by Ava Claire
I had to keep my eye on the road. If she was to be believed, some armored car would swerve into our path at any moment, unloading their machine guns and riddling us all with holes. But I was distracted, torn between getting us to relative safety and needing to make Brittany understand that pouting when Cole had murdered several people at point blank range was not only insulting, but made me want to pull to the curb and let (or hurl) her out.
My heart dropped when I realized that I was stealing looks at my brother. That my heart ached when I saw him trying to reach for Brittany, to comfort her and she swatted him away. I'd spent my life pretending that I was unaffected. That pain and hurt didn't even register on my radar. I knew the stony, blank slate that he forced over the truth. I knew that beneath it all, his sister was sinking a knife right into his chest.
And I felt sorry for him.
“Where's Frederic?” Brittany whined. “He promised me he wouldn't involve you-”
“I'm assuming you screamed this order while you were being pulled from the room by your hair. While Frederic-” He said his name with unabashed disgust. “Let them take you. So Frederic's presence is kind of irrelevant, don't you think?”
I smirked to myself, but it must not have been nearly as discreet as I thought because I felt something small and soft clunk me on the side of the head and tumble into the seat beside me. I looked at the cushion and saw a small white cap. Just in case I needed visual confirmation, Brittany was holding a bottle of uncapped water, her lips curled into a snarl that dared me to call her on the offense.
I knew the wise choice was to just ignore her. She wanted a reaction. If I denied her one, she'd just stomp her feet and pout some more, but she'd eventually get the picture. Maybe she’d even dig deep and find whatever dust bunny wrapped pieces of maturity she had and grow up.
Just let it go.
I ignored my own advice. “Did you just throw something at me?”
“So perceptive,” she goaded. “I see why they pay you the big bucks.”
I opened my mouth to rip into her but had the presence of mind to just clamp my lips together and draw a few breaths to lower my blood pressure. Was this what having a younger sibling was like? Never ending, irrational annoyance? I was waiting for her to stick her tongue out or start poking me until I lost my mind.
I kept my hands at 10 and 2, refusing to take the bait. From Cole's sudden silence, I had a feeling he was struggling to bite his tongue too.
“I guess I'm going to have to address the elephant in the room,” Brittany sighed dramatically. I expected her to go into her captivity, the awful things she endured. Not out of a need to be clear, to begin the healing process—to make her brother feel more guilty and find out if I could grip the wheel any tighter without ripping it from the car altogether.
There was a tense, swollen silence that passed around the circle, waiting for her to drop the graphic bomb that detailed her captivity.
“So...” She teased us and held out the syllable as long as possible. “What now?”
“Back to the hotel,” Cole answered quickly. Almost relieved. “We'll get you cleaned up, get Leila, then head back home.”
“Leila?” The glee in her voice turned my stomach. “The gang's all here!”
“That's it.”
I swerved into the next lane, ignoring the driver who laid on his horn. I didn't care if I was blocking an exit or if I was holding up traffic. I'd have to support the obnoxious American stereotype for a few minutes. I refused to drive another inch until I made some things crystal clear.
I faced her, making sure I had her attention. She had the same smug look she'd had the first time we met and I stifled the desire to grab her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. I knew she had mental issues; that her childhood and life had twisted her in ways that I'd never understand, but I refused to let her think that my wife was fair game.
“I don't know what you have planned, but I don't want you to say a word to Leila, Brittany.”
She cleared her face of anything offensive, but the faux concern was just as frustrating. “You don't want me to talk to her?”
“I don't even want you to breathe in her direction,” I clarified icily.
She bit her bottom lip, crestfallen. It might have been believable if I didn't know how manipulative she was. While I was haunted by the things I'm sure she saw and had to do to survive, I had to silence the desire to take it easy on her and give her the benefit of the doubt. Beneath the bruises and the way she made her chin tremble practically on cue, I knew she was dangerous. She wouldn't respond well to concern. I needed to be hard, my words strict and clear.
“I am sorry for what happened to you. Truly. And for your sake, and your brother's sake-”
“Our brother's sake,” she chimed sweetly.
I ignored her, locking my steely glare on her. “It doesn't mean that I have forgotten what you did to Leila. I will never forget what you did to her.”
She opened her mouth, but Cole reached for her. She looked ready to tell him to go to hell, but their silent exchange made the tense lines in her body soften.
Cole glanced at me and nodded for me to continue
“I need you to understand and agree to not speak to her. To not make any double edged comments about what you did to her.” I knew my wife and knew that she might speak to Brittany. Knowing the girl, I pictured her pointedly ignore Leila's attempts at clearing the air which was just as hurtful, so I made the tiniest exception. “If she speaks to you, of course you can respond. Or not. I'm not asking you to ignore her. I'm asking you not to disrespect her and spit on the gift that she has given you.”
“And what gift is that?” she mumbled, picking at a string on Cole's jacket.
I waited for her to meet my gaze before I answered, speaking slowly and deliberately. “If it were up to me, you'd still be back at the estate. She may not be in the car with us right now, she may not have fired the shots that cleared the path to your rescue, but my wife helped save your life.”
Chapter Eighteen
The moment I opened the door, I knew my wife had been pacing the floor from the moment we left.
She stopped short, her eyes widening like someone that had been caught doing something they shouldn't. She brought her hand to her chest, like she was taking her thundering heart, beating wildly with all the things that could have happened, and putting it back in place.
“You're back,” she whispered, her body slack with relief as she rushed toward me. I knew she was safe and sound back here at the hotel, far from bullets and the seedy underworld that Cole and I ventured into, but I felt like a weight had been lifted for me too. Her embrace felt like going home. Like everything would be okay.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, breathing me deep in her lungs and exhaling before she took another hit. I echoed her sighs, strumming her curls, slipping into the warmth of the moment like a hot shower after a long day.
I let her steady breaths wash me clean, scrub away the edges and fear and hollowness. The silence was welcome—we were back together, and in this moment, we were safe. Once the question was asked, we'd have to leave this place...and I'd have to tell her the details that were seared in my brain.
She hitched a breath and I held my own, preparing myself for the question.
So what happened?
“I'm so glad you're okay.”
The first smile I'd felt in days rushed to my lips. “Leila, I l-”
“I'm surprised Jacob Whitmore didn't want to stay somewhere hoity toity.”
Leila went rigid when Brittany's high pitched voice rang out in the hallway behind us.
I took her face in my hands, looking deep into her eyes. “I'll be right here. If you feel unsafe-”
She pulled my hands from their position, forcing a smile as she put distance between us. “I'm fine, Jacob.”
I wanted to believe her. After what happened with Cole—her blood drenched fingers and her tears—her hurt had evolved. She'd been within ar
ms reach of Cole and hadn't flinched once. But that was because he'd only played the role of the kidnapper to protect her. He hadn't meant to harm her, but did so to save her from his sister.
The sister that stopped in the doorway, eyeballing Leila warily.
I saw the color drain from Leila's face, but she didn't retreat or give any other indication that she wasn't ready to be in the same room as the girl who'd hurt her.
Brittany pursed her swollen lips and I knew she was about to ignore what I'd said in the car. Luckily, Cole steered her away from my ire before she could drop a syllable.
“C'mon, let's get you cleaned up so we can head home.”
Leila didn't turn to follow their path, but I stepped up, blocking the barbed smile Brittany tried to throw Leila's way as Cole dragged her toward the bathroom.
“But I just wanted to say hi...”
I waited until I heard the door click shut before the fight in me died down. I knew that Leila was in no physical danger. I was concerned about the emotional toll. The glare, the offhand comment—the joke about what she'd done to Leila.
When I reached for Leila's hand I expected her to dodge me, squeeze out the briefest smile before she told me she was fine. She'd repeat that word so many times that it would become maddening and she'd shatter completely.
But she interlaced her fingers with mine and squeezed and whispered a ‘thank you’ as I pulled her toward the mini bar.
I released her just long enough to search the shelves and landed on a can of ginger ale.
I smirked at her vaulted eyebrow as I popped the cap and took a swig before I offered it to her. “I'm sure we could both use something a little stronger, but I'll save the alcohol for when the wheels are off the ground and we're headed home.”
She gulped down half the can, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she nodded in agreement. She put the ginger ale down, her fingers returning to her lips, stroking the length of them like she was trying to coax out her next words. “Brittany...her face, her clothes-”
“We don't have to talk about any of that right now,” I assured her.
“I need to talk about it,” Leila insisted, her brown eyes making the case. “I won't lie to you and say that my first reaction wasn't-” She bit her lip and wrapped her arms tight around her. “Awful. There was a part of me, a sick and twisted part of me that thought, 'now she knows what it's like to have all control ripped away'.” She squeezed her eyes shut like she couldn't bear to even admit such a thing. “What an awful thing to think, right? Even if it was just for a split second.”
“Hey.” I brushed her curls from her eyes and rested my palm on her cheek, searching her gaze until I was sure she wasn't hiding behind the guilt and would hear my words. “You're not a bad person, Leila. You're human.”
She'd said the same to me before, but she seemed reluctant to follow that logic. “I saw her face, Jacob. The bruises, the blood...” Her nostrils flared. “I even saw the shame before she snatched it away and geared up to say something Brittany-like.”
I grit my teeth and rode the wave of anger that crashed into me. “I told her to leave you be.”
Leila dusted off the front of my shirt with a chuckle. “If she doesn't listen to her brother, who she loves, I'm not sure why you thought she'd listen to-” She gripped the front of my shirt, peering closer then releasing me with a gasp. “Is that blood on your shirt?”
I knew the answer, but I looked down, futilely hoping I could in good conscience say it was a smudge of dirt. I didn't lie to her. “Yes.”
She pulled at her hair, her hands shaking as she twisted it into a bun at the nape of her neck. “Brittany's blood?”
“No.” A part of me hoped that would be enough. But how could it be? She'd spent every minute we were apart wondering what was going on. I hated that I would have to tell her that her worst fears, and some she hadn't even thought of, had come to fruition.
She dropped her hands to her side, looking down at the floor. I saw her internal struggle in the way she twitched her fingers, the way she bit her lip. Once she knew what happened, there would be no going back.
She raised her head, her voice stricken with worry. “I want to know everything.”
I raked my fingers through my hair, letting go of the last few shreds of stubbornness. Keeping her away from the whole truth because she couldn't handle it was the wrong move. Leila was stronger than I gave her credit for. She'd just faced her assailant and she didn't crumble; she didn't lash out. She stood her ground.
“Come sit down.” I was more eager to have a seat than she was. I watched her fiddle with the hem of her shirt, then a tendril of hair before she tucked her curly locks behind her ears and straightened her spine. She lowered herself onto the cushion beside me and I couldn't help but buy myself a few more minutes of me and her, without all the drama. But taking in our surroundings—the suitcases we didn't pack, the concierge information we didn't require, the sheer curtains that teased a view we hadn't experienced—it was another beautiful location that we weren't enjoying because of what happened. All roads led back to the kidnapping.
“I want you to make me a promise, Lay,” I said softly.
She was wary, but nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“The next time we vacation, we leave all this stuff behind. We take time for us. Time to enjoy every moment we have together. Memories that have nothing to do with kidnappings and guns and prostitution rings—” The laugh that rose in my throat was void of humor, light, or joy. It ripped its way from my lips and if Leila's crestfallen face was any indication, it sounded as terrifying as it felt.
She leaned in and pressed her lips against my cheek, then whispered her way to my ear. “I promise.”
I never knew that a person could smell like words and feelings and emotions, but I was hit with all of the above as I lingered in her touch. I felt safe. Surrounded by love. I felt hope.
So I told her.
“We went to the restaurant to meet with Lars and then the-”
“Son of a BITCH!”
My jaw dropped at the outburst. Leila's eyes rounded with her own shock, the screech like a bomb going off in the silence. It would have been nothing, meant nothing if it was Brittany.
But the voice that clawed its way from the bathroom was Cole's voice.
Leila and I both leapt to our feet, the depressingly familiar haze of adrenaline and unease giving me an out of body experience. This was someone else's life. Someone else's nightmare.
I got halfway to the door that separated the sitting room from the living quarters when I realized Leila wasn't beside me. She was behind me, glued to the couch.
The look on her face was filled with a terror that made the blood freeze in my veins. She opened her mouth, then decided against it, shrinking back into the cushion and shaking her head.
I understood.
She couldn't deal with it. With Brittany. With whatever terrible thing she'd probably done to my brother.
“I'll be right back,” I assured her firmly. Before I lost my own edge, I stormed through the door, following the glow of the bathroom. My head told me to wait, to grab a weapon—or better yet, to turn around, sweep up my wife and get as far away from Cole and Brittany as we could get. I shut it all down as I threw open the door and prepared myself.
Did Brittany find something sharp and reopen the wound at Cole's neck?
Did she turn the sharpened edge on herself?
I imagined blood streaked on every surface, Cole cradling his sister's dying body. By the time my eyes focused and there was nothing awry, my heart had already stopped beating. I had to take a few moments to breathe, to erase the picture my mind painted and accept the reality before me.
Brittany was huddled near the shower, burying herself in a robe, her face clean of makeup but still covered in the marks from her life in Eichmann's hell. Cole was at the sink, both of his hands gripping the thing like it was taking every ounce of self control not to rip it from the wall. When he let
out another chilling howl, worry ghosted down my spine.
Brittany finally noticed me, tugging her robe tighter. “Can I help you?”
She would be no help at all, so I turned to Cole instead. “What's going on here?”
He hung his head, shaking it slowly like he'd just received the kind of news that changed a person's life forever. “How could she? What kind of monster...” He balled his fist and slammed it into the counter.
Brittany gasped and jerked toward him, pulling on him. “Stop it! It's over now. I'm out and-”
“It is not over,” Cole snapped. “It's tattooed on your fucking skin!”
This was all about some tattoo? “You've gotta be kidding me.” I turned to go. I wanted out of this mess. Brittany was free, and now, so were me and Leila. “You two are on your o-”
“Show him the tattoo, Brittany. Show him who paid Eichmann to take you.”
I stopped. My interest was piqued, but I didn’t turn back to them. I wasn’t sure how that information was monumental enough to make him scream bloody murder.
Brittany made another appeal, dropping the hard ass role. “Cole-”
“SHOW HIM!”
I whirled back to them, for a moment worrying that Cole had snapped and would do God knows what to the girl if she didn't comply.
“Maybe you should show me, Brittany,” I said tightly, watching my brother like he was a cornered animal that could bite at any moment. “Then we can all get out of here and get on with our lives.” I glanced at her and infused some kindness into my voice. “It’s okay.”
I couldn't believe I was trying to comfort her. But she looked so genuinely afraid, so worried that I couldn't help but feel pangs of sympathy. I guess I had a heart after all.
Brittany whimpered something and reached for Cole, but he shrugged her off. He didn't look at her. He didn't look at me. He was looking at the sink—but I knew he was imagining the person who had paid the fee that led to Brittany's forced imprisonment. I hoped the person had their affairs in order, because there was death coursing through the veins that flexed as he squeezed the countertop.