The Hearts We Burn

Book 3: Unconditional Series

by Briana Cole

Genres: African American Women's Fiction; Romantic Suspense; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

Getting your life back can be killer . . .

Kimera Davis thought she was finally free from marrying-for-money—and living way too many lies. Until her obsessed ex-husband ignited the ultimate dark hoax, a spectacularly malicious deception that's left her family, and her best friend, Adria, reeling. Now Kimera and her young son are prisoners at a remote estate, under the thumb of her ex's powerful father. And she has only one slender chance of escape.

Suddenly Kimera is getting dangerously close to an unlikely ally, but even she can't be sure if she's playing him, if what they have is real . . . or if he's mastering her game. And there's no guarantee that her calculations and wild-card moves will earn her and her son's freedom—or cost more than her survival is worth . . .

Release date: February 25, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

I never thought I would hate my husband. Well, maybe not hate, because that is such a strong word. Nevertheless, as I listened to his voicemail greeting message for the third time, I couldn’t help but feel a strong emotion superseding anger. That’s for damn sure.

I pulled the phone away from my ear without bothering to “leave a message for ya boi,” as Keon had so eloquently instructed in his greeting. I knew he was doing it on purpose, and that’s what was eating at me. He couldn’t feign ignorance with this appointment. I made sure of that. We hadn’t been speaking, but I had reminded him all week and even this morning before he left for work. So how convenient was it that his phone was off when his truck should’ve been parked in this deck right along with mine.

Three months. It had been three months since our lives had changed so drastically, three months of this bullshit, and time was doing nothing but driving us further and further apart. I rested my head on the back of the seat and glanced out at the traffic clogging the city streets of Atlanta. Somewhere, a horn blew, a siren wailed, and a slew of pedestrians hurried along the sidewalk through rush-hour congestion, probably to make it home to their families. I swallowed a wave of envy. If only life were still that simple for me. I was too busy dealing with my own losses, my husband included. Fact was, he was showing me he didn’t care, and I was slowly adopting those same sentiments.

The phone suddenly rang in my hand, which startled me. Sure enough, Keon’s number flashed across my screen. I quickly picked up.

“Where are you?”

“Damn, good afternoon to you too, wife.”

I rolled my eyes at the smart ass comment. “Keon, today is not the day. Where are you?” I knew what he was going to say before the words even filtered through the phone. Same shit I had heard for our last two sessions.

“I have to work late. Sorry.” His tone was anything but apologetic, which only heightened my anger. Maybe hate was the right word after all.

“Keon, I thought you said you would be available. That’s why we scheduled this appointment today for this time. Because you said it was convenient for you.”

“Why you acting like that, Dria? Therapy was your dumb-ass idea anyway.”

“My dumb-ass idea?”

“Yeah, you’re the one with whatever mental shit you got going on and I’m trying to work with you—”

“Boy, don’t act like you’re doing me any favors,” I yelled, not bothering to calm my tone. “You act like you’re not even in this marriage. Like none of this is important to you.”

“You tripping. All because I think therapy is bullshit?”

“No, you know what? This whole damn relationship is bullshit. Keep doing you, Keon. And I’ll be sure to do me without you. See how that feels.” I hung up and immediately powered down my phone, cursing as my fingers trembled over the buttons. I knew I was arguing from another place because those words had felt completely empty. But as I shut my eyes and struggled to keep my blood from boiling over, regret began to ease its way into my subconscious. Not for the argument. Hell, that had become too common between us these past months. No, regret that I had walked down the aisle to give this man my heart again. Til’ death do us part, my ass.

Sighing, I slid weary eyes to the clock on the dash. 5:08, already well into my allotted grace period, so I needed to get inside if I still wanted to be seen today. I grabbed my purse and stepped out of the car.

I bundled my jacket tighter against the September chill as I made my way across the parking deck. The therapist’s office was in a high-rise in the hub of downtown Atlanta. But since it was adjoined to other doctors, realtors, and finance companies in the building, I certainly appreciated the discretion.

I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the seventh floor, maybe a little too forcefully, as a sharp pain pierced my thumb. When the doors closed, I could only stare at my piss-poor reflection in the mirror finish.

I still carried baby weight, hadn’t bothered to try and get rid of it. Though I still looked the part, to my despair I was very much not pregnant. The realization had sadness extinguishing my anger and I touched my belly. Ghost flutters or something. My OB-GYN had told me it was common to still feel like my babies were kicking or rolling around in there. My head would want to feel there was still someone in there. My heart would need to feel it. But I was empty. In more ways than one.

The doors opened to reveal a narrow hallway with watercolor paintings flanking one side and floor-to-ceiling windows along the other. At the end of the hall, a door with the words Waller Family Counseling etched in the glass automatically slid open to welcome me into the quaint lobby.

The receptionist looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Davis,” she said, sliding the clipboard across the marble desk in my direction. “How are you today?”

I wondered if she really expected a truthful answer to that question. I’m sure it was automatic, but would she be surprised if I actually told her how I really felt one time? I feel like shit, thank you very much for asking. But my lips thinned into a polite smile as I scribbled my name on the sign-in sheet.

“Fine,” I said instead. No need to blurt out my frustrations to the poor little intern who made coffee and answered phones. Her little college courses probably hadn’t prepared her for an Adria Davis. I would do enough of that in just a moment.

Dr. Waller was a brown-skin sister who wore a short curly afro and not a stitch of makeup other than lip-gloss. I always thought she looked entirely too young for this job, like she needed to be taking notes in a black history university classroom instead of being burdened with the world’s problems on her shoulders. But she was kind and patient, which kept me booking session after session, even if it didn’t initially feel like I was getting better.

“Adria.” She hugged me as we stood in the doorway, a genuine embrace like best friends. I held on a moment longer, inhaling the nostalgia of that familiar feeling, before I let go.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Dr. Waller,” I said as she closed the door behind me.

“Evelyn,” she corrected.

I nodded. “Evelyn.”

We sat together, side-by-side on the plush leather couch overlooking the city skyline. In front of us, a recorder and two cups of water sat on the coffee table. Evelyn crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

“Where is your husband?” she asked, though I’m sure she knew my answer.

“He’s working late.”

“Do we need to reschedule?”

“He’ll probably be working late then too.”

Evelyn nodded her understanding and remained silent, watching me gather my thoughts.

“That’s why I was late,” I went on, the argument festering fresh in my mind. “He’s just being so damn difficult about this whole thing.”

“I want to hear about that,” Evelyn said. “But first, tell me about a good time with your husband.”

I sighed, already recognizing her tactic. She liked to do some kind of sandwich-method, start with something positive, then let out all my negative energy, then end positive. As irritating as the strategy was, the shit was effective. I let out a breath and closed my eyes.

“You look so beautiful, Mrs. Davis,” Keon murmured, the words causing my body to heat with anticipation. I did a seductive sway of my hips, slowly peeling out of my wedding dress. The hotel room was nearly dark, illuminated only by candles my husband had placed on the bedside tables. His naked frame looked delicious lying on the white sheets and rose petals, and the light from the flame flickered across the hungry gaze on his face. He licked his lips and I wanted to cream right there.

“I’m in love with you, Mr. Davis,” I said, crawling up from the foot of the bed.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed me, caressing my lips with his tongue. “Damn, I’m gon’ get you pregnant tonight, girl.”

I laughed and let him roll on top of me. This man of mine. My forever. Mr. Playboy, who I had waited through woman after woman while he got his shit together. Always his little booty call. Finally his wife. It was about damn time.

“He’s dealing with it,” Evelyn said, her gentle voice breaking my memory. “In his own way.”

“I’m the one having to deal with it,” I said on a frown.

“Adria, he lost his daughters, too. And a sister,” she added at my continued silence. The last sentence had me wincing. She was right. Kimera was his sister, but she was my best friend. As much as it pained me to admit, it was easier to not think about her. Not thinking about her made it easier to not blame her, nor feel guilty about blaming her, since she had lost her life. More memories flooded through me, threatening to swallow me into some kind of black hole.

“Tell me about Kimera,” Evelyn said. “Before . . . everything.” For the first time, I reached for my water and took a desperate swallow. Despite the fruit I knew Evelyn infused with the water, it remained tasteless, the liquid seeming to hit my stomach without touching my throat.

“I had known Kimmy since middle school,” I started. “The girl was a mess, even then. Always seemed to be in some kind of trouble. But I loved her. More like sisters than friends. I used to tell her she never took anything serious, but that was just Kimmy. The epitome of living her best life. But we were always there for each other. I never even really came out and told her I was feeling her brother because honestly, I knew I was being stupid for that boy. Somehow, she always knew though. Just like I knew she was in love with Jahmad, Keon’s best friend. But Keon and Jahmad were both young and seemed to always be in some kind of competition on who could sleep with the most girls.”

The statement came out snarky but that didn’t change the facts. Restless, I rose and wandered to the window.

“Jahmad hurt her so bad when he moved away. It was clear he had just been using her for sex, hell, just like Keon was doing to me, but me and Kimmy, we were built different. I dealt with the shit, but my girl, it changed her. There were times I didn’t even recognize her . . .” I trailed off at the thought.

“Changed her how?”

“Kimmy met Leo,” I said simply. “And well, you know the rest.”

Of course she did. I had hashed out the past two years for Evelyn over the past five sessions. How Kimmy had met Leo, a man with two wives. How his long money had prompted her to enter the poly relationship as wife number three, because she would be able to get her hands on enough money so we could open our cosmetic store. The fact that Leo had been harboring a huge secret, and that secret resulted in me and Kimmy being kidnapped and tortured for nearly a week. That was three months ago, but it seemed like yesterday.

Pain snatched me from darkness, piercing my body like a thousand blades stabbing from flesh to bone. Everything was throbbing, and a slight ringing in my ears seemed to overwhelm the quiet conversation. Someone was talking. No, several people, in hushed whispers, as if they feared disturbing me. But as the raw memories came barreling back, licking the recesses of my subconscious, I knew it was too late. I was well past disturbed.

I moaned, not bothering to open my eyes to face the dark realities. I was in this mess because of Kimmy—being held hostage, deprived of food, and subjecting my babies to this torture. I hadn’t done anything but be a good friend, but now . . . A noise ripped through my thoughts, followed by silence. I could feel eyes on me. Then,

“Adria?” Keon. My husband’s voice held the weight of uncertainty. “Babe? You awake?”

I lifted heavy lids, squinting against the sudden glare of the hospital room lights. One by one, the other figures came into view, first Keon, then my mother-in-law, First Lady Davis. And judging by the man in the lab coat at the foot of my bed, my doctor.

He came to the side of my bed, a gentle smile on his lips. “Mrs. Davis,” he said. “I’m Dr. Hinton. Can you hear me okay?” He plucked a pen-like object from his breast pocket and shined the light in my eye.

“What happened?” My voice was hoarse, unrecognizable. I cleared it, bracing against a headache that was beginning to intensify.

“You’re in a hospital,” Dr. Hinton. “We’ve been treating you for about eighteen hours, but it’s good to see you finally came through. Are you in any pain?”

“Yeah.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“One hundred.”

Dr. Hinton chuckled, though I didn’t see this shit as humorous. He scribbled something on a notepad, then checked some fluid in the IV bag near my bed. “We’ll increase the dosage of morphine,” he said. “And I’m going to check on your MRI and ultrasound results.”

Ultrasound? My hand went to my stomach in alarm. “Are my babies all right?”

Dr. Hinton’s eyes lowered before glancing to Keon on my other side. The panic rose with this silent exchange of information.

“Babe,” Keon’s voice cracked. “They did everything they could—”

“No!” I shook off his hand and lifted the sheets to eye my stomach. I still had a pudge. My babies were okay. They had to be. “They’re fine,” I said, sinking back into the pillows in relief. “Thank God.”

First Lady Davis turned her back to me, shielding her face from view. I looked back to Keon.

“They’re all right,” I said with a small smile. “I’m all right. We’re all right.”

He shook his head and my heart fell as the first few tears rolled down his cheeks. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”

“Do you feel like it’s Keon’s fault you lost your babies?” Evelyn’s voice again cracked through my sordid memory as I struggled to blink back tears.

“No,” I shook my head, my voice surprisingly forceful. “No, of course not.”

“Then why are you so angry with him?”

“I’m not angry with him. I’m angry with . . .” I trailed off, my heart not allowing me to utter the name. I shouldn’t have been angry with Kimmy either. But how could I not? Still, how could I place the blame on a ghost? Yes, my babies had lost their lives in this mess, but so had Kimmy. And my nephew Jamal. So really, whose burden was worse?

“You told me a few sessions ago that you were Christian,” Evelyn said. “Have you been praying about this issue?”

I didn’t respond, afraid to let Evelyn know I hadn’t cracked open a Bible, nor said anything to God since the good pastor, my father-in-law, was killed. I didn’t like to admit I had turned my back on Him, but I couldn’t really see where He had helped me in any way thus far.

“I want you to go home, and read Psalm 73:26,” she continued, scribbling her instructions on a notepad. “And I want you to write down a list of everything you have to be thankful for. I want us to do a little exercise next time you come in.”

I shook my head, already dreading the assignment. “Come on, Evelyn. You know that’s not what I need.”

“What do you need, Adria?”

“Can’t you just write a prescription?” I said instead.

“The antidepressants? You’re not due for a refill yet.” Evelyn stared at me a little longer, making me uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I averted my eyes.

“I know. I just wanted to see if you could write something stronger,” I lied. “I’m not sure if it is really working for me.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said with another one of her signature smiles as she handed me the scratch sheet of paper. Defeated, I rose to leave. A sudden swell of anger had me mumbling a quick goodbye before nearly running from the room. Dammit, I had been out of pills for two days, a supply that should have lasted me the rest of the month. I had figured Evelyn could just call in some more to my pharmacy, so I hadn’t prepared for her refusal. But fine, let her be on her Dr. Phil rampage. I knew someone who could get me that same medicine for cheaper anyway.

How the hell did I get here?

I sighed as I eyed the chiffon dress still hanging in the dress bag behind my door. I had long since finished my bath but I couldn’t bring myself to move from the bed. It wasn’t cold in the room at all, but the air tingled my damp skin as I sat naked on the bed. Even though the joyous sounds from the party happening right downstairs wafted up to greet me, still I didn’t budge. Exhaustion, stubbornness, or, hell, maybe both, had me narrowing my eyes at the nauseatingly gorgeous garment that probably cost somewhere in the few thousand range. Just another one to go with the hundred others stuffed in my oversized closet.

I couldn’t bring myself to look around the spacious bedroom that was the size of a medium apartment. Couldn’t bring myself to lay eyes on what I had sold my soul for. Outside my window, a majestic view of the Dallas, Texas, skyline stretched out in the distance. In another time and place, I would have felt compelled to explore the cultural sights and sounds of being in the city for the first time. Instead, I’d been trapped in this place for the past three months. And for what? A lavish mansion and expensive trinkets? My eye had been on the trophy and here I had become the damn trophy. Glass case and all.

A few years ago, I had done something stupid. My very rich and very married boyfriend Leo had asked me to be a part of his polyamorous relationship, being involved with his two other love partners, or wives as he said, in exchange for a happily ever after. It would be temporary as far as I was concerned. Get in, funnel away his money, and get out. Little did I know just how drastically my life would change after I said, “I do.”

One of the adjoining bedrooms had been converted to my closet. Open-faced shelves displayed more than a hundred pair of designer shoes and matching purses. A luxe loveseat sat in the middle of the room, nearly buried under a mass of shopping bags and shoeboxes from Leo’s last apology.

I crossed to it now, fingering the rows of pastel blouses and tailored slacks, some still hanging in plastic protectors from the dry cleaners. I almost missed being able to just snatch some wrinkled jeans and a faded sweatshirt from the wire hangers. Even though I didn’t go any damn where, Leo didn’t like me stepping out of my room in anything less than heels and makeup. His father’s prosperous status had made him the unofficial king of his country, which had made Leo the recognized prince. So I had to uphold the delicate image of his trophy princess, and at first, I had eaten it up to the fullest. Now it was just downright annoying.

A firm knock on the door brought my attention back to the task at hand. I didn’t bother answering because it wasn’t like it was a request to open the door. It was Kareem telling me to hurry my ass up.

The man was introduced as my bodyguard, which was complete bullshit. It was more than obvious Leo had hired him to watch me, make sure I kept up the visage as the dutiful and loving wife, not the hostage I really was. It seemed futile to me because it wasn’t like I had any clue where I was.

Leo had flown me from Atlanta to Dallas and had taken my phone and every phone in the house. With the exception of the backyard, I hadn’t been outside, let alone been able to leave the property. I was miserable, but the tears were long gone. In its place, I just felt hollow, an empty shell of the Kimera I used to be.

“Saida,” Kareem called, the command laced in his gruff tone.

“I’m coming, damn,” I snapped and rose to my feet.

No, not Kimera anymore. She had died according to the doctored police report. No, now it was Saida, because it meant, what did Leo say? The fortunate one. Not quite fitting since I was anything but fortunate. And apparently, Saida needed to get her ass down to that party before Leo came up looking for her. And then she would be in an even bigger mess.

I slipped on the dress, not bothering to stop and admire how the tailored fit hugged my curves, not caring how the expensive material felt against my skin. My hair had grown a lot, and now fell in feathered layers at my shoulders. I hated it. But Leo didn’t leave me much choice with my looks now. I used my hands to smooth down . . .