Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1)

by Kristina Weaver

  My feet burn with every step up, and I’ve just reached the top, Bee hot on my heels, when we hear the crash of glass and a bellow of rage.

  “He’s coming out the window! Jesus, Sis, what the hell are we going to do?”

  I grab her hand and pull her onto the roof, wincing when the asphalt and loose gravel dig into the soles of my feet.

  “You stupid bitches! There’s nowhere to go up there!”

  No, there isn’t, and as we run, searching for a place to hide in the dark, Bee trips and crashes into me, sending us sprawling and my phone skittering. I’m almost hyperventilating as we scramble up and I start searching for the phone.

  It’s so dark up here, even with the lights from surrounding buildings, that it takes me precious long seconds to find it. Bee grabs my hand and pulls me along just as my fingers close around it, and I realize why she’s almost vibrating with terror.

  Eric is on the roof.

  “Come on, Sis,” she hisses, pulling me to the far left corner and shoving me down behind an HVAC unit, her thin body huddling in beside me.

  I grab my phone and whimper when I see the smashed screen, but I have to try something. It’s our only hope. I press on where I think the call button would be and hope that the thing calls. Somebody. Anybody.

  “I fucking know you’re up here, Bianca! When I get my hands on you—”

  His voice is so close that we both tense. Bee whimpers, and I feel her tears when she buries her face in my shoulder and digs her short nails into the skin of my forearm.

  “We can’t stay here,” I whisper, gathering enough courage to peek out from behind our hiding spot.

  I almost wet myself when I spot him prowling around in the dark, his shadow no more than fifteen feet from where we’re huddling. Our only hope now is to try and skirt this side of the roof and make it to the ladder leading back down. If we can double back without him spotting us.

  Thank God it’s so dark up here, or we’d be done for already.

  “Hello?”

  I hear the faint growl and almost sob my relief when I bring the phone up and realize that I am not hearing things.

  “Vincent.”

  “Dove, what the hell—”

  “Eric. We’re on the roof. He has a gun,” I whisper, breathing in shallow gasps. “Help us.”

  I hear him curse and yell something, but I don’t have time to answer his questions right now.

  “Come on.”

  Bee struggles, trying to slink further back into the corner when I grab her and start pulling her along behind me. I stay crouched and so close to the wall the cold brick scratches at my bare legs.

  We make it to the next unit and stop. We’re both breathing heavily, our breaths leaving white clouds in the air, when I know that we don’t stand a chance.

  “I fucking see you, bitches.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Run,” I hiss, pushing Bee toward the edge and closer to the ladder leading back down.

  She shivers, but clings harder, refusing to leave me alone. Eric hasn’t seen us quite yet, but I know, now that we’ve left cover, he’ll be on us in a heartbeat.

  I pull her behind me and scan the roof, squinting in the dark to ensure that we’re moving in the right direction and that when the time comes, I can shove Bee to safety.

  “Bianca!”

  She pulls me down and huddles into me. We’re halfway to the front left corner and about twenty feet away from the ladder when he sees us. I know that if we stay here like she wants, we’re dead.

  “Come on, Bee!” I yell, grabbing her upper arm to push her, stumbling and crying toward salvation.

  A loud bang explodes on the air, and I push harder, flinching when a shard of gravel shoots up and nicks into my right cheek.

  “He’s shooting at us! He’s going to kill us!” she sobs, stumbling, falling.

  I gasp and grab her back up, panting heavily when we reach the ladder.

  “Go!”

  Bee swings over and grabs on.

  “You stupid bitch.”

  She’s screaming and clinging to my hand when I feel a fist wrap around my hair and pull, wrenching me back into a solid, sweating body. The pain blindsides me, and I scream, yelling out curses and flailing when he jerks up, pulling me off my feet by my hair.

  There’s no choice but to let go of Bee’s clutching grasp.

  “Sissy!”

  “Run, Bee! Call the fucking cops!”

  My eyes are stinging from the pain in my scalp and the rancid stink of his breath hitting the right side of my face, and I retch, feeling stark terror take hold of me.

  “You’ve ruined my life, little Sissy.”

  The gun kisses my temple, digging in, burning me with the heat from his previous shot. He’s going to kill me. I know it, and…there’s nothing to say that will possibly change it, so I reach back and claw at his face, feeling his skin come off and lodge beneath my nails.

  Eric screams and releases my hair, but not before he spins me around and backhands me across the face, so hard I go crashing to the ground, black spots of pain swimming in my vision.

  “I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago, you silly bitch,” he snarls, clutching at the bloody grooves. “Bianca doesn’t need a ball buster like you putting thoughts in her head. You’re a menace.”

  I laugh, swiping at the blood dripping from my split bottom lip.

  “That’s rich, coming from you. I never told her she’s fat and stupid; you did. No wonder you held onto her so tight. No other woman would take you.”

  Pissing off the guy holding the gun is not one of my better ideas, but I can’t—no, I refuse to just lie here and let him shoot me. This guy…he’s gone nuts, and nothing I say now can possibly save me, so I might as well get a few good hits in while I still can.

  I see anger contort his once handsome face and come up onto my elbows, scuttling back away from him. He points the gun directly at me and follows, smiling so coldly I feel my heart stutter a beat before it starts racing wildly.

  “All I wanted was my job and Bee. That’s all I wanted…and you took her from me.”

  That lonely whisper brings tears of pity to my eyes because, as Bee had said, Eric is not a bad person, he’s just simply lost his way. The fact that he blames me for his failed relationship tells me loud and clear how far he’s fallen, and I almost want to comfort him for the loss I see lining his pale face.

  “Eric…you can still—”

  “There’s nothing left!” he yells suddenly, landing a kick to my ribs. “You fucking told her to leave me, and then that boyfriend of yours took away my job! If he hadn’t…I could have convinced her to take me back.”

  The pain in my ribs doubles me over, and I dry heave into the gravel, coming to my hands and knees in a desperate attempt to get away. Eric lands another kick, this one hitting me in the small of the back to send me sprawling face down.

  “Where you going, bitch?”

  I hear it then, that sing-song quality that tells me he’s gone from pure anger to enjoyment as I roll over in pain and lay panting, defeated by his cruelty.

  “You think I’ll let you off this roof alive? Bianca’s already gone. She’s gonna call the cops, and I’m as good as dead. I might as well just do this thing. At least I won’t be the only one losing.”

  My mind races, and for some reason, I think about Vincent and his brush off. And the meeting that I’ll never get to tomorrow. I want so badly just to see him one more time that I almost sob with regret.

  I know now that, despite the short time and his evasions, his reluctance to let me get to know him, I’ve fallen into that place that’s not quite love, but close enough to regret not getting any further.

  If we’d had just half a chance, I know that I would be head over heels for the guy. As it is, I’m enough of a sap to be seeing his face before I die.

  “Please, please don’t do this,” I beg, puffing wildly as I stare up at him and the barrel of the gun. “We were frien
ds. I danced at your parents’ anniversary party and helped you clean up afterward. I held your hand in the emergency room when Bee fell on the ice and broke her foot. We’re friends.”

  His hand wavers for the briefest second, giving me hope, enough hope to pull air into my oxygen-starved lungs. He pauses and looks down at me, seeming to consider my plea, and I lie frozen, waiting, praying that he’s reliving the good times we all had. The laughter. Sharing pizza and beer while he yells at the basketball game on the tube.

  Please, God, just help me. If he pulls that trigger it will kill Bee. And Mama and Daddy.

  We stay that way for precious seconds, me frozen and praying, him staring at me dazedly, as if he’s seeing every happy time we’ve shared. Just when I think he’s going to lower the gun and let me go I hear the sound of wailing sirens and groan, crying silently when he stiffens and gets the nastiest look on his face.

  He’s on me in the next second, and I cry out, feeling my eyebrow split and gush a stream of blood into my eye when the butt of the gun hits me.

  “You’re a lying whore just like her! I loved her! And she threw me away like garbage because you couldn’t keep your nose where it belongs,” he rages, grabbing me by the throat and squeezing till I thrash for air. “My only regret is that I can’t take that bitch with us.”

  I know in that instant: I’m going to die.

  He lowers the gun and shoves it directly into my forehead, the barrel digging into the skin between my eyes. I close them, feeling tears of terror leaking out, and can’t help a gasping plea.

  “Please.”

  I’m fully prepared now, ready to die, when I hear a thump and feel the weight leave me along with the pressure at my throat.

  “You piece of shit! You touch what’s mine!”

  I’m dragging in big gulps of air as I roll to the left and open my eyes, shocked when I see Vincent pounding the ever loving hell out of Eric. The gun is somewhere to their left, near enough that I see Eric’s hand stretch out amid the pounding his head is taking on the gravel, and curl.

  “He’s got a gun!”

  At my croaked warning Vincent deflects just in time, but gets coldcocked by a right hook that sends him sprawling. Eric rolls and staggers to his feet, weaving, his face a mass of blood and quickly purpling bruises.

  The relief I feel at this last hour salvation dies a quick death when he smiles savagely and points the gun back at me.

  “No!”

  What happens next should be over in the blink of an eye, but I see it all as if in slow motion. Vincent is up and running, his big body slamming into Eric’s, pushing forward, gaining momentum till they’re carried to the edge of the roof.

  “Vincent!”

  My heart almost stops completely when they slam into the edge, but I am saved from desolation when he twists at the last minute and throws himself to the side.

  A bloodcurdling scream fills the air a moment before a sickening thud reverberates around us, and I realize that Eric has gone over.

  The shock and overwhelming relief to be alive, that Vincent is still alive, overtakes my overtaxed senses, and I collapse back to the asphalt, feeling the freezing air for the first time since leaving my bed.

  “Dove! Jesus. Dove, look at me!”

  I’m in his arms a moment later, and I feel great, effervescent with thankfulness even as my nerves protest his tight embrace and the sensation of his lips mashing down on my bloody mouth.

  “I thought, Jesus, I could hear everything through the phone on the way here. I didn’t think I’d make it.”

  Me either, I think, kissing him back despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood filling our mouths. I thought I’d never see him again, and now that I am, I feel like sobbing with joy.

  He’s here. He saved me.

  “You did.”

  It’s all I can say before great shudders of pain and shock wrack me. Police start streaming onto the roof from the access door to the right, and I hear them shouting and cursing.

  “I’m not wearing any pants.”

  So strange to think of something so silly at a time like this, but I’m modest by nature, and I can’t stand the thought of being on display for half of the NYPD. I’m immensely grateful when he lowers me to the ground and whips his sweater off, laying it over my frozen limbs.

  “I don’t think I’ll make that meeting tomorrow,” I say brokenly as he leans over me and cradles my face gently.

  He smiles softly, his green eyes suspiciously shiny, and presses a kiss to my nose.

  “Not to worry, dove. I think it’s safe to say I’ll come to you,” he croons, laying a shaking hand to my uninjured cheek.

  “Bee—”

  “Is just fine, dove. I’ve got you now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Those words give me the release I need, and I give in to the temptation to close my eyes and drift off, warm and secure in the arms of my lover.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wake in the hospital, feeling groggy and out of sorts. My mouth is dry and throbbing, and when I open my eyes it takes me a second to realize that my vision isn’t damaged so much as one of my eyes won’t open.

  Goddamned Eric. I hope that asshole gets locked in a jail cell with Attila the Hun’s brother Killer. Or maybe not. I still feel sorry for him, especially when I remember the sorrow I’d seen when he’d spoken of Bee.

  He’d looked so broken and lost—

  But he would have killed her too, Sissy, remember? He said so just before he shoved that gun between your eyes.

  I feel slightly better and turn my head, groaning at the lance of pain that shoots through it and sets up shop somewhere in my frontal lobe. I’ve never been attacked before—my daddy is way too protective and mean for that shit to have ever happened—and I highly recommend avoiding it.

  It’s laughable how women in the movies get beat up and walk away from it so easily. I feel like a tank took a long, slow ride over every part of my body.

  “Ssh, don’t move so much. You’ll rip your stitches,” I hear from my right, and I turn my head to see Vincent rising from a little plastic chair.

  He’s beside me in a heartbeat and cradling my face. It feels ten times its normal size and throbs like it’s got its own heartbeat. Man, I must look like Frankenstein’s monster.

  “Vincent?”

  “Ssh dove, everything’s all right. You’re in the hospital, and you’re…just fine,” he says calmly, though I see he’s upset in the way his fists clench before his hands unfurl to stroke my face.

  “Water. Please,” I rasp, feeling my tongue lodge and stick to the roof of my mouth.

  He grabs a cup and holds it to my mouth, cradling my head gently as I sip desperately at the icy cold liquid. Someone must have made sure to add ice, because hospital water is usually tepid and tastes of corpses.

  “Thanks.”

  My throat hurts, reminding me of Eric’s beefy paws and the unholy power of his grip, those clawlike fingers as they’d choked me nigh to death.

  It’s silly, but I feel just as afraid for a split second as I did when it had happened, and I hear a frantic beeping.

  “Calm, dove. There you go, nice, steady breaths,” Vincent croons, stroking my hair until I’ve managed to get control of myself.

  I look over and realize I’m hooked up to one of those heart rate monitor things and that every time I have an episode he’ll hear it. I grab onto the wires attached to my chest and pull, ripping them away.

  “Hey, no, dove—”

  “Vincent, I appreciate your concern here, seriously I do, but if you don’t let me get out of bed for a shower I’m gonna have a fit,” I say, distracting both him and myself.

  It’s true, I need a shower to wash away the horror I still feel crawling over my skin, and I know Vincent: if I don’t give him something to focus on right now, he’ll go all heavy on me.

  I can’t deal with that right now, not and stay sane with the thoughts bombarding me.

  “No. The nu
rses gave you a sponge bath already, and I combed your hair while you were sleeping. What we need to do right now is talk about—”

  Ew, the thought of some stranger touching my junk makes me sick, but the thought of talking about what had happened…even worse.

  “I don’t—”

  “He got away, dove,” he interrupts, giving me a hard look that tells me to shut up and listen. “He fell onto the fire escape, and by the time the police got there he was gone. That animal is running around, free, at this very moment, so I need you to talk to me.”

  Everything inside me shudders to a stop, and I feel something eerily similar to hysteria bubble up my throat.

  “But…I heard him fall. How didn’t he die?” I rasp.

  Uncharitable, Sissy. No one deserves to die that way, and you know it.

  Yeah, but at this point in time, with my face looking like hamburger meat and beating like a drum, I don’t care. If he’s out there and armed…

  “You need to call Jeffrey Parker and tell him to get Bee. She’s not safe—”

  Vincent calms me by laying a gentle finger to my lips and stroking my hair, his eyes so somber they’re a dark, forest green.

  “I already did. Her parents flew in this morning and have her surrounded by bodyguards. Jeff has taken it upon himself to hire help and is currently scouring the city, along with my own men. Don’t fret, dove, we’ll find him before he can do more damage.”

  “He’s gone crazy, Vincent… Did you really get him fired?” I ask, remembering Eric’s accusations.

  This whole mess had started when he’d lost his job, and while I appreciate Vincent going to bat for Bee, I can’t help but think this could have all been avoided if he hadn’t gotten involved.

  “Yes. I called Barney Smythe. He’s an old friend. The man was reaching the end of his rope with Brennan’s behaviour around the women in his office… He was going to get fired anyway, dove, so don’t you look at me that way,” he warns.

  My face reddens, throbbing more with the introduction of more blood to the sensitive tissues, and I duck my head, fighting back tears.