Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(73)

“Your bill is dead.”

“Fuck the bill. I’ll kill the project myself before I’d accept your help.”

Haines slammed the glass down on the sideboard. “You’re making a huge mistake. She isn’t worth it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. She’s worth all that and more.”

I turned and strode to the door. I needed to get to Yve. Now.





I CAME TO SLOWLY. MY head ached and my tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth.

What the hell happened? I tried to piece together where I was, but nothing was making sense. I opened my eyes and didn’t recognize the high ceilings of what looked like a parlor in a plantation house.

The mansion. The sale.

I tried to move, but my hands and feet were bound to a chair. I looked down, but the instant I moved my head, my stomach churned with bile and fear.

Duct tape. I was duct-taped to a chair.

The old wooden floor creaked as someone entered the room, and I reinforced every bit of mental and emotional strength I had in me.

The sound of a woman humming softly preceded her entry into the room. When I saw her, the flash before everything had gone dark came back violently.

“You.”

“Oh, Yve. You look rather uncomfortable,” Jennifer drawled, her tone mockingly devoid of any real concern. “I’m so glad you could join me, though.” Her hands were folded at her waist, and I marveled at how the skinny blond bitch could jab a needle into my neck and somehow drag and duct-tape me to a chair without mussing a single hair in her perfect chignon.

But what I didn’t understand was why.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

Her triumphant smile made no sense until she explained. “Why, I’m the next Mrs. Johnson Haines Jr.”

My head spun like I’d been forced into an alternate dimension. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, showing off the diamond sparkling on her finger. “He proposed the day he was granted parole.”

She was crazy. There was no other explanation. “You met him in prison?”

“You don’t think prisoners need someone to talk to? Someone to love them? That’s not very kind of you, Yvie.”

I hated that she called me by the same name Jay had—right before he’d thrown a punch or landed a kick.

“Where is he?” Strangely, I almost wanted him here instead, because at least I understood his brand of crazy. Hers was completely foreign and unpredictable, if crazy could ever truly be predictable.

“He’s out, and it’s not good for him to get too worked up.” Her mockingly sweet tone shifted to something bitter and harsh. “Especially not about a piece of trash like you. Someone who couldn’t even keep the man happy. I don’t understand why he’d be still fixated on you. He just needs to move on.”

“So he’s been the one who’s been—”

Jennifer shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Oh no, Yvie. Of course not. I wouldn’t let him get within a hundred yards of you and your whorish ways. Sometimes men just don’t know what’s good for them.”

“Then . . . who?”

She stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5.

“You?”

Jennifer smiled, but it was a smile of the borderline—or completely—insane person. “I still can’t figure out why he’s hung up on you. All he talked about for months were all the things you did wrong that he had to punish you for. You should have thanked me for moving that glass. It would’ve made him so angry.” Her eyes hardened. “I should’ve left it, though. It would’ve shown him you hadn’t changed. Not that I would’ve let him get inside your house. No, I keep a tight leash on my man. I’m sure you don’t know a thing about that.”

So she’d moved the glass. Stolen the perfume. Left the message on the mirror.

“And the explosion?”

A sickly gleeful expression stole across her face. “YouTube is so handy. You can really learn to do anything. Except get people to stay where they’re supposed to be.” Her smile twisted. “Because then we wouldn’t be having this discussion, now would we?”

“Why?” I demanded. “Are you crazy?”

“I prefer the term creative. Keeping tabs on you, tabs on him trying to keep tabs on you—it got so tiring. I just want to get married and live my life. I didn’t need you hanging over everything. Jay loves me. Only me.”

“Good. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“But he just can’t seem to get over his first love. So I thought I’d help.” She raised her hand, and the sharp silver blade of a knife caught the light. “By cutting you out of the picture.”





I FLOORED THE ASTON AND headed home. Yve wasn’t picking up her phone, and the text she’d sent me hours ago had been completely vague. My next call was to Jerome, who answered on the third ring, thank God.

I didn’t bother with a greeting. “Where the hell is she?”

“She should be home,” he replied. “I’m just leaving the airport. Monica’s flight was twenty minutes out and had to be rerouted to Baton Rouge due to a medical emergency. She’ll be in late tonight.”