Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  He heard her whimper, and the sound almost killed him, but he stayed silent, watching as she squeezed her eyes shut, his fingers grappling for his own piece of glass. Twisting it in his grip. Then scraping it like a saw over the ties that bound his wrists.

  There was no way to accomplish the feat without slicing his own skin, and he bit the inside of his cheek in defense against the rising, raw pain. He worked as fast as he could, but carefully, too. It was one thing to draw blood, but if he accidentally cut his wrist too deep, he’d be no help to anyone, much less Eliza.

  Again and again he sawed at the zip-tie. And again and again the Raven taunted Eliza.

  Almost there, love. He wanted to scream the words. Wanted to tell her that he would never even think about leaving her again. That he was wrong to think he had to do this first. Fight this battle. Wage war against the pain he’d suffered and the dark inside him.

  On the contrary, she was what gave him the strength to get through it. Now, in the horror of this prison. And every day, when the memories rose.

  His only regret was realizing that truth now, when he might never get the chance to tell her. Show her.

  No.

  He’d get free. He’d kill the Raven. And they’d walk out of this room together.

  He just had to keep going.

  “So pretty,” the Raven said, stepping back from Eliza’s body so that Quince could see the red lines that crisscrossed her abdomen. Her eyes were on his, and he could see the pain. But also strength. Good girl, he thought. Just hold on a little longer.

  “Should I fuck her now?” the Raven asked. “Or should I carve my name on her face? Hard decisions, but I think I’ll fuck her. And I think you need to watch.”

  On the wall, Eliza struggled. Quince did the same, the reaction instinctive. But as he fisted his hands and lashed out, he felt the snap as the ties he’d been sawing broke from the force of his violent response.

  He allowed himself a second to rejoice before returning to reality. Because his legs were still bound and he couldn’t cut those ties without giving himself away. Which left him at a decided disadvantage.

  Unless…

  He started to scoot along the wall, trying to remember where the gun had landed. Across the room, Eliza had her eyes screwed shut as the Raven dragged a shard of glass down to her sex. Christ, was he going to mutilate her?

  “I’ll fucking kill you,” he said, just to get the tosser’s attention.

  It worked. The prick turned, glowered at him, then opened his eyes in surprise. Quince still had his hands behind him, but he’d inched down the wall. And the Raven had to know his destination.

  “Not too bright are you? Grab a gun with your hands tied like that and you’ll probably shoot your own ass off. Not to worry. I’ll save you from temptation.”

  He stepped away from Eliza—thank God—and started toward Quince. “Naughty, naughty.”

  Quincy waited. He was weak and sore and battered, and that meant he couldn’t be sure of his aim. He needed to be dead-on. Which meant he had to risk waiting.

  One step toward him, then another. The Raven flashed that vile smile. Silently promising Quince unendurable pain.

  “I’ll just get that gun out of your way. Don’t want you playing with naughty toys, do we?”

  He bent over as he came closer, and as he did, Quince thrust out his arm, his fingers closing over the handle of his small Ruger. He twisted, aimed, and got off three to the chest.

  If the whole situation wasn’t so horrible, the expression on the Raven’s face as he fell forward would have been comical. Blood pumped out of him as his heart pounded out its last few beats. Then the Raven stilled, his blood spreading.

  The bloody bastard was dead.

  As fast as he could, Quince used his shard of glass to cut through the ties around his ankles, calling out to Eliza as he did, telling her he’d be right there.

  He pulled his phone free and saw that there was no signal, which meant the team couldn’t track them. Hopefully Emma was okay. With luck, she’d gotten clear of the cellar and even now Ryan and the others were arriving with a full medical team.

  But he couldn’t worry about that now. Right then all he wanted was to get Eliza free. And he stumbled to where the Raven had bound her to a built-in wine rack, then gently cut the zip-ties to release her. Her wounds weren’t deep, and he rejoiced in that one small blessing as he peeled off his shirt and then carefully covered her.

  “I love you,” she said, her voice slurred with exhaustion but her words filling his heart to bursting. “I’m so damn tired.”

  “Shock,” he told her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. And Eliza, love, I promise, I’m never letting you go again.”

  Epilogue

  Quince woke to sound of children laughing and the feel of a naked woman in his arms. Slowly, he slid his hand over her waist and hip, careful not to touch her injured belly.

  Eliza sighed and wriggled against him. “Nice way to wake up,” she murmured. “Will be even nicer when I can move without pain.”

  “You’ll get there,” he said. “We both will.”

  He sat up, intending to go relax by the pool with some coffee. Stark and Nikki had insisted that Emma, Ariana, Eliza, and Quince stay on the property overnight, along with the doctor he’d brought in to treat them. Emma and Ariana had stayed in the actual house, while Quince and Eliza had been given the guest house.

  Now, they both dressed quickly and headed to the pool where Ariana was in the water with the Starks’ daughters, Lara and Anne. Emma was by the pool, her thigh thoroughly bandaged and a promise from the doctor that she would make a full recovery.

  Ryan had ordered a full briefing that morning, and Denny was already present. Liam was probably inside, as he was perpetually prompt.

  “I’m going to go get a coffee,” Eliza said. “Bring you one?”

  “I’ll get it for you,” he said.

  “Nope. I can manage. It’s the least I can do for my hero.” She bent over and kissed him, long and slow, then pulled back with a grin. “Once I’m healed I can do more than that, too.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. For now, it’s coffee and kisses.”

  While she went inside, he sat down by Denny, who shot him a bright smile.

  “I’m so glad you two are together,” she said. “You were meant to be, you know.”

  “I do,” he said. “And I’m determined not to blow it. We’re even doing counseling. First session next Thursday.”

  “Good for you. I’m really happy for you.”

  He believed her, but he couldn’t ignore her melancholy tone. He pressed his hand over hers. “Are you okay?”

  She blinked quickly, then nodded. “Just melancholy. I love you, and you’re one of my best friends, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I miss Mason so much, and right now I’m so goddamn jealous I can’t see straight.”

  “I’m sorry, Denny. I wish I could give him back to you.”

  She nodded. “I know.” She twisted around and pointed toward the door where Eliza was emerging with a tray. “Looks like she brought coffee for everyone. You should give her a hand.”

  He recognized it as a dismissal, and did as she suggested.

  “Is Denny okay?” Eliza asked as he took the tray.

  “Lonely,” he said, and saw the compassion on her face.

  She smiled up at him. “Just goes to show you. We can never take anything for granted.”

  “Never,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

  She followed him as he took the tray to the table beside Emma, then they settled in two of the empty chairs beside her in the shade of the patio umbrella.

  “When do you leave?” he asked. Despite her injury, Emma had insisted on escorting Ariana home that afternoon, on temporary assignment to the SSA.

  “Not for a few more hours. It’s nice to just chill after yesterday.”

  “That it is. Still, if you feel the need for a little more excitement in your life…”


  He let it hang out there; he knew that Ryan had already talked to Emma about recruiting her.

  She laughed. “You people are relentless.”

  “Maybe we just know talent when we see it. You’d make a great team member.”

  “I’m not really a team player.” She shot a glance toward her sister. “But if I were, this would be a pretty good place.”

  Behind them, he heard Denny’s phone ring, and she stood up, then crossed to the far side of the patio to take the call.

  A few moments later, she returned, looking more than a little shell-shocked.

  Eliza stood, going immediately to her side. “Denny? What’s wrong?”

  “That was Colonel Seagrave,” she said, her voice thin. Shocked. “Mason’s boss.”

  She lifted her face, her eyes not quite focused as she looked around the group. “Mason’s back,” she said. “And he doesn’t have a clue who he is.”

  The End.

  Want to find out what happens to Denny and Mason? Be sure to preorder your copy of Broken With You!

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  Play List

  Niall Horan & Maren Morris – Seeing Blind

  RaeLynn – Queens Don’t

  Dierks Bently – Different for Girls

  Bebe Rexha & FGL – Meant to Be

  LANCO – Greatest Love Story

  LANCO – Born to Love You

  LANCO – Win You Over

  Danielle Bradbery – Sway

  Lady Gaga – Million Reasons

  Cam – Burning House

  Christina Perri – Human

  Lauren Daigle – You Say

  Loren Allred – Never Enough

  Zac Efron & Zendaya – Rewrite the Stars

  Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake – True Colors

  Disturbed – The Sounds of Silence

  B0RNS – The Emotion

  B0RNS – Past Lives

  Miranda Lambert – Tin Man

  Kacey Musgraves – Space Cowboy

  Brett Young – Mercy

  Kiana Grannis – Can’t Help Falling in Love

  Alex & Sierra – Little Do You Know

  Heather Masse – Bird Song

  Meghan Trainor – ALL THE WAYS

  Lady Gaga – Shallow

  Prologue

  What the fuck happened.

  A thick fog clouded my thoughts as I attempted to open my eyes. Their heavy weight made it feel like I’d been asleep for days. I tried to shift in the soft bed, but my legs and arms wouldn’t cooperate.

  Nothing was working as it should.

  “You’re okay son.” Pappy’s gruff voice cut through the fog easing a bit of my growing apprehension.

  After several attempts my lids lifted. I took several slow blinks to clear away the remaining haze. Pappy sat in the chair next to my strange bed. The room was large, but not one I recognized.

  White walls. White sheets. Monitors.

  “Where the hell am I?” I gritted out as I pushed to sit up.

  “A facility,” he responded.

  “What kind of facility?” I held my head between my hands and attempted to focus on the last thing I remembered.

  Nothing. Not a single damn clue to what I was doing in this place or how I ended up here.

  “A detox center inside a rehab facility.”

  “Why am I here?”

  Pappy’s gray brows rose high on his forehead. “You don’t remember?”

  “Fuck. What did I do this time?” It had to do with drugs or booze that much I was certain. I didn’t remember details but being a coke head was something not easily wiped from my memories. “Is Caleb here too?”

  Pappy’s lips dipped in a slight frown. “No son just you.”

  Right. So whatever I did didn’t involve Caleb. Good.

  “You don’t remember her?” Pappy asked leaning forward like he was asking the most critical question of his life. As he leaned forward, a few papers slipped from his lap and floated to the floor.

  His question shot a bolt of fear to my core. Her? If I did anything to a woman while high that she didn’t want, like my fathers living legacy, I'd never recover.

  “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Like the weight of the world was removed from his slumped shoulders Pappy leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Brenton. Don’t worry about that; everything is fine. You’re fine.”

  “Why am I here?” I bellowed. Frustration boiled the blood in my veins. Dumb ass memory needed to fucking start working.

  Locking his green eyes with my own, he gave a small smile. “Fate, my dear boy. Fate brought you here.”

  Beneath the frustration, something else simmered. Something that told me that he was not only wrong about the fate shit but also holding back the truth.

  1

  Brenton

  Thirteen years later…

  “Yeah, I'll be there,” I said through a deep exhale to the man on the other end of the line. “Thank you for calling and the condolences. I'll see you at the ranch for the funeral in three days.”

  With a deep West Texas drawl, the older man detailed the specifics of the service before ending the call with another “He was a good man” sentiment.

  I slipped the phone back into my suit breast pocket as I moved toward the wet bar. The dark liquid of the various half-empty bottles called to me, begging me to pop one open for a quick swig. With a steady, focused hand, I reached past the whiskey’s siren call to grab the near-hidden bottle of Perrier. It had been my mind trick during rehab and still was. With a little lime added and enough ice, it took the edge off the constant urge that simmered just below the surface for something stronger.

  Bubbles rose to the rim of the crystal highball I had pulled from the cabinet above. Drink clutched in hand, I stepped out onto the penthouse balcony and leaned against the warm metal railing. Bright green lights glowed a few blocks over from downtown Dallas’s Green Monster. The unobstructed view of the famous building was one reason Caleb and I chose this building, this exact loft, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Back then, having a place large enough to host all our friends at one time, along with great proximity to the high-end clubs we frequented, was the priority. Some people might call those the good old days. Maybe for them, those who leached off us for so long, they were. For me, not even close. If I looked back now, from what little I remember of those years, I'd see a lonely, shallow shell of a boy who was on a fast track to nowhere.

  But tonight there was no raging party, no Caleb begging me to join him for a wild night out. Tonight it was just me, the busy streets forty stories below my feet, and fizzy water. After the five-hour therapy session earlier, the quiet was exactly what I needed.

  Ice snapped and shifted in the hig
hball glass from the unbearable eighty-five-degree heat. As suffocating as it was, something was reassuring about the Texas summer heat that I'd in some ways missed the past few years. To a true Texan, it was merely a reminder of the constants in our lives. Your life could be shit, you could have no clue which way was up, but you could count on it being balls hot during a Texas summer.

  After today, and the unexpected call just now, I needed that specific comfort.

  Dead.

  Gone without me there. Hell, I hadn't been back in years. Too busy was always the excuse, but looking back at the wasted opportunities to see the old man, was I really? Yes, this was the most extended leave I'd taken since joining the army, but would it have killed me to fly over and see him one weekend? I should’ve stayed after Caleb's funeral months ago instead of jumping on the jet moments after the final prayer.

  I pressed the sweating glass against my forehead and rolled it back and forth in an attempt to settle the self-accusing direction of my thoughts. Pappy knew why I had to leave and never come back; surely he didn't hold it against me in the end. His death wasn't a big surprise—the man was ninety after all—but I guess I still thought there was more time before this moment. Maybe a future weekend when I could've flown out to see him, show him who I'd become since being the prick he knew: the idiot teen through my young adult years when I terrorized his ranch hands, stuffed enough powder up my nose to kill an elephant, and fucked any willing female.

  Most importantly, I wanted an opportunity to show him I wasn’t my father, or my brother for that matter. But now that chance was gone, and he'd never know that I wasn’t the person I used to be.

  Well, mostly. I'd grown from a spoiled prick to an arrogant jackass, if you believed the few girls I'd dated.