Page 71 of Rebound

I keep him trapped but pretend to be listening. When he’s done, he looks up at me, hope shining in his eyes, and I can only laugh. “Nah. Sorry, Freddie, but I don’t believe you. Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?”

I slide open the door to his balcony and shove him outside. The view is quite impressive from the top floor. I hold him by the bunched-up fabric of his shirt and push him right to the balcony railing, leaning into him so he’s bent backward. He clings to my jacket for dear life. It’s windy up here, and his hair flutters, lifting away from his bald patch. “Elijah, please,” he whines. “You’re a civilized man, don’t do this.”

“Oh Freddie, that shows how little you know me. I’m not civilized. Not when it comes to my wife. My wife, who you laid your filthy hands on. My beautiful, perfect wife, who you dared to touch without her permission, you fucking pervert.”

My fury builds as the words pour out, and without thinking it through, I grab his ankles and dangle him over the edge of the balcony. He flails his arms and screams, but the wind carries most of the sound away. “Nobody can hear you, Freddie. And you can’t talk your way out of this one, you little shit! How does it feel to be powerless, huh? To have someone touchyouwithout permission?”

I shake him a little, realizing as I do that he’s a bit heavier than he looks. I’d dearly love to let go, but I promised Amber I wouldn’t kill him. Deep down, despite my rage, I know she’s right.

He tries to curl his body, but he can’t manage it. “Let me up. Elijah, let me up. What do you want from me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What do I want? I want to drop you, Freddie. I want to kill you for what you did. But what can I say? I promised my incredible wife I wouldn’t commit murder today. So, what you’re going to do is this: You’re going to reach out to all the women you’ve abused. Not just the ones I mentioned today, but all of them. You’re going to apologize and tell them it wasn’t their fault. You’re going to give them all, let’s see, a million bucks is a nice round number. It doesn’t make up for what happened, but it might pay for their fucking therapy, you bastard.”

We’re so high up here that the cars whizzing through the city streets look like Luke’s toys.

“A million?” he cries. “That’s too much!”

Is he actually fucking trying to negotiate right now? While he’s hanging upside down about to go splat on a busy Manhattan sidewalk? I shake my head. “The price just went up. A million each, and a new car. Bentleys are good.”

I let go of one ankle and hold the other with both hands. He screams and jerks, his free leg windmilling through the air. “Okay! Okay! Whatever you say. A million and a Bentley.”

“We have a deal then, Freddie? I sure hope so, for your sake. I keep in shape, but I spent a long time in the gym last night, and my arms are tired…” I shake him a little, just for fun, but my arms really are starting to feel the strain.

“We have a deal. Pull me up, you fucking psycho!”

I haul him back over the balcony, “accidentally” knocking him around a bit on the way, and by the time he’s sprawled on his ass, he also has a bleeding nose and scrapes all over his face. “Here,” I say, crouching down in front of him, “let me check that nose. Looks like it could be broken.”

My jab is hard and accurate, and he squeals. “Yeah. It is now,” I say. “Come on, Freddie, in we go.”

I drag him back into his office and slide the balcony door closed behind us. It seems weirdly quiet now that we’re away from the traffic and the wind. I throw him into his chair, and he slumps there, covered in piss, hair in disarray, bleeding and crying as he holds his hands over his nose. I gather up the printouts and stand over him. “Look at me, Freddie,” I command. He does as he’s told, a mix of pain and hatred in his beady eyes.

“You might be thinking about calling the cops after I leave or that you’ll find a way to screw me over financially—but forget all that. You called me a psycho out there, and you’re right. It’s a little family secret. All the James men have an inner psycho that we channel when we need it. So let me make something very clear. Are you listening to me?” I slap him across the face with an open palm, smearing blood across his cheek.

He nods and mutters, “I’m listening.”

“Good. This is what’s going to happen—I’m going to leave now. You’re going to set the wheels in motion for the compensation package we discussed. You will email me a copy of your apology first, so I can make damn sure you grovel hard enough. My suggested wording would include something along the lines of ‘I’m a fucking scum-sucking asshole who preys on the innocent, and I beg your forgiveness’—you’re a lawyer, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You are not going to report any of this to the police or tell a single soul about it—you will explain your injuries the traditional way. You were clumsy and fell down the fucking stairs. Are you with me so far?”

More blood drips from his nose when he nods. “Good man. If you do tell a soul, then I will come back and I will kill you. I might do it myself, or I might hire someone else to do it. I have the money and the resources. You’ll never see it coming, Freddie. Also, remember that I now know everything. I will be watching you; others will be watching you. If you touch another woman or so much as look at one inappropriately, I will know. Maybe I’ll pay a spy to come work for you. Maybe I’ll have secret cameras installed. I could have you tailed. But I’ll know, Freddie, and I will end you. And while we’re at it, why don’t you stop fucking cheating on your wife.”

“I won’t do it again, Elijah,” he croaks out. “I promise I won’t. I’m sick, I’ll get help.”

“Fuck off, Freddie. You are sick, but it’s not an illness. You’re just a nasty little shit. Right. Well. That was a good chat—very productive. I’ll leave you now. You have a lot to do. And don’t forget—I’ll be watching.”

I wipe my bloody hands on his shirt and leave him crying in his office.

Yeah. I feel better now.

ChapterThirty-Three

ELIJAH

Istare at my cell phone, ignoring the noise surrounding me. It’s the usual carnage of the entire James family being in one place together. The entire James family except one, anyway.

The most important one. A lump forms in my throat as I stare at my last message to her. I sent it an hour after I left her house two mornings ago. It simply reads:

I’ll give you your space. And I’ll wait as long as it takes. I love you.

She read it but sent no reply. Not that I blame her. Once again, I let her down. Hurt her when she was already hurting too much. I’ll never forgive myself for that, so I can’t expect her to. Although I suspect she already has. Holding grudges isn’t exactly the new Amber’s style. She proved that when she allowed me to stay with her the other night and when she sought my comfort the following morning.

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