Unbroken

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “You were right,” I admit, handing him back his phone. “I needed to hear his voice.”

  “And you didn’t yell,” he observes.

  “I should have. He deserved yelling.”

  “We can call back.”

  I inhale and let it out, shaking my head. “I’ll save it for next time.”

  “Does that mean you believe there will be a next time?”

  “Yes. No.” I hesitate. “I don’t know what to expect with Chad. We’ll see, I guess.”

  He studies me a long moment before surprising me with, “I know what you told him about us.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “You told him I hadn’t asked you to marry me.”

  Feeling like a deer in the headlights, I stammer. “I . . . Yes, but . . .”

  “Do you know why I haven’t asked, Amy?”

  “I told you not to.” But some part of me is trembling inside, in denial of some fear I haven’t allowed myself to realize.

  “Do you really think that I’d let your fear determine when I asked you to marry me?”

  And there it is. The unrealized fear, now realized. No. He wouldn’t. Liam Stone goes after everything he wants.

  “I haven’t asked you because we’re better than a proposal in a safe house,” he says. “I love you too damn much for that.”

  It’s a good answer. Why do I want more? “I know you love me,” I say quickly.

  “Why is there a silent ‘but’ behind that statement?”

  And I know the answer, acknowledging the root of my fear now. “My life has impacted every moment of yours since we met. It seems like a poor reward for saving me in a time of need.”

  “Amy. Baby. It’s you who saved me—and if I haven’t shown you that, I’ve failed you.”

  “You say that because you love me. And I selfishly want you to keep loving me. But Chad reminded me of how uncertain everything in my life up to this point has been.”

  I wait for a reply, not sure what I expect. He stares at me, his aqua eyes flecked with an emotion I can’t quite identify. Is he angry with me? At Chad? My fingers twist in my lap. “You’re upset.”

  “Damn straight I’m upset.” He stands, taking me with him, and before I know his intent, he’s thrown me over his shoulder, his arm a bracket over my legs, and starts walking.

  Shocked and disoriented, I grab at the bottom of his suit jacket as blood rushes to my head. My shoes fall off. My hair drapes over my face and I’m swiping it away as we enter the master bedroom, the lights automatically dimming to a low, seductive glow, the moonlight and stars reflecting off the river just outside the wall of windows.

  Liam sets me on my feet beside the bed, towering over me a good foot without my shoes, his fingers twining in my hair, forcing my gaze to his. “We are not uncertain. I will not let your fear destroy us. I’d propose right now, but I won’t do that on the night you pretended to bury your brother. And for the record—Chad did this for the right reasons, but he handled it like hell with you. If he was here right now, I’d punch him.”

  “You?” I laugh, the tension sliding away. “Mr. Control himself?”

  “I’d win. That’s control.”

  “If anyone gets to hit my brother, it’s me. You don’t get to take that away.”

  “No, I suppose not.” His hands move to my neck, his thumbs stroking my jawline, his voice lowering. “But what I can do, baby, is take away the hurt you’re feeling right now. Make you forget.”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to forget this day. Pretending to bury Chad was a nightmare, but he isn’t dead. And I was excited driving here, and even more so to see the Christmas tree. And I want to decorate it and create new traditions with you, Liam.”

  His eyes soften, his mouth, too. “Then let’s make more good memories, baby.”

  “Yes. Please,” I say, and my words land on his tongue as he kisses me tenderly. His mouth lingers over mine, my body coming alive, and I feel him breathing with me. Sometimes it feels as if he’s the only way I can breathe.

  Liam shifts the spell between us to new places, turning me to face the massive four-poster bed that stirs wonderful, intimate memories, and I am most definitely ready to make more. He unzips my skirt and with deft fingers undresses me, removing one of the barriers between us. Slowly. Seductively. Somehow he never touches my skin but I feel him everywhere, my nipples aching, my sex clenched. My skin tingles the way my backside had when he smacked it. I know he’s teasing me, driving me to a place where there is only this man, this room, and me. I feel the energy shift and know that he’s no longer directly behind me, leaving me naked and untouched. The freedom to be vulnerable with this man, which I don’t dare with anyone else, is sexy in a thrilling way.

  “Turn around,” he orders, and the rough, aroused quality of his voice tells me I affect him, too. I like that even when he’s in control, there’s a part of him that I set free.

  I face him, finding him close, but not close enough. He shrugs out of his jacket and I’m mesmerized by him, his power, his grace. Every move he makes is controlled. Every action calculated. And I realize something I think I’ve known all along: we are the same. Both damaged. Both shattered in some deep way. Both defending ourselves from future wounds with our self-control.

  He tugs his tie off and wraps it around his hand, silently promising me that soon I’ll be at his mercy. It’s not the first time he’s tied me up, and each encounter is different in a good way. Yet tonight feels like the first time—as if we really are starting a new chapter.

  During our first encounter, he’d said, “Sometimes having a safe place to give it away is the best way to block everything else out. I’m asking you to let me show you that I’m that safe place.”

  And Liam is my safe place.

  “Amy.”

  His voice commands my attention, and I look up to find I’ve missed the delicious moments leading up to him now being gloriously naked. My gaze lands on the “pi” tattoo on his belly, the 3.14 etched above a row of numbers in an upside-down triangle that is all about the infinite possibilities of life. It’s both thrilling and terrifying at times when I consider them with this man.

  “Hold out your hands,” he orders, and it speaks volumes that I no longer hesitate to give myself fully to Liam.

  He twists his tie around one of my wrists, and I think of the many ways he has helped me escape my past. But what about his past, which is just as etched in heartache as mine? He doesn’t talk about his mother, not since his sole emotional breakdown. Since then, he’s protected me—but who protects him?

  He completes the knot binding my hands and pulls me to him. “And now, you’re mine to please and tease.”

  “Yes, I am,” I agree. “Am I your safe place, too, Liam?”

  His expression tightens and he fixes me in a piercing stare, letting me see the depth of emotion in his eyes. “Baby, you’re the only safe place I’ve ever known.”

  “But you never let go of control.”

  “That’s not what works for me. Taking control works for me. You work for me.”

  “I don’t want everything in your life to be about guarding me. I don’t want that to be all we are. I want to breathe for you when you need me to, the way you breathe for me.”

  His unties my bound wrists and drops the tie on the floor, his eyes dark, unreadable. Wordlessly, he scoops me up again, cradling me against his body, and in a few steps he sets me down in the center of the massive bed. Then the weight of him presses me down, his erection pressed intimately between my thighs.

  “Sometimes you’re the only reason I do breathe, Amy Bensen. But let’s make a deal. From now on, let’s breathe together.”

  His words seep inside, soothing every broken part of me and making me a little more whole. He makes me a little more whole.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my arms twining around his neck. “Together.”

  He leans in to kiss me, and we’re lost to the world.

  PART THREE

&
nbsp; Nightmares

  I REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP CURLED UP next to Liam, my hand over the tattoo that is so a part of him. It makes me feel more a part of him as well. I remember Liam talking to me, telling me a story about his first trip to Asia, the soft, masculine caress of his voice like a lullaby, relaxing and still somehow seductive. I remember asking him questions, my voice sounding as relaxed and groggy as I felt. I was sated, happy in that safe place he creates for me where there is only light and no darkness. I’d fought the way my eyelids had fluttered, willing away the sleep overcoming me. And then the nightmare I tried to shove away but failed . . .

  Smoke chokes me, filling my lungs, fire licking at my heels.

  “Jump!” Chad yells. “Jump!”

  My heart is racing and my belly is burning as badly as my lungs, my feet wobbling on the edge of the windowsill. And somehow, I know that this is good-bye. To Chad. To my mother, who was screaming in agony in the other room but has now gone silent. To life as I know it. I don’t want to let go. I don’t . . . want to let go.

  “Jump!” Chad yells again, and I just do it. I jump, my stomach flipping with the action, my heart racing, the adrenaline surging through me as I brace for the impact, which will steal what little air I have left. And then . . . and then . . . nothing. No pain. No impact. No . . . nothing. Everything goes black. But that’s not how it happened. That’s not what came next, and on some level I know this because I’m asleep, living one of my many nightmares.

  Suddenly, I flash forward several years to when I’d lived in New York, hiding from an unknown enemy. Nervously fidgeting, I stand at my landlord’s door as I prepare to tell him that I’m going to be late on my rent. Again. I’m going to be late again when he told me the last time was it. No more extensions. Inhaling deeply, I steel myself for the grumpy old man’s attitude and knock. And wait. And wait. I knock again, but still there is no answer. Of course not. It’s Christmas Eve. He has family. He has people he loves that he’s spending time with tonight. My gut wrenches as I walk down the hallway and up several flights of stairs to the foyer I share with only one other tenant. I stop dead in my tracks on the final step, staring at the box sitting in front of my door.

  My heart begins to race, roaring in my ears. I know without question that my past is visiting me tonight. Forcing myself to breathe, I step forward and kneel down in front of the package, my long winter coat weighing me down like the dread that sits on my shoulders. On the top there is a symbol, a triangle with hieroglyphic writing inside, that tells me this parcel is from my invisible guardian angel. I don’t know if that means it’s good news or bad.

  A pebble of hope forms in my chest. Could the running be over? Could this be the moment when I hear that I no longer have to hide? Urgency builds inside of me, and I stand, unlocking my door. Shoving it open, I flip on the lights, using my foot to scoot the box over the threshold of my tiny apartment. Stepping inside, I lock the door behind me, and for a moment I absorb the blow of a living area with a simple navy blue sleeper couch and matching chair, a wooden coffee table, and a closet-sized kitchen to the left being all I have in my sanctuary and hiding place.

  My lips curl over my teeth as I fight the burn in my eyes. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to open the package. I’m afraid to. I’m always afraid, and I hate that this is who I’ve become. But still I take my time and loop my purse on the hook above my head on the door before taking off my coat. Running my hands down my black skirt, I bend down and carry the box to the living room, where I set it on the coffee table. And stare at it. When it doesn’t open itself—imagine that?—my gaze lifts to the four-foot-tall artificial tree that I’d bought two years ago and I stand, crossing the few steps needed to turn it on, staring at the twinkling multicolored lights and the plain green, blue, and red ornaments, remembering the glorious ceiling-high fir trees my family used to decorate. The laughter and the joy. The gifts we’d picked out with such care.

  Forcing myself back to the couch, I sit down and see that the box is taped tightly. I grab a pen on the table and jab at the tape, steadying my trembling hand and willing away my weakness. “Stop it,” I hiss at myself. “You’re stronger than this.” I pant out several angry breaths, angry at my “guardian angel” for leaving me so alone and in the dark. How can anyone live like this? How?

  I stab the tape again and again, ripping at it until the stupid lid is free, then I tear the box open—and gasp as I stare down at stacks of money. Shocked and disappointed, though I can’t quite analyze why yet, I reach for the blank envelope sitting on top of the cash and open it. A typed message inside reads: If you spend it too fast or deposit it in the bank, it will bring attention to you that you can’t afford. Use it as you need it, but do it discreetly.

  Tears pool in my eyes, a thunderstorm of emotions rushing over me. I have money now, but this is so far from being over. I’m being watched. I’m in danger. At any moment, someone could hurt me like they did my family and I have no idea why. Yet there is relief in knowing someone is looking out for me. The years of silence since my guardian angel, my handler, last made contact made me wonder. I’m not completely alone. I’m not . . . alone. I lie down on the couch and everything goes black again.

  Now it’s years later and I’m standing in the bathroom in the museum where I work, exiting a stall to find a note on the mirror. And I know without reading it that my world has shattered once again. I’d tried to start a new life, a new job, with friends, and happiness. I’ve gotten stronger, beaten my fear.

  My head swims in blackness and I’m transported to the airport, on the run again. I’ve just been told by the attendant at the counter that I might not make my standby flight, and I turn away, feeling more alone and scared than ever. I’ve never felt as alone as in that moment, when my eyes collide with a stranger’s penetrating stare, and I shockingly feel no fear. I feel a connection. The room disappears, the unease fades if only for moments, and he and I exist together. I am not alone. And then Liam fades away, like some kind of camera trick, and it’s as if he was never there. Like everyone else I’ve ever loved.

  I jerk awake and sit up, gasping for air, my fingers curling around the blankets as my gaze rips around the dark room, reality coming back to me in a welcome flood of information. I’m in the bedroom, back in the city, with the faint hue of moonlight just beyond the wall of curtains before me. I reach for Liam but find him missing and I flash back to the moment in the nightmare when he faded away. A tingling sensation starts in my head, a familiar prelude to the blackouts that have haunted me for six years, when I haven’t had one in months. No. No. No. I can’t black out.

  Inhaling deeply, I will myself to calm down. Breathe, Amy, I tell myself, repeating the words in my mind several times, relieved when I blink the room back into view. And I see Liam standing in the parted curtains I’d scanned moments before without truly seeing what was before me. Dressed in only pajama pants, he’s unmoving, like the stone that is his name. I glance at the clock, seeing that it’s four in the morning. I’m now officially concerned. Never in all of the months that I’ve slept with him have I found him awake like this.

  Throwing off the blankets, I climb out of the bed, tugging at the hem of my T-shirt as I soundlessly pad toward him, the heated wood floor warming my bare feet, though fear chills my body. Always fear. I cannot escape it no matter how Liam tries to make me feel safe, because that nightmare says it all. It’s not about me. It’s about the danger that he and Chad will forever be in because of the cylinder.

  The instant I’m behind him, in true Liam form he proves that he’s always aware and in control, turning just enough to pull me in front of him. In a blink, I’m against the cold window, and when his powerful thighs encase mine, I’m overwhelmed in the best of ways by his raw masculinity.

  “Why are you awake?” he demands, his dark hair rumpled, his fingers snug at my waist, holding me in place, my anchor when the world spins beneath my feet.

  “Because you’re awake, and it worried me. Is Ch
ad—”

  “I haven’t talked to him since you did, but I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a survivor, just like his sister.” He strokes the hair from my eyes, his piercing gaze glinting in the moonlight, penetrating the shadows of the barely lit room. “You had another nightmare.”

  “Yes. How did you know that? I haven’t had one in weeks.”

  “It’s in your eyes.”

  “Dr. Murphy says they’re about control. You know that.”

  “And being back in the city makes you feel we don’t have it.”

  I think about the nightmare, and shake my head. “I think it was the funeral. A waking nightmare that created a sleeping one.”

  “It would be unreasonable to expect anything else, but I’d hoped maybe we’d overcome that before you went to sleep.”

  “It wasn’t on my mind at all when I went to sleep.” My fingers curl in the dark, springy hair on his chest. “Why are you awake at four in the morning?”

  “Thinking about you.”

  “Me?”

  “I want you to feel safe, and I know that’s going to take time.”

  “I’ll be fine if you’re fine, Liam. That nightmare wasn’t just about Chad or my past. It was about you. It was a warning. You have to get out of this.”

  His fingers flex on my waist. “I’m not going anywhere, Amy.”

  “No,” I say, hating what I know has to happen. “I am. I’m the connecting dot between you, Chad, and the cylinder. If I’m not in the equation, you can escape this and put it behind you.”

  He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “You’re in every equation for me, baby—now and forever. What happened to starting our life together and creating new traditions?”

  “I want those things because you make me selfish. You’re the Prince Charming every girl wants, but in a fairy tale, the prince doesn’t die. That nightmare reminded me that my life is no fairy tale. You can die. They will kill you to get that cylinder if they think you’re in the way. And you will be, Liam, because that’s who you are. You won’t let good lose the war with evil.” I think of what I’d felt last night, how I’d wondered who would protect him when he was protecting me, and I know now where my mind was going. “I have to fight for you.”