by Erin Noelle
A flood of emotions washes over me when he finishes the recap, and immediately, I burst into uncontrollable tears. Relieved Madden isn’t seriously hurt. Angry at myself for getting him involved in my mess of a life. Worried he’s already begun to resent me. Scared he’ll do something else reckless and put himself in another dangerous situation—one he may not be able to walk away from. Confident he truly meant it when he whispered he loved me. Devastated I may never be able to tell him the same.
“Why are you crying, kotyonok?” In a flash, I’m cradled in Raze’s arms, my face buried in his chest. I welcome the human contact and melt into him. “I thought you’d be happy to hear he’s okay and going home. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . .” Each time I try to start talking, I hiccup back a sob. “I n-never told him . . . I never told him I love him.”
The moment the confession leaves my lips, I erupt into another fit of hysteria, clinging to his brawny back while I use his shirt as a handkerchief. He tightens his arms around me, holding me closer while he soothingly strokes my hair.
“Shh, there. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispers softly. “Once this is all over, you’ll be able to tell him whatever you want. Just calm down, sweet girl. No need to get this upset.”
Sweet girl—Madden’s nickname for me—echoes loudly in my ears, and instead of calming me down, the words rip my soul from me. Breathing is difficult. I can’t get enough air. My chest feels as if it’s cracked open, exposing the carnage of what’s left of my shattered heart.
In a last-ditch effort to anchor myself to reality, I dig my fingernails into the soft flesh beneath them, craving the pain that follows, the pain that reminds me I’m alive. Except, it never comes. Frustrated, I bite deeper, burying the keratin into my sides and dragging downward, and when I still don’t feel anything, I realize it’s because I’m holding onto Raze and not myself.
Hastily releasing him, I gasp with horror as I lean back to look into his face. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you? I thought I was—”
He holds a finger up to my mouth to quiet me. “I’m fine, but you need to calm down, kotyonok. Upsetting yourself like this doesn’t help anything. I know you miss him and you feel guilty for not telling him how you felt before all of this happened, but you have to believe you’re going to see him again.”
“What if I don’t? What if something goes wrong with the whole Vincent thing and he kills me first? What if Vincent never comes back from Italy? What happens to me then? You’re just gonna let me go?” I sniffle while wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. “There are all these what-ifs, Raze, and you know as well as I do that anything can happen. The actual chance of Madden and me ever being reunited is slim, and even if we are, I doubt things will ever be the same again between us.
“I mean, how will he look at me now that he knows who I am and what I’ve done? He’s probably disgusted at the thought of me. Not to mention, our relationship has now nearly gotten him killed. He probably hates—”
This time, two fingers pressed to my lips cut me off. “He definitely loves you,” he states without hesitation. “And none of that will matter to him. Not even a little bit. Trust me on this. I would’ve died a thousand deaths for my Darya to live her one life.”
With no intelligible response to his profound assertion, I curl back up against his chest and close my eyes. The next thing I know, I’m waking up to the smell of maple syrup and bacon, tucked into Raze’s bed, alone.
DESPITE THE DOCTOR’S STRICT ORDERS about staying in bed and resting for at least seven to ten days, the morning after I arrive home from Chicago, I step out of the elevator onto the tenth floor, which is exclusive to Decker Enterprises. Lance, the personal bodyguard assigned to me by the FBI despite my reluctance, steps out with me, undeterred by the leave-me-the-fuck-alone vibe I’ve been giving since he followed me into the building.
Already irritated, when I’m greeted cheerfully by the receptionist with a “Welcome back, Mr. Decker!” I just scowl and make a beeline for my office without saying a word. I’m not in the mood for fake pleasantries. I feel like I’ve been hit by an eighteen-wheeler, I’ve got an unwanted shadow, and my girlfriend is still fucking missing!
“Oh, good God, Madden,” Caroline, my personal assistant, exclaims when she sees me approaching. “You said you got in a little scuffle, not that you got the bloody snot beaten out of you. And you didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone with you to the office.”
“Caroline, this is Lance, my assigned security. He’s gonna hang out here with you when I’m in the office,” I announce, shifting my focus back and forth between the two of them. “Lance, this is my assistant, Caroline. If you need something, she can help you.”
I don’t wait for either of them to respond before I spin on my heel and stride toward my office. Grabbing a legal pad, Caroline jumps to her feet and circles around her desk to join me for a briefing, which is how we start every normal workday.
“I’m fine, Caroline. There’s no need to make a bigger deal out of this than necessary, and no, I don’t want to talk about it,” I clip, tossing my briefcase on the back credenza before settling in my chair. “Obviously, we need to go over what I’ve missed this week at some point, but first I want to let you know I’ve already sent an email to accounting to properly compensate you with a bonus for what I’m sure have been four days of complete hell. I appreciate not only you stepping up and keeping this place from falling apart, but also for allowing me the time I needed without being constantly harassed with emails and calls.”
She smiles humbly, tucking a strand of gray hair back behind her ear. “I appreciate your faith in me, Madden, but I haven’t been doing it alone. Your brother has been here, before me every morning and after me every evening, personally reviewing all the documents I’ve prepared and answering most of the emails.”
“Easton? Are you serious?” I peer up at her, my forehead creased with suspicion.
Caroline nods emphatically, her mouth curving into an eager grin. “Yes, and he’s already hired a replacement for Emerson. A woman I recommended to him from my Bunco group.”
The mention of Emerson’s name nullifies any positivity from the conversation, but it reminds me of my priorities this morning. “Very well. I’ll speak with him later. I’m only here to grab a couple of files off the server to review this weekend. I don’t plan on staying long.” Glancing down at my desk, the memory of the evening Blake surprised me by bringing dinner flashes in my mind. The way my sweet girl looked spread out naked atop the wooden surface makes my dick twitch. Fucking hell. Not now.
“Have you heard anything about where Ms. Martin is? Who might have her?” Caroline asks, her hushed tone snapping me from my daydream.
“No.” I shake my head. “I ruled out a place she’s not, but no new leads.”
When I called to let her know I wouldn’t be at work this week, I confided in my longtime assistant about what had happened, trusting her not to tell anyone. She doesn’t know details about Blake’s past, but is aware of the situation and more than willing to help me in any way possible.
Her smile fades and she looks down at the notepad in her hands, like she’s not sure what to say. I mean, honestly, there’s nothing that can be said to make the situation any better, unless it’s the location of my girlfriend.
Saving her from any lingering awkwardness, I change the subject and keep talking. “I’m meeting my parents for lunch, since I missed Sunday brunch last weekend with everything going on. I told my mom I was out of town on business, but I failed to mention that my face looks like it’s been through a meat grinder, so I need to stop and pick her up some flowers beforehand to soften the blow. Would you mind calling that florist I like to use on Justine Street and have them put together something she’d like?”
“No problem. Budget?” She jots down a note to herself.
I shrug as I power on my desktop computer. “Whatever. Will two hundred get me something
nice?”
“Definitely. Anything else you need from me?”
To ensure Lance—or anyone who may have bugged my office—can’t hear me, I motion for her to approach my desk. On a piece of paper, I write out instructions for her to go at lunch and buy me a phone with a prepaid plan then to personally deliver it to Easton and tell him to bring it to my house tonight. After she reads it, she nods to let me know she’s finished and understands, and then I feed the paper through the shredder I keep under my desk.
“I think that should take care of everything, Caroline. Thank you again for everything.
Once she’s gone, I slide open the desk drawer to grab a flash drive to save my files on, when the picture of Blake as a teenager pushed all the way to the back catches my eye. Unable to resist the temptation, I take it out and stare at it for a good five minutes. My throat thickens as tears prick the backs of my eyes, the thoughts of what she endured at such a young age rocking me to the core.
It all makes better sense now. My initial draw to her, the irresistible desire to take care of her, to absorb her darkness as my own. That’s who I am as a lover. A guardian. A protector. I find my ultimate pleasure when she willingly gives me control of her body, mind, and soul, and allows me to free her from the demons that haunt her. Knowing she trusts me with all of her is the highest of highs.
And knowing I failed to keep her safe is the lowest of lows.
Pissed off, I slam the drawer closed and stand abruptly. Fuck the files. Who am I kidding? It’s not like I’m really going to work on any of this shit this weekend anyway. I’ve already got a full agenda.
My first stop when I leave the office is to swing by Franci’s Flower Shop and pick up the arrangement Caroline ordered for me. From there, I drive the long route to my parent’s Malibu home, mentally preparing myself for the endless questions my mom is going to throw at me about my injuries, the bodyguard, and, of course, about why I fired Emerson. By the time I pull up into the driveway, I’ve decided lying is the best game plan. About all of it.
Two and a half hours later, I’ve successfully managed to convince my parents that a four-wheeling accident is the reason for my battered face and wrapped ribcage, that Lance is a friend from college who’s staying with me for the weekend, and that I let Emerson go, because I caught her embezzling money to support her cocaine addiction, but I promised not to tell her parents or the authorities if she returned the money and entered a rehab program. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but fuck her. I’ve got a feeling that what she’s actually done is way worse than the story I made up, and if it turns out I’m right, I’ll tell my parents the truth about everything.
By the time I get home, my head is pounding and my torso feels as if someone’s hitting it over and over again with a baseball bat. I need a pain pill, a shower, and a nap. But first, I have a text to send.
Me: Hey, Emerson. Are you free tomorrow night? I’d like to apologize to you in person. Dinner at my place, 7:00?
The response is almost immediate.
Emerson: Absolutely. I’ll see you then. XXX
THE HOUR BEFORE EMERSON IS to arrive, I check, double-check, and even triple-check that everything is exactly where it needs to be. I’ve only got one shot in pulling this off. After tonight, I should know exactly who has my sweet girl. Then, all I’ll need to do is figure out how to get her back.
Opening the front door, I stride across the front lawn to where Lance patrols my house from his black, late-model Tahoe. I thought he would’ve been briefed on other people close to me or those associated with the case, but after he nearly attacked my brother last night when he stopped by, and Sarah again this morning when she showed up for work, I assume I need to give him a heads up about visitors.
“Hey,” I force a polite smile as he rolls down the window, “I just wanted to let you know my friend Emerson is coming over for dinner tonight. I’m not sure what the protocol is, if you have to check her ID or whatever, but I’d be happy if you could stay as far out of sight as possible. Nothing says romantic dinner like knowing you have a babysitter watching from outside.”
His face remains impassive as he glances down at some papers in the passenger seat. “I need a physical description, as well as the color, make, and model of her car.”
“Tall . . . thin . . . long, curly red hair. She drives a new, silver C-class Mercedes,” I spout off the top of my head.
Nodding once, he jots down something on the paper. “Got it. I won’t approach her.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, tapping my fist on the hood of his car before disappearing back into my house. God, I want this all to be over. I just want my Blake back.
At five minutes until seven, Emerson’s car pulls into my driveway, and for once, I’m thankful for the fact she thinks she’s important enough to pull up to the garage and come in through the backdoor like she fucking lives here. All I care about is that she didn’t notice Lance’s presence.
The second she steps through the backdoor—without knocking, naturally—and sees my face, she drops her purse and rushes over to where I’m waiting for her on a barstool, sipping a glass of wine.
“Oh, my God, Madden! What happened to you?” she screeches, the concern in her voice sincere. “Who did this? I’ll kill whoever it is!”
Sliding off the stool, I stand to greet her with a fake grin plastered on my face. My stomach turns with disgust at the sight of her, and I have to keep reminding myself of the end game to this night.
“Hey, Em!” I open my arms, inviting her into a hug. “Don’t worry; it looks much worse than it feels. I went out with a friend of mine on a four-wheeling excursion, and I misjudged a jump. It’ll all heal soon. I already got everything checked out.”
Hesitantly, she steps into my embrace, but as soon as I wrap my arms around her, pressing our chests together, she relaxes and sags into me. “Oh, Madden,” she whispers. “I’ve missed the way you smell.”
I nearly vomit in her hair. I hope she likes the smell of a prison cell.
“I’ve missed you too. So much,” I lie, kissing her forehead as we break apart. “Can I pour you a glass of wine? I picked up a couple of different Pinot Noirs today. I know that’s your favorite.”
She beams up at me like I just asked her if she wanted to get married. Stupid whore. “Yes, definitely! I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”
Padding my bare feet across the tiled floor, I reach up to grab another wine goblet from the cabinet, making sure to get one from the top shelf so my shirt rises up. Her eyes follow my every move, and when I feel the cool air kiss the exposed skin of my stomach, directly above where my worn jeans hang loosely on my hips, she hisses like the conniving snake she is.
I pour the wine slowly, still with my back to her, as I count backward to keep my cool. Then, with a cocky smirk on my face, I turn around and close the gap between us. “I think you’re really gonna like this.”
Licking her lips, she ogles me shamelessly, too self-absorbed to realize how bizarre it is that my attitude toward her has suddenly done a complete one-eighty. Of course, she doesn’t question it. She probably wonders why it took me a week to come crawling back to her.
“I already know I’ll like it,” she replies, making it clear she’s not talking about the wine as she takes the glass from my hand.
She’s making this way too easy. I’ll have her eating out of my hand by dessert. “Are you hungry now? I had Sarah prepare us beef tenderloin with garlic risotto. It’s warm in the oven.”
Her eyes light up as she sips the wine, nodding excitedly. “Sounds delicious.”
Over the next hour, after I apologize for the mistake of her being fired, we reminisce about our childhood over dinner and two bottles of wine, most of it being poured in her glass. I’m careful not to bring up Blake or the events of the last week in any way, purposely reminding Emerson of her and my long history together and why she should trust me. I do it, because I know I have to do it, but throughout the meal, the rage inside me begi
ns to grow until I literally have to bite my tongue to not ask her what I really want to. Patience is not a virtue I’ve been blessed with.
By the time we stand up to clear our dishes off the table, she’s giggly and giddy, definitely feeling the effects of the wine. She nearly trips over her own feet on the short trip to the sink, grabbing onto my arm to keep her balance. I flinch at her touch, but luckily she’s too busy hiccupping and laughing about her misstep to notice.
I rinse the plates and silverware while she continues to hang on my left side, rubbing her boobs back and forth against my bicep. “How much longer are you gonna make me wait?”
“Wait for what?” I ask as I turn the faucet off and twist to face her, a sly smile curling up only one corner of my mouth.
Lifting up on her toes, she brings her lips up to my ear, nipping at the lobe. “That apology fuck you promised me,” she rasps.
“I only remember the apology part of that promise,” I tease, playing the game.
She leans back slightly and peers up at me through her eyelashes. “Are you telling me you didn’t invite me over to fuck?” she asks, emphasizing the last word by cupping my flaccid dick through my jeans.
“Maybe we should skip the banana pudding and go straight upstairs? I think you might be the sweetest thing in this house anyway.” I hate myself before I even finish the sentence, despite knowing it’s necessary to get her where I need her.
Her face lights up and she takes off running for the stairs, stumbling and sputtering the entire way to my room. I remind myself over and over again as I follow her that I’m doing this because I love Blake. She will understand why when I’m finally able to explain it to her. And if I don’t do it, I may never get that chance.
By the time I cross the threshold into my bedroom, Emerson has already shed her dress and shoes, and she’s lying spread eagle in my bed, wearing only a black thong. She’s got one hand stuck down the front of her panties, petting herself, and the other rolling her left nipple between her fingers.