Breaking The Limits

by Harper Cole

  But that moment was interrupted by the almighty crash of the screen door slamming open and heavy footsteps thundering down the hall.

  When Andrew burst into the room, Leonard jumped to his feet. My mom got up as well, reaching out to hold his arm. Andrew was shouting but I didn’t hear what he said; all I could see was Leonard turning, stepping back half a pace, and slapping my mom so hard on the side of her head that she stumbled. In slow motion she grabbed at the table, her skittering fingers sending a plate crashing to the floor before she, too, crumpled to her knees.

  Leonard was to my left, close to me. Angie picked up a wine bottle, half-empty, and threw it over to me. I grabbed it and upended it, the wine cascading out in an arc as I brought it around and smashed it directly onto Leonard’s head.

  His eyes rolled upwards, and he sighed so quietly as he fell down and did not move.

  Chapter Eleven - Andrew

  My hand was on the gun under my jacket but I did not draw it. I ran around the table, determined to put myself between Jas and my father, but I knew even before I saw him spread-eagled on the floor that he was unconscious - at the very least. His face was pale and there was a blue tint about his lips.

  Grace knelt at his side, feeling for a pulse, her hand pressing into his neck.

  “Mom… is he…?”

  “He’s alive. I think.” She looked up at us. “Care to tell me what is going on?”

  “With him lying there?” I said. I drew the gun and levelled it at his head. At my father’s head.

  Grace gasped, and shuffled backwards, getting to her feet. She retreated to stand between Angie and Brian; they clung together as a unit.

  Jas looked at me. Her head was tilted back and she still held on to the smashed remains of the wine bottle. There was a smear of blood on her hand.

  She didn’t need to say anything. Her look was a challenge. Am I my father’s son, or am I something more?

  I had never taken the safety off, anyway. I tucked the gun back into the holster and let my shoulders dip slightly. I glanced over to Brian. “Help me with him, please.”

  Together, we lifted the old man out of the house and carried him out onto the front yard and laid him down. A few drapes twitched as people peered out to see what was going on, but I trusted that this kind of neighborhood wouldn’t want to attract too much official attention.

  “I should call him an ambulance,” Grace said from the porch.

  “Do that. Say there were two drunks fighting out here and one got hurt.”

  She scurried inside, followed by Brian. Angie and Jas had remained inside to sweep up the broken glass.

  I looked down at the broken body of the man who had fathered me, and raised me. Raised me in the loosest sense; he’d paid for an expensive education. And showed me how to be a man.

  Because whatever he was, I knew that I didn’t want to follow his example. He was not a man.

  * * * *

  Grace, as householder, went out to speak to the ambulance crew when they arrived. I had no idea how the American health system worked; I assumed he’d have to pay for whatever treatment he had. Money was no object for him, of course, but Grace was telling them he was a random drunk she’d never met. She was genuinely nervous and upset which the ambulance staff didn’t question. They advised her to make a statement for the police but everyone knew that on a busy evening, no patrol would be dispatched out here. No one’s life was apparently threatened and who cared what two hobos got up to?

  I stood at the window and watched the ambulance lumber off, lights muted. They were in no hurry.

  “Now what?” Jas came to my side. She had held herself a little aloof since I’d rushed in, as if she was worried she’d done the wrong thing.

  I pulled her close, my arm tight around her. “I am so proud of you, my fighting warrior woman,” I said, and she immediately relaxed slightly. “You did what you needed to do. You never need anyone’s permission to do that. You never need anyone’s permission to be yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and I smiled.

  “You smashed him over the head,” I said, “and I could never be with a woman who wasn’t prepared to do that.”

  She stifled a laugh. “Should I do it more often?”

  “Only as necessary. I’ll leave that to your judgment, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Grace had re-entered the room. “Now, folks,” she said, trying to sound bright and cheerful. “We’ve had a mighty strange evening and wasted half a bottle of wine. What do you folks say about we just sit on down and finish up this meal? And you two can tell me a little more about this man. Lennie. Leonard. Your father…?”

  “Yes,” I admitted with some sense of shame. “I should be glad to clear a few things up.”

  * * * *

  We talked late into the night. There were tears, and I could see that Jas and her sister would never be close friends. They had done too much damage to one another. Their mother was a strong woman and I admired her immensely. She begged me not to think badly of her for falling for my father’s lies; I tried to reassure her that anyone would have believed him. I don’t know that my words made much difference. She was a proud woman and hated to think that she had been duped, and I understood that.

  We had both drunk too much to drive, so I called a cab just after midnight. Jas curled up against me in the back, and I leaned my head on the window and let my eyes lose focus so that the lights of the city night were just fuzzy blurs as they zipped past.

  “We need to go back to London,” she said, her voice small and muffled.

  I stroked her arm. “I know. And we will. We’ll get a flight tomorrow or the next day and pick up where we left off, without any of this hassle any longer.”

  She nuzzled against my chest and did not reply. I could have burst with protective love for her. I would always keep her safe. I would always defend her.

  I would always keep her by my side.

  * * * *

  No amount of money was able to buy a flight the following day. In the end, we booked last-minute seats for two days’ time, and Jas took me sight-seeing around the places she had grown up. I was content to be towed around like a dutiful dog, and it made me realize I hadn’t properly relaxed for some time.

  It was nice to share simple things with someone. My life had gotten so complicated and I couldn’t pinpoint the start or the cause - maybe that was just “real life”. But for now, for two wonderful days, we were free and outside the rat race, and in our own little safe bubble. I would treasure it for some time.

  And I vowed to have more moments like this.

  As we said our farewells to Carlee and Jas’s family, my phone began to ring. I ignored it but it rang twice more, somewhat insistently, as we drove to the airport. Jas had returned her hire car and the rental company would collect mine from the airport itself.

  I dropped the keys off with the guy at the depot in the airport’s grounds, and checked to see who was calling me so persistently.

  It was an international call, the long string of numbers meaning nothing to me. “Hello?”

  “Hello. Is that Andrew Walker-Wilkinson?” It was a familiarly British accent.

  “It is.”

  “Are you the son of Leonard Walker-Wilkinson?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I’m in the States right now. Is everything all right?”

  They were calling from St. George’s Hospital in London. And no, everything was not all right. I listened and politely thanked them for the bad news they had had to impart by phone. That was never going to be easy for them.

  Jas’s eyes were wide and she waited for me to explain though I could see that she half-guessed by the lack of surprise that registered.

  “He’s died. He flew back last night and had a heart attack on the plane. They think he’d been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “I killed him,” she said slowly. “Oh my God…”

  “No, Jas.” I grabbed her and spun h
er to face me. People flowed around us, the usual cacophony of life at a busy airport carrying on as usual. “He killed himself, through his actions. You must believe that.”

  “If I hadn’t hit him on the head…”

  “If he hadn’t been there in the first place, Jas - think of that!”

  She didn’t want to look me in the eye. Her body was limp and she wove her head from side to side. “Oh God, I killed him.”

  “No!” I almost shook her. “No. Now listen. You did what you needed to do. What had he done just before that? He had struck your mother. You did what you had to, all right?”

  Her eyes, when she finally met mine, were wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and fell into my arms.

  I thought I ought to feel sad. But in fact, in spite of having just lost my father, I simply felt empty. Though, strangely, freed.

  I led her into the airport concourse. And home.

  Chapter Twelve - Jas

  It was a whirl of work when we landed back in London. And truthfully, I think that was the best thing for me. I was too busy to really worry about what I’d done. In my head, I was a murderer but no one else seemed to see it that way - least of all Andrew, and it was his opinion that I valued the most.

  I had a lot of ground to make up in my job, but with Andrew’s help, I was able to find suitable premises for our new base and soon I had other colleagues flying over to work with me. He secured another short-term contract in financial circles. It amused me. He worked because he wanted to, not because he had to. He did it for the thrill of the chase.

  Pretty much as his father had done, in many ways.

  A few weeks after we’d arrived back in England, I was walking toward a Tube station intent in my own little world. I was trying to remember just where it was that I was supposed to be going, and wishing I had grabbed that vacant cab when I’d seen it. I wasn’t paying much attention to anyone passing me by, so when someone very close by said my name, I jerked to a halt and made the pedestrian behind me curse.

  “Jasmine. Hello.”

  “Shit. Amjad.” I took a quick pace sideways and looked around for back-up, or an exit, or anything.

  “Steady, now. It is all right.” He spread his hands wide, as if he wanted to reassure me that he didn’t have a weapon.

  Fucker still took me prisoner, didn’t he? I wasn’t taking any chances.

  But then, he’d also dropped the charges against Andrew after Andrew had beaten his face to a pulp. There was no sign, now, of the injuries, save for a crooked nose.

  I had to ask. I sidled sideways, ready to run for it, but as I did so, I said, “Why did you drop the charges?”

  He smiled, and he looked again like the kindly friend I had once taken him for. “Andrew won, fair and square.”

  “He won?”

  “Yes. It is true that I did not regard him as a worthy opponent. And I was proved wrong. I am happy to admit it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That is it. Good day.” He smiled widely and walked past me, a swing in his step.

  I gaped. The man was insane. Grade-A bat-shit insane. I knew he had some funny ideas about men and dominance and such stuff, but it was like he thought men were a pack of wolves and Andrew had taken over as leader or something.

  I shook my head and pressed on. I had a lot to get done this evening because in the morning, we were flying back to the States.

  * * * *

  It had been Andrew’s idea. Now that my role in London was coming to a close, things were changing in the company. I’d achieved what I’d set out to do, and my boss was very happy with me, in spite of the sudden time out that I’d taken. It was time to reassess and Andrew urged me to arrange a meeting with them, suggesting that we took a vacation back home at the same time.

  I was down with that, no problem.

  I told him about my encounter with Amjad on the flight over, and he laughed. I’d expected him to be appalled or surprised.

  “You understand what he was talking about?” I said, incredulous.

  “Yes, of course. It’s an alpha thing.”

  “He’s a dick.”

  “It’s all about dicks,” he said, grinning. I slapped at his thigh and he grabbed my hand, squeezing, and bringing it up to rest over the crotch of his pants. “See?”

  I glared at him sideways and he let go. I had a book to read - the first in a long time - and I brought it up over my face, pointedly.

  I’d pay for it later and that was exactly what I wanted.

  * * * *

  If anyone had asked me, I would have lied. If someone said to me, “Oh, describe your dream wedding! Tell me about your ideal proposal!” I would have sneered and laughed in their faces, said something about my independence and refusal to concede to society’s stereotyping of women, and probably come across as an arrogant and soulless jerk of a woman.

  But the thing is this: until I met Andrew, all that was true.

  And now? Now it was a lie. Now, I did dream about a proposal and a wedding. I was frightened that he would take my determined independence and decide not to propose. What would I do then? It would be everything I had wanted.

  Once.

  So what was I to do? Drop hints? No, I recoiled from that. Maybe I ought to ask him to marry me? No, he’d hate that. Tell him, straight out, that I would like to think about marriage? It seemed a little clinical. Like I had a five-year plan or something. Which I didn’t, of course… not any longer, anyway.

  It preyed on my mind and it was one of those things that dogged my thoughts all day. Even when we had a big family get-together - a proper one, this time - I was half distracted. It was cooler now, and mom had thrown a kind of garden party. There was a barbecue, and the neighbors were invited too. Even Carlee was there, looking perky and fresh. She’d had a promotion at work, and taken to it really well. I was pleased. I had been worried it would be one of those “more work, no more money” sort of deals. But she seemed happy, and so I was happy.

  The late summer air was heavy with the scent of flowers. I lay back in a faded sun lounger, a cocktail in my hand, and shaded my eyes with my other fingers. I could see Andrew by the barbecue, chatting with Brian.

  Then time slowed. The air turned to molasses. Andrew turned and walked toward me. He stopped at the bottom of the lounger, by my feet, and wordlessly extended his hand.

  I put my drink on a nearby low table and got up. There was an earnest and serious look on his face that made my heart thud.

  I knew. I knew.

  He pulled me to the middle of the garden and everyone picked up that something was happening, and fell silent, one by one, forming a ring around us.

  My mouth went dry.

  Andrew dropped to one knee, still holding onto my hands. “Jasmine Turner, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes,” I said, with an inelegant croak. “Yes, sir.”

  Everyone erupted into whoops and claps, and Andrew leapt up and embraced me; if he hadn’t, I’d have surely fallen as my legs felt as if they were going to give way. I was amazed that I was so pleased about this. I’d never imagined I’d be so delighted to be wed to anyone.

  But then … this wasn’t just anyone, was it?

  It was Andrew Walker-Wilkinson. My rescuer. My rock. My hero. My challenger.

  And my Master.

  The End

  And that concludes the LIMITLESS trilogy! Thank you so much for supporting my debut novellas. I am keen to learn from reviews so do leave one and I will be sure to read it. They help authors improve so tell me what you liked, and why … and what you didn’t like, too.

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  About The Author

  Harper Cole writes feisty, sassy heroines who are strong women … it's just that they want to find a man to match!

  These steamy romance serials have cliffhanger endings s
o avoid if you don't like pacey, thrilling and heart-stopping passion between modern characters.

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  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve