Saxon’s Distortion by C.A. Rene

Saxon

The compound is quiet when I arrive in the early hours of the morning. It’s still dark outside as I call down to Trent to come open the door. When the garage style door begins to roll upward, Trent slowly comes into view. He’s still in great shape for a man well over fifty, only his stark white hair tells his age.

“Hey brat,” he grins.

“Hey old man,” I chuckle and shake his hand. “What are we hoping for with this meeting? A quick trip to Mexico to spray bullets into the Ramirez mansion?”

“You may be a Greene in name, but the Torres blood is potent.” He laughs while throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Your Uncle Carm would’ve loved you.”

The older he gets, the more he reminisces about the old days, and the more he gets lost in the nostalgia of it. He and Uncle Carm were close and no matter how much time has passed from his death, Trent still gets affected by it.

“How’s Cat and the baby?” I steer him away from the thoughts that make his eyes glisten with tears.

“She’s starting to show and it’s pissing her off that she can’t train the way she’s used to.” He chuckles, those threatening tears receding.

“I bet Carmelo and Cameron are little bitches about it, too.” I snicker, making Trent laugh harder.

“Complete bitches.”

“When is the leader of this mercenary group scheduled to arrive and what’s his name?” The elevator door opens and we both step in.

“His name is Raul De La Paz and they’ll be here in a few hours. Get some rest if you need it.” He warns.

“Don’t need it.” I assure him as the door opens into the main corridor of the compound, “what’s your gut telling you about this?”

I trust Trent on all things Cartel.

“Mercenaries speak the language of money and loyalty isn’t their strong point. As long as we keep them paid, they’ll keep up their end of the bargain.”

“Which is what exactly?” I turn to him as he stops in the middle of the corridor.

“To tell us any and all plans the Ramirez Cartel are making.”

I leave him with a nod and head to my room. I don’t like bleeding money to a gang of fighting assholes and not getting a proper return on it. So, after this meeting today, I will be planning my next Mexican vacation.

The six men sitting around the table look rough, hardened, and untrustworthy. I hate to judge anyone by their appearance, but these guys are making sure we do just that. When I heard mercenaries, I pictured military clad men in camo. Instead, I’m sitting with a bunch of thugs, and can’t help but be sceptical.

“We’ve called this meeting to meet you face to face and hopefully build a rapport,” Carmelo begins, “our allies in Mexico are shaky at best and we were a little apprehensive about them hiring a large team.” Always so diplomatic.

“We were told we may be needed at a specified time to take out a target,” one of them leans forward, “are you thinking it may be you?”

“I would assume so; we’ve had some spilled blood.” Carmelo nods.

As they converse, I scrutinize the guy closely. He’s certainly better dressed than the others, giving off an air of authority, and he’s clean shaven. His black hair is long, brushing his shoulders, and he has on a silk top, open at the chest. Everything screams leader from him, only he’s not. His eyes tend to flick to the man sitting across from him and to my immediate left.

No one has introduced themselves as of yet, but I would bet Raul is sitting next to me and not the guy slapping his chops to Carmelo. It’s irritating how naive and trusting he is, and I decide to start training him on being suspicious of everything. I keep my eye on the idiot who’s talking but notice from my peripheral vision, the smirk on the real Raul’s face. He thinks he has us all fooled.

He’s in a pair of baggy jeans which are filthy from the knee down, his shoes are probably Nike, but I can’t see from how badly they’re falling apart. The long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing is a faded black almost gray, and his facial hair is scraggly. His hair is shining from grease as it hangs around his ears in limp curls.

“That’s all great,” I cut the yapping dog up, “but I was hoping to hear more from Raul.” My body circles to look at the guy to my left, “since it was with you, we requested this meeting.”

He smiles wide, showing how impressed he is. “Congratulations,” he looks over at Carmelo, “you have at least one smart man on your team. I am Raul De La Paz.”

“Look, we’re not here to play games.” Carmelo gives Raul an irritated look.

“I cannot believe you thought my newest trainee was me.” Raul lets out a loud laugh. I can feel my blood boil and instead of holding it in, I let that fucker free.

One of my throwing knives is in my hand and flung across the table in two seconds flat, the serrated tip well embedded in the trainee’s skull.

“I like a good game of throwing the knife in the donkey, shall we continue playing?” I open my jacket and show my three remaining knives.

The room remains quiet as I stand and slowly walk around the table, passing along each of our guests. Each of them stiffen and when I’m standing behind the slumped over body of the trainee, I yank my knife out of his forehead, wiping the blood onto his shirt.

“This is nice,” I finger the material, “is this silk?”

Trent and a few other guards are standing at the door and his eyes are shining with pride. He knew this could potentially happen, but looking at him now, I think he was more hopeful it would.

“It is silk.” Raul confirms.

“Such a farce!” I grip the dead man’s shoulder and give him a shake, “the complete intelligence in this ploy!” Pulling on the ponytail, I make the bloodied face fall back, the eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, “too bad you were killed for it.” The last words are said with my eyes on Raul, making it very apparent we can play this game all fucking day.

“We did not know an assassin would be present during this meeting.” He says quietly, violence coating his words.

“That was your first mistake, always expect the unexpected.” I walk back around, sauntering behind all his men, and sit back in my seat, “I’m not just an assassin,” I lean on the table. “But, similar to you, I’ll do just about anything for money.”

He remains quiet and looks around at his remaining men. “What did you want to discuss?” He’s now speaking to me, not Carmelo.

“What the fuck does the Ramirez Cartel need with a bunch of rag-tag mercenaries?”

“Escuchame, Puta-” one of the other men growls and I reach for a knife. I’m down with dropping each one of them like flies.

“Calma,” Raul holds up a hand and it trembles slightly, apparently, he’s a quick learner, “let’s all discuss this without any more bloodshed.”

I sit back in my seat and wave him on. Grinning when the disgust is evident in his gaze. He doesn’t like not being the biggest fish in the room, but right now he’s facing a fucking shark.

“Julio Ramirez hired us two months ago, at first it was protection detail. He was worried someone was watching him and he was worried an assassination attempt would be made. So, we accompanied him whenever he left the house.” He folds his arms onto the tabletop and leans forward, “he is quite paranoid because soon after that, he asked us to stay on at his estate for twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

“Because he’s worried about an assassination?” My brow lifts.

“Si.”

“What would he need with fifty-seven mercenaries?” I rub my chin. “I’ve been to his estate; it would mean you would all be tripping over each other.”

Raul smiles again and my hand slips to my knife belt, his eyes follow the motion. “He’s been quiet with his intentions,” Raul’s hands come up when my fingers grip a knife, “but I’m planning on telling you as soon as I know.”

“Great,” I nod, “in the meantime,” my finger points to the man who almost took my second knife, “your son will stay here with us, in good faith.”

“What?” Raul’s eyes widen, “my what? No, that’s not-”

“We have great facilities here,” I smile and blink slowly, “and the food is good. The women?” smacking my lips on a chef’s kiss, “superb. Or men if that’s your thing.”

“Eduardo is not staying here.” Raul growls and tries to sound intimidating. “He’s my second in charge.”

“Even better, maybe you’ll work faster to get the information to us.” Carmelo finally chimes in.

I have my throwing knife twirling around my finger and my eye firmly on little Eddy, my threat clear to everyone in the room. I’m tense, each muscle locked and loaded, ready to spring into action.

“I will not forget this affront on my organization.” Raul murmurs.

“Doubt you’ll forget yours against our organization either.” I point the tip of my blade at the Raul impostor.

He stands abruptly and motions for what’s left of his men to leave the room. Save for the dead one and little Eddy, “I expect him back in one week, in one piece.”

“Then you better get cracking on that intel.” I snap, and he turns on his heel. The door bangs behind him and I look at Eduardo. “It’s nothing against you, this is business.”

The hardened mask he has on falls and the weariness becomes evident in his features, “that was my best friend, Emilio,” he points to the dead guy, “I begged my father not to use him as a decoy.”

“He should’ve listened to your intelligent suggestion.”

“He’s sly, but not always smart,” Eduardo continues, “and even though he’s my father, I am tired of working with him.”

“So, help us convince your father to get the information we require, and we will help you with a new position.” Carmelo jumps at the chance to be a saviour once again.

“I will.” Eddy nods.

My hand raises for one of the guards to come over, “please take our guest,” I smile at Eddy, “and show him to a room and then the hall, maybe he’s hungry.”

Eduardo gets up and looks to his friend once more, “what about him?”

“We’ll bury him, if that’s what you’d like.” Carmelo suggests, and Eduardo nods.

We stay silent as the guard guides Eduardo out of the room, and then Trent comes to the table, leaning both hands on the top. He’s watching Carmelo who has his eye on the dead guy, and I’m waiting to hear his chastisement.

“Saxon,” Here we go, “I don’t want to kill unnecessarily.”

“I’m really starting to think Ember made a grave mistake…” Trent says, and my stomach drops at his words.

“About what?” Carmelo asks, his jaw tightening.

“You are making us look too nice, too good, and we are supposed to be none of those things,” his palm slaps against the wood, “we are a large corporation who controls some of the world's best assassins. We take out heads of government, we stop as much drug penetration as we can, no more sex trafficking, but you make us look weak when you meet our enemies halfway. They are all meant to come to you, especially when they are on our soil!” His fist hits the wood this time.

“Trent,” Carmelo stands, “I don’t want to become my grandfather-”

“You don’t have the balls to!” Trent yells back, and Carmelo swallows his words, “you could never be him and that’s why Ember gave you the Head Corp but not the Black Slaughter,” his hand rests on my shoulder, “that’s why you two need to work together. You will hear Saxon’s advice and heed it, no matter how unhinged it sounds, because he’s the one out on the field dealing with the scum, and you are safe in here in your three-piece suit!”

“I thought the point of me being here was to lead us in a new direction, one without bloodshed and more organized-”

“You were put there because you have the blood of a great man coursing through your veins!” Trent booms. “Start acting like it!” Trent points to the decoy, “He needed to die! And maybe a few others, Saxon reigned it in for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” Carmelo is seething, I can see it, but the respect he has for Trent is holding him back.

“I want you to stop living in your fantasy world where everyone has good intentions, they don’t! They rarely do! Especially the people we work with. Do you really think Eduardo is shedding any tears for his fallen friend?” He spits out, “No! He’s now rubbing his hands together, happy he’s hoodwinked you with his so-called grief, and thinks he can worm his way into this organization by pulling on your obvious heartstrings. And he probably would’ve if I had let this be!!”

The room falls silent as Carmelo drops back into his seat, wrinkling that nice three-piece suit, is it Ralph Lauren? I love Ralph Lauren suits.

“I’m trying my best to keep my humanity.” Carmelo sighs and his forehead drops into his palm, “I’m having a baby and the only thing I can think of is raising them in this mess.”

“It’s not a mess,” I shake my head, “we are eradicating cancer from the inside out. We have to become the darkness so we can learn how to fight it.”

“Yes!” Trent sits next and exhales, “I understand you want to be the face of good in a sea of evil, but that’s not how it works. Be the face of evil so you can manipulate it for good intentions.”

Dinner is a bit strained as Trent and Carmelo remain silent, but Cameron is chirpy enough for all of us.

“I’m hoping it’s a girl.” He grins and leans over to kiss Cat.

“I’m hoping it’s a boy.” Cat retorts.

“Good thing you can have more than one kid in a lifetime.” I grin at them.

“We only want one.” Cat shakes her head.

“You have to have two at least,” I raise my brows, “you have two husbands.”

“So?” She snorts.

“It doesn’t matter whose child she has…” Cameron begins but I cut him off.

“Of course, it does,” My eyes meet Cat’s, “it’s about legacy and family bloodlines. If they had married two separate women, they would’ve had the chance to have their own children.”

Cameron squirms in his seat and Cat has her eyes narrowed in on me. “Blood doesn’t matter, Saxon.”

“What?” I shake my head and laugh, “blood is all that matters. It’s our lifeforce.”

“He’s right,” Trent says quietly.

“Daddy!” Cat exclaims, “we don’t care who the father is.”

“That’s not what Saxon’s saying.” He drops his fork, “our blood carries the past and makes sure it carries on into the future. Both of these men are the last of their family lines, would you feel okay wiping one out?”

My mind automatically turns to Ivy and Neil, they’d give anything to be able to carry on their line, and I want to make Cat understand that.

“There are some who have no choice but to accept fate’s hand and watch as future generations disappear in front of their eyes, but you have the gift to be able to create life, so do it,” I hold up two fingers, “twice.”

Her eyes soften as she realizes what I’m saying and gives me a subtle nod, “I’ll think about it.”

“Cool.” I nod and go back to shovelling salmon into my mouth, “fuck, this is good. Get me the fucking recipe.” I growl at Carmelo, and everyone erupts into laughter.

Amelia

Saxon has been in New York for the past two days, he called it business, and I miss him. It’s a foreign feeling for me to miss someone, and my heart is telling me he doesn’t feel the same. It hurts. I’m falling for him, and it scares me because I truly believe he’s giving me his all. It’s just not enough.

I’ve been wallowing these last few days and not really speaking to Cordelia. How can I? I’m falling in love with a man, and can’t imagine she’d like hearing that. I care about Cory but at the same time, haven’t given us the same room to grow. She’s holding out on me, and every time I try to push against her boundaries, she curls up inside her shell. I don’t want to live like this, forcing someone to care about me, and yet it looks like I’ve chosen two people alike.

That night at Saxon’s house was eye opening for me. Neil’s words clicked and I saw myself getting hurt. I've been trying to avoid this path, and yet, like most women, my confidence in his changing for me was strong.

Maybe, my love would show him he was capable of reciprocating, and we could live happily ever after. But it won’t happen.

Then there’s Cory. Poor, tortured, and damaged Cory. She was reliving her trauma when she told me her story, and I could see her heart was filled with mistrust and doubt. I want to be the one who shows her not everyone is bad, some of us have the best of intentions, and love is real. But again, I’d be forcing myself onto her, forcing her to feel what I do, and then forcing her to trust me. It’s a lot of work for no guaranteed outcome.

It’s the fucking Jones curse. Love never comes without pain.

My phone pings beside me with a text and I pick it up, thinking it’ll be Ivy with another absurd wedding request. Instead, I’m shocked to see it’s Cory.

Cory: Are you free this evening? Want to see a movie?

I hate how my heart skips a beat, and the excitement pools in my stomach. Why am I like this? Why do I want to be with people who don’t have the capacity to love me back?

I pull up my hair, put on some makeup, and swipe a nice bold red lipstick over my lips. My favourite MAC one and throw it in my bag.

Me: I’ll meet you at the library.

I’m fucked.

The way she wraps her arms around me and how her face burrows into my neck, has my walls crumbling. It feels like Cory missed me and having her in my arms is so heavenly, I missed her, too.

“How have you been?” She looks into my eyes, her crystal depths searching for answers.

“I’m okay,” I shrug, “how about you?”

“I’m good.” She nods but those eyes continue searching, “What is it, Amelia?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You don’t actually look okay, have you slept?” When someone asks you if you’re sleeping, it’s just a really nice way of saying you look like shit. I appreciate her nicety but fuck, I look like shit.

“Some,” I shrug out of her hold, “why am I here?” It comes out harsher than I mean for it, but I’m tired of trying to decipher words and actions, I want honest answers.

“I hadn’t seen you in a few days,” she explains, her brows knotting together, making her look adorable. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?” My arms fly out, “what exactly do you want from me?”

“Is everything okay with Saxon?”

Why the fuck is she asking me this? Like it has anything to do with her and I. She sees the look in my eye and swallows down her words.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “is this where we have the talk?”

“What’s the talk?” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling nervous energy rushing through it. This is where she tells me she can’t do normal relationships, or she doesn’t want a relationship with me. Our ages are too far apart, or she has too much baggage.

“Clarifying what this is,” she swings her finger between us.

“Get on with it.” I huff, and her brows raise.

“You look like you’ve already accepted bad news before I could give it, can we sit down?” She motions to a table, and my feet shuffle behind her, setting my bag down.

We sit down and I lean down in my seat, my arms still crossed over my chest.

“I really like you, Amelia.” She begins, and my eyes roll of their own accord.

“But?”

“But I don’t know where we stand together.” She brushes her fingers through her waves. She’s left her hair down for the first time, she looks gorgeous. “You and Saxon have something going on and it looks complicated.”

“Yeah,” I exhale, and realize I’m being a dick, I’m demanding answers from her when I have none of my own.

“Are you two... together?” She sounds timid and unsure.

“No,” I shake my head, feeling some rebel curls slip out of my messy bun. “We’re not together, it’s not like that.”

“Can you tell me what it's like?”

“Saxon is not relationship material; I don’t know if he’s capable of it-”

“Because he has sociopathic tendencies? Disassociates emotions from logic? Lives through actions instead of feelings?” She’s describing him perfectly.

“Yeah, that.” I nod, “he’s always been this way, lives his life without deeper connections.”

“That’s not true,” she shakes her head, “There’s a strong connection between you two.”

“He doesn’t want to be with me though.” My eyes roll, “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Confusion consumes all my thoughts. “I want him, I want you, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” she smiles, “but I think you’re wrong. He does want you, and I want you, too.”

I hold my breath with her confession, and will my heart to slow the fuck down, I might be having a heart attack. She giggles at the look on my face and reaches over to grab a stray curl.

“Hello?” A familiar voice rings out from the entrance, and my heart skips with panic. It’s Veronica. “I have a book to return, and don’t want to be charged a late fee.”

I race up out of my seat and run down an aisle to the back, just as Cordelia answers her, “Yes, of course.” There’s a slight panic ringing through her voice as well, “you can set it on the desk.”

“Would I be able to grab a few more?” She sounds like she’s getting closer, “I know the library is having some… um… issues and I’m worried it’ll be closed.”

“Sure.” I can hear Cordelia at her desk, scanning the returns. “Go ahead.”

Her footsteps are slow and sure as she ambles down the aisles, and every time she gets closer, I duck down another.

“I’ll take these three, if that’s okay.” I finally hear her head back to the front desk.

“Sounds good.” Cordelia sing-songs, probably happy to finally get rid of her.

A few minutes later, the entrance door opens and shuts, the only sound coming from the pounding of my heart in my ears. I come out of my hiding spot to find Cory sitting in the spot she was earlier, her chin in her hand and a smug smile on her face.

“What?” There’s no stopping the smile coming over my mouth.

“Question is, Miss Jones,” her voice becomes husky, “what do we do now?”

“Go to the movies?” I clear my throat.

“Is that what you really want to do right now?”

“No.” My voice squeaks and I cringe at the sound.

“How about we watch a movie at my place and have some wine?” Her eyes are bright glowing orbs, but I can see the filthy intentions she has for me.

“Like a date?”

“Like our first date,” she nods, and I feel a warmth settle in my chest. “Is it a lame first date?” She chews at her lip.

“No,” I stand and grab her hand. “It sounds perfect.”

I open Cory’s fridge to get a bottle of water, trying to be as quiet as possible. We tried to watch a movie, but after three glasses of wine, we were all over each other. If I was worried about our chemistry, I’m not any longer. She was so responsive. I open a bottle of water and let my mind take me back to her nipple between my teeth, my fingers deep inside of her.

The fridge door closes, and there’s a sheet of paper held to the front by a magnet. I’m not a nosy person and if this was something private, she wouldn’t have kept it here on the fridge door, right? I lean in and squint a bit to read the small, typed words. The only light in here is the soft glow from the overhead exhaust vent.

When I finally read it, my gasp is loud, and the water sloshes out of the water bottle in my hand. Why does Cordelia have Adrianna Greene’s name and address on a sheet of paper? That’s not all. Below it, she’s written Saxon Greene with a question mark. What the fuck is she playing at? And is this why she’s suddenly so into me?

I grab the paper off the fridge, crumpling it in my hand, my teeth clenching with anger. I toss it in the garbage and move around her small apartment gathering my clothes. Thankfully, I was stripped naked before even getting to her bedroom and won’t have to go back in there. I grab my keys and storm out of her apartment, letting the door slam behind me. I don’t even care if I’ve woken her up at this point.

The stairs are closer and probably faster than waiting for an elevator, so I pull open the door. I run down the stairs quickly, my heart thumping, and my anger boiling. I was being used this whole time. The smarter thing to do would’ve been to stay and find out what that information was for, but I couldn’t have done it without punching her in the face. I just opened up to her!

I reach the ground floor and throw open the door. I’m greeted by pitch-black night, and another brick structure about five feet away. I step into the alley, letting the door shut behind me, and the sound is booming in the empty space. I run my hand over the exterior door, finding no knob to get back in, not that I fucking want to.

There's a breeze stirring my curls around my face, and with it the stench of garbage. There’s a dumpster to my right, overflowing with large black garbage bags, and probably a few dead bodies. That thought doesn’t help my trepidation as I hurry toward the mouth of the alley. Why didn’t I take the elevators and go through the lobby? I finally make it to the sidewalk and look up and down the quiet street. It’s only slightly better illuminated than the alley, the streetlamps giving off a warm yellow glow, and the lights on the side of the buildings are mostly burnt out. There are parked cars up and down the street and not much sound permeating the night. It’s eerie and my heart hasn’t slowed down since the moment I read Adri and Saxon’s name on that fucking piece of paper.

The university campus is five blocks from here, about a twenty-minute walk, and it’s nearing three in the morning, no one should be around. I wrap my sweater tighter around my body, then secure my purse strap around my neck and shoulder and begin the brisk walk. My footsteps reverberate off the cement, and the sound bounces off the structures on either side of me, almost deafening in the night’s stillness. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, and I suddenly stop when I hear a second set of footsteps. I turn and look but there’s nothing behind me, just the long strip of parked cars lining the street.

My breathing is quickening but my feet keep moving forward, I pick up the pace of my steps, needing to get home and out of my head. There’s no one out here, it’s just me. I pass by another two buildings situated close together, and in between them is another dark, narrow alleyway. I should be moving quicker, but for some stupid reason, my feet slow down as I peer down the darken depths. There’s a rustling noise and my mouth becomes dry, my tongue pressing against the roof. The sound of a can hitting cement jars me out of my stunned state, and I take a step just as a screech hits my ears. I suck in a breath readying to scream when a cat darts out between my feet.

“Fuck,” I hiss and get to the first intersection. Four more blocks.

Fuck Cory and fuck her for whatever she has planned for Adri. Adrianna is a Hinton and they’re one of the wealthiest families in Whitsborough, hell, in Canada. So, I can assume it has everything to do with money. Some sort of blackmailing bitch who took a job as a librarian, looking so fucking innocent. So fucking hot and innocent.

The back of my neck begins to heat, like something hot is being held so close to the skin, but not touching, just radiating its heat to the porous surface. I twist again to look over my shoulder, and everything is quiet, dark. It’s so dark and the car’s frames shoot darker shadows across the sidewalk. Fuck, I was so stupid to come here. The feeling doesn’t go away, and I can sense someone’s eyes on me, something is there. I don’t move, I stay rooted to the spot, hoping I can see something move. I won’t be caught with someone at my back. I have a fighting chance if I’m head on.

When I’m convinced I’m being paranoid, I continue down the street. Three blocks left. Then I hear it, low and short—a whistle. It doesn’t sound like a bird, it sounds controlled—musical. I stop and turn around, fully facing the dark shadows at my back. I open my mouth, about to call out who’s there, and then give myself a shake. I will not be a dumbass bitch like in every horror movie. I stand there, still, and barely breathing, opening my hearing, waiting for the sound I heard.

Nothing.

There’s no sound and that in itself should be alarming, but there’s nothing. I must be hearing things, fuck, I really hope I’m hearing things.

I turn and this time my feet hit the cement sidewalk with force as I break into a jog, approaching the third intersection. Two blocks left, over halfway there. I’m so close. I cross the narrow crosswalk, not bothering to look both ways, there’s no one out here, and hurry along.

I hear it again.

Only this time it’s longer, and even more melodic than the first. The hairs stand up along my arms and I can feel the nape of my neck buzzing with fear. There’s someone out here with me. I pull my phone out of the front pocket of my purse, swiping the screen while jogging.

“Siri, call Saxon.” I say in a hushed whisper, hoping she can decipher the words.

“Calling Saxon Greene.” She replies, the voice loud in the heavy silence around me.

The phone begins to ring, and I can hear the whistling continuously, making my skin break out into a sweat.

“Melly,” he answers, his voice raspy, “tell me this isn’t a booty call. I don’t want to see the inside of my car for the next few days.”

“Saxon,” I can’t control the panic seeping into my whispered words, “Saxon, I’m being followed.”

“Amelia Jones,” no longer raspy, “where the fuck are you? And why are you by yourself?”

“Ameeeeeeeeeliaaaaaaa.”

“Two blocks from the university,” I answer and quickly look over my shoulder, “did you hear that?”

“Street names, Jones.” I hear the beep of his car doors and know he won’t make it to me, he’s in Whitsborough.

“It won’t matter, Sax.” I breathe heavily into the phone, “you’re too far.”

“Fuck,” he curses, and he slams his hand to the steering wheel. “Talk to me. Where were you tonight and why are you alone outside now?”

“Heeeeeere kitty, kitttyyyyyyyy.”

The sound of the voice is hard to figure out, I can’t determine if it’s male or female.

“Sax?” I’m crying, the tears blurring my vision, and my throat is tight. “You’re going to break my heart, aren’t you?”

“Focus, little Jones,” he says calmly, “I’m too far away remember? Right now, I’m not the threat. How far are you from home now?”

“One block.” The steady thuds of footsteps are still behind me, and I suck back a sob, “they’re closer.”

“Run, Jones.” He sounds calm and level, but his anger is there, “I want to hear those feet ripping apart the ground beneath them.”

I drop the phone from my ear, keeping it firmly in my grasp, and do exactly as he says. I run. My feet pound into the fucking ground, my arms are pumping, and my breath is erratic. I can hear laughing behind me. The deep rumble of someone’s delight as they watch me run.

The campus is up ahead, and the lights become brighter as streets grow wider. Streetlights are more frequent and eventually there are cars on the road, but it doesn’t stop the chase behind me. I can no longer hear Saxon, but sense he’s there, listening to my laboured breath and pounding feet.

“Please,” I mutter, “please make it.”

My chest begins to burn, and the air I suck in through my mouth is painful when it hits my throat. My nose is running with the exertion, and I feel the burn in my legs, working its way up into my ribs. I can feel the pressure of a cramp, slipping between my ribs and my hip, nestling in.

“Ameeeeeeeeliaaaaaaaa.”

The sound hits me as I run past the security booths and stop short, turning sharply to see behind me, the lingering notes of a maniacal laugh hitting my ears.

“Miss?” One of the guards calls out to me.

A bead of sweat works its way down the side of my head and into my ear, my vision still unfocused as I try to catch my breath. Ignoring the guard, I bring my phone to my ear.

“Saxon?”

“You’re in so much shit, Amelia Jones.” Then the line goes dead, and I’m left with a pit of dread in my gut.

He’s not going to let me off easy.

Cordelia

The light of the early morning sun strips away the last remnants of sleep and I stretch my arms over my head, groaning as I begin to wake up. I crack an eye and grin as memories of the night before floods my consciousness. Amelia.

We solidified our relationship last night and for the first time I’m content, satisfied. I turn and stretch my hand toward the side of the bed, seeking her warmth. My palm connects with the pillow, the surface cold and smooth. There’s no indent and as I open my eyes, seeing the space beside me has long been vacated. I sit up quickly, looking around my room and holding my stark white sheet to my chest, covering my naked body.

“Amelia?” I call out, maybe she’s in the washroom. Only, I know she’s not.

I’m accustomed to this feeling, waking up alone and hearing only my frantic internal thoughts. This morning is no different. I went to sleep content, having the woman I care about wrapped in my arms, and now I’m awake, feeling the same emptiness I do every other morning. Where is Amelia?

I get out of bed and step into my washroom, my bladder screaming from the wine consumed the night before. She’s left me, but I grip onto the hope that maybe, she’s in the next room. After washing my hands, I step into the main room, looking from the small kitchen to the balcony door. Nothing.

She’s gone.

Maybe she had an early morning class. It sounds lame and I’m making excuses for the woman I finally decided to date, but I need to put some logic to this empty feeling in my chest.

Why didn’t she wake me up before she left?

I push it all down and chalk it up to our generational age gap, I probably have a text waiting for me. That’s how they communicate nowadays.

I grab my coffee grounds and open my fridge to grab the filtered water, I’m in need of a caffeine kick. I revel in the languid feeling of my muscles and grin when I think of Amelia’s golden curls between my legs, her fingers deep inside of me. I moan and bite into my lip, I really wish she’d woken me up before she left.

With a tortured groan, I glare down into my nearly empty coffee can, it slipped my mind I needed to buy more. I drop the rest of them into the coffee machine and open the lid of the recycling, noticing the garbage beside it. I drop the can in the blue bin, and stare down at the single crumpled white paper, stark against the black of the plastic bag it’s resting in. I know what it is, but my mind has me looking over my shoulder regardless, to the empty spot on the refrigerator door.

No.

Fuck, I’m so stupid.

Why didn’t I think about how that would look? Why didn’t I remember it was there in the first place? I snatch it up out of the garbage, uncrumpling it, and proving to myself how much of an idiot I am. Then to make matters worse, I also wrote Saxon’s name on there, of course she would be suspicious.

I rush back to my bedroom and grab my phone, hoping against all hope there’s a message waiting for me. I’m hoping she left angry but has since calmed down and is ready to hear my reasoning. I’m willing to tell her everything because I’m in love with the hot-tempered, stubborn girl.

With shaking hands, I swipe open my phone’s screen and see a notification for my messages. Yes, please God. I open it up and my heart slams down into my stomach.

Saxon: Librarian, we need to have a chat, ASAP

The coffee house is small and located one block from the university. I asked Saxon to meet me here after I sent about ten texts to Amelia, begging her to talk to me. She has yet to reply and that makes me nervous. Now I’m worried about her well-being. I’ve called twice on my way to meet her friend and she hasn’t picked up my calls. The pit in my stomach is slowly becoming a boulder.

I park the car and make my way inside the coffee house. It’s an eclectic spot filled with retro looking booths and kitten paintings on the walls. But the coffee here is to die for. I don’t get to order though, I find Saxon sitting in the farthest booth, and he motions me over. He’s alone. The last bit of residual hope I had for seeing Amelia is doused away and I’m left feeling completely empty again. I should’ve known this was never meant to be. I've always been doomed to live this life of solitude.

After sitting across from him, he pushes a cup toward me, “black, dark roast.” His words are clipped.

I wrap my hands around the mug and exhale, ready to get this over with. “Let's hear it.”

He chuckles, the sound void of humour, and its dark tones sending ripples of fear over me. Saxon Greene may look beautiful on the outside, but it’s only to cover what I fear may be the ugliest of insides.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you to spill it?” he leans forward, “Cordelia, why the fuck are you here and why do you have my aunt’s name and address?”

“She’s your aunt?” I gasp, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes. She’s happy with a large family.

He’s staring into my eyes with a slight crease between his brows, the scrutinizing glare making me uncomfortable. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, Cordelia, and that rarely happens. I’m going to need an explanation.”

“Or what?” I roll my eyes, making a tear escape my lid, rolling down my cheek. “You’ll kill me?” I flick away the offending wetness.

His grin is wide and immediate, looking sinister, “it was always a possibility, but I’ve grown to like having you around.”

“Adrianna Hinton Greene-”

“Just Greene,” he cuts me off and then motions for me to continue.

“Adrianna Greene may be my long-lost sister.”

“Wow,” he leans back and rubs his fingers along his chin, “you’ve surprised me twice in one day, and it’s still early.”

“Was she adopted? Can you at least confirm that?”

His hand shooting up stops my bombardment of questions and my breath exhales with a huff as I roll my eyes. “My family is my weakest point; we all have that point.” He jabs the center of his chest, “no matter your strength, no matter your disposition, everyone has a point that if fucked with, can bring them to their knees.”

My first thought is Amelia.

“My family is that for me,” he continues. “That’s why I react first and think later when something threatens their safety. I refuse to be brought to my knees. Are you understanding me?”

“Partially,” I answer honestly, “I can sense the threat in your tone but I’m trying to figure out why you’re using it with me.”

“Maybe you’re slow,” no vitriol in the words, just a statement and yet, it’s bringing my blood to a boil. “You’re taking a long time to answer my first fucking question, Librarian.”

“I told you,” my words sputtering out, “she might be my long-lost sister.”

“That’s a very narrow explanation, give me the reason you decided now is the best time to search for her. Sip your coffee, we’re going to be here a while.”

“I don’t have a great track record with family,” my shoulders drop, “I was scared she would want nothing to do with me, why would she? Our family was vile, and I don’t want her to learn about it. But at the same time, I couldn't let go of the fear that her life was still somehow worse than mine. It ate away at me until I found myself here in Toronto, chasing breadcrumbs, and willing to put aside my fears.”

“So, you obviously know she grew up very wealthy, everything should be good now, right?”

“Wealth doesn’t equate to happiness,” I spit out, “Canonites were a fucking multimillion-dollar organization, and yet they were the most heinous group. Some of the wealthiest people have the most disgusting pastimes.”

“What if I tell you she’s completely content, living a sitcom life, and married with beautiful children. Would you leave it be?”

“I would like to meet her to see for myself.” I mutter.

“You know I have to ask right?” he gives me another dark grin, “a librarian can’t be making the most money, Amelia told me where you’re living, and your car is over ten years old. Are you looking for a handout?”

I knew it was coming and yes, I can understand why he’s asking, but the anger rises regardless. “No, Saxon Greene.” I snarl and lean as close as I can to his grinning face, “I am doing very well for myself actually and don’t find material possessions very appealing. Not that I understand much about such things, having grown up in a cult.”

“Precisely,” he snaps his fingers, “all those years of going without. I bet fancy cars and pretty jewelry are really appealing.”

“I don’t need the money; would you like a credit report?” My voice shakes as anger runs rampant.

“Did you know Amelia and her connection to the Greene family? Was she your in?” his brow lifts, “you must’ve been ecstatic to meet me, huh? And what was it that brought me to you, Librarian?” His words are like knives, each one impaling my heart, “school rapes, and right outside your front door.”

“You’re taking this too fucking far,” I slap a palm to the table, “everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

“You’ve broken my best friend’s heart.” His lip curls up in disgust, “the pain she’s in and the danger she put herself in because of it, makes me want to run my knife across the pretty pulsing vein at your throat, and slowly watch you bleed-out.”

My anger quickly turns to fear as I really look into the eyes of Saxon Greene. He means everything he’s saying, and I swallow quickly, “I didn’t know her connection or you when I first came here. You can call Hinton International and speak to the woman at the desk. I just received Adrianna’s name a few days ago.” It’s terrible I'm snitching on the girl, but my life is in danger.

He sits back as his face relaxes and he laughs, the sound no longer dangerous. “I already knew all that, as well as the six figures you have sitting in your bank account,” my heart thuds with his admission, “I’ve also looked into the Canonites, and I believe everything you’ve told us. I just needed to make sure,” he taps the spot on his chest again, “weak point and all.”

“How did you get my finances?” And the anger’s back.

“With great money comes great power.” He says with a smirk.

“Are you putting a twist on Uncle Ben’s words,” I snarl. “Spiderman wasn’t told that.”

“Are you comparing me to a vigilante?” His smile grows and he waves me off, “stop it. I’m more of a villain, I think.” His finger touches his chin, “a vigilante villain.”

He’s crazy. I’ve been sitting here alone with a fucking maniac. I look around the coffee house and see there’s no one near enough to use for me to try and get away.

“You look a bit frantic.” He snorts.

“You’ve accused me of orchestrating the brutal rapes on campus, possible blackmail, and using Amelia. Of course, I’m frantic,” I take in the room around me again, “you also threatened to slit my fucking throat. You’re nuts!”

“That’s just rude,” he huffs and rolls his eyes, “you’re a boring librarian but I’m not holding it against you.”

He flashes me a small smile and I try my hardest to see past this particular behaviour of his, this isn’t the Saxon I know. He’s trying to protect his family, his friend.

“What now?”

“Well, I should be asking you that. What do you plan on doing with the information you’ve acquired?” He folds his arms over his chest. “Yes, Adrianna was adopted, and yes, she’s happily married now with children, no, she didn’t have a terrible upbringing, just a lonely one.”

I absorb every morsel he’s feeding me about the woman who could be my sister and my heart warms.

“I would like to meet her.”

“You two look nothing alike.” He states and leans closer, “nothing. She’s dark to your light.”

“My mother was pale, blonde, blue-eyed.” I begin, “I look exactly like her. My father was of Italian origin and had a dark olive tone, brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes.”

“Mmm.” He looks contemplative, “I guess it’s possible.”

I pull out my phone and scroll through the photos until the only picture I have of them fills the screen, “here.” He takes the phone, “these are my parents.”

His eyes search over the faces of my parents but his face relays nothing, the silence is making me feel more frantic, and I’m about to voice it when he looks up.

“She’s a dead ringer for your dad.” He pushes the phone back to me.

“Really?” My voice quakes and tears once again blur my vision.

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Let me talk to her and I’ll set up a meeting.”

“And Amelia?”

“That’s all on you,” he drums his knuckles on the table and stands, “you should’ve been honest with her as soon as you found out. I’m sure you can fix it. I’ll be in touch.”

As Saxon leaves, I drop my eyes to stare down into the smiling faces of my parents, he said she was a dead ringer for my dad. She must be so beautiful. I hold the phone to my chest and take a deep breath. The hope I woke up with this morning is starting to seep back in.

How do I explain all of this to Amelia?