Still Not Yours: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Hold still,” I command. “You’re upsetting your son.”

  Mike freezes, save for the heave of his chest under my palm as he breathes in slow, swift gasps through his teeth, mouth open on a clenched jaw like a frightened animal. He stares at me, wild-eyed.

  I look back flatly, calmly.

  “Simple questions, Mike,” I say. “Simple answers. Who’s going to be hurt?”

  He’s shaking wildly now, the stink of terror rising off him like vinegar. He shakes his head frantically, but suddenly he’s quiet as a mouse.

  I sigh, shifting my hand so the heel of my palm presses against a precise spot on the center of his chest. “You know about the human body, Mike, being an instructor and all. Do you know about the xyphoid process?”

  He nods rapidly, chokes, his sweaty skin going pale.

  “Sweet. Then you know that if I apply just the right pressure, that little spur of bone will break right off your sternum. If you’re lucky, it’ll just hurt. If you’re not so lucky...” I shrug. “It could lodge in your heart and kill you. I don’t want to do that. Especially not in front of your son. It’s really up to you if that happens or not, and you have a choice to make. Start deciding.” I lean in just a little harder, just enough that he’d feel bone creak, and he lets out a horrid little whimper. I'm careful to hide it from Ryan, make it look like I've just got him pinned.

  If Mike has any functioning brain cells, he'll fucking thank me for that later. “Now, tell me what’s going on. Why your son's here crying on my doorstep over something you don’t want him to tell me?”

  “It’s the Pilgrims!” Mike blurts out in a high, cracking screech, arching against the pressure of my hand before going limp as an empty sack, shoulders sagging. “They said they’d take Ryan...said they’d kill him if I didn’t –”

  “If. You. Didn’t. What?”

  “If I didn’t give them Liv!” he screams, before bursting out in muffled sobbing.

  Liv.

  Part of me wants to give him a better reason for those tears.

  Part of me wants to break him apart right here, right now, and leave him to suffer and bleed.

  But I can’t. Not in front of Ryan, and not when I don’t know what I’d be driven to do if I was forced to choose between Em and a stranger's life.

  And now that I’m coming down from the original shock, it registers that Mike’s left eye is a pulped and swollen mess of red and purple and bruise-yellow, probably from a fist. Not mine.

  I can’t pity Mike. I just can’t, not when he’s already shown himself a coward willing to sell people out for money.

  But I can have mercy. Mercy, yeah. That, I can do.

  Besides, I'll need to conserve every ounce of my rage and darkness to get Liv back.

  I step back, letting Mike go. He crumples in a mewling heap on the stoop, curling forward and wrapping his arms around himself. He’s small in my shadow, but not trying to run. He won’t look at me, cutting his eyes to the side, keeping his head bowed and hunched like he's just waiting for the final blow to come.

  “Enough,” I say. “Stand up and tell me exactly what happened. Then take your son and go home, and make sure I never have reason to see you again.”

  Mike curls up, pulling his knees to his chest. Ryan starts to edge past me, glancing at me warily, almost as if he's asking for permission, and I nod subtly.

  Fuck, I don’t want this kid scared of me. He’s a good kid, brave, smart, and I trust him to understand what’s happening right now.

  He returns my nod, and then rushes to his father’s side, sinking down next to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Mike latches on hard, clinging, burying his face in Ryan’s hair, and for all that I loathe this cowardly piece of shit, I can recognize something else, too. The familiarity of holding your child close just to remind yourself that they’re safe in your arms; just to comfort yourself with the weight of their being.

  He takes several deep breaths, calming, and then speaks more steadily. “I don’t know how the Pilgrims figured out I was connected to you. Probably thanks to Mr. Holly. But they cornered me. The big one, Lion, the one in charge, he...he made sure I understood how much he could hurt me. How much he could hurt Ryan.” He gathers his boy closer, looking up at me with a mixture of fear, shame, and defiance. “And he told me I had to find Liv and bring her. So I...I thought she'd be at your house, and I was on the way there when I saw her walking. I had to lie to get her in the car, and then I texted the signal to the Pilgrims and took her to the designated pickup. They came in black cars. Lion took her, and they drove away.” He fumbles in his pocket, then produces a dirty, scratched up pinkish gold iPhone with a cracked screen and thrusts it at me. “Sh-she dropped this.”

  I feel as cracked as the screen as I take the phone and stare down at it.

  It's Liv's.

  Fuck. There goes any hope of tracking her by GPS.

  Looks like we'll have to do this the hard way.

  I shove her phone into an outer pocket of my bag, then pull my own phone from my pocket, striding toward the Wrangler.

  Throwing the back door open, I shove the duffel bag into the back seat, then slam the door and point at Mike. “Take him home. Lock your doors. Don’t answer for anyone. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

  He stares at me, though I’m half-ignoring him, already dialing Landon’s number. Mike makes an odd noise, then says, “How can it be safe? How can any of us ever be safe again?”

  “Because,” I say, hefting myself behind the wheel of my car. “By the time I’m done, there won’t be a single Pilgrim left alive.”

  21

  A Little Fear (Olivia)

  All my life, I’ve never known pain.

  I’ve known loss.

  I’ve known the quiet little hurts that come with everyday life, the bumps and wounds that cut deeper and deeper until somehow, sooner or later, they become a gash on your soul that never quite heals.

  I’ve known the emptiness of a pointless life that seems as though it'll never become something true, something real. I’ve known the betrayal of realizing your father is a sniveling, self-serving coward who would let you die to save himself.

  But I’ve never known the true pain of heartbreak.

  Not until I realize I really might never see Riker again.

  And I’ve never known the pain of a body exploding on itself.

  Not until a fist goes crashing across my face, whipping against my jaw, knocking my head to the side.

  My whole face is on fire, my skull ringing, my brain jounced inside my skull.

  Savage pain throbs through my entire body like that blow was the epicenter of an earthquake and it sent its full force through me. I stare blankly at the rusted metal wall of the tiny room I’ve been locked in, stuck in this chair with my ankles tied to the legs and my hands locked behind my back by cuffs that bite my wrists.

  Everything feels upside down and nauseating. It’s not just the slow rock and sway of the floor under my feet, telling me I’m on a boat.

  My vision wavers, and I’m too fucking angry to cry, but I think I just might pass out. I can taste my own blood, and it’s metallic and salty and terrifying.

  It’s also a comfort. A grounding point, a thing to hold onto, to center myself so I don’t fall apart.

  I may have lost my freedom, but I still have my will, my determination, and it tastes like that coppery hot rush of blood in my mouth.

  “For the last fucking time,” the man standing over me says, a low and guttural snarl, “I want the info on your Daddy's offshore accounts, and I want it fucking now.”

  Lion.

  He’s all beard and mane and vibrating, dripping malice, wrapped up in a bulk of aged black leather and solid muscle. His knuckles are red from how hard he hit me. His fist is clenched with the dark and terrible promise that he'll do it again.

  I lift my head, glaring, squinting until my vision focuses and there’s only one Lion instead of overlapping blurs of two or th
ree.

  “I told you already,” I force out. Talking hurts, my jaw on fire, my lips aching, but I make myself speak anyway. “I’ll pay you. Between Dad’s charge accounts and my trust fund...I can offer you a little over a million dollars.” I look him over with complete loathing.

  Heck yes, I’m afraid, but I can’t seem to hold back my contempt, even if it might get me killed.

  This man may be large and intimidating, a demon wearing a man's face...but it takes someone small and weak to think terrorizing people like this makes him powerful. “Just take it and be done. Done with all this.”

  His nostrils flare, and he snorts.

  “You're goddamned adorable. You really think a million's enough to compensate for two lives?” He sinks down into a crouch, bringing himself in close until I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. His teeth are large and hard, bared in a snarl. “You think a shitty million makes up for everything your daddy's done to me? He's worth half a billion dollars – and you insult me with this fuckin' pocket change?”

  I refuse to flinch, meeting his eyes without blinking. “No. But it’s what I have. Me, Lion, not my father. And it’s more than you’ll ever get from my dad. His pride won’t let him negotiate with you.”

  “It’s an insult! Far, far less than what he owes me.” He rises to his full towering height, leering down at me. “Daddy dear’s been a very bad business partner, little girl, and he’s got to honor his contracts.”

  I frown. “Contracts?”

  His hand hits the table next to me so hard, I jump. He leans down, making this weird coughing sound. It takes me a second to realize he's laughing. Then he looks up.

  “Fuck me with a jackhammer. You really are a naïve little princess, aren’t you?” He captures my jaw in one brutal hand, jerking my head up, holding so tight I feel like my jawbone’s going to crack like an eggshell. “You have any idea how much money Daddy took from me before he bailed on his promises? How much I busted my balls shuttling those fuckers up here to build his goddamn mall so he could turn a nice little profit? How we took all the fuckin' risk, all the fuckin' screaming and whining and dead assholes the cartel killed on the way here before we bought 'em, fair and square, only for Daddy to piss his pants real bad and worm away at the last fuckin' second?”

  My throat hurts. I can't believe my father was involved in something like this, even if he tried to get out. Something that used human trafficking and killed people.

  I try to shake my head, struggling to speak around the fingers digging into my flesh and holding my jaw in place with bursting points of pain. “It was just a mistake. An honest, screwed up, really horrible –”

  “It was a knife in the goddamn back!” Leaning in, Lion lets out a deep snarl. His breath is foul, his spittle flecking on my cheeks in hot little spatters.

  His eyes are brown and wild and crazed, a little too wide, the stare of a psychopath who’s no less dangerous even though he’s in complete control of his insanity. “He cut and run too late. Left me with a lot of debt, and thought just because I couldn’t take him to court, he’d get away with it.” He jerks my chin hard enough to make my neck twinge in a whiplash snap, and I bite back a cry of pain. “He was wrong. Your daddy took my men and my money. Then he tried to cover his braindead ass and killed my boys. There's no forgivin' that.”

  It’s not hard to tell he’s enjoying this.

  He wants to see me cower, see me cry, see me trembling and begging for mercy. And honestly, he might.

  I don't know how long I can be strong in the face of pure evil.

  He takes his time slipping a knife from his pocket. It's a long jackknife that he flicks open with a terrible, ominous snick, the edge gleaming in the low white light of this cold, awful, echoing room.

  Pointedly, he runs his thumb along the edge, the lightest ghost touch. But it’s enough to raise a thin line of blood along his skin, the edge keen as a razor and ready to bite into me.

  My stomach quakes, turns, but I hold my silence.

  “Sorry, little girl. You’re not getting out of this in one piece no matter how much he pays.” He smirks, solidifying his grip on the knife, holding it like he’s about to start carving a Thanksgiving turkey. “You’re gonna get him to return my goddamned money – double, with interest – and then I’m gonna leave your limp, broken body bleeding on his doorstep. I owe him two corpses. No fuckin' money ever trades blood. Not in this world. Not ever.”

  Somehow, I find it in me to smile.

  It’s a fierce, terrible smile, but like hell am I going to die sobbing and begging. “Funny. Doesn’t really give me much incentive to help, if you’re going to kill me anyway. Dunno, Lion...this plan doesn’t sound very well thought out.”

  “There are many different ways to die. That's your bargaining chip. Be a good girl, and I'll make it quick. You won’t even feel it. You’ll be dead before you even hear the gunshot...right...here.” He lightly taps the cold, wicked point of the knife between my eyes, and my heart lurches.

  “Be a bad girl, a royal bitch, though...” His voice drops, purring with sadistic pleasure as he traces that mocking, horrid point down the bridge of my nose to the tip in a ticklish threat. “And I’ll make you watch me carve your sister up into slices of thin red deli meat before I do the exact same thing to you. How the fuck will that go down when it hits her Instagram? They'll talk about it till the end of time.” Tap-tap-tap, the blade pricking at my nose.

  A slow, scared breath heaves out of me, even though I try to stop it. Lion pauses, looks me over, his eyes twisting with mock sympathy.

  “Aw, you wanna live? Thought you might. So, here's option two: maybe instead of you and Milah the Whore, I give your old man that hard-nosed daddy-fuck you’ve been clinging to like a damn life raft. Him and his pretty little girl. I could have a lot of fun with a soft, sweet thing like that, don’t you think?”

  I swallow a lump like a boulder. No!

  The fear and horror I’d been staving off are like a slow acid drip on my soul. It sinks in.

  He’s going to kill Riker and Em.

  He’s been watching me for that long, and he knows about Riker, about Em, how much I care about them, how to get to them. I know Daddy and Milah can keep themselves safe as long as they keep throwing money at security and pulling strings until the problem goes away, one way or another. But Riker and Em...

  They don’t deserve this.

  I have to keep Lion’s attention on me, dammit.

  I don’t even know the magic info he wants. I’ve never had access to Daddy’s offshore accounts, never even knew they existed.

  But I have to make him believe I do, and that he can’t afford to mess with me if he wants more money. I have to stall him out. Every minute I'm alive is one more chance that something, anything, will come along and end this horror.

  I’m just tired. So tired.

  I want to lie down and let this be over. But as long as I can stay conscious, as long as I can endure this, my silence gives me power.

  He can’t force me to say anything, and as long as he has me, he won’t go after Riker, Em, or Milah.

  I need to keep his cruelty focused on me, and only me. Need to take all of the pain, and all of his hate.

  If I can do that, maybe I can keep them safe.

  It’s that thought giving me the strength to lift my head, look up at him, bare my teeth against a smile. Animal against animal. I’m going to find my claws and my wildness and my strength no matter how deep down I have to dig.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Guess I’m going to make you work for it. I’d start with small cuts. You don’t want me to bleed out too fast, after all. There’s something you don’t know.”

  Lion arches a brow. He actually looks interested, curious, a challenging light in his eyes. “Yeah? What’s your ace in the hole, little girl?”

  “If you kill me, you’ll never get the money you want.” It’s a bluff, but I’m betting he’s greedy enough to buy it. “My father can’t even get to his
accounts without me. It’s part of his security. I’m the only one who knows the wire info for his Swiss bank accounts. Kill me and you might ruin him when he’s cut off from his money, but you won’t get a damn thing.”

  He stares at me. I glare back defiantly, jutting my aching jaw forward, bracing myself all over. Lion throws his head back, belting out a roaring, deep laugh.

  “So you’ve got a spine,” he sneers, stepping closer, laying the blade against my throat, against the wild, hot flutter of my pulse, the metal warming against my skin. “I fuckin' love it. That’ll make it so much more fun to find out if you’re lying.”

  His thumb strokes along my cheek, coarse and loathsome. I turn my head, lean into the touch.

  Then I sink my teeth into the soft webbing between his forefinger and thumb.

  He jerks back with a ragged, furious growl, but not before I can draw back and spit in his face. I barely have half a second to see murder flashing in his eyes before his fist comes crashing down again, and everything goes bright and dark. Then red and horrible and starry with pain as he backhands me.

  I’m not going to survive this. I’m not.

  But if I can make him believe it’s all useless with me dead, he might leave the people I love alone.

  I won’t break. I can’t.

  But all I have to hold on to, as I steel myself for more, is remembering Riker’s lips.

  The memory of his sweet, reassuring kiss, and the desperate wish to see him again. To taste him. To love him deeper than ever before and sink into the safety of his arms.

  Does he know where I am? Is he looking for me now? I hope not.

  There's too many Pilgrims. I woke up in this room with Lion, but I’ve seen enough men come in and out, heard enough noise to know there are at least a dozen of them here, maybe more.

  They’d kill Riker and all his friends in an instant. Even two dozen of the best Enguard personnel won't stand a chance, and all of this would've been for nothing.

  Riker, I think as Lion’s shadow falls over me, the edge of the blade sharp, white, and hungry. Stay safe. Please don’t come.