Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  Leaning back to look into my eyes, pain courses through his brow. “No, live for you. Never me, because when I’m gone, I need you to live on, carrying me with you.”

  “You’re so set on dying. Take it from me, living is so much better.”

  A life without him is no life at all. Our love wasn’t made for this universe. It was made for eternity.

  But then again, I feel the same sensation from hours before. My heart recovers, finding its beat again, and I know. Alexander is alive. I feel him in my world. I will fight because I am strong. Kicking April as hard as I can, her body is frailer than her stubborn mind. She flies back, flailing to her side as she struggles to breathe.

  I jump to my feet and run to the manor, but I don’t make it far before I see the silhouette. Floodlights off the house illuminate the body I’d know anywhere.

  My feet pick up speed. “Alexander.” I run. Faster and faster, closing the distance. Twenty yards away, I call to him, “Alexander?”

  His voice rings out just before the gunfire. “Get down, Sara Jane.”

  And another gunshot.

  I fall to the cool grass.

  A scream muted by my mind’s panic—his name the only one crossing it.

  Alexander.

  Alexander.

  Alexander.

  The pain I thought I’d feel doesn’t come, so I pat my body wildly, searching for the new wound.

  Nothing.

  No holes.

  No wounds.

  No blood.

  The weight of eternity falls on top of me, arms wrapped tightly around, and I’m pinned to the ground. It’s just a whisper of a breeze that blows across my skin, but I hear it. “Firefly.”

  One word.

  One heartbeat.

  Followed by another.

  I lift my head, turn to the side, and find his eyes. Even in the darkest hour they’re the clearest blue. “Alexander?”

  “Stay down, Firefly.”

  He ducks, and my head is cradled in his protective arms as a commotion surrounds us, chaos broken out. Voices—male, female, familiar, and unfamiliar—swarm the grounds.

  “Are you alive? Are we?”

  I can hear the disbelief in his tone when he says, “I think so.”

  “Police. Put down your weapon.” I keep my head down and my eyes closed. I absorb the heat of my dark knight and wait to return to that place where only Alexander and I exist.

  “Breathe, Sara Jane,” he whispers. “We’ll be okay.”

  When I open my eyes, our faces are just an inch or two apart, but I stare as if I’m seeing this handsome addiction for the first time. The quiet has returned, voices only in the distance. He lifts just enough for me to roll over and reach up. I touch his cheek and whisper, “You came back to me.”

  “I could never stay away from my girl.”

  My girl. It’s so good to hear his voice. See his face. I’ve missed him so much. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. April said she killed you, but you’re here.”

  “She tried to.” The crunch of the grass underfoot causes him to look over his shoulder. It’s hard to make the person out, but it appears to be a woman. “I need to tell you something.”

  Once again, my heart sinks. “What?”

  A flashlight shines on the ground next to us, and the woman standing close by says, “Alexander?”

  “Is this where you break my heart?” I ask, ignoring her and not ready to hear the truth.

  “God, Firefly, I don’t have the strength. You. Your love. You kept me alive.” Touching my cheek, he wipes a rogue tear away. I glance to the woman, and he adds, “My mother is alive.”

  My head does a double take. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. Madeline.”

  The woman kneels down, and the light finally hits her face. A soft smile appears and she says, “I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Sara Jane.”

  An officer walks up behind her, his flashlight reveals her beauty and poise, both remaining, even under pressure, just like her son. He asks, “Is anyone hurt? Do we need to call another ambulance?”

  Alexander’s weight leaves mine, his body lying in the grass next to mine. “We’re good. My gun is over there.”

  Gun?

  Gun.

  His mother is talking to the officer I recognize as Brown. Certain words catch my attention—April Dorset. Drugs. Hostage. Dead.

  My attention isn’t caught for long. Not when I have Alexander next to me. When I turn to look at him, he’s already staring at me. Our hands find each other’s in between and our fingers fold together. “Tell me you missed me, baby.”

  I roll my eyes as that smirk that won me over four plus years ago on a tree-lined street just north of the city wins me over again. He’s lost weight—his face and his body looks thinner, remnants of the time he was away. But he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. “What’s a queen without her king?”

  It’s not a question. It’s a statement, but he answers anyway, “Very, very lonely. I owe you something.”

  I cup his cheeks and ask, “What do you owe me, Alexander?”

  “My life. Remembering I had you to live for saved me. I always knew you’d be my savior.” He shakes his head and glances down quickly with a hard gulp. When he looks up again, he says, “You’re just so goddamn beautiful. My little Firefly is all grown up.”

  I kiss him, smothering his cheeks and lips as he sings my praises in a melodic chant of my name, “Sara Jane, my sweet Firefly.”

  “I missed you,” fills a sob as I drop my head down to his shoulder.

  “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “I love you so much. Thank God, you’re alive.” At the height of a gasp, I look into his eyes. “Don’t you ever leave me again!”

  Chuckling, he says, “Never by choice, my love.”

  Just as my fingertips leave his stubbly chin he says, “I love you.”

  Langley is yelling for Brown to tend the victim. Alexander mumbles, “Fucking victim?”

  Afraid of what I’ll find, I sit up hesitantly. I have to know for my own peace of mind she’s gone. April has rolled to her back and Langley kneels beside her on his phone, calling for backup and for paramedics.

  “She wanted me dead,” I whisper, the gravity of the situation hitting me all at once.

  Brown mutters under his breath while walking down to join his partner, “The rich are really fucked up.”

  “Yeah, they are.” With his attention back on me, Alexander asks, “Are you okay, really okay?”

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  He helps me to my feet and dusts the grass from my robe. “I’m never letting you leave again.”

  “Like you said, I don’t have the strength to, and I don’t want to. Hold me, Alexander.”

  His arms wrap around me as sirens blare their approach, and paramedics run from the side of the manor toward us.

  Langley comes back to Alexander and says, “Your mother . . . she wants to talk to you.” Alexander looks past him to the spot where April lies. Her shirt’s ripped open as the paramedics try to treat her injuries. Langley adds, “She’s not going to make it to the hospital.”

  Alexander kisses the top of my head and continues to hold me. “I’m good.”

  Respectively, he nods. No love remains between son and birth mother any longer, if it ever did.

  Stepping back, I tighten the belt of my robe. “Where’s Jason? I think he’s hurt.”

  Confusion overtakes Alexander’s face. “Was he here?”

  “He was. He was trying to help me, but then I heard a gunshot. He yelled and then nothing.”

  “What do you mean nothing?” He looks around as if he’ll find him. “Do you think he was shot?”

  “I don’t know. I’m afraid to tell the police, because I don’t want him in trouble.”

  “Stay here.” He walks to his mother just as Brown heads over to April. I can see them whispering and both searching the grounds. Madeline pulls her phone from
her pocket and types. They wait until the screen lights up, and they look satisfied. When he returns to me, he says, “He’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  His arm covers my shoulder. “Positive, babe. C’mon. Let’s get you checked out.” We start walking, but he stops me, and a wide smile graces his fine-featured face. “Look.”

  Holding his hand, he captures a firefly. His palm opens and the light goes dim along with his smile. I scoop up the little bug and hold my palm flat in the air. The insect lifts slowly, the light bright as he flies away. I lift up on my toes, and kiss him gently. “Magic.”

  36

  Sara Jane

  Alexander’s lawyer, Quincy, arrives quickly. The lawn is littered with police and paramedics. There’s no saving April Dorset. No one seemed particularly sad, and that makes me sad.

  I overhear Brown telling his captain about Langley receiving my message and how when they arrived, he saw April aim her gun at my back, so he shot her first. He. Shot. Her. First.

  First. The word sticks with me throughout the night as we are questioned separately and then together. While a paramedic examines me, I realize Alexander must have shot her as well.

  He had more than enough reason to shoot her, to even kill her, especially after being held hostage and starved like he was. But I don’t want him to be a killer. I don’t want it to become second nature to him. Maybe I don’t want him to lose what I’ve fought so hard to keep—the good that he can be, the light to his dark.

  Although we don’t talk about the day I was shot and how he reacted, we’re both aware of what happened. I would have reacted the same. The rest is muddled in emotions that come into play.

  April was a horrible person, but even though she was willing to kill me, I don’t know if she deserved to die. She should have suffered more. Nothing tastes as sweet as revenge.

  Love does.

  The response comes without my permission.

  Love is a feeling, a weakness.

  I should know better, but some lessons are harder to learn than others, especially when you’re in love with a Kingwood.

  I have post-traumatic stress disorder, so I’m told. I’ve been working through my thoughts, my fears, and my anger in therapy. There’s too much weighing on me day to day to not discuss it with an impartial party.

  Lying on the therapist’s couch, I’m exposed in ways that make me feel uncomfortable, like some secrets should stay buried. Maybe that night is one of those. Maybe the depth of my love for Alexander is another.

  In a lowered voice, deep with neutrality, my therapist asks, “Is this an addictive relationship? Do you need help, Sara Jane?”

  I laugh, sitting up. “Of course it’s addictive. Love is an addiction. Passion is an addiction. Alexander is an addiction.”

  “Addiction to anything or anyone is not healthy. I also understand that it’s hard to end a relationship that is bad for you.”

  “I would never want to end things, especially now that the bad is behind us.”

  Her frustration is setting in. Her expression scrunches as she stares at her lap. The tapping of the pencil eraser against the yellow pad nestles into my thoughts. I turn away from the therapist as she reads over her notes. “How are you sleeping? It was a traumatic event. You once told me he set off a domino effect. His search for his mother’s killer led to the death of your friend, you were shot, his birth mother’s role in all this before her death. How do you feel about these now?”

  “I realize he didn’t start the battle, but he won the war. Things were set in motion generations before Alexander. It took him to end it.”

  “Are you aware you always defend Alexander? It doesn’t matter what is asked or implied, you come up with a justification.”

  “I don’t have to justify anything. The story tells itself.”

  A sigh, the sound of scribbling on the pad, her annoyance is obvious.

  Giving her something to focus on, something that might help her or me, I lie back again and reply, “To answer your earlier question, I sleep soundly now that he’s back. It’s the daytime hours that are cluttered with flashbacks.”

  My therapist adds, “A feeling of abandonment is natural, Sara Jane.”

  “Alexander would never abandon me. We’re like salt to the sea, meant to be.”

  “It’s a nice analogy, but you said you felt vengeful. Are you still feeling those emotions now that he’s back?”

  I’ll protect what’s mine, and I’ll never be underestimated again, so I lie, “No. He’s home.”

  “Home. Is that the manor? Where is home these days?”

  “Wherever Alexander is, that’s my home.” I make no apologies for loving him this much. His demons were sent to hell, and he’s found peace in his life. One day, I’ll join him, but today, I try to work through the tragic side effects of loving a Kingwood.

  Or perhaps, not the side effects of loving a Kingwood, because the Kingwood I love is good. Perhaps it’s overcoming the hatred and greed Alexander’s predecessors created within the name. They bred arrogance and an insatiable gluttony for wealth, which only brought destruction and hate.

  But no more. That cycle has been stopped.

  I wake up when Alexander sits up abruptly, his hand flying across my chest like we’re in a car accident. “What?” I ask, startled.

  “Garvey Penner.”

  “Huh?”

  With his eyes fixed ahead, I turn toward the TV that hangs on the other side of the room. The newscaster is reporting from the riverbanks:

  After the family was notified, we can now report that the body was identified as a local man, Garvey Penner, a known felon who had several warrants out for his arrest for dealing drugs and fraud. The police have released a statement that the body will undergo an autopsy to determine the cause of death, but early reports lead us to believe it’s a drowning suicide.

  “Garvey is dead?” I ask, looking to Alexander for answers.

  He sits back, his body relaxing, his finger clicking the button of the remote and turning the station. “Wow, that’s too bad.”

  “Alexander, look at me.” When he does, I say, “He was your cousin. Are you okay?”

  “No, he wasn’t. Mom told me he wasn’t April’s nephew. That was one of the many lies she told.”

  I lean my head on his bare shoulder, and the horrible memories come back. Tears fall down my cheeks, leaking onto his skin. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me even closer. “You were her son. How could she want you dead?”

  There’s no rush to answer. What do we say anyway? But when he finally breaks the silence, he says, “She was a monster. What if I’m a monster too?”

  My gasp is audible, and my head flies up so I can look him in the eyes. I hold his face in my hands, the stubble rough against my skin. “You are not a monster. Genetics don’t turn someone into a monster. Greed does.”

  “What if—?”

  “No, there are no what ifs. You are not simply a product of genetics. There’s only this between us—our love and our life together.”

  A quiet calm comes over him and he says, “You bring out the best in me. How can I ever repay you?”

  “That’s just it. My love doesn’t cost a thing, Alexander. You are mine and I’m yours.” Leaning up, I kiss him, my tears trapped between us on our lips.

  His hands run up my neck, his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. “You’re my family. God, what am I doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted a perfect moment. For you, I wanted to give you romance and an over-the-top proposal—”

  “I don’t need—”

  His finger crosses my lips while he smiles. “Please. Let me say this.” I give him this because he needs it. And listening to him, my heart swoons from his sweetness. He says, “I understand you don’t need over the top or some planned-out night. I understand now. This is romance. You and me in bed together talking, touching, always on each other’s side.” He smirks. “Or maybe that�
�s just romance to me.”

  “Being with you every night is all the romance I’ll ever need, Alexander. Remembering how it felt when you were gone, thinking you left me and then finding out how you were treated, how close it came that I might never see you again, I don’t need anything more than you.”

  “Marry me, Firefly.”

  I tease, “I thought we were already.”

  Leaning over me, my head hits the pillow, and we sink down together. I love the feel of his body on mine. I love the weight of his love on me. One of his fingers traces an erratic line languidly down my neck and lower. “Marry me, Sara Jane Grayson. Be my wife, my love, my best friend, my lover forever. Will you marry me?”

  “I couldn’t deny you years ago. There’s no way I can deny you now. Yes, my love. Yes, my life.” My fingers weave into his hair, and I tighten around his dark locks, bringing him down to me. Against his lips, I say, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  The rest of my yeses are consumed by kisses and moans, stroking and thrusting until yeses to marriage turn into orgasmic yeses consumed by our rapture.

  37

  Sara Jane

  Coming out of the bathroom, I look ahead and stop, my hand covering my heart. Shaking my head, I smile. “Do you ever just walk in the front door?”

  “I like the element of surprise.”

  “I like a little warning these days. Does Alexander know you’re here?”

  “No.” Jason chuckles. “But we’ve come to an understanding—he and I.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, maneuvering in front of the mirror.

  “The best man won.”

  My eyes meet his in the mirror. “The best man for me. There’s someone waiting for their own Larry out there.”

  “Larry had a good life. I think it’s my turn.” His laughter expands the room and for a brief moment, and I worry someone will walk in on us. “It’s good to see you doing so well,” Jason says, leaning against the windowsill I have no doubt he climbed in on. “It’s a big day.”

  “We’ve gone through a lot to get here.” Spinning around, I shove my hand to my hip. “You disappeared on me.”