I thought it would be perfect to fuck her one last time in that house, even if she was done packing. I would bury myself inside of her wherever I happened to find her. Maybe I would bend her over the kitchen counter, or take her on the dining room table. I shook myself. She'd put a spell on me, and I wouldn't be free of it any time soon. Or ever, I thought with a grin. Mrs. Cavendish had such a lovely ring to it.
"Tristan is coming over for dinner tonight. As if I'm not paying him enough to make rabbits disappear, now I have to make him dinner."
"I have a new trick where I can make pretty boy CEOs disappear," Tristan told me.
Bianca laughed into my ear. I loved that laugh.
"Will you let the guys know that they're invited, as well?" I asked, smiling.
"That sounds fun," she said. "I take it he got a favorable contract for next year's shows."
"He signed on for another year," I said, looking at Tristan with a raised brow, "but we had to double the bastard's pay. Funny how soon he forgets just who discovered his sorry ass."
Bianca had gone very quiet on the other end. My whole body tensed, as if bracing for a blow and not knowing where that blow could come from. I absently scratched at the scars on my wrists, my most nervous tell. I thought I had trained myself out of the habit. What was wrong with me today?
"Bianca?" I questioned. I would be fine if I just heard her voice again.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry," she said, the new distance in her voice just making me more agitated.
"Love, is something the matter?" I asked.
I stood and began to pace, unable to stand still. "You sound upset."
She didn't respond for endless moments. I was getting desperate when her voice sounded again.
"Blake!" she said, a clear thread of panic in her voice.
No, I thought, my heart trying to pound out of my chest.
I swung around, my gaze finding Clark. He was so good at reading me that he already had his phone out.
"Police?" he asked.
I nodded. It could be nothing, but I didn't give a fuck. If it was something, the sooner they were on their way, the better.
"Bianca, what is it?" I tried. "Is something wrong? Talk to me, Love."
An echoing bang on the other end of the line made my blood run cold. Bianca gasped into my ear.
No, I thought, and began to move.
"Stay down, Bianca," I heard Blake say on the other end. "Don't move, and whatever you do, don't leave this house. I'll be right back."
No. A mean fist gripped my heart.
I could hear her breathing, but as I spoke and cajoled and pleaded with her to tell me what was going on, she refrained from speaking for long moments on the other end. I recalled that terrible afternoon just months ago, watching the ambulance take her away, my heart in pieces as I waited in agony to see if she was okay.
Clark fell into step behind me without a word as I strode through the offices and to the elevator. I saw what floor it was on and took the stairs, not willing to wait, the phone still held to my ear. I took the stairs down at a sprint.
"Tell me what's going on, Bianca!" I tried again, tearing through the casino now. "What was that noise? Why did Blake tell you to stay down? Where did she go? I need to know what's going on!"
Another loud shot sounded on her end of the line, and I died a little inside just hearing it.
I tried my damnedest to sound calm, but it was a struggle. "We're on our way to you, Love, and we've put in a call to the police, but I need you to tell me what's going on. What was that noise?" I was grasping at straws, I knew, hoping I had somehow heard an engine backfiring in the distance. Twice …
"I love you, James," she said very softly.
It broke me, a feeling of helplessness and dread filling me.
"What's happening over there?" I asked roughly. I barely noticed that my voice broke on the words.
Another gunshot sounded on her end, and she whimpered. It wrecked me. I wanted to clutch my chest and howl with the fear, but instead I ran, determined to get to her.
"I love you, James," she said again. The resignation in her voice wasn't reassuring in the least.
Clark kept pace with me, and broke ahead as we reached the doors, talking frantically to the valet manager, procuring us a car with remarkable speed. He got behind the wheel as I took the passenger's seat. He was peeling out before I could finish buckling in.
"Talk to me," I told her desperately. "I have to know what's going on. We're in the car now. We'll be there in less than twenty minutes, but you need to talk to me. What's all that noise?"