The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Fifteen

Iraced outside, but of course he was gone. I couldn’t believe he had just taken off like that, left me and Skylar in the lion’s den without him. Seriously, what kind of a dick move was that? Skylar and the lawyer stayed behind while I dodged banged around the maze of an apartment, hoping to catch him before the elevator doors shut, and then had to jog down forty-three flights of stairs. But Eric, the monkey, had slipped away by the time I made it all the way down.

“2310 Forty-First. That’s Twenty-Third Street and Forty-First Avenue.”

I turned around to find Gracie, the kindly doorman, leaning casually against the bricks.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” I asked, gesturing toward the full uniform—and hat!—he was wearing despite the fact that it was at least seventy-five degrees outside.

Gracie shrugged. “You get used to it. Anyway, the address, that’s where young Mr. de Vries dashed off to. I don’t know what it is, but it’s in Queensbridge.”

I nodded and turned in the direction where I thought the subway was, but the second the words registered, I spun back around on my heel. “Wait a second. Isn’t Queensbridge a housing project? Didn’t Nas rap about it?”

Gracie gave a lopsided smile. He knew exactly what I was thinking. “I guess so.”

Lily-white, Upper East Side born and bred Eric was hanging out where hip hop was born? There had to be a mistake.

“Well, to be fair, that area is really more Long Island City now.” Skylar’s dry voice interrupted us as she stepped out of the building. “Hipster central. Eric probably goes there for the five-dollar coffee.” She gave me a long look. “Thanks for abandoning me up there, by the way.”

I hung my head. “Sorry, Sky. I just—”

“I know,” she interrupted, and the irritation on her face disappeared. “You couldn’t have known either.”

I turned. “Known about what?”

“The rumors. Brandon said people have been whispering about the de Vries procreating with their cousins for the last, oh, hundreds of years. They’re probably a little sensitive about it.”

I blanched. “Seriously? I’m actually marrying into an incest factory?”

Skylar chuckled and shrugged. “No more than say, Meghan Markle. It really is like the old European royalty, like you said. Limited gene pool, but they broke out of it eventually. Slowly, but surely.”

“The British press hate Meghan Markle.” I scowled. “And so do half the royals.”

Skylar rubbed my shoulder. “You can still back out, of course. But you should also know that the second you two walked out, Celeste asked her lawyer to transfer Eric’s trust into his name. You got what you wanted. The prenup. All of it. I’ll draw up the final papers today.”

I shook my head. “Then what the hell was all of that for? Why did the old miser have to put us through that entire song and dance?”

Skylar shrugged. “I wonder if she’s feeling, I don’t know…powerless, maybe. After you two left, she practically collapsed into her chair, and as soon as she gave her lawyer instructions, her butler rolled her into her bedroom. She’s not well. She’s desperate.”

It almost made me feel bad for her all over again. Almost. Well, I did feel bad for the incest cracks.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Looks like I have a mea culpa to make.”

“Listen, Brandon and I have to get back to Boston tonight, but the hotel room is yours for the week if you need it while you find a place or figure out where you are living. I had assumed with Eric, but… What are you going to do now?”

“I need to find Eric.”

Skylar nodded as if that was what she expected and pulled a piece of paper out of her briefcase. “Okay. Well, the grande dame asked me to give you your schedule for the next few months. As a condition for the prenup.”

I frowned. “My schedule?”

It was a calendar of social events for the summer season—including an engagement party for me and Eric.

“What the hell is a white party?” I wondered as I looked over the paper.

“I’m guessing a party where everyone wears white. It’s at their estate in the Hamptons, so maybe that should include swimsuits? I don’t know.”

“You better be coming to these too. God, there’s more.” Galas. Benefits. Luncheons. Mama Vader had my entire life booked from here until Doomsday. I looked up. “She was never going to say no. Look at this shit; she’s got me tied up like a victim on railroad tracks. Skylar, I can’t do any of this crap. I have to study for the New York State bar for the next two months.”

Skylar just rolled her eyes. “Jane, be real. You’re not going to have time to study for that. This wedding isn’t just a marriage, you know. It’s a public relations coup at a moment where corporations like this are facing serious public discord. I wouldn’t be surprised if Celeste conducts some kind of nefarious takeover of the board while the shareholders are too interested in the wedding to care.” She smirked. “Pink hair or not.”

I pondered this for a moment—now I really needed to talk to Eric. This couldn’t wait while he went pouting around the city. I signed on for a fake marriage, not a fake life. This could not happen.

“Okay, so, Long Island City,” I said. “Can I take the subway?”

Skylar nodded and checked her watch. “Better grab a cab, though. It’ll take you forever to get there from here at this hour.” She handed me a fifty. “Just take it, Jane!”

“Thanks,” I said. After all, I was kind of strapped.

* * *

Thirty minutes later,I paid the cabbie and stepped out onto a fairly nondescript street just on the other side of the city. From here, Manhattan rose tall, almost close enough to touch. This was Queens, but only just. I looked around the block. Yeah, Skylar was right. Other than the familiar-looking tenement housing (hey, I used to watch MTV) rising over the heads of the smaller apartment buildings and warehouses, this pretty much was hipster central. I could throw a rock and hit guy in skinny jeans or a flannel shirt.

I looked up at the building that matched the address Gracie had given me and frowned. Queensbridge Boulders read the nondescript signage on the doors.

“Rock climbing?” I wondered. “Seriously?”

I put my hand on the door and pushed inside.

It was hard to call a place like this a gym. Really, it was a giant warehouse that jumped about a hundred feet toward the sky and took up about a full city block. Massive, really, by most large-city standards. The air looked smoky, like I’d walked into a fog bank. And from the tops of about twenty different walls hung multicolored ropes from which actual people dangled like marionettes while others scaled twenty-, thirty-, even forty-foot walls like monkeys.

“Take!” one man shouted as he lost his footing. My breath flew to my chest as he dropped a solid five feet before the person holding onto the other end of the rope yanked it taut, catching the man by his harness at the other end. His foot slammed against the wall while he dangled from left to right, swinging like a pendulum.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I murmured. Who in their right mind would do this?

“How’s it going?”

I turned to the right, toward a guy with chin-length brown hair and a patchy brown beard. He looked like an extra from Lord of the Rings, but I couldn’t deny the gun show. One and two, practically splitting the seams of his holey T-shirt. Okay, so maybe playing Spiderman did a body good.

I approached the desk and nodded toward the rest of the room. “What’s with the smoke?”

The guy’s face screwed up in confusion. “Smoke…oh, ha. That’s chalk residue. It sort of gets into the air. We use it so our hands don’t slip on the holds.”

I glanced over my shoulder and caught one of the climbers dipping her hands into a bag on the ground. She rubbed them together, and a cloud of white powder emerged, then settled to the ground.

“I see,” I said. “I’m sure it’s great for the upper respiratory tract too, huh?”

“What?”

I shook my head and turned back to the receptionist. “Never mind.”

He looked me over, as if he just realized I’d walked in this way. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I wasn’t exactly a hobbit’s dream girl. Well, I wasn’t here to climb walls anyway. I was here to chew out a certain stuck-up Upper East Sider having a temper tantrum.

“So…can I help you with something?” he asked. Quick one, this guy.

I leaned over the counter and knocked my ringed fingers on the granite. The black diamond was particularly loud. “Do you happen to know Eric de Vries? Tall guy. Blond, handsome in an irritatingly debonair kind of way. Constant stick up his ass? I was told he was here today.”

Immediately, the receptionist’s face brightened. “Eric? Oh, yeah, he joined last week. Came in about thirty minutes ago. I think he’s upstairs in the bouldering area. You can head up there to find him, unless you’re planning to climb too…”

He looked me over doubtfully. I glared right back. No, my jumpsuit isn’t exactly made for strenuous exercise. Thank you and fuck off.

“Thanks, Frodo,” I said. “I’ll head on up.”

I made my way through the gym, trying and failing not to notice the way most of the men in there were extremely well-built. Okay, maybe I could get on board with this sport. Especially the way those cute little harnesses they wore framed their packages just right…maybe I did need to give rock climbing a try sometime…

“TAKE!”

I jumped as another person came flying off a wall, this time dropping almost twenty feet before the rope caught them. Yeah, fuck that. I’d take my exercise in the form of window-shopping, like God intended.

I found my way upstairs and entered another large, airy space bordered by climbing walls and covered with a floor that was basically made of sponge. It was like walking on a firm waterbed. These walls, however, were no more than about twenty-feet high, and people were scrambling up them without ropes, without anything to stop them from hitting the ground. And every so often, a person would lunge for one particular hold, their body swinging through the air like a damn chimpanzee. Multiple times they missed, and their bodies would hit the ground with a loud slap on the vinyl, where they would lie, recovering, for several more seconds before moving out of the way for the next climber to give it a try.

“Psychos,” I murmured. Everyone in this gym was certifiable.

“Yeah, Eric.”

“Get it, man. Do it.”

I turned around to find a few people watching a blond man scaling a severely overhung wall on the far side of the gym. I moved closer—sure enough, this psycho was Eric.

“God, he’s good,” muttered one lady climber to another male spectator.

“I know,” said the guy. “Did you see him flash that V-10? I’ve been working that problem for over a month.”

Eric gave a loud grunt as he managed to wedge a rubber-guarded toe into a crack in the wall. I watched, transfixed, as he looked up the wall, where his fingers were crimped onto nonexistent holds at a forty-five-degree overhang while his legs dangled, and then found equally small holds to balance on. Clothed in nothing but a pair of flimsy athletic shorts, every single muscle was cast in high relief. Every. Single. One.

My mouth was suddenly very, very wet.

“Come on, Eric,” cheered a few of the other people. “Finish it.”

He pulled slightly on the holds, and every muscle in both of his arms looked like they were cut from stone while his toes found a couple of other nubs Then, with a cry that sounded like it was coming from a wild creature, he pushed off all of the holds at once and jumped up the freaking wall to grab for a hold at the top. His body swung wildly, but fought for control as he slapped his left hand over the right and held on with another yowl.

“Yeah!” cheered the climbers next to me, and several others who had been watching erupted into light applause as Eric dropped at least twenty feet to the ground and rolled onto his back, breathing hard. I waited a few minutes until he’d been congratulated by his audience, and then, as the small crowd dispersed back into the gym, I approached where he lay.

“Woo! Go, Spiderman!” I cheered.

His eyes were closed, and his fair face was flushed, sweat pouring down his forehead. Then his eyes flashed open, and what was there was pure…vitriol.

It was like a shot in the chest. A punch in the stomach. Lord, I had never seen him look at me with that kind of hatred before. Hatred…I supposed I had earned.

He closed his eyes again, and the mask resumed. “Jane.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Petri.”

His eyes opened, irritation gleaming. Eric sat up as he massaged his neck. I winced sympathetically. Whipping his head against the mat, even if it was padded, would probably mean a nasty headache in about an hour.

“What are you doing here?”

I sank to my haunches next to him. I felt ridiculous. Out of place. Every person in here was dressed in completely no-nonsense garb. REI pants, shorts, or leggings. Chalk-covered T-shirts that looked like they’d been picked up at the Goodwill. And, of course, those silly little elf-shoes that apparently helped them scale walls. Meanwhile, here I was, in bright green and black, hair like birthday streamers, face full of my favorite makeup, including cherry-red lipstick. It was my usual look, but I felt more like an alien in this gym than I had last night.

“I came to look for you, of course,” I said, tapping on my bottom lip as I looked around. “Nice digs you got here. But what’s the point, if you don’t mind me asking? All that effort to scale a wall to…nowhere? I don’t get it.”

Eric opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue—isn’t that what I wanted too, deep down?—but something else completely came out.

“Do you have to wear that lipstick all the fucking time?” he demanded.

At first my jaw fell at his harsh tone, but a split second later, said lips spread into a smile. I shouldn’t have felt so cocky, but goddamn did I love it when he lost his cool. There was something so fucking satisfying about breaking through that apathy. About seeing him…care.

Besides, I was mad too. I didn’t particularly care for being ditched. So instead of making peace, I leaned over him, smacking my lips in a way that made his silvery eyes dilate.

“You used to like my lipstick,” I purred. “If I recall correctly, Petri dish, you liked licking it off.”

Eric’s nostrils flared as he swallowed hard. Fucking hell. What was I doing? Tempting fate? Why? I was the one who barred any of this crap with him, and here I was, goading him with everything I had. And yet…I couldn’t stop. It was addictive, watching him unravel this way. It was sadistic, the pleasure it gave me. The power…

And then, before I could take the words back, his left hand snaked behind my head, taking a harsh handful of hair and suspending me there above him. He didn’t hold me totally still, but I couldn’t escape either. And goddamn if I didn’t love it.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Eric said between gritted teeth.

My self-assured smirk wavered. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

Behind us, another climber fell, but neither of us moved. His grip tightened, right on the edge of a pinch and legitimate pain. Right where he knew I liked it. Eric squeezed until my lips fell open, dropping all bravado, and my eyes widened. Half in fear, half in anticipation. All in lust. Just the way he liked it, the bastard.

Fuck.

“Jane, you know exactly what I would do,” he said as he twisted my head, so I was now looking up at him. It was a subtle move, but established him firmly as the one in control.

I was trapped, but I wasn’t exactly trying to get away either. In fact, I was pretty sure that if I could see my own eyes, they’d be dilated too. His eyes were still pinned to my lips. I couldn’t help it. I licked them.

“Do you remember that night after the concert at Great Scott?” he asked in a voice that shook.

I remembered. Of course I fucking remembered. That was the night we hooked up—really hooked up—after graduating law school. That night was burned into my memory forever. Sure, we had a brief thing during our first year of law school, but it wasn’t until that summer, when we were both studying for the bar and running interference in Brandon and Skylar’s relationship that things really picked up.

Yeah, I’ll remember that night for the rest of my life.

“You teased me that night too, didn’t you, Jane?” Eric reminded me. He twisted my hair a little more.

I sucked in a breath. “Did I?”

Our mouths were maybe an inch apart. At this point, I was staring too, unable to keep my gaze off that plump lower lip of his. So soft. So fucking suckable.

“You were dancing,” he reminded me as his grip softened a bit. His fingers dug into the back of my head, massaging lightly, replacing that pinch of pain with a soothing rub. Again, my response was innate. I practically purred. It felt good, too good to move away.

“To every song. Shaking that sweet ass of yours. Shimmying your tits in every guy’s face who wanted a look. Drinking way, way more than you should.”

“Please. Like you weren’t?” I countered, though my voice was breathy and light. Challenge him, always challenge him.

He tightened his grip again, pulling my hair into a tight knot. My eyes flew open as my thick frames tipped off-kilter.

“I was doing just fine, thanks, keeping you out of trouble,” Eric growled. “But then you really fucked up, Lefferts. Do you remember? Do you remember what you did?”

A tiny muscle in the side of my neck fluttered, and Eric’s eyes zeroed in on the spot. Slowly, the tip of his tongue traced the outline of his mouth. I had to physically restrain myself from yanking him down to lick it. Fucking hell, Jane. What are you doing?

But I couldn’t stop. That was the problem. I could never stop with him.

“What did you do, Jane?” Eric shook my head a bit when I didn’t answer immediately. “Tell me. Now.”

“I-I spilled the beer,” I stammered.

“That’s right. You spilled the fucking beer. And where did you spill it?”

“All over my shirt.” My voice was breathy, barely above a whisper. Barely recognizable.

“That’s right,” Eric said again. “All over your shirt. I could see everything, and so could everyone else. Your bra. Your navel. Your perfect round breasts, and those tight nipples that you love pinched. You made such a fucking mess. Like a bad. Little. Girl.”

I mewled. I mewled, like a goddamn kitten. And then, because I couldn’t not look, I glanced down and saw, to my simultaneous delight and horror, that Eric was sitting there with a full-mast hard-on, barely concealed by the bend of his leg. Most of the people in the gym were too focused on what they were doing, and we were in the back, somewhat sheltered by the overhanging walls. But if anyone cared to look, they’d have seen him standing to attention, right here in the middle of the floor. And me, of course, practically salivating over it.

But did I move away? Like I should have? Like I told him I wanted?

Not a fucking inch.

“Be honest,” Eric said, his deep voice low, right next to my ear, so that only I could hear him. Shivers traveled down my spine. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“N-no.”

His eyes closed when I stuttered again. He remembered too. He remembered that I only did that when he was undoing me. When my lust and desire was too much to take, and I started to lose the capacity to do anything else…but him.

Eric jerked my head again, slightly, so that no one else would notice, but hard enough that I mewled again at the welcome pinch. Oh, this motherfucker.

“You’re lying,” he said through his teeth. “Aren’t you?”

He jerked my head again.

“Y-yes,” I admitted, more of a breath than a word. “Yes, I am.” Was I? Did it even matter?

“And you lied then too, didn’t you?”

Another miniscule nod.

“And what did I do?” Eric asked. My hair, wound tight around his fist, hurt a little, but I didn’t even try to fight it. “What did I do, Jane?”

My voice was little more than a whisper. “You punished me.”

He licked his lips again. I didn’t want to do anything else but kiss them.

“You were asking for it then,” he said as he leaned over me and drifted his other fingers around my jaw. “Are you asking for it now?”

The muscle in my neck fluttered against his calloused fingertips. I was honestly scared of what I would say. My eyes drifted up and down his body, taking in his shirtless chest, biceps, forearms, one fully flexed from the grip in my hair. Lord, he had already been reasonably fit, but five years of doing this had made Eric into a work of art. I watched, transfixed, as a drop of sweat traveled from his neck over a perfectly sculpted pectoral muscle, catching in the light smattering of hair over his chest. Fuck. Me. I sucked hard on my bottom lip.

What was I doing? But the word came out anyway, as if my body were answering because my mind had stopped working: “Y-yes.”

For a moment, it was as if the entire fucking gym faded away. I could see the future, each individual movement laid out, scene by scene, on a still reel of frames. Flip me on my back. Rip off my clothes. Drag me downstairs, use the ropes hanging from the ceiling to suspend me just the right height.

Tease me a little, then feed me his dick, one beautiful inch at a time. Give you something for that smart mouth, he’d say. Make me moan until he’d be shouting right along with me. Then clip me back up and fuck me hard enough against the wall that we’d both forget our names.

Just like last week.

Just. Like. Always.

Thwack!

A body slammed onto the crash pad next to us, yanking me out of my fantasy and back into reality. Eric’s hand released my hair, and I fell back to my elbows, looking dazed as he scooted away, glaring at the intruder.

“Sorry, man.” The climber picked himself up with a curious, friendly glance at me, then lumbered off to find another problem to try.

Eric shook his head, wiping his palms over his shorts as I got myself back together. I wiped the newly formed sweat off my own brow. Holy shit. What had just happened?

Eric looked at me hard, then picked himself off the ground.

“Give me ten minutes to shower and change,” he said. “And then you can tell me what the hell you are really doing here, besides trying to drive me crazy.”