Defiance of the Heart (Book 2)

by Monica James

  A wheeze kicks me in the chest, and I almost double over. I can’t breathe.

  I know I told him I wouldn’t follow, but I can’t do that if it means him getting hurt. And I can’t help but think that whatever he’s doing will end in just that.

  He can bitch me out later. I’m going to find him.

  Balancing on one foot as I shove on my sneaker, I reach for my bag and cell. When it rings, I almost topple over. You’d think I’d learn by now, but I haven’t.

  “Hello?” I breathlessly pant into the receiver.

  “Holland, it’s me.” The blood drains from my face, and just like that, I’m transported back to that fateful moment in time when I received a phone call that changed everything.

  I wet my lips. “Belle?”

  “Yes, hi.” She sounds jumpy, which just adds to the doom. “I need to talk to you. Can you meet me now?”

  “Now?” Getting my head back in the game and stopping with all the questions, I say, “Yes. Where?” I know London told me to stay put, but I can’t.

  “I’m staying at the Sheraton on West 53rd Street. Room 701.”

  I mentally store it away as I slip on my other shoe. “I will be there in twenty minutes.”

  I’m halfway out the door when she stuns me and changes the course of everything. “Come alone. It’s about London.”

  Words escape me. “Wh-what about him?” I manage to spit out.

  “Just meet me.” And she hangs up

  The foreboding gets stronger, and I lean against the doorjamb, needing to collect my balance. Why is Belle acting so weird? Could it be the reason London has been acting weird too?

  A horrible thought overcomes me—what did he do?

  Desperate times call for desperate measure, and Kayla Sinclair’s words come back to haunt me. “He had responsibilities…to his daughter and Belle. He chose them, Holland, so really, you wouldn’t have to ask him to choose because there isn’t a choice to be made.”

  Belle has always wanted a family, a real family that is. London was never able to give that to her because of me. But now that Lincoln has given her what she wants, will London do the same?

  Nausea rises, and I cover my mouth to stop myself from being sick. He wouldn’t do that. Whatever I’m thinking, I’m wrong. Please God, let me be wrong. He would never sleep with Belle to trick her into thinking they can be a happy family forever.

  Would he?

  At this moment, I can’t be too sure.

  The secrecy, the detachment I thought was him grieving…but have I mistaken grief for guilt? Has he promised Belle his soul to save his daughter?

  A single tear scores my cheek. We couldn’t win the lawful way, so he’s resorted to being unlawful or better phrased…unfaithful…to me.

  I don’t want to believe it, and I won’t. I won’t make that mistake again. But until he tells me the truth, I’m guarding my heart, my vulnerable heart from the only man who can break it, time and time again.

  Taking a steadying breath, I take off down the hallway and jump into the elevator. The moment it stops, I’m tearing through the foyer and desperately hail a cab.

  Fate is once again the sadistic bitch as it seems every cab passing me is occupied. Unable to wait, I speed down the sidewalk, excusing myself as I push past the crowds. It’s busy up ahead with some construction going on, so I turn down an alleyway, knowing it’s a shortcut.

  My heart is in my throat, and my head feels spacey. I shouldn’t have had all that wine. But I persevere because the need to see Belle overthrows my good sense. Too intent on getting to the finish line, I don’t observe the obstructions around me, and just like in LA, the wind gets knocked from my sails and I fall to the ground. Dazed and sprawled out on the dirty pavement, I peer around, unsure what I just ran into, but when I crane my neck and gaze up, I see that it’s not a what, but rather, a whom.

  I don’t have time to shout…or think…or scream. Before I know what’s happening, the world turns black and quiet follows.

  A table.

  A chair.

  The drip…drip…drip of the kitchen sink.

  These things, they all make sense to me, but the fact my head hurts and I can’t move…does not.

  Groggily, I attempt to pry open my eyes, but I’m convinced they’re stuck together. My head lolls forward as I try to move it.

  What’s going on?

  Remember…

  But I can’t. Each time is fuzzier than the one before it.

  My harsh breathing echoes loudly, so I decide to focus on my surroundings instead of how I got here…wherever here is. There is a musty scent in the air. I’ve smelled it before. I can hear the occasional car passing by, but there is nothing significant, nothing that stands out to give me a hint.

  I try to speak, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I then attempt to move my arms, but it soon becomes apparent I’m bound by something scratchy on something hard. Wading through the fog, I realize I’m tied to a wooden chair.

  How did I get here?

  Hitting the pavement.

  Everything falling quiet.

  I begin to remember.

  I was knocked out cold…on the way to see Belle.

  “L-London?” I think it’s me who utters something resembling my husband’s name because a blaring rattles my brain, and I wince. The urge to cover my ears is overwhelming, but the fact I’m tied prevents me from moving.

  But the menacing voice I hear has me wishing I was knocked out cold once more. “Arise, fair sun.”

  I instantly scramble away from that vileness, but it’s in vain. I need to remember I’m bound, bound by my ex-fiancé. “Get away from me!” I slur, forcing my eyes to open. They are stuck. However, now that I know I’m helpless and here with Lincoln, I try harder.

  After three failed attempts, I force one eye open and then the other. The world is blurry, but I blink rapidly, trying to focus. The light hanging above is dim, but I see enough…and when I do, I scream. I don’t just scream…I fucking howl.

  “No.” I sob, shaking my head, my matted, bloodied hair sticking to my cheeks and to my brow.

  There must be some mistake. My brain is scrambled, and my worst nightmare is playing on a loop because slumped before me, tied and gagged to a chair, is not Lincoln…but rather, London…and the only way I can tell it’s him is by the colorful tattoos running up and down his arms, which are now caked in red…blood.

  I don’t understand what I’m seeing.

  His limp head droops to the side at a grotesque angle, his beautiful dirty blond hair now a dirty crimson. Bloody spit runs down his chin, and his eyes are sealed shut. The lips that kissed me, that whispered sweet nothings into my ear are swollen. This is the most horrific thing I have ever witnessed, and I spin to the right, retching violently.

  My stomach is raw. My heart unrepairable as I frantically search for any signs of life. One…two…three. The gentle rise and fall of his chest alert me that he’s still alive.

  But all I can see is blood…blood…blood.

  “No,” I moan painfully, fighting to break free as I tug at the ropes, adrenaline overtaking me. I kick my legs out, but I only end up skidding backward. “Untie me! London! Oh, god. What did you do?” I shriek, finding a victorious Lincoln standing a few feet away.

  When I break free—and I will break free—I’m going to fucking kill him.

  “Did you really think I’d allow you to embarrass me?” he says, standing calmly, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You embarrass yourself by breathing,” I spit, snarling like a wild animal as I jerk at my restraints, violently thrashing to set myself free.

  “That smart mouth of yours always got you into trouble. It’s time you learned your place.”

  “Fuck you,” I scowl, gnashing my teeth. I frantically look at London. Why isn’t he waking up?

  Lincoln inhales deeply as it appears he’s barely holding on. His attire also confirms this. His usual immaculate appearance of designer suits and
Italian loafers has been replaced with black sweats and a dark sweater. I suppose he’s finally succumbed to the serial killer within.

  I watch him closely, hating that this bastard is my only clue to what happens next. But when someone else emerges, I’m left winded. “Belle?”

  I blink once, hoping that by some chance, there is some mistake. But there isn’t. Here stand my tormentors—my ex-fiancé and my ex-best friend.

  “How could you, Belle? Look what he did to London!” I cry, bile rising. “You set me up?” I have no idea why I need her to confirm it as the truth is staring me in the face. “Do you really hate me that much?”

  But what she says next confirms I know nothing at all. “I h-had to! I’m so s-sorry. He has Em-Emily!” She sobs into her palms. “He made me c-call you. I had n-no choice.”

  With nothing but pure menace, I fix my eyes on Lincoln. No surprise, he was using her all along. “You motherfucker.”

  Lincoln smirks, my anger provoking his happiness. “This is your fault.”

  “My fault?” I question, baffled, before breaking into a maniacal laugh. “How? Because I didn’t want to marry you? Because I refused to be your prized poodle? Because I said no?” His nostrils flare. “You are fucking pathetic. A joke. An excuse of a man. I hope you—” I never get to finish my sentence because my cheek throbs with immeasurable pain when he slaps me so hard, my teeth rattle.

  “Shut up!” he shouts into my face, gripping the back of my seat to draw me closer. “If you’d only kept your nose out of it, none of this would have happened.”

  “What happened?” I growl, opening and closing my mouth to get the feeling back into my face.

  “Why did you call Tony Petrov? He pulled out; my biggest investor pulled his funds because he said he couldn’t do business with a man he didn’t trust. No guessing where he got that information from.”

  Small pieces of the puzzle are beginning to come together. By trying to do good, I seemed to have messed things up beyond repair. “So this is about money? I have money. Take it. All of it.”

  “It’s too late,” he states, pushing off the chair, giving me back my personal space. I watch as he begins to pace. London still hasn’t moved. “I have another business partner anyway. I wanted to work with you.”

  My interest is piqued. “You blackmailed me.”

  “There are always casualties in war.”

  Yes, he’s right. Looking ahead, I see the most selfish casualty of all. “You had to cheat once again to win,” I say, disgusted.

  But Lincoln refutes my claims. “On the contrary. London came willingly. He called me, saying he wanted to talk man to man.” He scoffs while I begin to understand his behavior these past five days.

  His “handling it” was to get beaten? But I know that’s not what happened. He did what he did because he was a desperate man at his wit’s end. I just don’t think he anticipated it would end this way.

  “Like I’m stupid. I knew what he wanted.” When he reaches into his back pocket and the light catches the gleam off the gun he’s holding, I understand why London wanted me to stay at the hotel. “Luckily, I brought reinforcements.”

  This was always going to end this way—in blood and mutiny.

  Belle is standing on the sidelines, biting her nails with raccoon eyes. I can’t believe I ever doubted London’s loyalty. She called me because Lincoln has Emily, not to confess that she and London are living happily ever after.

  “Emily?” I whisper, remembering Belle’s words.

  “He has Emily.”

  Belle bursts into tears. “I did what you wanted, you son of a bitch; now, give me back my daughter!” Lincoln appears stunned she’s spoken to him in such a manner. I suppose it is the first time she grew a pair.

  My attention keeps darting back and forth, but it always ends back on London. I will him to move. I need him to open his eyes.

  “I suppose you have held up your end of the bargain.” My awareness darts back to Lincoln who peers over at a door with a small round glass window. I’ve seen that door before.

  Running on pure rage and adrenaline, I failed to notice where I was. Poetic justice at its best, it seems, because I’m tied to a chair in the bar London and I just bought. This place is now tainted forever. Lincoln had to shit on every part of our future.

  A man bursts from the door, and when he does, my stomach drops for two reasons. The first is he has a terrified Emily by the back of the neck, shoving her forward. And the second is that there is no mistaking he’s one of Rossi’s men.

  My gaze snaps to Lincoln as he turns over his shoulder, grinning. It appears he’s thought of it all. But why is he here doing Lincoln’s dirty work? What does Lincoln have that the Rossi family could possibly want?

  “Emily!” Belle exclaims, running forward. Lincoln tucks his gun into the small of his back and nods, so the moustached goon lets her go. She runs into Belle’s outstretched arms as she crouches low.

  Relief swarms me. I’m glad she’s safe. But the damage done to her will take years of therapy to sort through the nightmares. She sobs loudly, her pigtails loose, her wide eyes stained with tears. My heart splits into two.

  “You’re safe, baby. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. I’m sorry,” Belle says, petting her hair over and over again. But it’s too late. She failed as a parent because she put herself before her child.

  “Mommy, where’s Da-daddy?” Emily sobs, and when I see the nutcracker hanging limply from her hand, I bite my tongue until I draw blood to stop my tears.

  Belle places her face into her palms, prohibiting Emily from looking at anywhere but her. “Let’s go. We need to get you cleaned up.”

  At least she’s done something right because Emily doesn’t need to see what I can. But Lincoln stands in front of her as Belle comes to a stand, slowly. “Not so fast. I’m not done. Not yet.”

  Emily hides behind Belle, peering from behind her as Lincoln towers over her like the big bad wolf that he is. “You want to help your friend out, don’t you, Emily?” he says in a sickly-sweet tone as he bends low.

  I tug at the restraints, trying not to make a sound. But when a soft groan catches the still air, I gasp. I’m drawn to him and almost weep when I see him moving painfully slow. It seems he’s trying to gather his bearings, forcing his head to stay upright.

  “Come on, London. You can do it,” I chant over and over again. I lend him my strength; he can fucking take it all. He’s the reason I’m courageous anyway.

  After what seems like hours, he pries open his eyes. They take a moment to adjust, but when they do, they land on me. They instantly widen before he attempts to scream. It comes out as a muffled grunt; thanks to the fact he’s gagged by a thin piece of cloth.

  His eyes, those expressive orbs that have forever been my beacon in the night, plead with me. Am I all right?

  I nod once, a tear slipping free.

  He focuses on his surroundings, and when he sees Lincoln near Emily, he roars. Even though gagged, that sound is fierce and laced with promise that he will fucking murder him.

  Lincoln stops talking and turns over his shoulder, smirking. “Daddy!” he sarcastically quips. London closes his eyes, shaking his head, pained. He knows what Lincoln has just done.

  Emily scans the room, and when she sees London, she pales, yanking on Belle’s sweater. “What happened to Daddy? Why is he tied up? Daddy!” The brave champion comes soaring out of her as she flies forward, trying to save her father.

  But she stops suddenly when she sees me. “Holland? I’m scared,” she cries, begging I make it go away. “I want to go home.”

  “I know, and you will,” I reply, sniffing back my tears.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise, my little ballerina. I promise.” She nods quickly, her lip quivering.

  “You can have anything you want,” I rush out on a breathless pant, ensuring I never break eye contact with Emily. I need to reassure her that I’m okay. “Just take
her out of here. Please.”

  Lincoln lifts his head to the ceiling, inhaling the air. It’s filled with victory because I just begged. But it’s too late. “I can’t do that. I need her.”

  “Lincoln!” Belle screams, attempting to run toward him. The goon soon puts an end to her moving as he grips her bicep.

  “Need her? How?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  The floor is Lincoln’s, and he intends to own it. He begins a showy walk, confident as he spins his web. “Choose,” he simply says.

  “Choose what?” I ask, lost in what he’s proposing.

  “Emily or him.” He nods his chin toward London, who is writhing but trying to keep it together for Emily’s sake.

  “Emily or him what?” I have no idea what he wants.

  Lincoln doesn’t appreciate my cluelessness however. In three huge strides, he storms over to London and grips his matted hair, yanking his head backward. I scream, thrashing wildly. “Don’t play dumb, Holland. It’s unbecoming.”

  “I don’t know what you want!” I shout, ensuring my eyes never leave London’s.

  “You do,” he affirms, tugging London’s head back farther. His head is extended at a grotesque angle. If I don’t figure out what Lincoln is saying, he will snap London’s neck. “Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I only need one of them alive…so choose. Your beloved or his daughter?”

  There is no way, no way he’s expecting me to choose whose life I want to save because that is just…no. I won’t. But when Emily stares at the scene unfolding, and Belle bursts into tears, I know that it’s happening, and it’s happening right now.

  London attempts to rip himself free, but he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s beaten, bound, and gagged…The only way out is for me to spare his life.

  “I won’t do it!” I cry, shaking my head fiercely. “Emily, close your eyes!” She does.

  “Yes, you will! Otherwise, I will choose.” That option is terrifying. But who do I show mercy to? I can’t make the choice as I would never forgive myself either way. There is only one solution.

  “Me…I choose me,” I whisper, but I’ve been heard. London looks like he’s being electrocuted as he whips about, trying to fight off Lincoln. He screams until his face turns red, but we can’t hear him, and it’s better this way.