Red (Love in Color Series Book 1)

by SM West

  Jerking my hair like a leash, a furious agony sweeps across my head as hair separates from my scalp. I scramble to land on my feet but fail. On my butt and lower back, he hauls me along the marble floor.

  My fingernails sink into his hand, trying to loosen his grip. Tears spill as I clench my jaw and try desperately to block out the excruciating pain of him towing me down the hall.

  I must have got it wrong. He shouldn’t be standing, torturing me like this. It’s supposed to be within minutes. Lethal. Shit. I’m done for.

  “You wanna know what confirmed my suspicions that you were up to something?”

  I frantically focus on his words, like a blockade to the piercing agony in my scalp and back. It’s still not clear where I went wrong. The good thing about Bobby is he can’t resist gloating; showing me he’s smarter and better than me.

  “You see darling, the people I do business with, they like to know who they’re getting into bed with. They do thorough background checks. A new business partner found it.”

  Entering the bedroom, he tosses me onto our bed like discarded garbage. Before I can counter with an escape, his full weight is on me. His dark eyes are pools of a scarlet hatred, so pure and deep. I know the look. It’s the same one I have for him.

  He’s the devil. Less than a millimeter from my face, he raises his hand. Closing my eyes, I brace for another blow. Instead, he shocks me when his fingers vehemently crush my jaw. Fuck.

  “Sofia Townsend,” he gleefully delivers his verbal blow.

  His black eyes searching my visage for my crack. Acknowledgement of his victory. Holding my breath, I strive for control, hoping I’m giving off no reaction. The brief spark in his eyes signifies I’ve failed. He’s got me. There was always a possibility my alias would be discovered. The name on his lips stuns and robs me.

  His hulking body pins me to the bed. I’ve not only miscalculated the dose as he’s alive and breathing, but he also knows about my alias. Sofia. My escape plan. It’s over. Unsurprisingly, the thought of my death brings no fear.

  I’ve already made peace with my demise at the hands of Bobby Thornton. My blood is boiling because I screwed up my chance to outsmart him. My chance to stick it to him in the best way possible – death.

  Shutting out his threats, his words are white noise as the reality of my situation smacks me in the face. It’s a harsher blow than any he’s delivered tonight. Did I come this close to the end only to have it all disintegrate around me? By one stupid misstep? One mistake?

  “For now, the account’s intact…but not for long. I’ll destroy it all…Do you understand?”

  I nod, choosing not to protest or fight. Not now. Not yet. His eyes flutter shut. Almost immediately, he blinks them open.

  “Where the fuck…where you planning…to run? Don’t…you know…I’ll…always…find…you?” his words are slow, slurred.

  His face falters. Could it be? Do I still have a chance? My heartbeat quickens with hope. Shaking his head, it’s like he’s fighting to stay lucid. His eyes give it away. They are glassy, unfocused. It’s only a matter of time.

  Loosening his grip on my face, likely unintentional, his body sags further into me. The heaviness almost unbearable. His eyes close. Again. Taking much longer, they partially open, comprehension flitters in his eyes. Anger and fear pervade his eyes before they close. His head falls forward.

  Lying completely still, his lifeless body slumps on top of me. Did it work? Do I dare hope? Wiggling and bucking, his body tumbles off me. Placing two fingers on his jugular, I wait and pray for no pulse. My racing heart is deafening.

  Shit. Was that movement? Squeezing my eyes shut, I shut out all senses except touch. Fuck. There’s a pulse. Removing my shaking fingers, I inhale deeply. Calm down. Steadying my hand, I check again. Fuck. He’s still breathing. Damn it, why didn’t it work?

  Bobby’s still alive. Reality starts to sink in. I stumble off the bed. He’s alive runs on an endless loop in my mind. I’m shaking, uncontrollably trembling. My gait is clumsy, uncoordinated.

  My extremities tingle as the enormity of my failed plan barrels through me like a locomotive. The boulder’s resting at the bottom of the hill. A breath away from its intended target. A total miss.

  He’s still alive.

  I failed.

  I failed to prevent Griffin’s death.

  I failed to exact revenge on Bobby.

  I failed to make my father pay.

  I failed to recapture my freedom.

  I failed.

  He’s still alive.

  No longer able to place one foot in front of the other, my body’s not cooperating, I collapse at the foot of the bed. Sinking to the floor, my back rests against the mattress. Shivering, cold sweat blankets my body.

  Wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, a whirlwind of nothing swirls around me. Like a boat, I’m rocking back and forth. Swaying side to side. It’s soothing. Lulling me into a hypnotic state as everything fades to black.

  ***

  MOANING PULLS ME BACK. OPENING my eyes, the white ceiling greets me. I’m sore, my head aches. Ineptly sitting upright, I dazedly glance around, trying to orient myself.

  Slowly, images flick through my mind. Dinner. The wine. The drug. My hair. The bed. A pulse. Shit, he’s alive. Out the corner of my eye, there’s movement followed by another moan. Bobby. He’s stirring.

  Scrambling, without rhyme or reason, I decide to act like I’ve no clue what happened. It’s probably a colossal mistake. My mind’s groggy, slow.

  Ignoring the flashing, fire-engine red light in my head, I go to him and ask, “Are you okay?”

  Clutching his head with both hands, he lethargically sits. His legs hang over the bed, only inches from mine. Attempting to convey worry and concern, I hover. This might not work. I’m out of options.

  “What the hell happened?” his voice is coarse. “I feel like…I feel like a fucking semi ran me over.”

  “You passed out,” I whisper.

  I dare not say anymore, hoping he doesn’t remember. Those sirens tell me he will.

  Resting his elbows on his knees, cradling his head, he takes several deep breaths. Suddenly, he jackknifes, nearly knocking me over, charging for the bathroom. His retching and moaning fill the room.

  After a few minutes, he stands in the bathroom doorway, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His glossy black eyes immobilize me. He remembers. It’s clear as day in his ominous expression.

  “You fucking bitch,” he chokes. “You drugged me.”

  He lunges across the bed at me. Clambering off the mattress, he’s on my heels. Clumsy but determined. Bolting for the hallway, his breathing is heavy and close behind me.

  “What the fuck did you give me?”

  At the mouth of our great room, I haphazardly scan the large space and then run for the terrace. Frantically unlatching the door, it hits me. This is the dumbest move I could make. It’s too late now. There’s nowhere else to go. I’ll figure something out and double back once he’s outside.

  “You bitch. I’ll end you for this.”

  Bobby’s words slice through the cold winter air like a sharp blade. Racing to the bar, my bare feet slap against the ice-cold concrete. Behind the bar, I grab the first bottle I lay purchase on, violently flinging it at him. He’s ten feet away. I miss.

  Glass shatters in a million directions. The colorless spirit splatters on the concrete. Without hesitation, I nab and throw the next bottle. He’s closer now, half the distance than before. Part of the bottle hits his shoulder and he stumbles. Shit, I’m not slowing him down fast enough. I need to knock him out.

  “I’ll fuck you up,” he roars.

  He dodges the next bottle sailing through the air. A symphony of glass and liquid surrounds us. The minefield of glass and liquid is a reflection into the sharp disarray of my mind right now.

  Within seconds, he’ll be on me. Bloody murder is in his eyes. He’ll throw me off the balcony. I need to somehow create a roadbl
ock or diversion, so I can get back inside.

  As I launch a $15,000 bottle of cognac, movement inside captures my attention. Ry steps out. My breath catches. Bobby’s oblivious to his arrival. Sidestepping the bottle, the rare elixir sprays across the terrace upon contact with the ground. Shards of heavy glass soar like deadly weapons in every direction.

  Sucking in a jagged breath, I say a quick prayer of thanks. Seeing Ry only brings relief, tenderness and an overwhelming emotion I dare not name. He quickly, but silently and fastidiously, studies me and what’s unfolding.

  Concern mars his handsome face, yet he’s calm and controlled. His eyes are determined, his steps steady and confident.

  Ry and three other agents, Gia among them, descend on Bobby. With his back turned, Bobby’s unaware until Ry says, “FBI. Robert Thornton, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.”

  He suddenly stops, pivoting to face those behind him. Ry continues with his Miranda rights as an agent cuffs him. Bobby violently tries to shake the man off him, attempting an attack on Ry.

  “You goddamn motherfucking asshole. You’re FBI?” he roars.

  Redness creeps up his neck as veins and tendons bulge with rage. Despite his outburst, the drugs have slowed him. The agents restrain him and take Bobby away. Gia steps around Ry with a smug smile.

  “Tate Thornton, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent,” she starts.

  Startled, my eyes widen, my mouth falls open. Looking to Ry, he’s retreating into the penthouse. My stomach lurches. I’m frozen and stunned. I have no clue what’s happening and why I’m being arrested.

  Maybe Ry lied to me? They used me and are bringing me in too? But what for? Do they know I tried to kill Bobby? I don’t get a chance to ask him.

  Gia pulls me through the penthouse and out the front door. Ry’s not there. Everything happens so fast. The next thing I register, I’m in the back of a car. Gia’s in the driver’s seat. I’m freezing. It’s late December. The wind’s brisk and chilly. I have no coat. I’m lucky she let me slip on some shoes.

  I refuse to speak. She won’t answer my questions anyway. Besides, anything I say will only give her satisfaction. That’s the last thing I want. She’s got the power right now, but it won’t be for long. Or at least I hope that’s the case. It must be a misunderstanding or Gia’s acting on her own? Ry wouldn’t lie to me. Or was I completely wrong about him?

  At the FBI offices, Gia deposits me in a nondescript room with a table and four chairs. A camera’s perched in the corner of the ceiling. A red light is on. Someone’s watching. With one of her smug looks, she cuffs me to the table and leaves.

  I’M ALONE. WAITING AND WAITING for what seems like an eternity. The cuffs are tight, digging into my wrists. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been. Although I’m sure, it’s hours. My bladder’s screaming for relief. My scalp is raw and stinging. And I’m achy and tired.

  It’s eerily silent and cold. I might as well be the only person on the planet. It’s obvious what they’re trying to do. They want me soft, broken for whatever’s coming next. Well, I’ve got news for them, I was broken a long time ago. There’s nothing left to break. So, do your best.

  Sleep finally finds me. Resting on the cold metal table, my hands curl into my chest, huddling in on myself to keep warm. I face a wall, the door to my back. I should want to see who enters but at this point, I don’t care.

  It doesn’t seem like I’ve slept at all before the creak of the opening door wakes me. Slowly raising my head, I turn to see who has come to interrogate me.

  “What the fuck?” Ry growls and aggressively runs his hand through his hair.

  Rushing to my side, anger shrouds his face. At this point, I’m angry too, but more importantly, I’m hungry, tired and seriously have to use the bathroom.

  “She never took the cuffs off. Fuck, Gia,” he booms, removing the handcuffs.

  Gently holding my wrists in his warm palms, his fingers softly rub at the tender skin, bringing back feeling into my hands. His mouth opens, he glances at the camera and then he closes his mouth.

  Delicately resting my hands on the table, he nabs a chair and standing on it, he pulls a wire out of the mounted camera. The red light vanishes.

  “That’s better. Now the bitch can’t watch.”

  Holding my hands, he resumes his ministrations on my bruises. While I have a million questions, his touch stills my mind, comforts me. I don’t want him to stop.

  His hair is a tousled mess, dark strands sticking up every which way, and his face is ragged, tired. His eyes are glazed and there’s a fair amount of scruff on his face. But he’s as handsome as ever.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. We had to arrest you in front of Bobby. And for those watching. But…” he snarls. “Gia was to bring you here and have you wait in my office. Uncuffed. I only just found out where you were.”

  I remain silent. Ocean blue eyes search my face for forgiveness? Understanding? I’m not sure, but I don’t blame him. He really is the good guy in all of this.

  I can’t bring myself to tell him it’s okay. While it all makes sense now, I’m still angry at this gigantic fuck up. Of course, Gia was behind this. I hope she got her fill because that was the last time she’ll have one up on me.

  “Can I go?” I ask flatly.

  His eyes widen with surprise. He looks hurt with his frown and rueful gaze. I’m empty, I’ve got nothing to give. He nods, leading me to the door.

  “I need to use the bathroom; can you tell me where it is?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  We walk in silence. I go in and do my business. Washing my hands, noticing my wrists are red, angry and inflamed - just a little something to remember Gia by. Bitch. Cupping my hands, I gather the freezing water and bring it to my lips. It’s refreshing on my parched throat. Ry’s right where I left him when I come out.

  “I’m going to drive you home,” he states.

  He gently clasps my elbow and steers me out of the building. I could protest and find my own way home, but I don’t have a purse, coat or even a clue as to where I am.

  Our silence is deafening. His agitation consumes the small space and I am not inclined to do anything about it. I’m numb and for now, that’s how I want to be.

  The lights of the city whip by as we drive along the FDR heading uptown. It’s late, my guess, middle of the night and traffic is light. It’s not until we’re crossing the Kennedy bridge I realize he’s not taking me home.

  “Where are we going?” he remains silent, eyes on the road.

  “Dammit, Rylan, answer me.”

  “Oh, now you want to talk?” his tone is snarky, frustrated.

  “Where are you taking me? A place where you can hold me for hours on end with no food, water or toilet?” I match his derision.

  He shakes his head and keeps driving. My numbness vanishes as fury at my helplessness overpowers all reason.

  “Tell me now or I’ll open this door and jump out,” I warn.

  Obviously, my threat’s stupid and reckless. I’d likely kill myself. I’ve been beaten, hair ripped out and I’m beyond exhausted. At this point, I just want it to end.

  “Tate, don’t be ridiculous.” His hand latches onto my arm, pulling me to him. “I can’t take you to your place. FBI is all over it. You can’t go there for days. I’m taking you to our place.”

  Our place. I can’t deny I like the way that sounds if only it weren’t a lie. We don’t have a place. There is no ‘our’ anything. We’re on different sides of the fence and I can’t have him risking all he’s accomplished by climbing over. As much as I want him to, I can’t do that to him. I won’t.

  “You mean the safe house?”

  We’d been to the house in the Bronx the most, so I figure that’s where he means. He nods as he turns down the now familiar street.

  Once inside, I head for the shower. Passing the kitchen, the stove clock glares 2:17 am. It’s New Year’s Day. Wh
at a wonderful way to ring in the New Year. I can only hope this will be my year. I’m drained, I could sleep for a year.

  “Tate, shower then we talk,” he says tenderly.

  “Seriously?” my tone is sarcastic and uncalled for.

  “It won’t be long. I’m not staying so I need to go over a few things before you sleep.”

  My hearts plummets with the news he’s leaving. I’m not really sure what I expected, but it’s not that.

  The shower is heaven and hell. The hot water relieves my aching muscles but singes my raw scalp. I cautiously wash around the gashes in my head. I never did see a medic. Although I’ll be fine, they would have given me something for the pain. Just then there’s a hard rap on the door before it opens. My view’s blocked by the shower curtain, yet I hear his deep, warm voice.

  “Brought you some fresh clothes and a couple of ibuprofen for the pain,” he says, closing the door.

  Being clean gives me a brief burst of energy as I join Ry on the couch. I ache to touch him, be close to him. Even now, with everything that’s happened, I wish we were in a different time and space where he could be mine.

  He hands me a tumbler of what looks like ice-tea. My guess, it’s something harder. I’m wearing his sweat pants with the waistband rolled over several times and his Henley, which falls to mid-thigh. My hair is wet and loose. The meds are finally kicking in. The throbbing in my skull has been replaced with a dull ache.

  “Better?”

  I nod, feeling his azure eyes tracking my every move as I gingerly sit down. The shower helped but the toll of everything over the past eighteen hours is hitting my body hard. My muscles are sore, my jaw aches and my joints are tight. Pivoting to face him, his fatigue is also evident.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  His hands frame my face, searching my eyes with worry. I nod, unable to find my voice for fear of crying.

  “How’s your scalp? I meant to get someone to look it at.” Regret coats his words.

  “It’s fine. Talk,” I abruptly say, choosing hostility to kill my raw vulnerability. His eyebrows arch as he studies me carefully.

  “I’m sorry about tonight,” he starts. I silence him with my hand on his arm.