“Upset. Put up a hell of a fight.”
My jaw clenches.
He sits on the chair across from mine. I see how tired he looks but he studies me quietly. “You sure about this?”
“It’s best for her.”
“Is it?” he asks.
The image of Mara standing ghost-like on that cliff appears in my mind. “What do you mean? Someone’s watching her, right? She’s not alone.”
“How long can you keep someone on her 24/7?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I get it, what she’s feeling. You saved her life.”
“That’s the point. She hasn’t had a life—”
“Risked your own for her,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “You’re probably the only man she can think of who hasn’t hurt her.”
“I’ve hurt her.”
“Have you considered… When this is over, going back for her?”
I look down at the phone on my desk. Screen is still black.
“When Pérez is dead. When St. James is out of the picture,” he adds.
St. James’s words play in my mind. It’s not just Pérez. Monsters crowd me at every turn. I can’t cast my shadow over her. I won’t. Not if I have a chance to give her what she deserves.
“You can bring her back. Keep her,” he says, possibly confusing my silence for acquiescence. But I can’t entertain that. I won’t. This is hard enough without hope of something different. Of possibility.
“No, Matthaeus. I can’t.” I get up. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it or her.” I walk out of the study.
42
Mara
Noah and I are in an obscure hotel in a long-term stay unit on the outskirts of town. Two soldiers are inside the apartment with us, and more are on the property somewhere.
I look out of the window onto the pool which I can see inside the glassed-in space. People are swimming in this icy winter’s night, the glass foggy in places from the heat and humidity inside.
“Hey,” Noah says from the doorway.
I turn to find him holding a plate of toaster waffles. They smell good but I’m not hungry. “Hey,” I say, returning my attention to the people at the pool as I hear the door close after he enters.
“Breakfast for dinner. You need to eat something.”
“I have enough people telling me what I need to do. What’s best for me. Please don’t turn into one of them.”
He comes to stand at the window beside me. The plate is gone. I guess he set it on the desk. He’s quiet as he looks out onto the distant lights of the city.
I turn to look up at him. He’s about as tall as Dante but built differently, more lean muscle than bulk. And he’s just different. Not as hard as Dante. Not as broken. Even after everything he’s been through.
He turns to smile down at me, and I feel a tenderness for him I don’t feel for anyone else. I think it’s from those first days in captivity. I was so young. And he’d been there, the same age as me, and scared too. Both of us so scared. We’d needed each other.
But then he speaks and ruins it. “He did the right thing,” he says. “I didn’t think he would.”
“No, he didn’t. He’s under some illusion I’ll have a life. That I’m better off without him–”
“You are.”
“I love him.”
“You think you love him,” Noah replies.
“That’s not it.”
“And I get it, honestly.” He walks over to sit on the edge of the bed. “He saved your life. He took a bullet for you. Multiple. And he’s probably one of the few men who’ve been good to you.”
I watch him, curious.
He shakes his head. “And in a way he’s larger than life.” He meets my eyes. “But he’s dangerous, Mara. And men like him, trouble finds them.”
“I don’t care about any of that. It doesn’t matter.”
“You know the history. Who did it. Who betrayed them. You know the guilt he carries because of that. And as little as I like him, I also feel sorry for him. He’s fucked up. I mean really fucked up. You’ll never fix him. You can’t.”
“Do you think I don’t know that he’s broken? And who says I want to fix him?”
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes to catch the few fallen tears. “I don’t want to fix him, Noah. I just want to be with him. He’s the only person I feel…I don’t know…like he knows me. I don’t have to hide or be anything.”
“I know you too. You don’t have to hide with me. Or be anything with me. And Scarlett too. And Cristiano. And your grandmother. There’s a longer list than you’re willing to accept. You just have to give us all a chance. Don’t you think we deserve a chance?”
They do and he’s right. I know. But this thing with Dante, it’s just more. “I love him,” I say finally. “I can’t live without him.” I won’t.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
There’s a long moment of silence before he speaks. “I know what you almost did. Going up to those cliffs.”
I look away.
“You have me too, Mara. Always.”
“You can’t fix me, either, you know,” I say without looking at him. “You should live your own life, Noah.”
I put my fingertips to the cool glass of the window, see how the rain is turning to sleet as the temperature cools. Down below are all those people in their bright swimsuits just laughing and living, oblivious even to the fact that it’s winter just beyond the vulnerable divide of the glass wall.
“If you’re not going to eat the waffles,” Noah starts, trailing off. I turn to glance at the plate then at him.
“Did you pour enough syrup on them?” I ask, forcing a smile as I make my way across the room and pick up a section of waffle.
It’s then there’s a popping sound. Then another.
“What—” I start but Noah’s quicker than me. His gaze shifts to the closed bedroom door and in the next instant, simultaneous to the loud crash in the other room he’s on top of me, throwing me to the floor, his full weight on me as I slam down hard. I’m dazed when I hear Noah’s muttered curse. He lifts off me just as the door slams open and from my place on the floor, I see into the fog that’s engulfed the other room and the outlines of the men who were guarding us lying on the floor as that fog begins to creep into the bedroom.
“Cover your nose and mouth!” Noah yells. I’m already coughing, choking on whatever that stuff is.
I roll onto my back to watch Noah lunge for the first man. But the man is twice as big as him, wearing a gas mask and armed. The one behind him, also masked, even bigger.
The man barely glances at me on the floor before Noah crashes into him. I can only watch as he rams his elbow into Noah’s gut before slamming his forearm across his chest, sending him crashing against the wall and knocking the wind out of him.
I barely have time to scream, to tell them to stop, or to pull the Swiss Army knife from my pocket. It all happens so fast. Noah’s down and it’s a miracle he isn’t knocked out by the force of that hit, but he’s coughing, choking.
The second man looks around the room as the first one comes for me, bending to haul me up to my feet by my arm. I sway, the room spinning.
“Hold your breath,” he says. At least I think that’s what he says, over my hacking cough, my panic.
I glance once more at Noah, see his eyes flutter open, see them focus on me as the man throws me over his shoulder like a ragdoll, carrying me off. Out of the apartment where the soldiers who were to guard us lie in heaps. Out into the hallway where more masked, armed men dressed in black from head to toe wait.
The fire alarm is going off. A door opens, a woman almost steps out into the hallway, but is shoved back into her room, the door slammed shut by the man carrying me. We hurry down the stairs and all I can do is hold on to him as he carries me out into the sleet-soaked night. I can finally draw in a deep brea
th, still choking on whatever that gas was, my throat full, tears streaming down my face.
Outside the men pull off their masks. It doesn’t matter though. I don’t recognize any of them. We slow as an SUV with tinted windows pulls up.
“No!” I kick, pound my fists into his back. I can’t let him put me in that SUV. I’m finished if that happens. But my fight has no impact at all. And soon he slides me off his shoulder as the SUV door opens. I just make out the silhouette of a man in the back seat and I try one more time, scratching at the face of the one who has me. My feet touch down as he curses, and he almost releases me. Almost.
But then the one inside the SUV grabs me by my arm and drags me inside. The door is closed, the SUV moving. He releases me as the locks engage and I push as far from him as possible expecting Felix Pérez. Terrified of seeing Felix Pérez again.
But it’s not him sitting across from me.
It’s not him at all grinning at me, casually checking his watch, the inky green of a tattoo creeping out from beneath his shirt sleeve.
43
Dante
My phone rings, waking me. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. In my bedroom in the Staten Island house lying on top of the bedding fully clothed.
I fumble for the light, for the phone vibrating on the nightstand. It disconnects before I get to it but immediately starts to ring again. I answer on the second ring.
“Brother?” I ask, seeing Cristiano’s face on the screen. He looks grave.
“We missed something,” he says. “Something big.”
I scrub my face, brace myself.
“St. James. I know why he’s pushing so hard. Why he needs that confirmation so badly.”
“Why?”
“We assumed when his fiancée was killed that the baby died.”
I feel myself go cold.
“He’s been off the grid for the last five years. Disappeared like a fucking ghost.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“The woman, Kimberly Barrett, she didn’t die at the café. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. But they were able to save the baby.”
“What?”
“A little girl. No name. At least not that we know. Just the word of one of the medics who delivered her. There’s no record of the birth otherwise. At least not at first glance. It’s why we missed it.”
“Jesus.”
“St. James left Mexico two nights later with his fiancée’s body. That was the last anyone heard from him. But it wasn’t just her body he brought home. It was his daughter.”
I push my hands into my hair. “Christ.”
“He’s kept the child a secret for a reason. Buried the fact of her existence. Maybe he’s afraid the person who put the hit on him would go after her.”
“He’s doing this to keep his daughter safe.” Fuck.
“There’s one more thing.”
“Fuck.”
“He’s gone. The penthouse is empty.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how he did it. Charlie’s had eyes on the place since we’ve known about it.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fuck!”
“Is Matthaeus able to confirm Mara’s location is secure?”
I open my mouth to answer but just then the bedroom door slams open, surprising me. I look up to find Matthaeus standing in the doorway looking like he, too, has just woken up, his hair disheveled. Shirt untucked from his jeans.
And I know from the look in his eyes the answer to Cristiano’s question.
“I don’t know how it happened!” He fists handfuls of hair, eyes wild.
“No.” I feel the blood drain from my head and don’t recognize my own voice.
No reply.
“No.” I say again, my throat tight because I know what this is.
“Fuck!” He slams his fist into the wall.
I swallow as I hear Cristiano’s curse.
“A team came in. Military precision. Masked. Ready. Gassed our men, no casualties. Noah’s beat up—”
“Mara,” I say, somehow not screaming her name.
“He took her. Left his fucking calling card.”
“Who?” Do I need to ask though?
“Jericho St. James.”
44
Mara
I know this man. He’s Kimberly’s fiancée. But he looks very different than he used to.
He smiles and I get the feeling he’s trying hard not to look wolfish, but it’s not working.
“Mara. You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m sorry about how that had to happen, but I had no choice. I can promise you though that no one got hurt. I made sure of that.”
I remember how the soldier slammed Noah against the wall, though, and slip my hand into my pocket, feel the Swiss Army knife.
“I’m Jericho St. James. Do you remember me?”
“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to answer his question.
“A few hours of your time. That’s all. You’ll be safe.”
“I doubt that,” I say, slipping the knife out and flipping it open.
One corner of his mouth quirks upward as he glances at the knife between us. He’s not afraid of me. That’s obvious. Entertained maybe, but not afraid. It pisses me off.
He shifts his gaze to mine. “That’s not necessary, Mara. Put it away before you hurt yourself.”
Why do men always do that? Belittle? I want to tell him to go fuck himself. “Stop the car. Let me out.”
“I wish I could.” He reaches toward me, and I jab the knife in his direction realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Locked in this car with this giant of a man. At least I have the blade though. Even if it is small, it hurt Alvarez. It slowed him down long enough for Dante to get there.
But then I remember Dante isn’t coming tonight. He sent me away. He doesn’t want me.
He puts his hands up, palms facing me. “Just wanted to fasten your belt.”
“I said let me out,” I scream it.
“Put that away. Last time I’ll ask.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He smiles, not trying to hide anything now. The next thing I know, as swiftly as Dante did it when I took his knife from him, Jericho St. James makes his move. He’s just as fast, his big hand closing around my wrist while the other relieves me of the switchblade. He releases me, checks the sharpness then closes it.
“Fasten your seatbelt,” he says more firmly and tucks my knife into his pocket.
“That’s mine.”
“You’ll get it back later. In fact, I may even give you an upgrade.”
“What do you want with me? Is Noah all right? The soldiers?”
“They’ll be fine. Like I said, I made sure no one would be hurt. Just knocked out for a while.”
I’m not sure if I can believe him.
“As for what I want, I need something from someone you know, and I need you in order to get it.”
I feel my blood run cold. Feel goosebumps rise along the length of my arms. Because I know what’s coming. “You’re taking me back to him.”
His jaw clenches, face tightening. “You’ll be safe.”
“I’ll be safe if you stop the car and let me out now.”
“I’m sorry but I can’t do that.”
“You mean you won’t. It’s a choice. You’re making a choice!”
The driver takes a turn, and we get onto the highway heading out of the city. I look out the back window as the lights of the town fade into the distance. I know the farther we go, the less likely it will be for Dante to find me. If he even knows I’ve been taken. If he even cares.
“Perhaps you’d like to meet the baby.”
“Baby?” I’m surprised by this turn in tactic but am instantly suspicious. “Kimberly died. The baby is dead.”
A shadow flicks through his eyes and it’s as though he almost winces at my words. “No. The baby, well, she’s five years old
now. Not a baby anymore. She survived. You’re right about Kimberly, though. She died. You can see for yourself once we arrive at the house. I know my daughter will be excited to meet you.”
He must see the confusion on my face because he appears gentler in the next moment.
“Please put your seatbelt on. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“If you’re so concerned about my safety then why would you give me back to Felix? He will hurt me.”
“I’ve arranged things, so he won’t get a chance to.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry, Mara. But I need to protect my little girl.”
We drive for almost an hour back in the direction of New York City but bypass the exits and eventually drive through the guarded gates of a secluded community. I sit up, watch as the driver takes turn after turn until we’re on a cul-de-sac with a tall wall securing the only property. It’s reminiscent of a few days ago when we drove up to the Todt Hill house, the gates that open similar, the armed soldiers indistinguishable from Dante’s.
Lights shine in the windows both upstairs and downstairs in the mansion. Once the SUV comes to a stop before the front doors, Jericho St. James climbs out and closes the door. The driver remains where he is as Jericho walks around to my side of the vehicle. He talks to a soldier whom he dismisses as he opens my door.
“Out,” he says, standing to the side to let me climb down.
I’m wet and cold and shuddering as I slip out of the vehicle.
“It’s warm inside,” he says as the SUV drives off and leaves us standing before the formidable house. “Come, Mara.”
He takes care not to touch me. I know he can drag me in if he wants. It would probably take little effort but he’s not. And I don’t have much of a choice, so I climb the few steps up to the double front doors, Jericho following at a short distance. Two armed men stand outside, nodding to him as the door is opened. Inside is lit up warmly and I hear and smell the fire I can see in the oversized fireplace in the foyer. When he closes the door behind me, I look around, taking in the grand dining room, a formal living room. From beyond it is a door that’s slightly ajar. The light is on inside and I can hear voices. A TV program. Singing. And a child’s whispered voice singing along.
Stolen: Dante’s Vow Page 22