by Cari Quinn
“I didn’t use exactly those words.” He rubbed his thumb against the side of his mouth. “I’m not a fool, Casey.”
His quiet steel nearly made her sag against the wall. What did she really think she could do? Convince him that she still wanted him, so hey, leave poor, insignificant Ryan alone? She’d already said exactly the opposite. Marco was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He might pretend to believe her lies now, but that wouldn’t stop him from hurting Ryan. His fame would make it harder for Marco to do something drastic, but there were other ways to harm Ryan. Marco always found other ways.
“What do you want from me?” she asked softly. “Let’s say I go with you. Then what?”
“You’ll have everything you ever wanted. Money, power, respect. The finest clothes. Not like that dress.” He shook his head in derision. “You’re a vision, but that dress doesn’t do you justice. And you certainly won’t be driving a bus for pennies for a bunch of juvenile guitar slingers.”
“Those supposed guitar slingers are my friends.” She lifted her chin. “My family.”
“As is Ryan. Come now, you don’t have to lie to me.” Marco pushed off the wall and came closer, his expensive shoes whispering over the carpeted floor. “You care for him deeply. I’ve seen enough evidence of that.”
“You’ve been watching me. Us. For how long?” She swallowed over the dryness in her throat as her phone vibrated. It had to be Ryan. She should have been downstairs with him and the band.
She should have told him everything. She was so tired of being afraid.
But when she’d gotten through this mess, she would. When he was safe. And then she’d make all the promises to Ryan she should have before she’d let him walk out that door.
She’d never lie to him or hold back pieces of the truth—or herself—again.
“How many days has it been since you vanished on me after you wrote me that pathetic Dear John letter?” Marco didn’t touch her, just loomed close enough to make her gut twist from his nearness. “That’s how long.”
Her face heated with fury. “You didn’t follow me all this time. I know it. I went off-grid, changed my fucking name, learned every goddamn back road I could so you’d never be able to hem me in again.”
“Yet here we are. You put up a good effort, I’ll say that. But once you returned to your felonious uncle’s playground, tracking you was painfully easy. Add in your new boyfriend’s penchant for high-stakes poker in one of my clubs, and well, it only takes one time to have him roughed up and left in an alley for you to find. Counting cards is such a bad habit. You should have suggested he stop that.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You have your ways of being persuasive. I heard you using them on him just last night.”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t know if he was lying or exaggerating or if he’d really been that close all this time. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. He’d invaded their privacy, time and time again. Where and when didn’t really make a difference.
His violation of her hadn’t stopped when she’d turned her back on him and his lifestyle. He’d kept right on doing it in all new ways. Not that she’d even left him because of his controlling ways and mental cruelty. She’d left because she’d seen him order another man injured, possibly critically, for a minor infraction. Because she’d seen him participate.
Hurting her had been okay. Hurting someone else had been way too much. And she’d known it hadn’t been the first time. Nor would it be the last.
But it wouldn’t be Ryan. Ever. Not if she could fix this.
If she wasn’t too late.
“It’s sweet how he has that picture of you in his wallet tucked behind his license,” Marco went on, probably reading her silence as fear.
That wasn’t far from the truth. It just wasn’t all she was feeling, not by a long shot.
“The one with his arm around your neck while he’s kissing your hair.” He stroked a finger down the side of her face. “Too bad you’re already spoken for. Too bad for him all the way around.”
“If I go with you, you’ll leave him alone.” She raised her face to his. “He’s a boy, Marco. You understand that. Not worthy of your time and energy. He was a diversion while I was driving the bus.” She shrugged, loathing every word, her body physically rejecting them until she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t throw up on Marco’s fancy Italian loafers. “No more, no less.”
“If you go with me, you’ll forget him soon enough. I told you I’d never let you leave me. That I wouldn’t be content if you weren’t by my side. Now we can resume what we had.” He smiled and touched her hair. “Our forever love.”
She nearly retched. Christ, if she could go back in time, she would smack her nineteen-year-old self unconscious for ever having a thing to do with this man. For ignoring her gut that said something was off about him. For not going to her uncle sooner to get help.
But this time, she would help herself. And Ryan.
They were going to have a future together, dammit. Maybe even one with a picket fence and some kids and joint electric bills.
“Promise me, Marco. If we leave together, you’ll pull your men off of keeping tabs on Ryan. I won’t try to contact him again.”
Marco angled his head, studying her for so long that she was sure he was about to call her bluff again. “You know I’d do anything for you. Even spare him.”
She reeled from that statement, from the bald honesty in it. She would never trust Marco’s promises again, but he truly believed he held Ryan’s fate in his hands.
Not if she had anything to say about it. Somehow she would make sure Marco and his bastards didn’t have a chance to get near him.
Her dress vibrated again and she had to bite back a sob. She would risk everything to keep Ryan safe. In a heartbeat.
“Let’s go in the hotel room now, Casey.” Marco gripped her elbow and shifted her toward the room. She dug her feet into the carpet out of reflex, but he just yanked her forward as if she were insubstantial. “You have a letter to write to Ryan to say goodbye.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan stared at the photo in his wallet as he leaned against the back wall of the elevator traveling upstairs. He was still amazed it hadn’t been thrown out by the jerks who’d ransacked his wallet. But nope, it had remained safely tucked behind his license with the condom. They must’ve just overlooked it.
Now he was staring at the picture while he rode upstairs to the room where he and Denver had become even closer than they’d been before. He’d loved her before he walked into it, but somehow by the time he’d walked out, she had become everything.
His world.
In the photo he always carried with him, she was laughing. He’d pulled her against him for the shot. He was always tugging her closer.
Was that the problem? Had he finally yanked her too hard? Demanded too much? He’d tried to temper his needs, to slow down the timeline that kept speeding up in his head. Slow and steady had always been his mantra, but this entire time with Denver, he’d been on an accelerated schedule. The regular pace didn’t seem fast enough.
Probably because now that he knew exactly what and who he wanted, it didn’t make sense to him to screw around with maybes and tomorrows. He much preferred yeses and forevers.
Theirs.
The doors snicked open on their floor and he swept his thumb over the picture once more before he drew out his key card. He walked down the hall to their room, dread chasing every step. His trepidation didn’t make sense. She could have taken a quick nap or something and not awakened on time. Though he’d never seen Denver nap in her life, but she might have—
“Hey, wait a second,” Ryan said, coming around the corner to see a maid rolling her cart out of the open door of their suite. If the maid was in there, Denver surely wasn’t. “Who let you into the room?”
It was an asinine question. Maids didn’t have to wait for permission if the room appeared unoccupied, especially when they’d missed their scheduled room-cleaning
time that morning due to the helpful “Do Not Disturb” sign they’d hung on the doorknob. But he’d tried to hang his hopes on Denver napping or taking some time for herself or anything to explain why she wasn’t downstairs with him.
The maid didn’t hear him at first so he repeated the question. She glanced up, frowning as he stopped beside her cart. “The young lady and her gentlemen said they were finished with the room. I assumed they were checking out early.”
“What gentleman? I’m her gentleman. This is my room. Ours.” He shoved the cart out of the way and burst into the room, his gaze swinging in all directions. The bed was neatly made, as if they’d never slept in it. As if he’d never tied her open for his mouth, his hands, his cock.
Her bag was gone. Not his. His was still in the corner where he’d left it.
“Where did you put her bag?” He whirled on the bewildered maid, whose big dark eyes had grown even larger. “Denver’s bag isn’t here. Where is it?”
“I didn’t put it anywhere, sir. She took it with her. Her gentleman was carrying it—”
“She doesn’t have another gentleman! I’m it. It’s me.” He realized he was shouting and clamped a hand on the back of his neck to try to reel himself in. “Are you sure there isn’t a mistake? Maybe we aren’t talking about the same person. She has long dark hair, dark eyes, golden skin. She was wearing a green gown. She’s fucking beautiful.” He was too wound up to regret the curse word. All he cared about was finding his girl. “Did you see her?”
The maid nodded. “Yes, it was her. Green dress. She had on sneakers.”
Ryan swallowed and shut his eyes. Get it together, man. Think.
“I wasn’t sure, but since there was still a bag in the room…” The maid shrugged. “I just started cleaning the room.” She tugged at her smock nervously. “I left the note I found.”
His eyes blinked open, though his gaze was fuzzy at the edges. Panic was making him mental. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on. “What note?”
The maid pointed to the desk. He crossed the room and snatched up the cream-colored stationery. Denver’s small, cramped handwriting blurred, so he rubbed his eyes until he could make out the words.
Ryan,
This is hard to say, but it’s better I tell you now than later when we get too involved. We had some fun, but after thinking about it some more, I’m just not ready to settle down. I hope you understand. I know you’ll make another woman happy someday.
I wish you all the best. Good luck tonight.
Hummingbird
“What the fuck is this? I’ll make another woman happy someday? She would never fucking say this. Never.” He slammed a fist down on the desk, shaking the lamp so hard he thought it would fall to the floor. He wanted it to. Wanted to watch everything in the room shatter and disintegrate under his fists.
“Sir, do you want me to call security?”
“Oh sure. Yes, of course I do. Because if I’m going to fuck up a room, I want security to see it.” He punched the desk again for good measure. Then he ripped up the note into tiny pieces, marched into the bathroom, dumped them in the toilet, and hit flush.
It was only when he was watching the little cream flecks circle the bowl that the last word on the page registered.
Hummingbird.
What the hell? Why would she have signed her name that way? He’d never called her that. When he used a nickname for her, it was always Colorado or Den. The Hummingbird was just the place they’d first…
“The first place we had sex.” Was that a clue? Had she been forced to write that letter? “Holy Christ.”
Whatever it meant, he had to find her. If she truly meant what she’d said, she could tell him face to face. He didn’t understand it, not by a long shot, but if she said the words to him, he’d have to hear them.
But if there was more to it, if the supposed “gentleman” Denver had left with was the man from her past—because he had no idea who else it could be—then Ryan needed to get help. And there was only one person who could give them any.
The guy who seemed to have more money and connections than God and just happened to share Denver’s real last name.
Ryan whirled around to find the frantic maid standing in the bathroom door, brandishing a feather duster in one hand and her phone in the other. “I gotta go. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for all of this.” He frowned. “Fuck that, I didn’t do anything. Thoughts aren’t actions. Get out of my way before I move you bodily. Ma’am,” he added.
She moved aside, still holding out the feather duster. “This woman, she left you?”
“We’ll see about that.” He made it two feet before he spun around to stare at the still uneasy maid. “The man she left with, what did he look like? Details are important.”
“He was tall, dark hair, nice suit. Looked rich. He smiled at me, but his eyes were cold.” She gripped her phone that much tighter. “Is she in trouble?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. Thanks.” He charged out of the room, already texting Lila for Donovan’s number. Her response was almost instantaneous.
Lila: Where are u? The show started. We need u down here.
Ryan: Need Donovan’s number. Urgent.
She responded with Donovan’s number and another barrage of questions, as was Lila’s way.
Lila: Are u ok? Where are u? Want me to send someone?
Ryan: No time. I’m ok. Tell Donovan 2 look @ his phone.
Ryan hit the button for the elevator, texting the number he’d gotten for Donovan as he stepped inside.
Ryan: I’m sleeping with your niece. No time 2 explain. Denver’s missing from our room. Left me a shitty breakup note. Signed it weird. Maid said she left w a man. What happened with her ex bf?
Yeah, so not the best way to tell Donovan about them, but he didn’t have time for niceties. He also couldn’t tell Donovan he was in love with Denver until he told her. It just didn’t seem right.
He expected Donovan to either not reply or to say he wasn’t telling him jack shit. In his inimitable British way, of course. But his answer came almost immediately, just as the elevator doors opened a few floors below their floor to let people on. Ryan gritted his teeth as he read Donovan’s response.
Donovan: He had family connections. Dangerous. Older. Emotionally manipulative. Do you think she could be with him?
Family connections? What the fuck did that mean? Ryan didn’t have a Donovan Lewis-speak dictionary handy.
Ryan swallowed hard as the elevator stopped again on the next floor and more people entered the car. Family connections as in mob? No fucking way. Denver had told him that not all of her ex-boyfriend’s associates were above-board, but this was nuts. It couldn’t be true.
Ryan sent another text.
Ryan: Do you think she could be in danger?
Donovan: I don’t know. What did she tell you?
Swearing under his breath as the elevator finally stopped at the lobby level and the car emptied, Ryan typed out the pertinent details as coherently as he could while walking. He was leaving a lot out, and he wasn’t sure if he was saying what he intended, but he didn’t have time to reread what he’d typed. Just managing to type while walking as fast as he could to get back to Donovan was a minor feat.
People were everywhere, coming and going in every direction. Laughing, talking, making his head hurt with their animated voices. Ryan aimed for the Event Center almost on autopilot, finally finishing his texts to Donovan as he stepped through the double doors.
The sea of faces and bodies made his stomach clench. Somehow he had to fight his way through the mass of excited people completely focused on the stage so he could drag Donovan someplace quieter so they could have a coherent conversation and come up with a damn plan.
The last thing he wanted to do was waste time spinning his wheels in that place, but he had no choice. He needed more information, and Donovan was the only one who could give him a clear direction. Whether that was pulling security cameras fr
om the hallway of their floor or calling in some of their own people to do a sweep, he was ready to do anything and everything to get her back.
All he wanted to do was see her, make sure she was okay. Her leaving him made no sense, but if she didn’t want him anymore, he’d fucking deal. He wouldn’t like it—scratch that, he would frigging hate it—but he’d never stop trying to win her back. Ever. Not to possess or control her, but because he loved her more than his own life. They just fit. He couldn’t see his world without her in it.
Tonight had driven that point home spectacularly.
A waiter with a tray of champagne bumped into him, shaking him out of his inertia as he waited for Donovan’s text. He moved forward blindly, sidestepping people, circling tables, trying to tamp down on his need to shove people out of his way. The band’s table wasn’t far from where he was, but it might as well have been miles away. He glanced toward the chaos onstage, barely aware that The Grunge was performing, his feet moving toward Donovan by rote.
A shimmer of green caught his eye near the side of the stage. In the back, by the curtains. Barely a flash.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes. Now he was hallucinating. He was so desperate to make her materialize that he was imagining she was there, and it was just a gorgeous brunette in a green dress.
A long, sparkly green dress that maybe, possibly, could be Denver’s.
Without hesitation, he rerouted toward the stage. He might be seeing things, but it didn’t matter. If there was even the slightest chance that she’d somehow found her way back to him, he had to go to her.
Hope was all he had left.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She peeked out from the side of the stage where dancers tumbled and swirled and the lights twirled in a manic blend of colors. She scanned the sea of faces to find Ryan’s table.