by SM West
“Tate.” The familiar welcomed voice startles me. Any other time and I’d be ecstatic to see him. Not now, not like this. What’s he doing here? I haven’t seen Max in days, why now?
The urge to call out to him is strong, so is the urge to run. If only I could get up. He can’t see me like this. Hiding Bobby’s abuse is my hobby. I’ve been successful at it for months. It’s not to protect my despicable husband. It’s to prevent Max’s futile guilt. He’s my twin and while he’s just as powerless as me, he’d risk everything to protect me. Even die for me.
Max knows me like no other. One look and the dark truth will drown him in a sea of guilt and helplessness. He’d blame himself for something that isn’t his fault.
“Tate.” Entering the dark room, the hallway light illuminates his outline. “What the fuck,” he bellows. Strong hands slip around my shoulders and under my knees, gently carrying me to the bed. “Shit. Tate, what happened?”
Max’s handsome face is shrouded in crazed confusion. His sea green eyes, like mine, are filled with worry. Damn, I must look bad. “Who did this to you and where the hell is Bobby?”
Quickly and methodically checking for injuries, his examination brings awareness to my pain. He abruptly stops, hands tightly clench into white-knuckle fists. Like dominoes, the pieces falling, one after the other, as Max figures it out.
“Bobby,” his icy tone sends a chill through me. “That fucker did this to you. Didn’t he? Where is he? I’m going to kill him.”
He violently grabs fistfuls of his sandy blond hair. His distress is palpable. I need a drink. A stiff drink. Seeing his anguish disturbs me. I can’t handle this. I certainly don’t have the strength or ability to calm or reassure him right now. I can barely keep my own shit together. Collapsing backward onto the bed, ouch, my head still pulses in pain, I close my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see him, it won’t be real?
Two strong arms scoop me off the bed and he heads for the elevator. Closing my eyes, darkness descends. My old friend.
“Max,” says the treacherous voice of my nightmares. An involuntary shudder skitters through me as I reluctantly open my eyes, Bobby looms ahead of us. An immovable obstacle to our freedom. “Put her down now,” his severe voice brooks no negotiation.
“You fucker. Get out of my way before I kill you. I found her barely conscious in her own blood,” Max yells. I’ve never seen him like this. His body is ramrod straight, prepared for anything. A tightly coiled cobra ready to strike.
“Max, put her down now.” Bobby’s calm, yet there’s an undeniable edge to his words. I need to step in. As much as I want to disappear, shut this out, Max is in danger.
“Max, put me down,” I whisper. His brow furrows and eyes narrow as anger paints his features. Deep red creeps up his neck and onto his clenched jaw.
“You heard her Max. Put her down. What goes on between my wife and me has nothing to do with you.”
“Get out of my way.”
Bobby grips my arms, tugging, while Max pulls me closer. I wonder if my escape lies within their hands? Being torn apart by these two? The thought’s not pleasant, but it would end things. An escape from my dark and pitiful prison.
Three of Bobby’s men enter our penthouse. Shit. Four against one. Max doesn’t stand a chance.
“Max, leave,” my tone is more a plea than a command. I fear for him. I know what these men are capable of.
He stops his tug-o-war with Bobby. He stares at me. Without words, I’m asking him to go before it’s too late. Before he gets hurt. His set jaw and hard eyes reveal that he has no intention of listening. My brother’s a good man. The best. He’d never walk away.
Without warning, two men are on him. Bobby hands me to one of his thugs, while Max is restrained. I should protest, beg for his safety but it’d be pointless. It might even make things worse. Bobby gets off on my anguish, my pain.
Bobby and Max square off like fighters in a ring. Max is strong and while not a fighter, he can hold his own. Even with that, the odds are stacked against him.
As the brute carries me toward my room, I don’t miss the striking sound of fists raining down on flesh, the inevitable crunch of bone, or Max’s agonizing groans. My stomach lurches, a lone tear slips from my eye. It should be me. I’d rather take Bobby’s fists than the unbearable ache and helplessness of listening to Max’s pain.
I’m pathetic. I can’t even stop the beating of my brother. I need a drink. People I love keep getting hurt because of me.
***
I WANT TO KILL THEM. If I knew Bobby would get what he deserves, I’d do the deed without blinking an eye. Jail would be worth it to get rid of my parents.
Everything is a hardship with them. I just want to see my brother, but you’d believe I was asking for the nuclear codes.
I try to stand still in their pretentious library. It’s impossible with the room spinning. I had a little too much to drink. Okay, I’m drunk beyond all reason and they know it. This is my life. I drink to survive. Imbibing is my defense for facing my parents today, and numbing the pain of my recovering body. I drank, a lot, before coming here.
“I want to see Max NOW,” I scream. Taking one of my mother’s treasured Lladró figurines, I throw it at them. Of course, I miss. Striking the damask wallpaper, it ruptures into thousands of tiny porcelain splinters.
Taya lunges at me. Frantically dodging her, I kick my legs out and fall flat on my ass. She hovers above me. Her sharp, red nails clamp my cheeks, her face is an inch from mine.
“You are out of control,” she seethes, shaking. Her flawless, pale skin is a deep red and slits of frenzy replace her eyes. Seeing her disheveled makes me want to laugh. I finally got to the ice queen. Perhaps she’s human after all? Unknowingly, a loud cackle escapes my lips. Oops.
“Taya,” my father softly says, prying her hands off me. He’s livid too. Still, he has more control, knowing his fury will only feed her fire. My mother slaps me across the face. My eyes widen in shock, followed by a mild sting.
If I was sober, something tells me it would hurt a hell of a lot more. I’ll likely have a lovely red mark on my cheek. Gee, another bruise to go with all the others. Thanks, mom.
“Warren, get her out of my sight. She disgusts me.”
“The feeling’s mutual mommy dearest,” I quip.
She storms from the room. My father focuses on me. If possible, his already stern features harden. He pulls me up and flings me onto the sofa. “Why can’t you ever just do as you’re told.”
“I want to see Max now,” I repeat like a broken record.
It’s been two weeks since he found me semi-conscious and was then beaten by Bobby and his goons. I’d have seen him sooner but I couldn’t. A concussion, stitches, one knocked out tooth, a broken arm and a few broken ribs, as well as a lacerated kidney, will do that to you.
Bobby doesn’t do things half-assed, or at least not where I’m concerned. This one was bad. Or perhaps they are all bad and I’m just numb to it? As soon as I could walk, I came here. I had to make sure he was okay. Bobby wouldn’t answer my questions about Max. I know he’s here. A prisoner, like me.
“Tate, Max is fine,” he says tenderly. His pathetic attempt at kindness doesn’t fool me.
“Then let me see him.”
“You need to stop drinking,” he says, ignoring my request. “You’re going to screw everything up if you don’t toe the line. You need to accept Bobby’s your husband. This is your life. You’d make this so much easier on yourself.”
“I promise I’ll stop drinking if you let me see Max,” I plea. The promise easily rolls off my tongue. I have no intentions of keeping it. Or at least that’s what I think.
Although, he seems to not believe me, he contemplates my request. My cooperation is paramount. They need me to go along with this farce. The more things they share, the tighter the bond. My obstinacy increases the risk of Bobby killing me and moving on. And where would that leave my father?
Many people fear my father, and
rightly so, as the head of one of New York’s rising crime syndicates, he has a well-earned reputation for ruthlessness. I’m not scared of him. He’d never lay a finger on me. That’s not his specialty where I’m concerned. His calculated, emotional maneuvers hit harder and deeper than any blow he could ever deliver with his fists.
“I’ll get sober, Daddy. I’ll get treatment. I’ll do anything.” I lay it on thick. I’m not sure if it’s my tone or my attempt at sincerity, but something has him nodding in agreement.
“Stay here,” he commands, leaving the room.
In less than ten minutes, Max enters. While not identical twins, we look a lot alike with similar blond hair and green eyes. Born three minutes apart, Max loves to joke that while I’m older, he’s wiser. His beautiful face is bruised and swollen, but healing. I’m sure it was a lot worse than it is now.
Stumbling in my drunkenness, I launch into his solid chest. Concern is etched in his eyes. He’s noticed I’m plastered. And if he hasn’t, he will once he gets a whiff of me. I reek like a distillery.
One of us groans, the other moans as we collide. We’re both healing from the beatings. I can only guess where he’s hurting.
His hold intensifies the sting in my ribs and lower back. I don’t care. I need this. I need him. His love. My tears fall freely. He may be battered and bruised, but he’s still breathing. He’s a balm to my ravaged soul.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his neck.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He squeezes me tighter; I release a small whimper.
“Sorry,” he remorsefully replies, lessening his hold. “Tate, look at you…” Self- recrimination is evident as his fingers gently slide over the spot on my cheek where my mother slapped me. It must be red.
“Tate, why the hell didn’t you tell me?” his tone is laced with guilt and reproach.
For the past several years, he’s been studying medicine in London, England. He’s only been back in the US for about six months. Hiding the abuse was easy with him an ocean away. Now, it’s challenging, to say the least. Call it a twin thing or maybe just common sense, he knew my marriage to Bobby was a farce. I refused to let him in on the truth, denial was my weak defense.
My current injuries likely confirm everything he feared. While he doesn’t know the whole story, there’s no denying the ugly truth. It’s now in plain sight.
“Max, don’t. There’s nothing you can do anyway.”
“Fuck that shit, I’m getting you out of there. If I see that cocksucker again, I’ll rip him to shreds,” he growls.
“Stop. He’ll kill you. I know what he’s capable of. And with Warren and Taya on his side, he’s unstoppable. Just let it be.”
“No fucking way. I’m…”
“No, just stop this. I don’t want to talk about this. Just hold me,” I plea.
Max’s gaze softens. We sit, clinging to each other for comfort. He doesn’t press any further, although I know he wants to. Right now, he’s giving me what I need.
Finally, he tells me that my parents picked him up after the beating and brought in a doctor. He’s been repeatedly told that he can’t interfere in Bobby’s affairs. In fact, to prevent it, they’re sending him back to school. Max wants me to come with him.
He’s always wanted to be a doctor. My parents want him to take over the business, something he vehemently resists. To get their way, my parents financially cut him off and hauled him back to the US, literally and physically. Now, suddenly, they support his dream and are shipping him back to Cambridge to finish his medical degree.
“I’m only going if you come too,” he declares.
Max is the one person I can count on. He always protects me at all costs. Realization sinks in, if I don’t start playing the game, Max will bear the brunt. He won’t rest until I’m free, and I won’t put him in jeopardy. I won’t lose him too. It would kill me.
My burning desire to survive is a dying flame, yet protecting my brother gives me hope. I can feel my determination taking hold. The seed of my plan starting to take root, stoking the fire. It’s just an idea, not fully flushed out. The details aren’t clear, but I see the destination. The ending I want. To start, I must forge my path. And protecting Max will be the first step.
“Max, listen to me. I’ve a plan. Go to London. Become the fabulous doctor I know you’ll be. I’m going to get clean,” I firmly state. My hands frame his face as he attempts to shake his head in protest. “Do this for me. Please. I promise I’ll be fine. I’m not giving up and if I cooperate, maybe Bobby will lay off me. I’ve not made this easy, once I do, everything should be okay.”
“No. Dammit, Bear. He’s an asshole. He’s dangerous. He could have killed you,” his voice cracks on the last few words.
Warmth and love flood my chest upon hearing his childhood name for me. When Max and I were little, we often crept into each other’s bed at night, especially if one of us was scared. He’d say; who needs a teddy bear when I have you. Over time, he took to calling me, Bear.
“If I go away, who’s going to watch out for you? I have to get you out of there,” he growls. His fierceness energizes me, my internal fire burning brighter.
“Max, for now, this is how it has to be. I’ll check myself into a facility for as long as I can. I’ll stay for a year if they let me,” I chuckle, trying to make light of it. “I promise I’ll keep in touch. And if possible, I’ll come visit. Bobby might agree to it once he sees I’ve cleaned up my act. Or I could come with mom and dad.” I’m grasping at straws. I need him to go.
My parents enter the room. Mother’s astute glare is not lost on me. She’s worried we’re planning something. Little does she know I’m encouraging him to make her life easier.
“Max told me he’s going back to Cambridge, that’s amazing,” I gush.
“Yes, it is.” At Max’s side, her fingers run through his hair. He tenses, his hand squeezing mine.
“Max, leave,” my father orders.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he harshly responds.
It’s my turn to squeeze his hand, imploring with my eyes that he go. I gently hug and kiss him. “I love you. I’ll be fine. Trust me. I’ll find a way to communicate with you,” I whisper in his ear.
With one final hug, he leaves the room with my mother close behind. Taking Max’s spot, my father sits, holding my hand in both of his.
“We’ve spoken with Bobby and made arrangements for you to be taken to rehab immediately. This is best for you. You promised.” It’s hard to miss the sadistic glint in his eye. He’s calling my bluff, preparing for my objection. It’s as if he wants me to fight him.
I readily nod, carefully studying him. I’m perceptive to people’s cues and body language. Their moves give way to the motives and moods they unwittingly convey without the utterance of a single word. That’s how I knew Bobby was a poisonous apple, shiny and red on the outside, yet rotten to the core.
My mistake was missing my father’s treacherous nature until it was too late. He was my blind spot. Not anymore. He’s surprised at my acceptance; pulling me closer, our noses almost touching.
“Don’t mess with me, Tate. You’re my daughter and contrary to what you may think, your mother and I love you. We want what’s best for you. Bobby will give you that if you do as he says. You’re a smart woman, now act like it.”
I QUICKLY SCAN THE PARKING lot before hustling to the idling sedan. As I shut the door, Noel nods and winks through the rear-view mirror before putting the car into drive.
He’s attractive in an all-American kind of way with light brown hair, amber eyes and dimples. He was most probably disgustingly popular in high school with swooning girls all around him. Studying his profile is a welcomed distraction from the churning dread in my gut. We’re headed to my second meeting with Wolfe.
I’m still fuming from the whole “Mr. Somerset” act at the gala. Especially his rude and dismissive attitude, like I’m an inconsequential nuisance rather than a critical part of this whole opera
tion. Asshole.
I miss Coop terribly. He’d never treat me like that. Although, I’ve never lost it on Coop. I can’t really say what he’d have done in Wolfe’s shoes.
Controlling my anger and irritation will be hard. Who am I kidding? I’ve been struggling and failing to control my emotions around him. If our last encounter is any indication, I’m ripped open, stripped bare, vulnerable whenever he’s near. He’s complete havoc on my mind and body.
We head uptown, stopping outside the Ritz-Carlton, Central Park. What? We’ve never met in a five-star hotel. These are my stomping grounds. Noel hands me a slip of paper with the room number. The valet opens my door.
My stomach roils as I gaze around familiar territory. Bewildered as to why he picked here, I struggle to gain composure. A few deep breaths aid in focusing on the task at hand. That’s all I need, to get busted because I’m dumbstruck.
Perhaps this is Wolfe’s plan, throw me off my game? Reinforce he’s in control by shaking things up? Screw him. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. I sleep with a viper. I never let my guard down.
Outside the hotel room, the door swings open on my third knock. Wolfe’s striking frame stands in the doorway. His hand snakes out in a flash, firmly and quickly yanking me in the room. Seriously?
“What the…” I shriek.
“You and Coop with your stupid code. He loves that spy shit. Knock once.”
Walking into the room, his broad shoulders, defined back and a seriously firm ass greet me. Enjoying the view, I follow his quick strides into a finely furnished sitting area. We walk into another lavish room with a stunning view of Central Park.
A king size bed takes up a good portion of the room, with a bar and large flat screen TV directly across from the bed. Two used glasses and a bottle of Scapa, an expensive 16-year-old single malt scotch, rest on the bar.