With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

  I focus on Luca so that I don't have to think about what's about to happen, but I see that he's lying on the ground. Four of the men take turns landing kick after kick. Each one sends another splatter of blood spraying against the wall, like some twisted form of art. I can't see his face.

  "Please!" I yell when I feel the knife slice through my dress, like butter between my legs. The tip of it catches the inside of my thigh and nicks the skin.

  "Look at me."

  I turn the other way.

  "I said look at me!" He brings the knife up to my neck. The feel of my pulse beating against the cool metal of the blade petrifies me. I pinch my eyes shut and hold my breath. He moves the blade, and I swear I can hear it as it kisses my skin. The quick sting, like that of a paper cut, forces my eyes open as I stare back at him with a blank expression.

  He removes the blade.

  "Now, where were we?" He bends to the side and spreads the slit in my dress. "Oh, I see you wore lace for me." He sneers, saying, "Too bad this knife will shred those like they were never there."

  I press my head to the wall and bite my lip. The sound of subtle rustling comes from the door. A pensive thought crosses my mind.

  I glance back to Luca and find his arms are no longer hugging his waist, his hands no longer blocking their blows. "Leave him alone!" I beg.

  Luca!

  I feel the tip of the blade back on my neck, when the doors creak open with a deafening sound. The man in the leather jacket is suddenly ripped from where he’s standing. His body flops to the ground, and then I see a fury of fists skillfully disarming him. I blink my eyes and find Theo fighting the man in a formidable way. They unnervingly move around the room, like an expertly coordinated dance. Each of them takes their turn until Theo lands a spine-chilling blow and the man falls.

  Wes comes out from behind Theo, sprinting over to Luca. He shoves two of the guys away from Luca. But his movements aren't as coordinated as Theo's, and before long, he's surrounded. Theo rushes my side.

  "Brielle, I'm so sorry, I—" he begins, but I cut him off.

  Shaking my head, I yell, "Luca!" and I point to him.

  I can see his hesitation to leave me cross his face, but thankfully he doesn't argue. Instead, he moves with a quick grace and tears through the guys one by one. I blink hazily as my head aches in an alarming way, but I force myself to go to Luca’s side.

  "Luca!" I call out to him the moment I reach his body. "Please. Please, don't be dead."

  I crouch over him and put my ear to his chest, praying that the pulse I'm hearing is his and not my own. What do I do? I run my eyes over his body, searching for anything that could help relieve some of his pain.

  I squeal and throw myself on Luca when a gun is knocked from one of the guy's hands. The handle clashes against the floor, and everyone freezes, waiting to see if it is going to go off. When it doesn't, a collective sigh ushers through the room. I turn to Theo and watch as he nimbly disarms and renders each man unconscious with deft hands.

  "Naughty, naughty."

  I'm torn from the floor. I hear his voice before I see him.He clutches my neck with his hand and pulls me in front of his chest. His gun is pressed to my back.

  "Hurst, you son of a bitch. Let her go!" Theo yells from across the room. I watch as he takes one of Hurst’s men by the head and runs him into the wall. The force knocks the guy out as he falls limp to the floor.

  "You know, when I saw the contract, I didn't care how much money your father was offering," the man snickers behind me. The bastard’s croak ignites goosebumps to surface along my spine. "No, I took this one for free." He twists the barrel so that it juts into my back "To kill the love of the great Theo Wescott . . . now that's the stuff of legends."

  "I'm not going to let that happen," Theo says matter of factly. His stone-clad gaze fastens on Hurst, as he stalks over the men’s bodies he’s knocked out. "I’ll kill you for this!"

  "While that may be true—" he pulls me back toward to door—"it still won't help your precious love." I feel his lips graze my ear, as I fight to move away from him. "Tell your brother Mr. Wescott says—"

  I fall forward and into Theo's arms as Hurst's hand releases me.

  "It's okay. I have you." Theo's hands smooth my hair. I turn to see what’s happening when a thick, gargling sound fills the air. "No, babe! Don't look!" Theo warns me but it's too late.

  "Oh my God!" I yell when I see the knife embedded in the man’s throat. The thick blade buried to the hilt as it jerks, spouting blood. Blood pools around his body. I know without a doubt that he’s dead. Dead . . . wait . . . Luca! I flip over to my knees and crawl to him.

  "An ambulance is on the way," Wes tells me, but I don't acknowledge him.

  "Luca!" I shout.

  "Brielle, he's going to be—"

  "Don't!" I turn on Theo. "Don't say that! That's what you said when Mason was shot and he died." I wipe my nose along my forearm. The blood from my lip mixes with the dust from the floor. "I can't lose Luca too!"

  I watch Theo bend down and pick up a gun. He tucks it in the back of his suit. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches me watching him. Turning to me, he says, "I've never known my father not to have a backup plan." He shrugs his shoulders. "This is mine."

  "Very wise, Son."

  We all turn our heads to the door, where Theo's father and four other men are standing, grinning like they've got a secret to tell.

  "It seems I've highly underestimated you again." He raises a perfectly poised brow. "Now, hand over the girl."

  chapter forty-six

  BRIELLE

  Standing in a hand-tailored, Armani suit, and black Patton shoes. Gerald Wescott radiates a dominance that's unmatched to anyone I've ever seen. Similar to Theo, his masculine jawline is clearly defined, but the roots of his hair and stubble reflect his age, as salt and pepper melt with his natural russet-color.

  Like something out of an action movie, Theo reaches for the gun he’d picked up earlier and raises it, pointing it directly at his father. "I think she's fine where she is," he spits out.

  The men standing behind his father waste no time in drawing their guns. With their barrels pointed, they all set their sights on Theo.

  "Well, Son—" Mr. Wescott steps over Hurst's lanky form as he ignores Theo’s threat—"I see you haven't lost your touch." He points to Luca's motionless form. The grin on his face stretches as he stops just shy of Theo. "Although sadly, I think that one is still in need of mercy."

  Theo's presses the tip of his gun into his father’s jacket. A dry smile pulls at his lips.

  "You're going to shoot me? Really? Aren't these daddy issues of yours tiresome yet?"

  Theo shakes his head as if to clear his mind. "I don't know." He half laughs "I'm willing to find out if you are."

  Mr. Wescott rolls his eyes and turns his shoulder into the gun, knocking Theo back as he steps into the safety of his men. "You know your friend is going to die," he spits over his shoulder, the milky green of his eyes pinning me to the floor.

  I wrap an arm over Luca's body and protectively lean into him.

  "Serves him right, though, for protecting a dead girl." He shrugs, partially annoyed. "Luckily, there's still time to correct that—yet another reason you should be thanking me, rather than threatening me, Son." He turns to glare at Theo. "It's because of me you've learned how to handle yourself. Learned how to fight. Unlike this pathetic waste of—"

  "Theo learned to protect himself because you're an abusive asshole, you deranged lunatic!" I yell, surprising even myself. My head aches as the room spins in a blurred haze. That's what I get for cursing. I rub my temple.

  I catch Theo twist to the side. "Brielle, are you—"

  "Ah, Brielle—" Theo's dad nods his head as if he knows what I’ve said is the truth—"I must say, you've pleasantly surprised me over the past month and a half." He motions with his hands around the room. "Never in my life have I witnessed a mere girl cause such a ripple among men and business.
It's quite bothersome."

  As if on some hidden cue, all of the guns abruptly turn. And for the second time today, my life flashes before my eyes.

  "What the fuck?" Wes's voice is shaky and on edge. He steps to my side, doing his best to cover me.

  But my eyes are on Theo who hasn't budged, his stance rigid and unnervingly calm.

  "Some men are born to protect, while others are meant to kill." Noticing my reaction, his father recites these words, giving meaning to Theo's odd behavior.

  "And some only live to die," Theo finishes for him.

  I watch Mr. Wescott's expression harden into a thin line as he set his eyes on Theo. "Deaths comes to every man at a certain time and place, but I can assure you, Son that this . . . is not mine."

  "We'll see about that."

  "You should have heeded the warning—" he continues talking, ignoring Theo's statement—"if this girl means so much to you, as you claim."

  I feel my heart contract. "Warning?" I ask. "What warning?"

  I watch Theo's hand falter with the gun, and at that moment, one of the men standing behind his father lunges at him.

  "Shoot the girl!" His father shouts, as my eyes hold firm onto Theo's face.

  Dazed, I watch as Theo sidesteps the man and disarms him. Using the gun’s handle, he whips around and slams it into the man's head. The bone-cracking sounds echo through my ears, like a movie’s special effects. When the man drops, I see Theo turn and sprint toward me, when the gun goes off, and for a split second, the room and everyone in it are swallowed by a ghostly silence.

  "What the hell did you do?" Mr. Wescott turns on his man. A sinister glare contorts his face as he snatches the gun from the closest guy and fires off one shot, instantly killing the man on the far right. "I said, shoot the girl!" he shouts at the man's lifeless body. "Not my son."

  "Theo!" I hear a voice screaming that I barely recognize as my own. I drop to my knees and press my hand to his shoulder where a dark red patch is beginning to form over his jacket. "What the hell were you thinking?" I yell at him. The bemused expression he's wearing is already fading from his face.

  Theo smiles that devilish grin as he winces in pain. Quietly, he says, "I wasn't."

  "This is exactly what I was afraid of," his father's voice pierces the room. "It happened with the Sutton boy, and now it's happening all over again with the girl. You're weak, Son, when they're around. Why can't you see that?"

  "Don't you dare talk about my brother!"

  Closing his eyes, Theo staggers to his feet. His good arm, clutching the gun. "For a man who claims to care so much about the importance of not seeming weak, last I checked, cowering behind your men isn't a sign of strength."

  "Watch it, boy."

  "Why? Afraid I'm right?"

  Mr. Wescott lets his eyes fall to Theo's wound. "It would hardly be a fair fight even if I were alone."

  "Then you have nothing to lose." He jerks his head to the three men still standing behind him. "Send your men away and fight me fairly, Father."

  "No."

  Theo steps in front of me and squares his shoulder, his expression tight as if he’s seeing something for the first time. "You’re afraid of something? Someone," he whispers. But his father doesn't move, simply rolling his tongue along the inside of his lip.

  "Who’s got you so spooked?" Theo asks. "Whoever it is. I won’t help you."

  A low chuckle wells up in the base of his father's throat as he takes a step in the opposite direction. "Oh you’ll help me. You will because now we both have a reason to see Giovanni Russo dead."

  Giovanni who?

  Theo throws his hands out. "Fuck. That’s what this is about? You’re insane! That’s a suicide mission!"

  “Okay, what’s going on? Who’s Russo? Theo?”

  Mr. Wescott pauses next to Hurst, bending down to pick up a piece of dust off the back of his jacket. A mindless gesture. "It won’t be if we work together. All you have to do is marry Katrina, gain access to their accounts, and we wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. We could pay someone to do it for us.” he says plainly.

  I feel Wes's hand wrap my wrist as he pulls me back to him. A nauseous feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach. Whatever the hell is going on. Whoever this Russo guy is. It’s bad.

  "I’m not going to help you. I told you, I’m out!" Theo yells. "What makes you think I won’t go to him right now and tell him your plan?"

  "What? And implicate yourself for the murder of Alec’s man? Please. We both know you’re smarter than that." Mr. Wescott grits his teeth, the sound reminding me of fingernails on a chalkboard. “Alec would have you killed on the spot.”

  In a flash of insanity, Theo raises the gun to his head.

  “I won’t help you.”

  "Theo, no!" I reach out to him, but he pushes my hand away. His steely gaze shoots to Wes, the two sharing a silent conversation. Whatever they’ve communicated to each other, when it's over, Wes has pulled me away.

  "Son, put down the gun. We both know you're not going to shoot yourself."

  Theo looks as if he’s actually contemplating it. His pained expression makes me nervous that he would do it just to prove to his father that he can. But thankfully, he lowers the gun.

  "You're right," he groans, his face twisting in anger. He raises the gun up again but stops when it lands on his father. "But I would shoot you. Russo is a reasonable man. If I shoot your—a traitor—surly that would be enough for him to overlook someone so miniscule as Alec’s hit man."

  “You son of a bitc—"

  I watch Theo’s fingers tighten around the trigger, when suddenly faint sounds seep through the wooden slats of the shed. A frenzied mass of collective screams reaches us from far away—no doubt, the result from all the gunshots.

  Mr. Wescott's man leans out the door, taking a look before saying, "Sir, we need to leave. The police are here, and everyone is fleeing into the parking lot."

  My dad! My dad’s here! I suddenly realize, and the idea fills me with a sense of hope!

  His father tilts his head, staring at Theo. His worn expression seems relieved. "Sorry. It looks like we'll have to continue this little conversation at a later date." He grins, narrowing his eyes.

  "I wouldn't count on it."

  "Well then, I guess we'll have to see. Won't we?"

  I feel my knees buckle underneath me, as Mr. Wescott exits the shed. His men filter out one after the other, behind him, as if one of their colleagues hasn’t just died—as if what’s just happened hasn’t actually happened.

  I fall to the floor. My head feels like it's swollen double its normal size.

  "Hey, slow down. I think you have a concussion" Theo drops the gun down by Hurst before rushing over to my side. He crouches down, slipping two fingers under my chin as he tilts my head to either side. The pain etched on his face paints a picture of my injuries. "I’m going to kill him." He jerks his hand away and moves to stand up.

  "No, don't!" I grab his wrist and slide into his arms, letting him hold me. "He's not worth it. Let the police handle him."

  "Brielle, don’t you remember what I told you at the batting cages? My father has ties everywhere. I doubt anything will come of this. If it does it won’t be from the police."

  It hurts to think right now, so I pretend not to hear him.

  "Holy shit, you guys." Wes yells from the back of the room.

  I squint as I try to think about what Wes is saying, when I see Luca's fingers inch forward as if he were reaching for something.

  "Oh my God, Luca!" I cry out, crawling over to him. I grasp his hand and hold it. "We're here, Luca. Stay with us! Where the hell is the ambulance?"

  Theo wince as he removes his jacket and tosses it on the floor. The entire sleeve of his dress shirt is wet with blood. Cringing, I look around for something clean I can use to press into the wound.

  "I can't believe you let yourself get shot."

  "Eh, it’s a scratch," he mumbles.

  A sharp ringing trills i
n the background.

  Well, that's not a good sign.

  I tug at my ear.

  "Are you okay, though? I'm worried about you?"

  I open my mouth to answer him, when two police officers, guns drawn, swarm the door. "What the hell—" the shorter one starts, his eyes moving around the room. "Holy shit. Everyone just stay where you are. Paramedics are coming."

  We nod our heads as more cops arrive.

  One by one, we're questioned as the paramedics work to stabilize Luca for his transfer. My father joins us and quickly canvases the scene. After making sure I was okay, his fatherly sentiments are passed over as he works the area like a man on a mission. When I finished giving my statement, I find Theo arguing with one of the paramedics who’s trying to look at his wound.

  "Get your hands off me," he raises his voice at the man. "I told you, I’m fine. Examine, Brielle."

  "But sir," the paramedic urges Theo see reason, "you're bleeding . . . from a gunshot wound . . . she's not."

  "Are you fucking—"

  "Okay . . . " I slowly step in between the two of them. Theo, as he sees me, slinks back to sit on the steps. "Go ahead and check me, and then Theo would be happy to have you take a look at his shoulder." I turn toward him "Isn't that right, babe?"

  "Fine."

  The medical exams are quick, and not surprisingly, Theo has to be transferred to the hospital for further care. Sitting on the step next to him as they bring the other ambulance around, I feel nauseous. The once beautiful entrance of the Manor is now littered in blood and random men in uniforms. Hurst’s body is laid out on the ground, covered in a sheet, as his men sit idly by, handcuffed and beaten to hell.

  The lights from all the cars outside penetrate my eyes like tiny stabs at the back of my head. I close them and think about my brother. How differently tonight could have gone if Theo's dad had succeeded in having me killed. The thought of Mason brings a smile to my lips, and when I open my eyes, I see Theo watching me. His dress shirt is unbuttoned with his arm in a sling, but he's smiling with me.