..::.. Chapter 55 - Betrayal ..::..

The ocean crashes over rocks close by. The sand is hot beneath my feet. The sun darkens my revealing skin, hours now where I sit. I'm lax, sore in the right places, and feeling polar opposite from the other night.

Honeymoon.

I sigh. Maybe Jenks was right.

I look to my right and Edward is snoozing beside me, his arms crossed over his bare chest, my floppy hat is utilized to block out the sun over his eyes. A towel covers his lap, but I see his bare hip. He's lounging out right. Deserved. Days of hustle tires a man, I guess.

A mosquito hovers its way over the net draped over our cabana. I reach for the bite on my thigh, where one stung me anyway. Edward had a bikini and everything I needed readily available at our … escape.

What is this?

Right. A fucking honeymoon.

I flick my silk robe away when I begin to sweat. And this bikini barely leaves anything to the imagination.

I'm red. Of shame. Not because I've sunburned.

I find myself in a make believe marriage I didn't realize I fell into. I'm irate.

Fuck you, Jenks.

I'm startled at the sound. The cock of a gun sounds foreign in peacefulness like this. The sight of its barrel aimed at me is alien.

….

Weeks before

….

That night at the exhibition left me drained.

Without a hiccup, after Jenks' harassment, I slid to Edward's side and continued my night without interruptions or near heart attacks.

I didn't speak to Edward. We rode the limo back when dawn broke. The party was ongoing, dilated eyes at every table, cocaine in adorned trays making this gathering endless.

One look at my unfocused, tired eyes, and Edward walked me to the exit, leaving Emmett and Carlisle behind.

I dozed, pinned to the door on my side of the limo. I couldn't look at him. My eyes trained to the sights until they weren't. I woke under his arm where he pulled me, pressed to his chest, his fingers caressing my hair. How greedy he is for a touch.

I rightfully pulled away. The elevator was quiet and tense where we stood alone. He walked in and let the doors close behind him. He faced me, hands in his pockets. No words with so many we had to say. I closed my eyes and sighed, holding through it, feeling him close, lips ghosting over me. But he held fast, silently hovering. I didn't give him a chance to chase me when the elevator doors opened, I took the turn to my room, beyond the grand living area and shut the door.

I knew he stood out there. I heard the clink of a decanter over ice and his footsteps over hard floors. Waiting? I wasn't sure. He eventually disappeared.

Room service woke me with a note pinned to a vase and flower.

"Downstairs by noon." It looked like his handwriting.

"Yes, Boss," I murmured to myself, disheartened.

The shower was magnificent, a waterfall more like it, and Sue continued to surprise me. I found so many options to wear in the suitcases.

The outfit of the day makes me long for home, makes me happy—but not this place.

I'm sitting in a luxury box overlooking a massive open arena of sorts. Jets fly and boom above in the sky. Tanks file out, experts shoot at targets. It's a showcase of arms for dealers like us. The latest technology and gadgets for war. They show it off like a parade, a World Cup, or a Kentucky Derby. Patrons dress up for this.

I do the bare minimum. When Edward stands I keep an eye out in case he wants me close for a meeting. If not, I'm here, watching this fiasco from my seat, wine in hand.

"Eat," he says when he settles by me. He looks … gorgeous in a button up, vest, slacks, and loafers, relaxed. His eyes seem brighter this morning, though I doubt he slept at all. The platters untouched by me. "You haven't touched a thing and you're drinking."

I slowly turn my eyes to him to glare. I say nothing when I look away.

He doesn't bring it up again.

"I knew this would happen," he murmurs so only I hear. "You'd hate me."

"If you knew me well, you'd know I don't hate anyone."

"Not even your mother's killer?"

I look at him, any signs of knowing over his face, but there's nothing new there. "You're right. There's still someone," I respond.

He looks over the sky beyond us. "Bella, you couldn't expect a fair game in this business. If we were fair, we'd be a charity."

I think about this. He's not wrong. I take a breath.

"Fair enough." I swallow hard. "I guess I just thought the world of you. I think I always have. You, through a lens that wasn't so … utterly evil." I see his eyes cast. "I've realized I justified you."

Our armrests touch and so does his smallest finger over mine. I feel it everywhere and my heart aches and feels like it'll explode.

How did I get here? This place, and these terrible feelings.

I wanted to destroy him; now, I just want him to make it out of this.

"You're more than this," I finish saying.

"Was," he corrects. I regard him pointedly.

"Still. You just don't know."

"Why do I get the sense you know something I don't?" he asks, regarding me with intense eyes. My stomach drops. I take in the rest of the wine in my glass and look around to get a refill. He grabs the glass and places it on his side table.

"I don't. I …"

He watches me. I settle back in my chair and stare out at a show of sand dunes being effortlessly climbed by vehicles of war, like this is all so normal.

Jasper's threat, Sue, Emmett, the McCarthys, Efraim, and Mom's killer.

I do know things.

"I apparently don't know shit about anything going on here. Who knew world enemies dined and bonded over cocaine together?"

He doesn't take his eyes away. My skin crawls.

"Just like I didn't know you produce what you sell. More shocking news. Drones? Rifles? In Chicago? How in Christ, Edward?"

"It's easier than finding bids. It was too dangerous to buy, repackage, and ship. Some products are illegal if you try to sell them without extra cautious steps. It was too tedious and complicated."

"How many factories?"

"Enough of them." I roll my eyes at the refrain.

"That's why you're always running around the city, busy." He nods slightly, taking a drink from his glass.

"Bella, I never told you what I produce."

Fuck. Caught. I fix it quickly. "I … spoke in passing with one of your accountants last night. Efraim Abrams," I admit.

He watches me. "What did he want?"

I shrug. "I guess he wanted me to put in a good word for him, go through Isabella Marie to get to the Boss himself. He's … invested in you." I ruffle his feathers.

Edward seems to calm. "So, he told you."

My brows jolt. "Big fan. He was singing your praises. I think he has a crush." I say nonchalantly. "I couldn't help but coax more out of him, seeing as I'm blinded here," I note, rolling my eyes.

Safe to say those details. Efraim wins, I … don't die.

"Don't kill him," I finish saying. "It was just small talk. He's a lovely person."

Edward scoffs, humored.

Bo McCarthy comes around and stands by the bay box windows. He's far, but I caught his movement in the corner of my eye.

"I've been meaning to say… Boss." I say to set the tone. Business talk ahead. I have his attention. "Thanks for setting up the meetings with the collectors. It was mind-boggling what these young kids do—seeing how you were one of them—but it helped. Mac was hospitable." I hint.

He nods. I try to manage this carefully.

"He was an interesting person. How long have you known him?" I ask.

He frowns like he can't remember the details or it's out of his mind. "That's Emmett's department. He would know."

"You … don't know him?" He doesn't answer, but it's clear he means it's not important. "How much does that happen, you not knowing details like those?"

He sighs. Like he's growing tired of this. "Bella, I can't split myself into pieces. We have sectors of focused work. I get the full picture through briefings."

"Aren't you afraid?" I ask. "Of people you least expect betraying you?"

He smirks at me like I've just described myself. "Why yes, I do," he says.

I roll my eyes. "Fair, but I'm surprised you have a blind eye at all."

He thinks as he watches what's out the bay windows.

"And what makes you think I do?" He cuts his eyes to me from under his lashes.

I watch him closely. He's dead serious. And maybe he does know things.

"Do you expect to make it out of this alive, Edward?"

He turns his head fully toward me with a pointed look. "No, I never did. But neither will you."

A pang in my chest.

"You'd take me down with you?"

"I wouldn't, but I sense cold feet. And the day you decide you want to trade me like we do bullets, I'll hurt you." I stare perplexed, sort of wide-eyed. "As much as it'll hurt me," he says, otherwise saddened. I move my hand far away from his. He looks at that. "Don't forget," he finishes saying, staring at our parted hands.

I stand to walk away, but he catches my hand again. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To pee, if you must know, or do I not have control over that?" I snatch my hand back. "Jerk." His brows knit in concern. He murmurs my name in my wake.

By the door, Jenks stands guard. I must pass him to get to the bathroom. This works out, and after that conversation, I've decided. All morning, I thought about it really hard; I made some calls last night to no one's knowledge, so it's done.

Jenks just moves enough for me to squeeze by. I push him, and he backs into the door, making a ruckus. His stare murderous.

I'm sick of everyone.

When I'm done, I open the door and toss him a lifeline. Only he can see me and the open piece of paper in my hand. I fold it up and slip it into the paper towel dispenser.

"Remember, or I swear to God …," I mouth, threatening through inaudible words about the extra note on Sue and Charlie's protection. "Wait for me," I enunciate with a pointed glare and index finger. Another note in red and underlined. I need time to align this more before he and the FBI barge in to do whatever they do. I can feel him occupying the doorway behind me when I walk away so he can step in and grab it.

That, I wash my hands of…

Jenks can deal with the heavy load of money from this game, and I'm off his hook.

I'll just deal with what's in front of me … and the accounts I withheld from that note.

I get back to my chair, and Edward watches me closely for a while. His eyes move to my blouse, the dip, lace, down my chest, which he hasn't touched in days. I sense his eyes travel beyond my skirt to my legs and back.

"You and me, no one else, when this is over."

I don't respond or react.

Is it a threat? Or an olive branch? I'm not sure. All I know is I have betrayed him, just now, under his nose. I am as good as dead.

And maybe I'm too tired to care. "Kill me, then," I say. "What's left of me."

He sighs long through his nose and lets this go.

For now…