The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

“So, what you’re saying is,” I say, moving my hands to the buttons on his shirt. “We should pick up where we left off, like right where we left off.”

I unbutton his shirt, exposing his chest and abs. Just as I imagined, his body is chiseled in the most perfect way. I slip his shirt down his arms, revealing his tattoos. One, in particular, draws my attention. From his left arm, sprouting from a cross are vines with thorns and roses that cascade across his chest and down his arm. The further the roses drift from the center, the more withered and dead they appear. Entangled in the vines are broken parts of a key. It’s almost as if a piece of him was broken, and he’s unsure of how to put himself back together again. My, how I know the feeling.

I trace his tattoos with my finger and kiss each piece of broken key. He cups my face in his palms and forces me to look at him. I blush, parting my lips.

“Precisely,” Julian whispers.

He kisses me then, lifting me by my bottom to straddle him. I moan as he kisses my neck and chest. He walks me to the sofa and lays me down. He runs his fingers through my hair and caresses my body with his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I gasp.

Julian undoes the buttons of my dress, exposing the black lace Kat insisted I wear. He positions himself on top of me, but I push him back.

“Let me,” I whisper.

Julian sits back against the sofa and I straddle his lap.

“I want to see you,” I tell him.

And with that, we make love for the first time. And all I see, all I feel, is him.

* * *

I wake to a snoring Julian knocked out on the sofa. It’s pitch-black in the sound booth. I wipe my eyes and feel around for my phone and clothes. I find Julian’s white button-down first and cover myself with it.

“What time is it?” I ask aloud. “Oh, crap! The article!” I say. Julian grunts and turns on his side.

I drop to my knees and cover the floor of the room in search of my bag. Finally, I find it. The bright light of my cellphone scorches my eyes as it shines into the darkness.

It’s 10:00 a.m. My article should have been published an hour ago. I go to my app for The Hub and check my recently published articles. It’s not there! I double-check, triple-check. It was never published. My heart sinks. I try calling Fran to ask what happened. She doesn’t answer.

“What the hell?” I ask into the darkness.

My phone dings and it all becomes clear.

I’m sorry, Emma. I can’t put my family in jeopardy over this. Beaux paid me $10,000 not to publish the article. That was him being nice. After reading your article, I don’t want to see the other side of him. If I were you, I’d get out of town. He knows, Emma. And he’s coming for you.

“He knows,” I say aloud. My heart sinks and my blood runs cold. “Beaux knows.”

I stand and stumble through the room to wake Julian. Just as I reach the sofa, I remember . . .

“We didn’t turn off the lights last night,” I whisper.

I turn around and—

“Ah!” I squeal, but Beaux’s hand conceals my cries before I have a chance to wake Julian.

It’s dark. I can’t see him, but I can feel him. He covers my mouth with his hand and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me backwards.

“Shh. If you wake him up, it’ll only be worse for him,” Beaux whispers into my ear.

He nibbles at my neck. I try to fight him off and use my bodyweight to throw him off balance. He only squeezes me tighter. I gasp. With just a little more pressure, he’d break my ribs.

Beaux pushes the door to the speakeasy open. Bright light shines into the dark recording studio. I pray it wakes Julian. It doesn’t. The black door closes behind us as Beaux drags me out of the room. Any hope of Julian hearing my cries is lost.

It’s then that I see Mason. He’s knocked unconscious on the floor of the speakeasy. Blood covers the back of his head and neck. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.

“No!” I yell. Still, Beaux’s hand muffles my screams.

My head begins to ache as fumes invade my nostrils. It’s then that I notice the puddles of pale liquid scattered across the hardwood floor and the red plastic can that sits in the middle of the stage. It’s gas. He’s going to burn the place down and leave Mason and Julian to die in the flames.

Beaux forces me up the stairs to the record shop. The fumes grow stronger the higher we climb. I feel faint. As we reach the top of the stairwell, I fall limp in Beaux’s arms. He catches me and I use the moment to snatch his lighter from his pocket. I throw it down the stairs, pushing him away just long enough to close the door to the speakeasy. Beaux doesn’t know how to open it from this side and now, burning the place down is no longer an option. So, what’s next? What’s his Plan B?

“It’s over, Beaux,” I tell him, wrapping my arms across my chest. In only Julian’s button-down and my black underwear, I feel naked as I stand before him.

“It’s not over until I say it is,” Beaux grunts. “And I have far more plans for you.” My eyes grow wide at his remarks.

He steps toward me and slaps me. I fall hard against the floor. My head rings as I wipe the blood from my mouth onto my sleeve.

“I used to think you deserved to live with what you did,” he says, walking toward me. I scurry back using my hands and feet. “Now, I know,” he breathes. “You don’t deserve to live at all.”

Chapter 31

Beaux’s lips lift into a sadistic smile. His fists clench.