Black Jack (Advantage Play #5) - Kelsie Rae Page 0,60
reflection. My eyes are puffy and red, making my birthmark stand out even more than usual. But I haven’t been able to twist the lid off my concealer since yesterday. The thought of covering it up again makes me feel dirty. Fake. I guess that makes sense though. My emotional mask had already been ripped off when Jack found out about my past. Might as well get rid of the physical one too.
I sigh and lick my lips, tearing my attention away from the stranger staring back at me before finding the other bane of my existence. The little black box. It’s taunting me. Daring me to open it again and mourn the loss of all that it represents. It’s funny that Jack had initially bought it for me all those nights ago because he felt guilty for calling me a slut.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
Then he forced me to accept it on our wedding day and made me the happiest woman in the world.
With a deep breath, I run my finger along the seam of where it opens, then drop my hand to my side. Everything else is packed away. I guess it’s time for me to go too.
As I step into the hallway, a loud knock breaks through the otherwise silent apartment. Frowning, I go to the front door and open it.
“W-what are,”––I shake my head, convinced I’m hallucinating––“Jack isn’t here right now.”
A somber Wallace Embry bows his head with his hands in his pockets. “I know. I’m here to talk with you.”
“Oh.” My brows furrow. “Umm, I’m kind of busy at the moment.”
And I look like a freaking wreck.
“It’s important,” he replies. “May I come in?”
With a sniffle, I wipe the bottom of my nose with the back of my hand then open the door fully and step aside.
He walks around me but waits in the small foyer next to the door without making himself at home.
“You can sit down,” I offer in a half-assed attempt to be polite when all I want to do is shove him outside then slam the door. But if I did, it could hurt Jack. And I’ve already done enough on his account.
Rocking back on my heels, I add, “Would you like a glass of water or something?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that question,” he returns gently, his kind eyes assessing me as if I belong beneath a microscope.
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced but drops the subject when I head to the couch and sit on the edge of the cushion, waiting for him to follow. A few seconds later, he takes a seat across from me while still looking as tense as ever. But he doesn’t ask why I’m crying, which only heightens my suspicion.
“Why are you here, Mr. Embry?”
“Why are you crying, Bianca?”
There it is.
“I’m having a bit of a rough day, and I’d love it if we could keep your visit short.”
“Going somewhere?” He raises his chin toward the cardboard boxes that hold my things near the wall.
“Something like that,” I whisper, praying he doesn’t hear the whimper in my voice.
“I’m sorry, Bianca.”
“What for?”
“I’m the one who told Jack about your relationship with Reed.”
My surprise turns into contempt in an instant. “It was hardly a relationship,” I seethe.
“It was incriminating evidence against you––and Jack––if I’m being honest.”
“Is that why you’re here? To confirm our relationship crashed and burned the way you were hoping it would? Congratulations, Mr. Embry.” I clap my hands loudly. “You succeeded.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Well, since I’ve already ruined Jack’s reputation….
“Then can you get to the point? I’m not exactly in the mood for company,” I snap.
With a deep sigh, he sits up a little straighter in his seat before tugging at the collar of his white button-up shirt. He’s nervous. I just don’t know why.
“What is it?” I murmur, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“I’m sorry, Bianca. So damn sorry.” His head hangs in defeat.
“What is it?” I repeat, my panic rising with each passing second.
“I’m here to tell you that there was an accident.”
I gasp. “Is Jack okay? Is he––”
“Jack’s fine,” he answers, trying to placate me.
“Then…,” I pause. “What kind of accident?”
“Your brother. He was killed.”
Covering my mouth, I ignore the burning behind my eyes, while trying not to lose my shit. “What?”
“I’m so sorry, Bianca, but he’s gone.”
“But I just––” I bite my tongue to refrain from telling him that we’d spoken a few hours ago on the phone.