by Meg Collett
Cade took a deep breath.
She didn’t hold anything back about the videos. Every word, every action from the past few weeks had been manipulated in editing, her words rearranged and twisted. And the packages hadn’t even been finalized.
“He needed more.”
“The finale today,” Cade said. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s what the network needed for this show. They’ve been struggling to get ratings these past few years. It was Shepherd’s way of getting back into their good graces.”
Cade’s attention burned into her. “And you had to do it because of me.”
“No, Cade. It wasn’t your fault. He has something else on me.”
He was quiet for a moment before asking, “What is it?”
“He has a video of me and him.” Those words had been the hardest to say, even though it wasn’t her fault. Shepherd was in the wrong, but the shame of it still bit at her. “Together. I didn’t know he was filming.” She rushed to add like it would help, like she needed to hide behind something.
“The bastard,” Cade growled. “I’ll kill him.”
“You can get in line.” Stevie took a deep breath. “We were high in the video. Cade, it isn’t pretty. I wasn’t . . . whole back then. I don’t even look like myself in that video. You wouldn’t recognize me.”
He knew she meant something deeper than her appearance.
And this was it, wasn’t it? The crux of the situation. She could give him the chance to stand beside her, but he might not take it. It might be too much.
But Cade knelt in front of her, taking her hands. Her knees brushed his sides; he was tall enough that his face was even with hers. His unyielding stare took her in. Then he kissed her slowly, with a steadiness that sank into her and calmed her, centering her.
He pulled back and asked, “What are we going to do?”
We.
“I have a plan. Emilie and Violet helped me.”
Cade cocked his eyebrow. “That sounds like a deadly combination.”
“Just wait until you hear it.”
* * *
A car door slammed thirty minutes later.
Stevie knew it was Shepherd’s Mercedes. The cool thwack of his leather-soled loafers sounded on her stone walkway, then her stairs, and then the porch. He knocked briskly, like she should have opened the door for him as soon as he’d pulled up to her house.
When she opened the door, she only cracked it open by a few inches and pressed her face into the gap. Shepherd rolled his eyes at her. “Who else are you expecting?”
She stepped back and swung the door open. Her eyes went over his shoulder, checking the road behind him. He noticed her every move and smiled. When she shut the door, she locked it.
Her fingers trembled against the lock.
He was just a few steps away. When she forced her eyes up from the floor to meet his gaze, his smile stretched wider. He’d always relished her fear, like a scavenger swooping in to take the kill they hadn’t worked for.
“Let me guess,” he said. His smile shifted into something with claws and teeth. “You wanted to talk about the video. Maybe beg a little?”
Her lower lip wobbled. A single tear spilled down her cheek.
He reveled in it.
“Ah, Stephanie.” He came forward and caressed her cheek, sweeping away the tear with his fingertips. He put his fingers to his mouth and tasted them.
“Can we discuss this in the living room?”
He reached for her again and ran his hand down her bare arm. She’d changed into a loose sheer shirt with a black lacy bra beneath and jean shorts. Her feet were bare. She looked like she might have thought about seducing him. It was something the old Stevie would have worn, and Shepherd approved.
“What about the bedroom?”
Her nod was jerky and uncertain, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her hand lifted and hovered in the space between them, as if she was uncertain, and then she took his hand.
Without a word, she guided him down the hall and to the stairs. Only a few lights were lit, bathing her empty house in a warm glow. Upstairs, the door to her room was open. A candle flickered on her dresser. The patio doors to her small balcony were open to the ocean. Her white curtains blew in the breeze, fluttering across the wood floors with a soft whispering sound.
“What will your precious Cade think?”
Her eyes raked to Shepherd. “He can’t know, okay?”
His eyes twinkled. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
She knew he needed that—to have another morsel of power over her. She laid them out for him like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs. He liked taking pieces of her and storing them away for future use. He got off on it. And she handed them to him, morsel by morsel.
“The video you have of us . . .” Her voice warbled. “I didn’t know you were filming.”
Shepherd sighed. He hooked a finger in the band of her shorts and pulled her close, his gaze locked down her shirt. She’d purposefully left the buttons undone.
“Would it have made any difference?” he breathed the words out. His fingers went to her black bra and the straps wrapped over the swells of her breasts in intricate triangles. “You loved the attention back then.”
He pulled at a strap, completely lost in himself as he cupped her breast and squeezed. Stevie fought back a grimace.
The bra had been Cade’s idea. Another morsel. All with a purpose.
“If you promise not to release it, I’ll come back to L.A. with you. But I have conditions.”
He yanked at a button on her shirt. The tiny pearl popped free and skittered across the floor. Stevie whimpered and Shepherd’s breathing turned heavy.
“I’m sure you do. Tell me what you want, Stephanie.”
She shuddered at his words, repulsed by him. He yanked her closer so she could feel his hard crotch. Bile rose in her throat.
“Rehire Emilie.”
Shepherd groaned. “She’s so tedious. All these young feminist types are. Does she think she’s appealing with all those tattoos? And what’s with the gray hair? I thought women were supposed to hide their gray hairs.”
“It’s silver,” Stevie clarified. “She did nothing wrong. She never stole that money.”
He laughed. “It was good, you have to admit.”
Once he’d thoroughly bruised her breast, his hand ventured up to her throat. She fought back the panic, but not too much. He needed to see the fear in her eyes. He had to feel her remember that night—the night she’d left and never came back.
He remembered too.
“No one has ever left me, you know,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you would do it. You broke my heart, Stephanie.”
She took his hand in hers and held on, like she was trying to keep him from her throat. His eyebrows rose in reproach and his fingers tightened, just a touch, as a reminder. He was the one in control. She dropped her hand back down to her side.
“You set Emilie up.”
His thumb pressed into the divot in her chin until she had to look up at him. On the back of her neck, his fingers pried inward like a vise. Her eyes welled with tears.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice strangled.
He eased up, and she took a long pull of air.
“What do you need the money for?” she asked carefully. And right on its tail, she added, “You have everything. I remember all the parties. The cars. The drugs. Are you . . . broke?”
The word, along with the sliver of contempt she added to it, snapped him.
His hand cracked across her face. His knuckles and the silver ring he wore on his middle finger cut the skin above her cheekbone. He shoved her and she fell back, landing against the bed. He was on top of her before she could suck in a breath. Heavy weight straddled her, crushing her stomach, and didn’t budge.
She pushed against his chest, whimpering, but he grabbed her wrists and held her tight, bruising her. A trickle of blood skimmed down her cheek.
“I don’t need the money, you whore,” he spat. He’d make her pay for that word. “Do you know what Richard said last year at a board meeting? He called me a has-been. Said I was past my prime in the business. The network, he said, needed fresh blood. Young blood. Showrunners who know how to reach the younger generation and create shows that will be popular on Twitter. Can you believe it?”
“You’re hurting me.”
He didn’t release her. “Richard said all this and agreed when those fat cocksuckers piled on with other complaints about me. My shows are too expensive. The ratings are too low. The interest is waning. They said that about me. So I started taking what I deserve.”
“But you said you didn’t need the money.” Stevie spoke fast, trying to distract Shepherd. Her eyes skittered to the side, searching for anything to use against him.
Shepherd noticed. He clenched her face and forced her eyes back on him. Where his fingers met her skin, she felt his grip slip on her blood.
“I don’t. Keep up, Stephanie. I was going to make it look like Richard was stealing. He still loves the coke I give him and the pussy I provide every weekend to distract him from his wife’s saggy tits. He practically lives in my pool house and he said those things about me? No, he was going to take the fall.”
Stevie frowned. “No one would ever believe the president of the network was stealing money. You never could have set him up. Someone would have found out you were taking all that money first.”
The switch in him was instant. She’d gone too far. His face went red, and then spit bubbled in the corner of his mouth, his body shaking with rage. His hand tore down her face to her neck. His weight sank into the hold. Her air cut off. He raised his other hand high, ready to swing.
“How does it feel?” she croaked.
Shepherd’s face creased in confusion. His fist paused. “What?”
“To be filmed without consent. To risk making all your secrets public. Smile, Shepherd. You’re on camera.”
From her balcony, Cade stepped into the room, the moon at his back. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Let her go.”
Comprehension building, Shepherd slowly took in Cade standing at the door. He turned to Stevie. “What’s this? You’re setting me up?”
She blinked and tried to force down a breath.
“You got what you need?” Cade asked her. His words were even, crisp, and clear. He never looked away from Shepherd.
She nodded jerkily.
She didn’t see Cade move, but his body slammed into Shepherd. She saw the shock on Shepherd’s face, because he hadn’t seen Cade’s attack coming either. Instantly, air whooshed down her throat and she sucked in a deep breath, right as Cade and Shepherd hit the floor rolling, fists slamming into flesh. Stevie rolled off the bed and got to her feet. She heard the crack of bone and saw Cade on top of Shepherd, pounding on his face, but she turned and grabbed her cell phone. The house phone was already ringing. Emilie. She could see everything through the cameras she’d put up throughout the house, but Stevie couldn’t think clearly because now Shepherd had Cade on his back. They were rolling, and then Shepherd was raining blows into Cade’s stomach. All Stevie heard were Cade’s grunts. Blood glinted in the candlelight. Her own bloody fingers trembled as she fought to type in the number to call the cops.
Shepherd was up and running.
“Let him go!” she cried as Cade tore out of the room after him.
He didn’t stop. Someone hit the floor in the hall and her heart almost combusted from a shattering sound.
The 9-1-1 operator picked up. “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
Stevie tripped and nearly dropped the phone, but she caught her balance and said, “Please send help!” She choked on a sob as she rounded the door into the hall, firing off her address to the operator. Cade and Shepherd were just a clash of bodies. Someone’s shirt tore right before Cade’s head snapped back. Shepherd twisted abruptly, sending Cade crashing to the side. His back hit the banister and Stevie screamed, dropping the phone.
Wood splintered. Cade caught Shepherd right before he toppled over. Their combined weight fell over the side. Stevie watched in horror as Cade’s shoulders took the brunt of the landing. For a second, no one moved. Then Shepherd struggled to his feet. Cade was still on the ground, and Stevie saw red.
She was down the stairs and leaping onto Shepherd’s back before he could get off a second kick to Cade’s side. She ripped his head back by the hair and bit his neck. Her nails sank into the flesh of his chest, but he clawed at her face, at her hold on his neck, and shouted in pain and fury. He stumbled back into the mirror in her entryway, smacking her back into it with crippling force. She went limp from the impact. Stars appeared in her vision from the pulsing flare of pain at the back of her head, and she released him. Behind her, mirror shards rained down around her.
Shepherd spun around, his bloodied, swollen face inches from hers. He grabbed her again before she could fight him off.
Behind him, she saw Cade struggle to his feet. She was distracted by the way he had to limp forward and grab his side, his arm hanging unnaturally from his shoulder. Something was wrong. Oh, God, he was hurt. Then she was flying to the side, her head bouncing across the floor. Each smacking snap reverberated through each bone in her body, and then Shepherd was on top of her.
He had a shard of glass in the hand raised above her throat.
“No!” Cade screamed from behind them.
She raised her hands as the glass came down on her. The shard went through her hands and she screamed in pain, her throat wet and her mouth gaping open from the agony of pushing against Shepherd as he drove down, down, down. He was trying to kill her.
Then he was gone and she could breathe again. Her hands were a bloody mess and her fingers were numb, the pain a centered heartbeat in her palms. When she looked at them she saw sinew and bone.
Cade scrambled off Shepherd and reached for a crystal vase that had toppled off her entryway table and rolled down the hall toward the living room. His fingers brushed its edge as Shepherd rolled over, his eyes locked on Cade. Stevie struggled to her knees, her hands cradled against her chest, her breaths panicked, sucking gasps. She was still seeing stars, and her head felt like a raw wound. She blinked and tried to focus.
Cade had the lip of the vase in his hand. Behind him, Shepherd was inching closer, still holding the shard, ready to impale Cade’s exposed back.
“Cade!” Stevie screamed.
He rolled to his side, brought up the vase, and looked straight at Shepherd as the crystal dully thunked against his temple.
Shepherd instantly fell, eyes closed and mouth open. He was breathing, but not moving.
Cade sat up and worked to catch his breath. He lifted his battered face toward her and rasped, “Are you okay?”
Stevie staggered forward, half falling, half crawling to him. He stood and limped toward her, not putting any weight on his left leg. His right shoulder was dislocated, and he had too much blood all over him. He caught her as she fell into him, her wasted hands between them. She started crying because all she could see was Cade going over the edge of the stairs and Shepherd behind him with the shard of glass. It could have all gone so wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, repeating the words in a tangle of tears and sobs.
“Hey.” He ran his left hand over her hair, his right arm awkwardly around her. He was breathing hard like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “I’m okay. Let me see your hands.”
He tried to pull back, but Stevie kept her face pressed against his chest. The fear and adrenaline in her body burst in a swell of relief and horror so absolute she almost passed out from it.
“Stevie,” Cade’s good hand went to her shoulder and pried her loose from him. “Let me see what he did.”
He caught sight of her hands and hissed. They were a jumble of carnage and Stevie didn’t really want to look at them anymore. “Is your shoulder okay?” she asked.
&n
bsp; He didn’t hear her. “We have to get you to the hospital.”
Behind them, Shepherd groaned and stirred. Cade twisted and pushed her toward the door before she could even gasp. The front door crashed open and lights flooded into the dark house.
“Police!” someone shouted. “Put your hands up!”
Stevie squinted into the light. “Pete?”
The lead officer lowered his gun. “Stevie?”
The other cops flowed around her and Cade like they were stones in a river and angled straight for Shepherd, shouting at him to stay down and put his hands behind his head.
“They attacked me!” Shepherd was shouting. “Arrest them!”
“We have to get her to the hospital,” Cade told Pete. “Her hands are hurt bad.”
Stevie blinked when things turned inky. She saw Cade’s torn shirt and the blood. She smelled his rich scent. From the back door, someone shouted her name. It sounded a lot like Kyra. Then Cade’s arm snaked around her right as everything went dark.
21
Two weeks later, at the end of September when there was a bite of fall in the air and the weekend beach tourists were growing sparser every day, a spoon lifted to Stevie’s lips, laden with vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and pecans.
She opened her mouth and took the offering, letting the cool whoosh of ice cream slide down her throat.
“Hmm,” she murmured approvingly. “You make the best banana splits.”
Cade laughed, already gathering another bite from the heaping bowl in his lap. He sat next to her on the wicker couch on her back porch, his right arm in a sling and his left hand doing a damn fine job at feeding her since her own hands were still thickly bandaged from her second surgery. The first one happened after she’d arrived in the emergency room on the night Shepherd attacked her. Ethan Faraday, the emergency room doctor, had taken one look at her and ordered her to the OR immediately.
“Do you need any water?” Kyra asked from her spot on the other couch. She was already halfway up, when Hale snagged her wrist and gently eased her back down.
“She’s fine,” he said, smirking. “Besides, I think she’s milking it.”