by Brandi Evans
Her strength and her bravery had saved more than just herself. She'd saved me from my guilt and from a lifetime of being without her. Even now, the memory of that terrible hour when I'd thought she'd been killed was a million tiny razor blades in my bloodstream. I didn't deserve her.
"See, a total badass," Garrett said, awe in his voice.
I agreed but couldn't say the words yet. I was afraid, if I opened my mouth, only a sob would come out.
I clenched my eyes shut. I wouldn't shed a tear over the fact Théo Roux was dead. My only regret was that I hadn't been the one to end his life. Not that I wanted to kill him, at least in some psychopathic way. I just hated that Bree would forever carry the stain taking a life left on the soul. I knew because I had that particular stain, too.
"Will there be any charges against Bree?" Garrett asked.
I'd wondered the same since Dayton had told me the chain Théo had bound Bree with had ultimately been the weapon to kill him. I couldn't imagine how there would be any charges, but I needed to know. If I would need to fly in my legal team, I wanted as much warning as possible.
The detective inspector was quick to answer. "This office concludes that Ms. Jennings' termination of Théo Roux was an act of self-defense. As thus, no charges will be filed. The focus of our investigation now will be rounding up the individuals Roux hired to help him carry out his plan."
I held out a hand to Dayton, and when he took it, I said, "Thank you, Inspector Detective Dayton, for everything you've done."
He waved me off. "I have a wife. I couldn't imagine what you've gone through. But truth be told, Ms. Jennings is responsible for her own saving."
"Thank you, nonetheless."
The cop gathered up the papers and photos scattered on the bedside table. "I may need to call upon you all as I finalize my investigation and reports, but in the meantime, focus on helping each other. You've all got a lot of recovery in your future."
When the cop left, I glanced at the bag in the corner. I'd stored the engagement ring I'd given her in one of the inside zipper pockets. The paramedics had had to cut it off her finger in the ambulance. The swelling in her hand had already been too bad to simply slip it off. The princess-cut diamond, however, was still intact and gorgeous, but the gold was a mangled mess, kind of like the woman it belonged to. Her body was broken, but her heart, her strength, and her soul were still healthy.
I planned to have the ring fixed once we left the hospital. I'd make it just like it was before. I only hoped I could do the same for Bree.
Chapter 16
Bree
There is only pain and darkness.
I stand in the middle of nothing, but for the first time in a long time, I don't feel as if anyone is chasing me. I cradle my arms into me. They hurt so badly that it steals my breath and my stomach rolls. I take a tentative step forward, but the pain shooting up from my knee is excruciating. A sob threatens to break free, but I hold it back. I might not feel as if anyone is stalking me in the darkness, but I didn't want to push my luck. I couldn't just stay here. I didn't even know where here is.
I need to find Max. I have to tell him, tell him…
I'm not sure what I need to say to him, but I need to tell him something.
"Max?" I call into the void. "Max, where are you?
But only darkness and silence answer me.
Bracing myself for the jolt, I jump gingerly forward on my good leg, but when I come back down, the ground is gone.
I'm falling, down, down, down…
"Bree. My sweet. You're having a nightmare. Wake up. Come back to me. Come back. You're safe."
"Max!" I shot straight up in bed—the pain, oh god, the pain!
My stomach rolled, flipped, rolled again. I exhaled sharply and tried like hell to swallow the bile crawling up the back of my throat.
Max brushed gentle fingertips from my face and eased me gently backward into bed. "Easy, Bree, you're—"
"Sick." It was the only word I could manage, but apparently, it was enough. Seconds before I lost the battle to hold down the bile, Max pressed one of those blue, plastic emesis bags over my mouth, and I used it.
I tried to take the bag, but both my hands were partially obscured by casts I couldn't remember being there before. When had I broken my arms?
I searched my memory, and the images were right there. The jerking, the ripping of bone and flesh as the shackles bit down, the bones in my arms as they snapped, the blinding pain as Théo slammed that pipe and then that mallet into my knee.
The pain in my stomach expanded outward like a nuclear blast, and I vomited and vomited and vomited so violently that it physically hurt me. The pain made the nausea worse, which made the throbbing worse.
The cycle repeated until there was absolutely nothing left in my stomach but sorrow, regret, and a black void in my memories that I prayed didn't swallow me whole.
Max never left my side. He stroked my hair and whispered soothing things as he held the bag to my mouth. I focused on his words, on his touch. I grabbed onto them like lifelines against the maelstrom raging inside me.
Dr. Marcus' words floated back to me. When your emotions are frazzled, focus on the good. So, I did.
I recalled the conflicted look in Max's eyes before he'd kissed me the first time.
I remembered the rush of going home with him that first night, to the home we now shared.
I relished the memory of the night in his indoor garden oasis when he'd introduced me to his world of submission and dominance.
I kept the memories coming, the blissful panic and ultimate pleasure when he'd taken me to Restrained Fantasies the night of the Swingers' Ball, the night he'd first told me he'd loved me. Each sweet, beautiful memory worked as a balm, and slowly, like swimming through melting ice, I was able to quiet my mind.
When the wrenching finally stopped, Max tossed the used bag in the trash, retrieved a damp washcloth from the restroom, and dabbed it over my mouth and face. One of the wealthiest men in the world had been reduced to a nursemaid. I didn't know why I found that so funny.
I was about to say so when the door opened and a man in faded jeans, a soft yellow polo, and a white coat walked in.
Max turned toward the new arrival. "Dr. Clarke, perfect timing. She just woke up and began vomiting. I was about to call you."
The doctor checked the bedside monitor as he moved to my side. "Well, her heart rate is a bit elevated, but that can be normal with vomiting. Otherwise, her vitals are solid."
"And the vomiting?" Max asked. "It was bad."
"Vomiting is a common side effect of pain meds and anesthesia. I'll prescribe something for it. Just let me know if it doesn't go away, okay?"
He directed the last of his sentence at me, and I nodded.
"Aside from the nausea, how do you feel, Ms. Jennings?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I'm kinda still trying to take stock of everything. I can tell you I hurt everywhere, though, and my head is foggy."
"Understandable. You've been through quite an ordeal." The doctor gave me a kind smile. "The fogginess can also be a side effect of the pain meds, but I don't recommend discontinuing them yet. Given the extent of your injuries, I'm pretty sure the pain would be far worse."
"What are my injuries? I can see the casts, so I assume my arms are broken."
I listened intently as the doctor documented my injuries. I knew I'd been hurt, but I hadn't realized how badly. Must have been the endorphins. They'd probably kept me from feeling the worst of it.
I tried to recall the events that led me here, but my memory was like Swiss cheese. Some were vivid, like being shackled to the pipe, the systematic jump-and-fall technique I'd employed to get free, the video call Théo had made to Max, but I didn't remember actually getting free.
A void in my dreams and my memory. I didn't like the implications.
The doctor was still talking, and I turned my gaze to Max. He listened so intently to the doctor, a pained but determined look
on his face. It was his "problem-solving" face; he was likely trying to figure out how to "fix" me. I could see it in the determined set of his jaw, but this time, I wasn't sure I could be "fixed.” The utter determination was so Max. What had Karen said about—
"Karen," I blurted out, interrupting the doctor. "Oh god, is she? Théo said the shot wasn't immediately fatal, but I'd seen her. There'd been so much blood and, oh god. I-I can't… breathe."
My heart was flopping like a fish dropped on shore, and a band tightened around my chest until my lungs couldn't expand. The world started spinning.
"Breathe," Max crooned. "Just breathe, my sweet. Breathe…" Max tried to wrap gentle arms around me, but I fought him, images of Karen's body on the floor and covered in blood. Me covered in her blood. Her eyes still.
"Karen," I whimpered, trying to get up; everything suddenly felt so restraining, everyone so close. The movement sent pain searing out from my knee where I'd whacked it on the bedrail.
"Bree, my sweet, calm down before you hurt yourself again."
The doctor was a blur beside me, and suddenly, my body felt heavy, and then, there was nothing but the darkness.
The next time I woke, there was no nightmare, and I wasn't in bed anymore. I was seated in some weird cross between a wheelchair and a recliner, still feeling a bit fuzzy. I closed my eyes again and tried shaking off the worst of the lingering fuzz.
"How're you feeling, my sweet?" Max's voice was soft, and when I opened my eyes, he was kneeling beside me.
"Confused."
"You had a panic attack," he explained softly. "It was… bad. You hit your knee, so the doctor gave you something to help you sleep." He placed a hand extra gently on my knee, which was when I noticed the cast that covered me from mid-thigh to foot.
Casts, broken bones, and panic attacks. God, I was a complete mess. If I could, I'd have buried my face in my hands. Stupid casts were in the way. "I'm so sick of these stupid panic attacks."
"We'll get past this, my sweet. Whatever it takes. You're one of the bravest, strongest women I ever met."
"I don't feel courageous right now." I felt like I was about to cry.
"But you are brave, love," said Garrett in his soft baritone. "Very brave. And a badass."
"Garrett?" I turned my gaze to my opposite side as he knelt next to me.
"Hey there, love. It's so good to see you again." He pressed a kiss to my lips before touching our foreheads briefly, as if he'd needed the additional moment of touching to assure himself I was actually there.
When he pulled back, he smiled, but a weariness darkened his eyes that left me feeling sick again. He looked as if he'd aged a few decades since I'd last seen him.
"Garrett," I repeated, touching his face, unsure what to actually say. Tears welled. I wanted to ask about Karen, but looking at him, I was too afraid. He looked so bad.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered automatically but then remembered the extent of my injuries. "Maybe. I don't really know. I haven't tried."
"Let's give it a try, eh? Just lean on us."
I nodded.
Each man wrapped me close and helped me to my feet. Well, foot. I couldn't put weight on my left foot, but Max and Garrett compensated quickly and helped me turn.
The tears I'd felt forming earlier fell like rain during a southern spring thunderstorm. There, on a bed, Karen lay unmoving, her eyes closed. A cannula was in her nose, an I.V. in her right arm. She was so, so pale, but the panel on the machine beside her showed a steady pulse.
"She's alive?" The two words nearly drowned in my tears.
"She was lucky, all things considered," Garrett said, voice equally watery. "The bullet could have done much greater damage. The doctor had to remove a portion of her small intestine and stomach, and she's on a serious course of antibiotics to combat infection. She's not in the clear yet, but the doctors are optimistic. He said about eighty percent of deaths from abdominal wounds like this happen within twenty-four hours, and we're past that now. She still hasn't woken up, though. That's the next thing we're waiting on."
Leaning into Max and resting fully on my good leg, I took Karen's hand. She was alive. "You beat him, too," I said around the lump in my throat. "He planned this elaborate game of revenge, and he still lost."
"He never should have underestimated you," Max whispered. "My queen."
Max's words tickled a memory, but I couldn't quite pull it to the surface. Panic laced the almost-memory, along with confusion and the loud thud of something hard meeting something soft.
I pushed away, too scared to dig deeper. "You're gonna be okay, Karen. We both will, and we'll make these two yahoos here pamper us. I'm talking full-body massages and feeding us grapes by hand. We can even make them take turns fanning us with those big leaf things like in those old movies."
"It would be our pleasure," the two men said together.
Making sure I kept hold of Karen's hand, I turned to Max, wrapped my free arm around his middle, and I held to him. We'd all survive this, the four of us. I had to believe that. Karen would pull through. She would. I willed it so.
"I love you," I whispered to Max. "So much." My beautiful, broken prince whom I feared I'd never see again.
Max shuddered and released a long, ragged breath as if he'd been holding it since I'd been taken. No, as if he'd been afraid he'd never hear those words again from me, either because I'd never make it out of that basement or because I'd leave him. Fat chance of the latter happening, and I'd made sure the first hadn't.
"I love you," I said again.
"I love you, too," he returned.
"As do I." Garrett pressed close behind me and wrapped us both in his arms. It was such a familiar embrace, but unlike the first time I'd found myself sandwiched between these two, there was no lust or lingerie in the mix. This time, there was just love. Strange, beautiful love—a love that would never be whole if Karen didn't pull through.
"I love you all," I said. "So much."
I gave Karen's hand a squeeze where I still held it—and froze.
"Karen?" I hobble-turned toward her and squeezed her hand, praying I'd feel it again, that it wasn't a fluke, and there it was, the softest pressure against my fingers.
"She squeezed my hand," I blurted out.
Garrett spun to his wife and, with cobweb-soft touches, traced his fingertips over her jaw as her eyelids fluttered open.
I've been here before, in this place of darkness and pain, of absolute nothing.
Still cradling my arms to my body, I listen through the blackness. I'm not being pursued. At least, I don't think so. Everything's so quiet. Unearthly quiet.
I don't like it here. I need to find light. No, I need to find Max. There's something I still need to tell him.
I take a tentative step forward. I cry out as pain blooms in my knee and races up and down my leg. A sob claws at my throat, but I hold it back.
I can't break down. I have to find Max. I have to find my way out of this void.
"Max?" I call. "Max, where are you?
But there's only the darkness and silence.
Taking a deep breath and steeling myself against the pain, I start gingerly forward on my good leg, mini little hops, when suddenly, the ground is gone.
I'm falling, falling, falling—and then I'm not. I don't hit with a thud on some hard surface like I expect. I'm just suddenly not falling, laying atop some surface that's slick with a warm, viscous fluid. An iron tang clings to the air, so strong that I choke on it.
Coughing, gagging, fighting off the pain that comes with my body's violent response to the smell, I try easing into a seated position, but I can't use my broken arms to help myself push. Even the slightest pressure is fire, not just in my arms but that encompasses my whole body.
Desperate for anything to help me sit, I reach into the darkness and find a chain. At least, I think it's a chain—only whatever it is, it's alive.
I yank my hands away, but what I know are mana
cles fasten around my wrists and drag me up. The second I'm on my feet, a ball of soft, glowing light sparks to life and illuminates the area. I'm back in the dungeon, and the fluid on the floor is blood. In the middle of that blood is Théo Roux.
Dead.
A scream builds in my throat, and an itching scratch, scratch, scratches at something in my mind. I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to keep the memory back. I don't want it. I don't know how I know that, but I don't. I don't want to know the thing I'm trying to remember.
When I open my eyes again, I'm looking at myself. There are two of me, one watching, one beating Théo with the chains no longer binding the other me. I look at my freed hands; they're both covered in blood.
I shot straight up in bed, a cold sweat covering my skin, and I couldn't stop the shaking that seemed to go bone-deep. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god."
Max was right there, soothing hands over cheeks wet with tears. "My sweet, what is it?"
"Oh, my god, Max, I killed him. I fucking killed him. Oh, god."
Gingerly, Max crawled into the hospital bed beside me and drew me into his arms and simply held me as the panic, guilt, and sobs cycled. He didn't speak, just held me close.
A nurse hurried in, but Max dismissed him with a wave of the hand. The nurse retreated the way he'd come, leaving us alone until I'd cried myself out.
I wasn't sure how long I'd wept, but eventually, the tears ran dry, replaced by the occasional hiccup and shiver. Even after the tears were gone, though, it was a long time before I recovered the ability to speak.
"I killed him," I finally said.
"I know. He was going to kill you. You didn't give him the opportunity."
"But I killed him. How do you live with that?"