by Tawny Taylor
He motioned to her passenger seat.
“Um, okay.” She hit the unlock button as she watched him circle the front of the car. Feeling self-conscious, she fussed with the torn dress, doing her best to hide herself.
He ducked inside and shut the door.
She hit the button, locking them in.
“First, are you okay?” Brent asked.
“Yeah.” She fisted the front of her dress. “I’m humiliated. Embarrassed. But I’m not hurt. I guess it was a mistake, coming here by myself. But I never imagined . . . Anyway, thanks. For what you did back there.” With her free hand, she pointed at his bloodied lip. Even in the dark car she could see it was swelling up pretty bad. “I should be asking you, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Waiting, curious to find out why he’d followed her, she nodded, hoping it would encourage him to continue. It did. Sort of.
He said, “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
He continued, “I mean, if you and Malek get married, I should be happy for you. Obviously, you’ve lived through hell. Are still living through hell. You deserve happiness, someone who will protect—”
“Wait,” she blurted, cutting him off. “Where did you get the idea that I was marrying Malek?”
“He told me you were. I think. Maybe we didn’t get that far. The conversation veered off on a tangent.”
“I’m not marrying Malek,” she stated.
“He’s marrying someone.”
“It won’t be me.”
Silence.
Lei waited, wondering why Brent was still sitting in her car, staring at the windshield. “I need to go.”
He turned to her. “Can you explain to me why he has to get married by January first? I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t know . . . January first? Really?” That explained the silly, impulsive, crazy marriage proposal.
“That’s what he said.”
“All I know is my sister married Malek’s older brother, Drako. Their marriage started out as kind of a business arrangement. I thought it was more for her benefit than his. But they love each other now. Rin never told me that Drako was told he had to get married. Maybe it was written into a trust or a will that the brothers have to marry by a certain age?”
Brent’s face scrunched up. The expression was a little charming. “That’s so Hollywood.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She chuckled. It was an empty, hollow laugh. Humorless. “But you know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.”
“If you had to marry someone you didn’t love in order to inherit a billion dollars, would you do it?”
“That’s a tough one.” Lei thought about the question for a moment. Would she? For a billion dollars? After everything she’d been through? “I don’t ever want to be married, not to anyone, so my first inclination is to say no, absolutely not. But a billion dollars is a lot of money. I could do a lot of good with that much.”
“What if you loved someone else?”
“Malek loves someone else?” she asked.
“Malek says he loves me.” Looking absolutely heartbroken now, Brent shoved his fingers through his hair. “I believed he loved me until he told me about this. Now, I’m not so sure. Shouldn’t he be willing to give up everything for love?”
“Now that is Hollywood,” she said softly.
“I hear you.”
More silence. Lei wanted to go home. She couldn’t wait to go home. But she couldn’t tell this man, who had helped her—and more importantly, who was clearly upset—to get out of her car.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what? You didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sorry Malek is hurting you. You seem like a good man.”
It was Brent’s turn to laugh now. And his chuckle was just as flat and emotionless as hers had been. “As the old cliché goes, the good always finish last.”
“You know, when Rin and Drako were first married, they agreed to allow Drako to continue certain relationships with people. Maybe that’s what Malek is thinking—”
“It wouldn’t be the same. Right now, there are three of us: me, April, Malek. The relationship is balanced. That balance would be thrown all to hell if Malek had a wife. Wives are not lovers. They expect more.”
“I understand.”
A heavy silence fell over them once again. This time it stretched on much longer. It seemed Brent had said what he’d come to tell her, and yet he didn’t leave. He sat in her passenger seat, staring through the windshield, his expression completely unreadable.
Lei didn’t have the heart to shove the poor guy out, but it was getting late and the echo of voices approaching was making her anxious. All she needed was for Pete and Rob to come find her and finish what they’d started. . . .
She fiddled with her keys, hoping the sound would bring him out of his trance. “You mentioned a woman named April. What if Malek married her? There isn’t any chance the three of you could continue as you have been?”
“No, she’s been in love with Malek for months. If he marries her, she’ll change. She’ll do her damned best to push me out for good. It would be better if he married someone else. Someone who can’t love him, who never would love him.” Brent slid her a look.
She didn’t like that look he was giving her.
Was he thinking she might be that someone?
“Oh, no. No. Like I said, I’m not marrying Malek. I’m not in my sister’s position, so desperate for money I’d do anything to get it.”
“Forgive me for butting in where I probably have no right to, but it looks like you could use some protection. Stability.” He tipped his head toward Gwen’s house. “Nothing would have to change for you. You could agree to keep things as they are. You would be married in name only—”
“That sounds just fine and dandy, since I’m not interested in starting a relationship with any man, anyway. Being married might not be such a bad thing if that kind of arrangement could be made. But Rin told me she must bear her husband a child. At least one. I can’t do that. There’s no way in hell. None.”
“Are you . . . ?”
“What? Infertile? Not that I’m aware of. But I just couldn’t . . .” The image of Malek lying on top of her, thrusting his thick rod into her flashed through her mind. She felt instantly nauseous and a tiny bit warm at the same time. Heat crept up her neck. She cranked the key. “I need to go.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m such an ass. Who asks someone they hardly know a question like that?”
“It’s okay,” she lied, glancing in the rearview mirror. Anxiety was pulling her insides into tight knots. “But I do need to go, really.”
He opened the car door. Before he left, he said, “It was good talking to you, Lei. I hope we get the chance to talk again.”
She smiled, but didn’t repeat the sentiment. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to talk to Brent again. What would they say? Would he try to talk her into marrying Malek just so he could keep Malek to himself?
Lei’s phone rang just as she was pulling into her driveway. She glanced at the screen.
It was him. Holloway. And she knew what he wanted. The problem was, she wasn’t ready to give him an answer yet.
She hit the button, cutting off the call, and dropped her phone into her purse.
9
The doorbell ring caught Lei off guard. Because the Alexandre brothers’ house was situated on a winding private road, a good quarter mile from any other home, they didn’t get unexpected visitors very often. No solicitors. No Mormons. Not even any Girl Scouts hawking cookies. Most of the time, the visitors they did have didn’t ring the bell. They called whichever Alexandre brother they were coming to see as they pulled up, letting them know they’d arrived.
“Malek?” she shouted, wondering if perhaps he’d invited someone over, and they had tried calling his cell, bu
t he hadn’t answered. She climbed the steps, knocked on his bedroom door, then pressed an ear to it.
Was that the sound of running water?
He’s probably in the shower.
The bell rang a second time, so she dashed back down the stairs and barefooted it across the foyer’s stone floor to the door. She opened it, discovering two men were standing outside on the front porch. They were facing their backs toward the door, but at the sound of it opening, one of them spun around.
It took her too long to recognize him. By the time she realized who he was, Holloway was half inside.
“Well, hello there,” Holloway said. He pulled aside his jacket, flashing his gun.
Reacting out of pure instinct, Lei tried to slam the door. But right away, she knew that wasn’t going to work. She took off, sprinting through the house, thinking she’d grab the phone off the kitchen counter and lock herself in the bathroom to call the police.
She didn’t make it that far.
About halfway down the hall, she felt something heavy slam her in the back. The world became a blur. She hit something hard. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to re-inflate them.
“I’m getting really tired of this,” Holloway whispered in her ear. “You owe me.”
“Wait!” She couldn’t see. Blackness and blinking white lights obscured her vision. She knew she was lying on the floor. The tile felt cool beneath her. She was squirming, kicking, swinging her arms, trying to fight.
I’m going to die. And Malek is just upstairs. And then what? Would Malek be next?
“Malek!” she said, her voice a hoarse rasp.
Something smashed into her mouth, a gag. A nasty taste filled her mouth, muffled her voice.
Completely overcome with panic, she thrashed harder. She was throwing herself around so violently the world was a blur, even though the blackness had faded. She felt like she was in the middle of a car accident, being tossed back and forth, left and right.
“You will do what I say,” Holloway hissed, again in her ear.
“Yes, sure.” Pain exploded in her head. Before she’d recovered, a second blow hit her in the rib cage. Excruciating heat knifed through her body.
“You can’t play me,” Holloway murmured. He was too close. Right in her face. “Don’t you think others have tried? Nobody plays me.”
Suddenly, there was the sound of scuffling. Holloway jerked backward. Male grunts followed, the sharp smack of skin striking skin. The second attacker dashed around her. They were fighting someone else. Malek?
Moving slowly—every twitch of a muscle was painful—she scooted around to see what was happening.
Sure enough, Malek had heard her. But at the moment, it wasn’t looking good for him.
She heard herself scream. A sob tore up her throat.
Holloway held Malek’s arms behind his back, had a knife to his throat. The other guy kicked him in the belly.
Malek’s face went white.
“No!” she yelled. They were going to kill him. She had to do something.
What?
She pushed herself to her hands and feet, and bear-walked toward the kitchen. Then she dragged herself upright, using the kitchen island’s counter as leverage, and groped for the phone lying in the center. The stretching, reaching, was painful, but nowhere near as bad as hearing the bangs and bumps and thuds behind her. Sagged against a stool, she dialed 9-1-1 and did her best to hold it together and answer the operator’s questions.
Watching Malek get kicked and punched was killing her.
Then, much to her surprise, the men stopped and dashed out the front door.
“They’re gone!” she yelled into the phone, right before she dropped it. Sprinting, despite the pain, she raced to Malek’s side, rolled him onto his back, and prayed he was still breathing.
He looked pale.
He was still. Too still.
Was he...?
She pressed her ear to his chest. She searched for a pulse. Nothing. No movement. No thump-whump of a heartbeat. No soft whoosh of air.
“No,” she whispered, her shaking hands reaching, searching, feeling. “No, dammit.” She choked on a sob. Thinking—hoping—she was too frantic to feel a pulse or hear anything but the heavy pounding of her own heartbeat. She pressed her head to his chest again and prayed for a miracle. But she heard absolutely nothing. He was too still. It was too quiet. She searched his face. Was he turning blue-gray? Or was that the light?
“Where the hell is the ambulance?” she screamed. To Malek, she yelled, “Come on, Malek. Please don’t die. Please.”
He didn’t move.
He didn’t freaking breathe.
He just lay there, looking dead. Too still.
Breathe, dammit.
She had no idea how to do CPR, but she decided she could do him no harm by trying. She pinched his nose, inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled into his mouth. She did it again. And again. Then she started pushing down on his chest like she’d watched in movies and hoped the damn ambulance would get there soon.
With every compression, her panic escalated. She kept staring out the open door, wondering why it was taking so long for help to get there.
She breathed a couple more times, then went back to pressing on his chest. “Okay, you win. If he doesn’t die, I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything.” She stopped pushing and blowing to see if he’d started breathing on his own.
Nothing.
“Did you hear me?” she shouted at him. “Is it too late? Malek, please don’t die. Please.” Tears were blurring her vision. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She went back to pushing on his chest, blind and desperate and terrified. And she went back to praying.
Finally, a police officer knocked on the door.
“He’s not breathing,” she screamed, her voice so hoarse it was barely above a whisper. “Help me! Please!”
The officer stooped down. “What happened?”
She didn’t have time to tell him what happened. She had no words either. She could only think about blowing and pushing and praying. And where the hell was EMS?
“Miss, please stop,” the officer said, pulling on her arm.
“I can’t stop. He’ll die.”
“Let’s see if that’s true.” When it was clear enough for him to get close, he bent over Malek’s face, listening for breath. He felt for a pulse on his neck. “There’s a pulse. He’s not dead.”
“Ohthankgod!” To her eyes, he still looked dead, or nearly dead. But she wasn’t trained. She cupped her hands over her mouth as a hard, gut-wrenching sob tore up her throat.
“Here’s the ambulance.” The officer helped her to her feet. “Are you injured, too?”
“I think I bumped my head.” Just now realizing her head was throbbing, she fingered her scalp. Blood. She was bleeding.
“We’ll get you checked out, too.” He waved the EMS technicians over, pointing at Malek. “Loss of consciousness. Maybe loss of pulse and respirations there.” He pointed at Lei. “Head injury here.”
One technician went to work on Malek.
The other approached her.
She waved him away. “I’m okay. Take care of him.”
“My partner’s handling him. Where did you hit your head?”
“Back here.” She indicated the spot with her finger. He parted her hair to check it. “Looks like you might need some stitches.” He then went about checking her over from head to toe, asking what hurt, flashing lights in her eyes.
In the meantime, the officer shot questions at her as quickly as she’d answer them.
“What happened?”
“Did you know the men?”
“Do you think Mr. Alexandre knew them?”
“Why do you think they attacked you?”
“Did they take anything from the house?”
She answered as best she could, knowing she couldn’t tell them the whole truth. She was absolutely certain the CIA agent she was dealing with had wa
ys of hiding the truth, or covering things up. Most of the time, her response was, “I don’t know.” Finally, she was helped into an ambulance, not the one with Malek, and ferried to the hospital.
She sat for hours, waiting for a doctor to stitch her scalp back together. During those long hours, she became more and more worried about Malek. She kept asking for an update, but nobody could give her one. It was frustrating; she wanted to cry, and she just knew someone had to know something. Why weren’t they telling her anything?
When a young female doctor came in and patched her back together, Lei basically begged her for help getting an update on Malek’s condition. The doctor seemed as genuinely determined as all the nurses and other hospital folk who had promised to help her before.
But unlike them, this doctor actually came back with news.
“Your friend was just taken into surgery,” the doctor informed her.
Lei sat speechless for several moments. Her tongue wouldn’t work. Her mouth wouldn’t move. Inside her head, a million questions bounced around, but she couldn’t utter a word.
The doctor, sensing her shock, sat on the stool next to the bed. “He has some internal bleeding, but there’s no reason to think he won’t come out of surgery okay.”
“I need a phone. I need to call my sister. I need to call his brother. I’m alone. There’s nobody...”
The doctor nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”
“They’re in Spain. It’ll be an international call.”
The doctor grimaced. She slid her hand into her pocket and offered Lei her BlackBerry. “You can use mine.” A sob blocked Lei’s throat before she could say thank you, but the doctor seemed to understand. She smiled and stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If it rings, just ignore it.”
A tear dribbled down Lei’s cheek. “Thank you.”
Once the doctor had left her partitioned area, Lei dialed. She held her breath as the phone rang once, twice, three times, four. “Pick up, Rin. Answer the phone.” After the sixth ring, the call clicked over to voice mail. Lei dialed again and waited, hoping Rin would answer this time.
She didn’t.
Lei left an urgent message, telling her as few details as possible, and hung up.