you."

My door clicks open, and he fiddles with the laces of my Converse non-heels. He pulls one off, then the other. I wiggle my
freed
tootsies in my socks.

"Point your toes." He shoves and shimmies my running shoes on and ties them for me. "There, now your ankles might survive today unscathed." He takes my hands and escorts me up and out of the car.

"Wrap your arms around my neck." When I do as instructed, he slips one arm behind my back and presses the other under my knees.

"Whoa!" In one quick motion, I'm swept off my feet. He forges ahead with me still blindfolded in his arms.

"I'm going to set you down now." He holds onto my waist and drops my feet to the ground. Cinching my shoulders, he hauls my backside to his front.

His firm abs
,
hard cock
...

"I want to give you everything you've ever dreamed of, Ivy. Including wings if you want to fly." He loosens the handkerchief and it falls off my face. My eyes blink to adjust to the brightness of the sun's rays.

The sun bounces off an enormous aluminum airplane hangar. We're going flying?

He laces our fingers together, entwined like a hand-sewn historic quilt. "Follow me." Okey dokey. I'll go anywhere you want me to go.

I trip over my own feet a few times as we walk to the entrance, but his grip is firm, and he steadies me. He opens the metal door and reveals an airy space with concrete floors, and a polished aircraft in the middle of the bay. An older gentleman with dirty-blond hair pops his head out of the plane and waves. He jumps to the ground and wipes his oil-stained hands with a rag. Jacade waves back and jogs to meet him.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," the man says to Jacade. His tie-dyed T-shirt with the words
Dive Bombers
 written across it is plagued with tiny holes from overuse and frequent washing. Shirts like those are the greatest.

"Hey, Frank. Thanks for coming in today." Jacade's eyes light up, and he yanks Frank into a friendly hug.

"Anything for you." He smiles at Jacade and gestures to the plane. "What do you think of my Super Grand Caravan 850 Blackhawk? She's a beaut, isn't she?"

Jacade places his hands on his hips and inspects the plane. "That's one fine flying machine you got there, Frank." They both laugh.

Frank runs the rag under his fingernails and into his palm. "You would know, Jacade. I can't thank you enough for stepping in and helping me. I don't know what I would've done if—"

Jacade cuts him off. "Not one more word about it." Jacade slaps his hand on Frank's back.

Holy crap. Did Jacade buy this man an airplane?

"Frank, I'd like you to meet Ivy." Frank's eyes broaden as he and Jacade turn and walk toward me. I check my outfit in case my underwear is peeking out or something. Nope, all good.

"Ivy, great to meet you." Frank shakes my hand and sports a genuine smile.

"Nice to meet you too, Frank." He seems sweet. Frank watches me for an uncomfortable moment as if he's trying to decide if I'm real or not.

He claps his hands together and startles me. "Well, let me know when you're ready." He strides off, but stops and turns halfway to the plane.

"Oh, Jacade. Frank Jr. will be here in ten." Jacade waves, and Frank jogs back to the plane.

Jacade strolls to me and takes my hands in his. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" I ask.

"Feel like jumping out of a plane today?"

Oh my god. "By myself?"

"No, with me. Tandem."

"Are you serious? Skydiving is on my bucket list! This isn't happening."

"I am very serious, and it is happening right now." I leap into his arms. Everything else is forgotten. Uncle Bernie, Aunt Helen, Viktor. Especially Viktor. I'm going skydiving! Like today! With my sex god on a stick!

He presses a laughing kiss to my ear, and his voice is enthused as he says, "Let's get suited up."

***

Jacade

Shit. The expression on Ivy's face. Like a child watching fireworks on the Fourth of July. She's glorious.