Lies & Secrets (Boston Latte Book 1) Read online

  He inched closer to me, my feet cementing to the floor in fright. Malcolm’s breath was a stale, painful reminder of the night my migraines started. At least what I could remember through shattered images and throbbing pain.

  “Emma?” I called, hoping she would show herself or that she was at least on the phone with the police. Wait. Can I call them? Or is that going to get me killed as well? Malcolm continued to step toward me, caging me in the narrow space next to the ladder, his arms binding me in the prison of painful memories, trauma. I can’t handle this. I couldn’t think. I should’ve ran; I would’ve run, but I didn’t know what to do. Footsteps approached, distracting our attention as Malcolm looked over the counter.

  “You’d be doing yourself a mighty fine favor if you stepped away from my girl,” my savior ordered, but then I realized just who the voice belonged to, and my throat tightened. “Now.”

  Malcolm’s potent breath fanned the exposed skin of my neck while his head turned to meet Julian’s voice. I was relieved, I was terrified, I was waiting to die.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Malcolm laughed, refusing to release his hands from the wall behind me, continuing to cage me within his control. I opened my eyes, instantly waking to the smell of Julian’s cologne. He was closer than I thought, standing mere feet away, improving his deadly proximity.

  “I’m not surprised you don’t know. From the looks of it, you’re not someone Miss Leary would confide in. Do you disagree?”

  Malcolm’s face returned to mine. “Who is this creep, Aid?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I growled through my teeth, biting down so hard before gathering the courage to lift my knee and violently meet Malcolm’s pathetic excuse for genitals.

  He cowered, his hands falling to his groin while writhing in agony in front of me. I started stepping away, not running toward Julian but behind me, hoping to escape both men. I probably had five seconds ahead of them; Julian needed to get over and around Malcolm, who was in no shape to chase after me.

  I stormed through the back, my shins aching by the time I cleared the side door and met the alleyway. I heard traffic, the hum of life, and hurled myself into the crowds of passing pedestrians. Air left my lungs; I was heaving and ready to hurl. I had to get home.

  While running along State Street, just passing Congress, I felt the pocket of my jeans. Screw me and everything that is me about this world. My cell phone was still at work, but I at least had the key to my apartment buried in my rear pocket. I was two blocks away. My heart couldn’t keep up with my legs, both burning holes into my mind as everything went numb while trying to find safety.

  I could faintly see my building, the aging brick calling to me with its evil taunt. I knew I wouldn’t make it. The second my hips became the possession of someone’s hands, I knew it was over. I went limp, the sore and aching twigs beneath me struggling to move along the pavement. His grasp loosened, but not before I felt his face against my temple. The sweet, delirious scent of his cologne was almost hypnotizing me. Stay awake. You can still fight this. No, I can’t. What the hell was he doing there?

  “Now tell me,” he whispered into my ear, the soft crackle sending a chill down my neck. “What such a sweet bird as yourself is doing with that ignoramus, Malcolm Young?”

  I couldn’t reply; all words were lost, tied in a knot within my lungs while they burrowed further into my core. Julian spun me around, and it took everything in me not to knee him in the delicate space between his thighs. And even worse…I didn’t want to. I was in trouble. It was deeper than me, the coffee shop, and I couldn’t fight him. Julian’s knuckles were at my neck, caressing their way up to my quivering jaw. This man is the devil.

  “I’ll ask you again, babby.” His lips were at my ear. “What are you doing with Malcolm Young?”

  “What are you doing kidnapping women off the street in the middle of the afternoon?” I snapped, instantly regretting my confidence when I felt Julian’s deep, throaty chuckle at my side.

  “Don’t make a scene.” His arms wove around me, pulling me into him. He was hugging me. Why? Oh. Because his family is the definition of Boston aristocracy and the last thing they need is a photograph of one of their own arguing with a lunatic.

  Through the hum of traffic, I peered around Julian’s arm and noticed a black car pull along the curb. One of the tinted windows lowered an inch, just enough for sound and not enough for vision.

  “David,” he called to someone in the car, “take us to my home, please. Quickly.” Shit.

  Chapter Nine

  My heart raced as Julian handed me a strip of silk fabric, his expression impassive. His smile faded; his blue eyes were cold and determined. I looked at his hands, studying the slippery fabric that he held out for me.

  “Put it on,” he murmured. My eyes darted to Julian’s, hoping his harsh tone wasn’t the last thing I heard.

  “Wh—Why?”

  “Just do it, babby.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Stop acting like a stubborn child.” His eyes narrowed, finally revealing an expression, reminding me he wasn’t simply a handsome statue. I glared back but refused to take the fabric.

  “You get to know where I live, but I don’t get to know where you live?”

  “The thing is, you don’t need to know where I live. I need to know where you live,” he informed me.

  “Such a gentleman,” I grumbled, looking out the window while Julian dropped the silk in my lap. I felt him lean toward me, his proximity melting my internal organs.

  “I’d be happy to make it into a gag to stop that mouth of yours, Aideen, but I’d much prefer it only be used as a blindfold for now.”

  For now? I couldn’t falter. I kept my gaze out the window while his face was inches from mine, threatening me with just the scent of his aftershave. With a heavy sigh, I turned to face Julian, our lips almost touching. I expected him to move, to back away, but his eyes left mine and studied my face. Every pore, each miniscule speck of skin on my face was burned by his gaze while his eyes landed on my mouth.

  “I’ll put your coat over my face,” I whispered in resignation, swallowing his aftershave, feeling the flavor trickle into my blood like an IV. “But I’m not wearing a blindfold.”

  Julian’s mouth twitched, almost pathetically unable to hide the spreading smile, while his eyes remained on my lips. His head dropped even closer to mine, a breath away from my mouth. My heart stopped. What the hell is happening?

  I closed my eyes, blinking so hard that I saw red, and when I opened them again to see Julian sitting back in his seat with his coat held up, I felt…disappointed? I’m disgusting. His lips turned into a smile, twisting toward his sparkling eyes, while he handed me his coat. The stupid creep wasn’t trying to kiss me. He was taking off his coat.

  “A compromise.”

  Screw you, Julian. Elliott. Mr. Ferrell. Whoever this David guy is. Malcolm. All of you. Go to hell. I can’t lie, though. Once inside the dark, warm cocoon of Julian’s coat, I fell to mush. I couldn’t feel pain, my heart was still, and I felt pathetically and deceptively safe.

  I had no idea of where we drove; they took too many turns for me to keep track. A lifetime after David stopped the car, Julian cleared his throat and unfastened my seatbelt.

  “You can take this off now.” He pulled off his coat, wiggling in the small space between us to place it back on his lean body. The sun was blinding, reflected violently from the fresh snow. I blinked feverishly, trying to adjust to the light and take in what I could of our surroundings before being ushered elsewhere. My door opened, and Julian was quick to lean down into the frame, his hand catching my chin. He was too comfortable touching me. Too comfortable.

  “Follow me.”

  What other choice do I have? I waited, studying the darkening blue in his eyes, hoping he would say or do something to calm the ball of nerves in my stomach. He stepped away, adjusting the flipped collar of his wool coat while he spoke to David. I couldn’t underst
and their exchange, as my ears rang with blood. He leaned in again, placing his right hand on my shoulder. Julian gently guided me from his car, smiling while we exited, and wrapped his arm around my back.

  Lowering his face to my ear, he whispered, “Press is everywhere. It’s in your best interest if you smile and pretend to be enjoying yourself.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Molloy?” I grinned, my lips beaming with spite.

  His knuckles slowly grazed my cheek while a small crowd of people formed outside of his building.

  “Yes.” His grin sparkled, radiating across his defined face. “It is, my darling. So keep that gorgeous smile for us a little longer or this won’t pleasure either of us.” I already wasn’t finding pleasure in any of this.

  He was right. People shouted at Julian while he effortlessly glided us along the sidewalk. His face turned down, watching me the entire time.

  “Not so hard, is it?” Julian’s whisper poured from grinning lips, an expression so fake and condescending that I almost lost my breakfast on the sidewalk. I nodded, returning his smile, but quickly looked toward the massive building we were about to enter. Julian didn’t acknowledge anyone screaming at him or the flashing bulbs of photographers. He simply opened the door and ushered me in. His arm was still around me while we stepped further into the marble hallway, walking toward the elevators.

  “You can let go of me now,” I grumbled, watching the antiquated art-deco dial display each level of the elevator’s descent.

  “No. I can’t.”

  I looked up at him, seeing his eyes bright with amusement. “No?”

  “Not until we’re upstairs.” He paused while some residents exited the elevator and smiled at me. “Darling.”

  I observed our audience, three couples significantly older than I, fawning over Julian, their glares suspiciously studying me. Julian stepped in first, holding me beneath him, but I stumbled over the lip of the elevator floor and foolishly fell closer into him. He smells too good, feels too warm.

  Without another word, not even a huff or smirk, Julian pressed a code into the elevator, and it was quick to lift us toward the end of my life. The inside of the elevator was mirror, echoing Julian’s hold around me for an eternity. It was me watching us, watching me watching us, as far as the eye could see. I lost sight of my reality while squinting to see the smallest speck of us in the reflection. That was how I felt, pitiful and small beneath the mystery and threat of the man holding my shoulders. Why was he still holding me?

  The rate of Julian’s breathing was slow, controlled, and frighteningly comfortable. Meanwhile, I was sure I sounded like a woman in labor. I couldn’t control my body—my knees felt weak, my heart was sore and throbbing beneath my trembling chest, and my lungs were probably raw and red from maintaining my existence.

  When the doors opened, Julian swiftly guided us into the hallway. The wallpaper was decorated with velvet damask, and the floor was just as intimidating, rich, dark planks of wood. Our footsteps were slow while I tried to match Julian’s pace. I felt my friend against Julian’s hip when his weight shifted into me upon reaching for his keys. My friend, the shiny silver bestie tucked away as a kind reminder of how quick Julian could end a life.

  “Welcome to my home,” Julian uttered, opening the door to his world. I looked at the hall, studying both ends. There was only one door on his floor. Nobody will hear me scream.

  Julian casually removed his coat, hanging it on a hook behind the door, while I stood in the doorway, unable to move. With his arm finally released from me, I found it difficult to stand. If I entered further, I was surely done for. The small foyer was barren but for his coat and a few framed black and white paintings on the walls.

  “Miss Leary?”

  I looked up, my cheeks warming at the sight of Julian removing his suit coat and tie, leaving the top button of his dress shirt undone. Awaiting my reply, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, eyes focused on me while I watched as each flip of fabric beneath his steady hand revealed muscular forearms marred by tattoos.

  “What?” I swallowed, my gaze pulled to a small clover tattooed beneath the folded cuff of his shirt. It was too dainty to be on such an imposing man.

  “Right this way.” Julian stepped aside, motioning for me to walk ahead of him through his home. I wondered if he really lived there, if his life existed in that space. Surely, he stayed there; he probably brought home countless women. And why exactly do you care about that?

  His hand found the small of my back, his touch dangerously light, and I shivered. My body wasn’t mine anymore; it was entirely at his mercy, moving where he wanted, as he directed, with the touch of his hand. He guided us past an open door, and I peeked inside, seeing the crisp space that contained a massive bed covered in white.

  The next open doorway was the living room, dark in contrast to the previous room while it rested with closed curtains and brown leather couches. It became increasingly difficult to memorize my surroundings as we moved. I couldn’t count windows or doors anymore.

  “In here,” he whispered above my head as we stepped inside the third doorway. The kitchen; the room with the knives. Right. Because his gun wasn’t enough? Julian left me standing in the doorway while he walked to a cupboard next to the fridge. He reached for something inside the cabinet before turning to me, both hands holding plates.

  “Sit,” he demanded, nodding to the table while he approached. “Soda bread?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He set the plates down, and I was momentarily distracted by the raisins that spotted the white loaf, so I didn’t notice the serrated blade in Julian’s hands.

  “Sit. Down.” Yes, sir.

  I rested into one of the wooden chairs across from Julian, painfully rewarded with his wide smile. He stood, swallowing a piece of bread, and wiped his hands on a tea towel. I couldn’t watch what else he was doing; my eyes blurred with panic. His pace was slow, precise, and deliberate.

  My vulnerability was overwhelming. I could barely breathe. I studied his footsteps, focusing on the details of his brown leather shoes, the soft sole that appeared barely touched as though he was carried everywhere. When the loafers paused two inches from my feet, I stopped breathing. In one fluid movement, Julian squatted beneath me, catching my glance and pulling my attention from his shoes.

  “Tell me what I’m doing here,” I questioned, my voice and heart insecure. He leaned forward, pulling something from the table that made a gentle thud as it tumbled to the floor. I felt Julian’s hands against my ankles, warm, delicate, and deadly.

  “You weren’t talking.” He shrugged, the deliciously malicious grin spreading his face. “Now I’m going to make you.”

  My thoughts were distracted as Julian’s fingers spun around my ankles, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet while he then leaned forward, reaching for my hands. Make me? Make me talk? About what? The damn blizzard outside?

  “Make me?”

  Julian licked his lips before biting the bottom of his pout with a nod. He sighed, far too loudly to be true exhaustion, and looked at me. I glanced away in a pitiful battle to maintain focus elsewhere.

  I tried to pull away while he remained in front of me. Julian’s blue eyes were burning into me, destroying the shield I worked hard to protect. I started to pull my hips from the seat, but I couldn’t move. Julian’s smile faded, leaving behind the lines of joy etched around his eyes and lips, as though he had once been happy. What the hell do you care, Aideen? You’re fucking tied the hell up in this guy’s apartment.

  “You need to untie me,” I warned, watching his tongue dart between his lips in thought. He was humored by it, by me, my torture, laughing inside at my restraint.

  “I don’t enjoy this any more than you, Aideen.” Julian finally stood, his hands gracefully sliding into the pockets of his pants. “Trust me.”

  “You’re fucking kidding,” I scoffed, bile brewing in the raging stew within my nervous stomach. “Trust you?”

 
“You’d be doing yourself a favor if you did,” he pressed, watching me without faltering as I squirmed against the uncomfortable kitchen chair. “Stop moving. It’s only going to hurt more once I untie you, which I will do once you talk to me.”

  The tightness of my glaring scowl was making my head ache. We existed like that for several minutes, Julian watching me like a museum exhibit, a damn diorama, while I severed his manhood with the laser beams in my eyes. Hardly. More like we exchanged an epic stare-down that I was close to losing. He must do this a lot. That thought made my ankles weak, falling limp between the binding fibers of rope. Rope. Where the hell did he get rope? Again with the questions that wasted precious brainpower.

  It was useless. I had nowhere to run if I was even able to escape. Escape. That word held an overwhelming power over my psyche—I was a prisoner requiring an escape, an exit, freedom.

  “Will you talk if I let you out of there?”

  I ignored him, staring away at the hardwood floor, counting the knots in the wooden planks. That’s a big knot over there. Twenty-two…His palms squeezed around my cheeks, pulling my attention to him.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I spat, literally exhaling venom against his wrist. “Ever.”

  Instead of evil, he received my comment with a smirk. Julian turned his back to me and walked to the sink, patiently washing his hands of my saliva, and glanced in my direction.

  “What are we going to do about that mouth of yours?” He shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. “How has your head been?”

  Nope. Still not talking to you, Fancy Pants. I’m never voting for you or anyone else in your family. I vowed that the minute I found a way out of Julian’s house, I would quit the coffee shop, leave my investment, and run far from Boston. Toledo’s nice, I bet.

  “I was really worried yesterday,” he continued, pursuing a conversation we were not about to have, “when you fell. I wish you would’ve…I wish you would talk. Right now.”