Get You Back: Part Three: Redemption

by Juniper Bell

  I winced at the pain lashing across my scalp. I thought of the phone in my pocket. Call Elijah or Annabelle. They were on standby back at the hotel room we'd rented in the village. They'd be here in fifteen minutes. But a lot could happen in fifteen minutes, I realized as my face was mashed into his leg.

  He tugged at my hair but I resisted, even though it felt like he was ripping my hair out at the roots.

  "Isn't he amazing?" Izzy cooed somewhere overhead. "I just love it when he gets rough. Makes me think of my true lover. But don’t worry, he’s just playing."

  They called this play? I had to get out. I searched in my pocket for my phone. Not that I could see it. He had my head in a vise-like grip, and not only that, but tears were blurring my vision. Could I reach a trowel or something? Punch him in the balls?

  And then a sort of roar filled the space. The grip on my hair loosened, then disappeared. I stumbled forward onto my hands and knees. Everything was chaos all around me. Izzy was squeaking with outrage. Freddie was spitting curse words. Limbs seemed to be flying out of nowhere.

  I crouched down, covered my head with my arms, and prayed.

  Finally the din died down and I dared to look up. Freddie was sprawled unconscious on the floor under a pile of garden tools that looked like fallen pickup sticks. Izzy knelt next to him, the pink satin of her dress streaked with soil.

  Looming above them, fury vibrating from every pore, stood Rye.

  He held out his hand, palm up. I put mine in his, experiencing the wonderful thrill I always did when my flesh touched his. I ate up the sight of him in his summer linen suit. He was breathing hard, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead, his eyes pure thunderstorm. He helped me to my feet then dropped my hand immediately.

  "Are you okay?" he asked in a neutral tone.

  "Yes. It didn't … he didn't …" I trailed off, daunted by the sense of walls rising between us, as if he'd pressed the button on his power windows. "Are you okay?" I finished in a quivery voice.

  After all, that's what I'd come all this way to find out. And even though he was right in front of me, I still didn't know the answer. Physically, he looked … well, as fit and powerful as ever. But I couldn't read anything in his face. It was blank as a just-erased chalkboard.

  He swung his gaze to Izzy. "Sweetpea, we need to get you cleaned up."

  Sweetpea? A chill settled over me. I wiped my hand on my slacks, trying to erase his touch from my sensory memory. It didn't work. I still felt the rough warmth of his palm against mine.

  "Rye, you shouldn't have done that," Izzy said mournfully. "Freddie's going to be really mad. Do you know who his father is?"

  "Yes, I know who his father is," Rye said gruffly. "That doesn't mean he can mess with my fiancée."

  Anger burned inside me. What about me? Freddie had been messing with me too! And I hadn't wanted it, unlike his fiancée.

  "But Rye, did you see who's here? She was hiding behind the wheelbarrow." Izzy shook off Rye's hand as she got shakily to her feet. "Aren't you excited to see her?"

  "No," said Rye shortly. "She shouldn't be here."

  My stomach muscles clenched as if he'd physically struck me. He wouldn't even look at me as he helped Izzy refasten her dress. I only caught glimpses of what his hands were doing because it hurt to look. I didn't want his hands anywhere near Izzy Van Sant. But I had no say in it. I had no right to be here. I should never have come.

  Sickened, I turned away. I had to get out of here. I had to go away. Far, far away. Someplace where I'd never think about Rye again. But Rye was blocking the exit and I didn't want to ever go near him again.

  I heard a clatter of tools. Freddie was awake and shoving spades and rakes off him. He looked so pathetic that I would have felt bad for him if he hadn't tried to assault me. Rye folded his arms across his chest and watched closely as Izzy helped Freddie to his feet. A bruise was developing on his jaw and he wore a mean look.

  "What now, genius?" he spat at Rye. "We were just having fun. I ought to go out there and show everyone what a violent jackass you are. You don't belong here anymore."

  "You might have a point, but that's not up to you. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to text your father and tell him you're going to another party. Then you're going to call a cab and go somewhere. I don't care where, just not here. Go ahead. Do it."

  With that implacable scowl fixed on his face, there was no way anyone could disobey, certainly not weaselly Freddie. He did as ordered. Rye shoved his clothes at him. I closed my eyes for that part. I didn't need any more close-ups of Freddie. Finally he shoved the guy out the door. We heard him muttering curses as he set off across the lawn.

  "I think I messed up, Rye." Izzy brushed her fingers through her hair, somehow making it even messier. "I just wanted a little fun. You know how these parties are."

  "I know, honeybunch."

  She frowned and repeated the word “honeybunch” to herself, as if trying to figure out what it meant.

  "Don't worry about it. Just keep that pretty smile on your face and no one will have a clue about any of this."

  I couldn't let that one slide. "This is bullshit, Rye. Why should Freddie get away with this?"

  "Oh, he won't," Rye said grimly. "But some things have to stay private. Izzy has to stay out of it."

  Izzy rubbed her breasts against his arm and tilted her head to gaze at him in that same pose I'd seen on the blog. "I don't mind when you boss me around, Rye. I think it's hot."

  My teeth clenched again. Any minute now Rye would push her away. He'd tell her not to touch him, that only one woman could touch him and that was me. Because he was in love with me and wanted to marry me.

  But he did none of that. Instead, he brushed the dirt off her dress. He smoothed out the loose strands of her hair. He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and told her to tilt her head back. He gave her eye drops. Eye drops. While I stood and watched.

  Those garden tools had more smarts than I did. I was an idiot. Rye was right.

  I shouldn't be here.

  4

  Rye

  Damn it all to hell. What a fucking mess. And yet … what a fucking miracle. Even with all her efforts at disguise, my body knew her. I'd followed some sixth sense here to the garden shed, where the most godawful scene in the world knocked all sense out of me. When I saw Freddie Marks manhandling Lauren, the world turned crimson red. Next thing I knew, he was on the floor and my knuckles hurt like hell.

  I hoped I hadn't killed him, and yet I wouldn't mind if he was dead. How dare he touch Lauren like that?

  Then she looked up at me and spoke my name, and sheer panic swept through me.

  She couldn't be here. If Uncle Chris found out, he'd do something insane. He'd hurt her or threaten her—use her in whatever way he could. The man was pathological. I had to convince her to go away. And that meant that I had to play my part all the way to the hilt.

  I let my hands linger on Izzy's skin as I put her shoulder straps back into place. "Izzy, can you walk okay, sweetheart?"

  She looked pretty stoned, but I'd seen her worse. I knew how to handle her. She liked for someone to take charge. She had some kind of twisted daddy complex that got her into big trouble with rapacious men, but right now, it worked in my favor. She let me make her presentable, then steer her toward the door.

  Lauren stood stiff as a plank the whole time. It hurt to look at her, knowing what she must be feeling. But I couldn't help stealing glances her way. The wounded way she averted her eyes nearly killed me. Her hair, with its walnut-brown dye job, was still rumpled from Freddie's attack. She stood so tall and brave, slim as a sword in the luminous light filtering into the shed. I wanted to sweep her away and kiss her all over, then ask her a million questions. How had she found me? Why was she here? Did she still love me?

  But if I did any of that, she'd know that my relationship with Izzy was a sham, and then she'd want to know why I was taking part in that ruse. I couldn't let her get any closer.


  So I kept my full attention on Izzy, showering her with sweet murmurs and touches as I led her out of the shed.

  I almost pulled it off. But I took one last look back, and our eyes met.

  For one electrifying moment, everything flashed clear between us. Passion, need, longing—her, me, us—it was all illuminated in a white flood of clarity.

  I reeled away from that shed as if I'd been shot through the heart. I wanted to run back to Lauren and tell her what she meant to me. Explain that I'd rip my own heart out to protect her. At the same time, protecting her required not telling her what she meant to me. To protect her, I had to stick with the role my uncle demanded. I had to get Izzy back to the party, make some sort of excuse, then get her home before she did anything else that might give us away.

  The next half hour was a torture even worse than the nightly doses of electrocution. I tormented myself with the memory of Lauren's wounded expression, the stiff way she turned away from me. She must have come to Loon Lake to find me, of course, but she wasn’t even supposed to be in the States at all. Bliss had some kind of tape. It was too risky, and now she’d walked right into the lion’s den—AKA Uncle Chris’s orbit. For bonus agony, the image of her hair in Freddie’s fist kept haunting me.

  All those thoughts cruised through my brain while I kept Izzy out of any further trouble. I snuck her into the kitchen and made her drink half a pot of sugary coffee, which always helped her down from a high. I also poured about a gallon of water down her gullet. By the time I was done feeding her beverages, she was spluttering and cursing at me.

  "I'm going home, but not with you," she insisted. "I'm calling my driver. We'll kiss goodbye and all, but I'm mad at you, Rye. Why'd you have to make such a big deal out of this?"

  "I'm not making a big deal. I'm trying to keep it from being a big deal. None of this can get out, Izzy. None of it happened, okay? You didn't go anywhere with Freddie and you didn’t see anyone else. It’s our only chance. Got it?"

  "Okay fine, you big meanie."

  I made sure she was safely inside the family Bentley before I asked the valet for my uncle's Ferrari.

  Deciding I needed a drive to clear my head, I turned right when I reached the road that circled the lake. Left would take me toward my uncle's house, but he wasn't expecting me back for another hour. I had a brief window of freedom. Not real freedom, when I could do what I wanted. I was still on Uncle Chris's leash. But I could indulge in a short drive around the lake while breathing air not shared with either my uncle or my so-called "fiancée." I could take an hour before returning to my dungeon and my electronic bracelet.

  It was close to nine by then, with a midsummer moon rising behind the tall pines and birches that grew thick around the lake. It seemed to tangle in the high branches, fighting to get free. Go, moon, go, I thought. No one can keep the moon prisoner. Unless you considered its orbit to be a sort of prison. In which case, maybe Lauren was my sun, and I was fixed in orbit around her, my life defined by the push and pull of love and fear.

  "Rye." A hand softly touched my shoulder.

  I jerked the wheel and the Ferrari swerved across the road. I slammed on the brakes and fought for control of the high-performance machine. I fishtailed across the road until I got a grip on its course.

  I spotted an overlook up ahead, a spot where you could pull over and fish, or take pictures of the lake.

  I pulled into it and jerked the Ferrari to a halt in the sheltered little spot. I twisted around and saw Lauren curled on the backseat. Her eyes caught the moonlight. She looked painfully beautiful to me. Painful because she was so close and yet so untouchable.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't want anyone to see me."

  "You've been hiding back there?"

  "Yes. I had to talk to you. And … well, you didn't seem to be in the mood for talking back there. Thank you, by the way. That scene back there was horrible."

  My jaw tightened so hard I couldn't speak for a moment. Horrible didn't begin to describe it. "You can't be here, Lauren. I'll take you wherever you want to go. But I can't talk to you."

  "Why, because your fiancée will be upset?" She sounded lightly mocking. "The same fiancée who had her hands all over that guy?"

  "Izzy has a little problem with controlled substances," I admitted. "She gets out of control when she slips. She needs a damn handler."

  "I see. So you're the handler. She seemed to really love that about you."

  I got out of the car and opened the back door. "Out. I'm serious, Lauren. You need to go." How could I make this clear to her? "You're in danger here."

  "I'm in danger?" She didn't budge. "If you really want me to go, you're going to have to physically remove me from your fancy car. Which, by the way, doesn't really seem like your style."

  "It's my uncle's car," I muttered.

  "Right. Your uncle, the man who kidnapped you from Koh Pha Ngan. The same man who hired Bliss to marry your dad, then disappear."

  I scowled as I added one more detail to my picture of Uncle Chris. He hadn't told me that part, but nothing would surprise me anymore. "How'd you find that out?"

  "Bliss told me. I made a deal with her so I could find you."

  I spread my arms wide. "You found me. Now you can go. And I thought you couldn’t come back to the States. What about that tape you were worried about?”

  "I’m taking my chances.”

  Oh hell. She was risking herself for my sake. I wanted to bundle her onto a plane and get her away from here. At the same time, I wanted to kiss the breath out of her.

  She went on. “You know, you nearly had me convinced that you cared for Izzy. Not in a babysit-the-junkie way, but really cared for her, down deep. I was ready to slink away with my tail between my legs. I wouldn't be here now if we hadn't had that moment right before you left. And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

  I scrubbed my hand through my hair. Fatal error, looking back at her. I'd known it at the time, but I just couldn't help myself. "Lauren, trust me. Please, just go."

  "I'll go." She knelt on the seat and latched onto a door handle. "But first you have to come close to me. You have to look me in the eyes. You have to touch me. You have to demonstrate that you don't want me anymore. You have to convince me that you're with Izzy because you love her."

  My heart clenched. I couldn't do any of those things. If I touched her, I'd lose it. I'd want more. I'd want to kiss her and throw her down in the backseat or spread her out on the hood. With Lauren, I never had any self-control.

  As for lying right to her face? I couldn't pull that off either. "I don't love Izzy," I choked out. "But you still have to go. Please, Lauren."

  Her eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the door handle. "Are you doing this for money? That was my other theory. That you want that money back so badly that you'll do anything to get it. Not for yourself but for Elijah and Annabelle."

  I stared down at her. Every line of her face etched itself in my heart. Her brave vulnerability, the fire she kept banked inside, the loneliness I'd always seen in her. "Yes," I said woodenly. "It's for the money."

  She searched my face. "Tell me that again," she challenged me. "But closer. Come whisper it in my ear. Tell me how much that money means to you. Tell me why I have to get out of your life. I'll do it. Just tell me right here." She turned her face and pointed to the soft shell of her ear.

  I could do it. Why not? I was a tough guy who'd been thrown off bucking horses and punched out by angry losers after a poker game. I could pull this off.

  I slid next to her on the backseat. Her scent surrounded me. The dregs of marijuana, a spritz of jasmine body spray, and underneath all that, the glorious, unique aroma that belonged only to Lauren.

  I gritted my teeth, braced myself. I leaned closer, fighting to keep my head even though her intoxicating fragrance rose warm from her neck. I brought my lips to her ear. Soft, so soft, the feel of her skin sent an a
che through me. Her vulnerability shattered me. I opened my mouth to say the words that would send her away from me.

  Instead, I slipped the lobe of her ear between my teeth. I closed my lips around the tender flesh. I felt the shiver that traveled through her.

  Say it, I ordered myself. Tell her it's all about the money. Tell her she means nothing to you.

  But my mouth wouldn't obey. I licked the little notch behind her ear, where the bone dips down, where a pulse beat a crazy rhythm. I drank in her sigh, felt her hand flutter against my chest. At her neck, I took a bit of skin between my teeth and worked my jaw back and forth, a wolf marking its prey.

  She moaned and moved her hips, restless and impatient. "Shhh," I said. "I'm trying to say something here."

  She stilled, no doubt waiting for my fatal words, the ones that would doom our reunion.

  They didn't come. Instead, my tongue traced the path of the tendon along her neck. That long, graceful neck. My tongue did my talking for me, but without using any words. And the message it delivered had nothing to do with leaving. You're beautiful, it said. I love you more than life. I want you forever.

  She let her head fall back on the seat, her pale neck as luminous as moonstone. The surrender in that movement made my cock clench hard.

  I rested my forehead on her collarbone and fought to keep my breathing on an even keel. If she had any idea what this simple touch did to me, I'd never convince her that I wanted her to go.

  Her hand went to her blouse, a serviceable white thing that somehow looked sexy on her. She flicked open the buttons, one by one, while I watched like a hypnosis patient. She undid her bra, exposing her breasts, the nipples already hard little points on those creamy slopes.

  "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me you want me gone." She squeezed her nipples between her index fingers and thumbs. I watched the dusky flesh grow under the pressure. It made me weep with want. My cock pounded.

  "I … want you," I managed. I couldn't get that last word out of my mouth. It just wouldn't go. My mouth needed to be around those nipples, laving them, teasing them to full, blood-darkened peaks. My hands needed to be under her breasts, around them, lifting them up for my ruthless gorging. I was starving for her, dying for her.