ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Dammit! Fine,” he mutters, raking at his hair in frustration. “I had your father—”

  “Wesley. That man is not my dad,” I mutter, feeling a fresh rush of tears at the mention of the man who’d ripped my ring away and left me for dead.

  “Wesley,” Lucian concedes, taking another, deeper breath. “I had him investigated, and…Ash, can’t we just—”

  “No! I want to know,” I insist, locking gazes with his stubborn frown.

  “He stole the inheritance your mother left for you and Ben,” he finally grits out after a few long minutes of staring each other down.

  The news shocks me a little, because honestly, I didn’t even know Mom had any money besides the meager savings we’d used for her funeral.

  “She left us money?”

  That rat fink bastard! Not only has he taken my ring, a symbol of the commitment…ownership, I amend, of the man before me, but he’d taken money I could have used to keep Ben and myself housed and fed.

  I could have used the safety net while getting my life back in order, as well as not having had to work so much Ben had felt neglected.

  Just another tic against him in the ‘crummy dad’ department, Ash. Shake it off and move on.

  “Yes. Not a lot, but enough to see you through the first year at least. He stole it and ran, and then…”

  I see from his hesitation that he’s afraid to tell me the rest, not wanting to add to the hurt and disillusionment I already feel. Sweet brute.

  “I already know he has another family,” I whisper, pushing the hurt away with a forceful shove.

  I can mull that over later when I don’t feel so raw. Definitely when he’s out of the room. For some reason he goes ballistic when I cry or get sad. I like it, but not right now when I need to calm him as much as he needs to tend to me.

  “Christ. I—I’m so sorry, love. I know how much that must hurt you.”

  “Not even going there. Not yet,” I mutter, shaking my head to stop whatever he’s about to say. “He said you told his…wife, and that she left him and took his son.”

  It’s hard to say, harder still to say when my sweet boy is just down the hall, oblivious to the cruelty of a man who should have loved him.

  Lucian nods and grinds his jaw, making it tic slightly.

  “I made sure they were set up, and then…I took his money and his business. I felt it only fair to leave him as helpless and alone as he left you and Benjamin.”

  I feel whole when he says it, because no matter how much I want to tell myself that I had everything under control, I know I’d just been fooling myself as the house of cards toppled down around me.

  It’s bitter and unforgiving, but the thought of Wesley suffering what we had makes me feel good and avenged.

  “I—I should have realized he’d lose it and go after you and Benjamin. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I—”

  “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for something he did. He chose to abandon us and steal our inheritance. He chose to use me to hurt you. He did this, Luc, not you,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You saved me. From him. From losing Ben. From myself. You’re my hero right now, so please, don’t ruin that for me,” I beg.

  It takes a while, full minutes of my unwavering stare, before he releases a shuddering breath and nods, accepting the truth of my words.

  “How did you find me?”

  I can tell he wasn’t expecting such a quick change in topic and that the question makes him uncomfortable, but I don’t care. If I’m gonna give him every part of me I want honesty and trust.

  It’s all he’ll give me, after all. There’s no love for me; I’ve seen it clearly enough in his shuttered gaze, but if I can have liking and respect as well as honesty I think I can do this without freaking out every other minute.

  “I had a tracking chip in your ring.”

  “Say what?”

  His head dips and then lifts again, bringing his burning eyes back to mine. The look in them is stubborn and unapologetic, the first real glimpse I’ve seen of my dominant man since being taken.

  I’ve missed it, a lot, over the last three days and through the incessant nagging and coddling he’s forced on me. The look is welcome, though no less infuriating as it would have been just days ago.

  I love him, really I do, but he’s got some serious issues about keeping me under his thumb, and if I let on how creepily romantic I find this I know I’ll never hear the end of it.

  Controlling bastard.

  “I had a tracker on you the whole time, and bloody thank God I did or I suspect we wouldn’t have found you so soon,” he mutters. “As it is, it was just dumb luck that made Harry stop at that dirt road. We almost drove right by. Don’t even get me started on the fact that I was about to leave those woods when I couldn’t find you. The next chip is going in your luscious arse.”

  “Uh, no. That’s not happening.”

  And don’t even get me started on how hot I find it that the guy is this crazy about stuff. Sure, I should be pissed that he tagged me like a freaking cow, but instead I’m just relieved that his obsessive behavior let them find me sooner.

  “Love?”

  He’s looking and sounding uncertain now, not enough to make him seem weak, mind you, just enough that I can see he’s not quite sure how to handle me now that I know it all.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay about all this? About your—about Wesley and…”

  “No. The man is deranged enough to have kidnapped me and expects me to put in a good word so you can get off his ass. I am so not okay with that. It’s also really chapping my ass that he’s gone nuts because his wife took his son. What about Ben, huh? Why didn’t he go nuts that way about Ben? Why was it so easy for him to leave him?”

  Lucian’s shoulders tense and shrug, reminding me that he’s still more than a little cheesed about this whole mess, anyway. I mean, he’s been upset about it since the beginning. He’d gone after Wesley almost from the start.

  No, it’s not his fault that I got hurt. I have to admit a lot of my injuries were somewhat self-inflicted, thanks to my fight response in stressful situations, but he has a lot to explain still before I’ll feel secure enough to let him handle it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about him and the money? You knew this for weeks and said nothing.”

  He shrugs again and stands to prowl the room, his body yelling out his frustration.

  “At first I couldn’t believe he’d do something that awful to his own… And then I got angry, really pissed if you want the truth, when I saw the kind of father he is to his other son. I admit I went a bit nuts. That’s why his wife left him; I went to see her and told her everything.”

  God, that poor woman.

  “And ruined him?”

  It scares me a little to think of that ruthless side. I mean, I’ve always known it’s there; I’ve just never seen it so close and personal, as intense as I do now.

  Wesley had been broken, devastated by what Lucian had done to him. I think I should feel pity or something for the sadness I’d witnessed. Instead I feel nothing, not one single thing at the prospect of my man going to the mattresses for us.

  “I took no more or less from him than what he took from you,” he says so deeply I flinch.

  The words make that silly, sappy side of me come to roaring life, and I look at him, smiling gently at his annoyance. Something in my eyes, on my face, makes him pause, and I see him tense again.

  “Lucian, I—”

  That’s all I get out before he’s at the door and bolting, leaving my words of love whispering on my lips.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Stop moping around and come have a drink with me. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “I’m not moping.”

  “Oh puleeeaz, you are so moping. I recognize that look. Seen it in my own mirror a time or twenty, thanks to Brody’s commitment issues.”

  I laugh at the face Cammy pulls and flop down on the patio sof
a, watching the wind kick up an eddy of leaves. Lucian has been gone for two days, doing God alone knows what, and I’m really mad that he left me so soon after everything went down.

  It’s dumb, I know this. I mean, I’ve needed some alone time to get myself together, but I freaking miss him. A lot. Stupid ass love.

  “Fine, so I’m moping a little. It’s just that…”

  It’s too embarrassing to admit that I’d been on the verge of declaring myself when my husband had run like the hounds of hell were on his tail. More so to confess that he’d spent the rest of the day avoiding me before hopping a plane on some trumped up business thing just to escape me.

  I’ve now decided to either make him suffer for hurting my feelings, or…well, I don’t know what else to do with these feelings, but I’m pretty sure I’ll come up with a healthy, or not so healthy alternative when I see him again.

  “It’s just that what?” Cammy asks softly, keeping her eyes on me as we watch the storm pick up outside.

  “It’s just that I suspect that he only left because I was this close to telling him that I love him.”

  There, I’ve said it. It feels crappy having to admit that to another person, but seeing as my only other friend is a shrink and will overanalyze this to death, I need someone to bounce this shit off.

  “Why am I not surprised?” she groans, grabbing her martini and taking a healthy drink. “My brother is nothing if not a coward when it comes to the emotional stuff. Did you know it took him five months after he’d brought me over to America before he gave me so much as a hug?”

  “Nooo.”

  That’s whack.

  “For real, sister. I eventually dragged an ‘I love you’ out of him when I threatened to leave and go back to our parents if he was going to be such a cow about it.”

  That makes me laugh hard, really hard, because I can so see Cammy throwing down the gauntlet and brining a grown man to his knees. Even if she’s a little bit of a thing.

  I could almost pity poor Brody if it weren’t for the fact that I think Cammy is exactly what he needs. She’ll shake his ass up good and leave him panting for more.

  I just wish I could say the same for me and Lucian. For real, that guy is going to run till his thousand dollar loafers have burn holes before he lets me anywhere near his black heart.

  Asshole.

  “Dude, if your brother takes that long and needs that much incentive to tell his own sister he loves her, I don’t stand a freaking chance. Especially not after—”

  Don’t go there, Ash. Do not open that can of maggots up right now.

  “After?” Cammy urges, her blue eyes watching me intently.

  “Nothing, I—I…what am I supposed to do? I’ve never been in this situation before. Do I let it go and just get on with things the way they were? I mean, he’s so good with Ben, and I…”

  God, this love stuff is turning my brain into whipped cream if I can’t even string together a complete sentence.

  “No. What you do is beard the lion and bloody well force him to listen to you.”

  “Yeah? What if he doesn’t… Well, I know he doesn’t love me, but what if that upsets him?” I ask, taking a drink from the throat-stripping martini she made me an hour ago. “Jesus, what the hell did you put in that shit, battery acid?”

  “Alcohol,” she quips, topping me up again. “Listen, Ash, the only way to get by those defenses my brother has built up around himself is to take a battering ram to them. He’s stubborn and hard-headed and just male enough to spite himself if it means keeping himself protected. He’ll never get where he needs to be without a healthy shove.”

  Yeah, but I don’t know if I wanna jump off that cliff just to get him there, and I say so. What happens if I say it and things get awkward? That would mean I’ll spend the next fifty years walking around on freaking eggshells around the man.

  Oh, where has all my mean-spirited fire gone? I wonder, feeling my confidence take another dip at the thought of being married to an ice cube for the next five decades. Usually I’d be over the hurt by now. That’s just who I am. When people hurt me I thumb my nose at them and walk on by, giving them the finger for good measure.

  Now I can’t seem to have two rational thoughts without thinking about the repercussions of my words and actions. I think sex and this love stuff have definitely ruined me.

  “I don’t want to shove him into anything. Geez, I have some pride, you know,” I grouch, swallowing another gulp of alcohol in the hopes it’ll overcome the Sulky Susie mood I’m in.

  Cammy gives me a brilliant smile, one I’ve come to recognize as her plotting look, and raises a regal brow.

  “I’m going to introduce you to the Goldens. They’re just what you need to get your arse into gear.”

  “The Goldens?”

  God, please, whatever she’s talking about, let it be something a sane, rational woman would be into. I have no way to shake the little minx loose once she gets an idea in her head, and I really don’t need to be getting my ass in trouble.

  Lucian would kill me if I so much as broke a nail right now, never mind getting myself into trouble with his maniac of a sister.

  “Don’t piss yourself yet, Ash. The Goldens are my friends, a motley crew of women who know what they want and go after it. If anyone knows how you should deal with Luc it would be those bloodthirsty skirts. Now cheer up, you’re about to meet Chicago’s legends in male takedowns,” she trills happily, tapping at her phone so excitedly I feel sorry for the glass.

  “There, now go get your face on and tell the security guys and that old ratchet-faced housekeeper to keep an eye on Benny. We’re going out.”

  “Who exactly are The Goldens?” I ask, knowing that I really don’t want to know but have absolutely no choice when all the little devil does is smile and bite her lips.

  “They’re the ones who taught me to go after what I want. Believe me, Ash, by the time we’re done you’ll have Lucian eating from the palm of your hand.”

  Holy shit, what have I done?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  I want to run screaming and hide behind the ten foot walls surrounding the house when Cammy shoves me none too gently and urges me to enter the private dining room of Madge’s Tea Room, an exclusive little eatery that boasts some of the finest desserts ever created.

  “They look crazy,” I hiss, digging my heels in when one of the women looks up and breaks out in a smile that’s bright enough to singe my eyeballs.

  “Oh, there they are! Come on over, bitches, we just ordered the éclairs and some of Madge’s margaritas!”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Cam, they look—”

  “Yeah, yeah, put on your big girl panties and move, Ashley, you big old ninny. I already outlined your problem, and they’re ready to get the ball rolling on your ‘bag Lucian’ campaign. Now move, before I tell them you don’t want to be friends. That makes them right vicious, it does.”

  Oh, crap.

  I move, but only because one of them, a statuesque blonde that makes my heterosexual self rethink my sexuality, comes stalking toward us, her face a mask of determination and glee.

  “There you are! Come on, girl, we have everything ready. Come tell the bitches what your man did to make you look so down-hearted.”

  I swallow my trepidation and allow myself to be led to a table overlooking a garden that’s obviously lovingly tended. Three other women sit staring at me, their mouths tilted in what can only be described as grins of pure, evil glee.

  “That bitch over there with the green eyes is Lola. The one to her right is Brit, and the mouthy piece with the baby blues is Nat. I’m Vivi, by the way. Welcome to The Goldens. We look forward to a long and eventful membership.”

  “Huh?”

  Membership? These woman all look like society misses, rich and so golden—every single one of them is some variation of blonde—and beautiful I feel like a freaking troll just sitting here.

&nbs
p; “Well, duh. You didn’t think we’d withhold membership after hearing that you’ve bagged the great Lucian Jasper, did you! Good God, woman, we’ve been harassing Cam to bring you along for weeks. Now, sit down and tell your sisters what that big mean lump of testosterone did to make you so sad.”

  I’ve fallen down the freaking rabbit hole, I think, as I take a seat and watch five avaricious gazes zoom my way, their attention so absolute I feel like a bug under a microscope.

  Do I really want to sit here and tell a bunch of complete strangers my marriage woes?

  I soon find out, after three margaritas and two tasty ass éclairs, that yes, I really do want to tell them everything and see what they have to say.

  At the very least I’m feeling better than I did an hour ago, even if I’m pretty sure I’m tipsy and halfway to drunk.

  “He just walked out? Are you sure he knew what you were gonna say?” Brit demands, narrowing her eyes at me.

  Or the last éclair on the plate. Those things are damned delicious.

  “Yup. I thought he was gonna dive through the door, he moved so fast. And honestly, what’s so bad about your wife telling you she loves you?” I gripe, shooting my hand out to snatch the dessert right out from beneath their noses.

  Brit glares for all of two seconds before conceding defeat and settles back with her fifth drink. I’m really glad I’m not in a drinking competition with them because damn, these females know how to hold their liquor.

  Vivi snorts so hard she chokes on her drink, and everyone bursts out laughing, as if I’ve said something stupid. I can’t tell, since I’m laughing along with them. I can’t say why.

  Nothing I’ve said or done has even remotely made sense since I sat down to tea with the four mad hatters of Chicago.

  “That’s the dumbest question I ever heard! Of course he ran! All men run when they feel the cold fingers of death at their necks.”

  “Geez, thanks, Viv. And here I thought you were gonna say something nasty,” I huff sarcastically, scowling when they all start laughing again.