Shayla Black - [Wicked Lovers 01]

by Wicked Ties

  Fine. She was going to be fine. That’s all that mattered.

  “Merci Dieu.” He let out a ragged breath.

  Deke spoke up. “It’s a flesh wound. Bullet entered and exited cleanly, just below her collarbone. They’ve stopped the bleeding. They came and asked if any friends or family are AB positive and could give her blood.” He shrugged an apology. “I’m B negative, man. Rare, but the wrong type of rare. Sorry. I need a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  Jack shook his head.

  Shit, he couldn’t even help Morgan in this. He hated feeling so damn helpless. “I’m A positive.”

  As Deke left the room, Brandon shucked his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeve. “I’m AB positive. I just told them I’ll give. They’re coming to get me in a few minutes.”

  A huge stroke of luck that Brandon had Morgan’s rare blood type. Jack choked on a million replies that sprang to his tongue. He settled on the only one that would do for now. “Thank you.”

  “I care about Morgan, too. It’s nothing.”

  It was everything to Jack. Brandon donating meant Jack had a shot at a future, even if Morgan never spoke to him again. Just knowing she was alive and well would sustain him.

  In fact, Morgan’s injury had made him realize a thing or two. Namely, that this vendetta he’d carried had both nearly made him and nearly destroyed him. It had to end. It was time to ensure this sort of shit never happened again. Time give Brandon back his life.

  And to free himself.

  Stumbling to his feet, Jack reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a videotape. In an old package with a tattered white cardboard cover, it hung heavy in his hand.

  “Here.” He held it out to Brandon.

  “What is this?” Brandon raised puzzled blue eyes to him.

  “You know damn well what it is. I had this one in my office, which is right around the corner. I’ve got the spare in a safe-deposit box. I’ll get it back to you next week. It’s time I gave them to you.”

  Recognition dawned across Brandon’s face. “The video with Kayla? No more threatening to blackmail me if I run for office?”

  “No more,” Jack answered tightly, then turned to sit.

  “Seriously?” Brandon grabbed the arm of his coat. “Why? Why now?”

  Jack faced his nemesis, his old friend, again. “Falling for Morgan proved to me real quick that self-control is just a high-minded ideal. You loved Kayla, and when my pride wouldn’t let her go, despite her asking for a divorce, you claimed her the only way you could. In your shoes . . . I might have done the same.”

  “I loved her. She broke my fucking heart.” Brandon’s monotone reply revealed that he’d never recovered from Kayla.

  For the first time in his life, Jack could understand that hit-by-a-Mack-truck feeling.

  “I’m going to lose Morgan over this revenge,” Jack muttered, raking tense hands through his hair. “Over something I should have let go of years ago. And if she rides off into the sunset to marry you, I don’t want her to have any other reason to hate me. Just . . . take care of her.”

  Brandon rubbed at an apparent pain between his eyebrows and smiled with bitter irony. “I will, but I’m not going to marry her. Jack, she’s not my fiancée, and I’ve never touched her in my life. She’s my half sister.”

  If Brandon had said he was really a two-headed rhino in disguise, Jack couldn’t have been any more stunned. “Sister?”

  With a tight nod, Brandon began, “This can’t leave the room. You’ve always been a man of your word . . . even when I haven’t been.”

  “Your secret is safe.”

  “Thanks.” Brandon sighed, stood, and paced. “My father impregnated her mother when she worked for him as a barely legal intern. He paid her handsomely to go away and never mention his name to anyone, not even to Morgan.

  “About three years ago, when my father first started talking about a bid for the White House, he hired a consultant, who told him to dig out every skeleton in his closet and bury it even deeper. My father came clean to me about Morgan. I looked her up on his orders, with the intent to pay her off. But I liked her too much to give up being her brother. We kept in touch, saw each other. I was there when she taped her first show.”

  A smile lifted the corners of Brandon’s mouth for a moment, before he turned pensive again. “When this business with the stalker started, I tried to help her. But protecting her from Houston became impossible, and when the asshole masturbated on her bed, I told her to come stay with me. We floated the story that she was my fiancée as a cover, since I couldn’t tell anyone the truth.”

  And Jack had believed the lie, believed Morgan was his fiancée, then pursued her all the way to submission because of it.

  Life was going to hurt like hell without her, but he couldn’t be sorry he’d had her for a brief time. She clearly wasn’t going to marry Brandon . . . but he also doubted she’d speak to him again.

  “Bet having Morgan with you pissed your father off.”

  “You have no idea.” Brandon’s bitter smile spoke volumes. “Anyway, I was terrified when I got orders to go to Iraq for a three-week assignment. I knew she was alone and vulnerable. It even crossed my mind to call you, since you’re the best damn bodyguard in the business.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t give you that sort of power over me. It never occurred to me that you were waiting for me to get engaged to get your revenge.”

  “For three years, yes. I wasn’t going to give up.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Brandon admitted quietly. “I’m just glad that I only got as far as a debriefing in D.C. before the trip was postponed. I hope we’re settled once and for all.”

  “We are.” Jack sighed. “Thanks for the truth.”

  Silence descended. Jack stared at Morgan hard—as if he could will her awake.

  She never moved a muscle.

  “Is she being sedated?”

  “I’m assuming so. She was awake about ten minutes ago, but now . . .”

  Tension and hope gripped Jack’s gut. “Did she say anything?”

  “No. She just looked around, saw Deke and me, and shut her eyes again.”

  She hadn’t asked for him. And why should she? Stupid to hope she would. From her point of view, he’d lied, used her, exploited her. Why should she believe that he loved her? And if she’d ever thought she loved him . . . well, his stunning conversation with Brandon earlier today would have cured her of that.

  Losing Morgan wasn’t anything less than he deserved. But the fierce urge to stave off the reality fueled a furious denial. Knowing he’d never touch her again was like a sharp gouge of pain knifing him right between the ribs.

  “That’s for the best, I guess. She won’t feel any pain.”

  “True.”

  And she wouldn’t wake up right now. Even if she did, would she really want him there?

  No. She’d never want him near her again.

  Jack shuffled his boot against the antiseptically clean floor, his chest crushingly tight. “I should go. Tell her . . .”

  What? What the hell could he say to make this any better? It would take a fucking miracle to change her mind, and Jack didn’t think he had any such miracle coming to him.

  In the end, he settled on the simplest. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

  Shoving clenched fists into his stiff jeans, Jack forced himself to turn away from Morgan and walk out of her life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MORGAN paced across the hardwood floor of Brandon’s living room. The surface felt cool beneath her bare feet but didn’t soothe her searing thoughts.

  “You’re going to wear out the floor, little sister.”

  She flipped a gaze at Brandon over her shoulder. “Doubtful.”

  “Okay, then you’re going to wear yourself out. It’s barely been a week since you were shot.”

  “I’ve got to move around or I’m going to get stiff.”

  He sat back on the sofa, legs spread, elbows propped across the back. “I mig
ht buy that if it looked like mere exercise. This is nervous pacing. What’s eating at you?”

  Morgan didn’t answer. Admitting the truth was too painful, made her look too stupid.

  “Nothing,” she finally murmured.

  Brandon rose to his feet, until he towered over her. He’d definitely gotten the tall genes in the family, damn him. She was a midget by Hollywood’s standards.

  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him, effectively ending her agitated waltz across the floor. “I’ve seen you obsess about Turn Me On in the past. What you’re thinking about today has nothing to do with that, though, does it? Reggie has apologized for selling you out. Andrew’s funeral was conducted with a minimum of hype, and the press has no idea where you are. Already the gossip is dying down. You’re healing nicely.” His gentle stare probed. “I can only think of one thing that would make you this crazy right now. Or should I say one person?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You haven’t wanted to talk about Jack since you left the hospital.”

  Morgan closed her eyes. “Don’t say his name.”

  “You’re being stubborn, little sister.”

  “I’m being stubborn?” She poked herself in the chest with an angry finger. “Excuse me, but I didn’t start this shit. He did. But now I’m supposed to live with it.”

  “Live with what, exactly?” Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. “He shot and killed a man who would have ended your life without blinking.”

  That’s it? That’s all he acknowledged? “Yes, he saved me, and I’m grateful. But did you forget the little part where he lied to me and took me to bed to get back at you? He sent you a film clip of—” She gnashed her teeth. “I still can’t believe that. He . . .” How the hell could she put the betrayal into words? “He acted like I meant something. None of that act was true.”

  “I think it was.”

  Morgan felt her jaw drop. “Why are you taking up for him?”

  Brandon shot her a self-deprecating smile. “We used to be friends, until I fucked it up. Jack wasn’t going to divorce Kayla without a good reason. Despite his . . . lifestyle, he was too Catholic. I pushed Kayla. And pushed and pushed. God, I wanted that woman. The one thing I never did was level with Jack and just tell him I was in love with his wife. And that she was in love with me. I just took her, and I didn’t care how wretched he felt because holding her made me feel better. I think he was just repaying the favor, little sister, letting me see how it felt to be on the receiving end. If you should be pissed at anyone, it’s me.”

  “Do you have any idea what he did to me? At all?”

  “I hate to say this, but when I barged into that hotel room, you didn’t look like you were suffering too much.”

  Morgan flushed twenty shades of red, she was sure, from both fury and embarrassment. “It wasn’t the way he touched me.” Though, at times, that had been hard to take, to accept how much she loved it. “It was the way he pretended to care.”

  A sudden knock on the door sent them both turning. Brandon cursed under his breath, then moved to open it.

  “God, I hope it’s not the press,” she muttered. “Vultures.”

  Brandon cracked the door open, only as far as the security chain allowed. “What?”

  No response. The door blocked Morgan’s view, and she could only see Brandon raise his hand to take something from the visitor’s grasp. Then he breathed what looked like a sigh of relief.

  She looked down at the item in his hand. A videotape. The other videotape Jack had promised to bring Brandon?

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  The person on the other side must have nodded. Who was it? Could it be . . . No.

  “Thanks. Do you want to come in?”

  Morgan’s heart started to pound. Oh, God. Maybe . . . Was it Jack? Would Jack come here, after a week of total, devastating silence? Despite his betrayal, she ached for him. Her heart was a hollow, gaping wound in her chest. She strained to hear the sound of his voice late at night when she lay in bed, unable to sleep. And her body nearly vibrated at just the thought of him. She throbbed. Overly sensitive and tight in all the wrong places with the mere remembrance of him . . .

  God, what if he walked through that door now?

  Brandon drew the door back to admit the stranger, but it wasn’t Jack who filled the doorway.

  “Deke . . .” Disappointment stabbed her without mercy.

  “Hi, doll. Don’t look too excited to see me.”

  “I am. I’m sorry.” She did her best to paste on a smile.

  “How you doing?”

  She tried to shrug, then grimaced. Damn, would that shoulder ever stop hurting?

  Yeah, and probably long before her heart did.

  “I’m recovering,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Ready to get a miserable coonass off my back. Want to help me?”

  “With Jack? I doubt there’s anything I can do. He’s made my role in his life perfectly clear.”

  “See, I don’t think he has. Since you left, he snarls and growls and gets drunk, then sleeps it off and starts over the next day. He knows you’re pissed. I told him he’s too chickenshit to see you. He told me—”

  “I can imagine what he said.” Morgan grimaced.

  “It’s not pretty. He needs you.”

  “He needs a beating,” she shot back.

  “If you were dishing it out, he would take it, doll. At least then, you’d be talking to him.”

  Morgan didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to beat the hell out of Jack. He’d made peace with Brandon at the hospital . . . then left her without a single word while believing that she was unconscious. She’d been groggy and far too overwrought to respond—but she’d been awake enough to hear Jack’s every word.

  That kind of crap didn’t put him in the “nice guy” category. Bastard.

  “Forgive me if I don’t give a shit that he’s annoying you and giving himself a daily hangover. It’s the very least he deserves, Deke. I paid for his revenge with my heart and a piece of my soul.”

  “For what it’s worth, so did he.”

  Deke’s words were like a punch to the gut, like poking a stick at a wild animal. “Bullshit.”

  “He loves you. He just has no idea how to win you back and doesn’t think he deserves the chance to try.”

  “At least we agree on something,” she snapped.

  But in her heart, hope surged. Was it possible that he stayed away, not out of disregard but guilt?

  “Just talk to him, doll. You’d be doing me and Grandpa Brice a favor.”

  Morgan hesitated, so damn tempted. “Why should I want to do a favor for the old man who brought me nearly nonexistent lingerie in an underhanded attempt to throw me Jack’s way?”

  “Because he thinks you’re perfect for his grandson. We all do. Even Jack. Pleassseee,” Deke wheedled. “Talk to him. Just once.”

  “Grown men begging.” She rolled her eyes.

  But she feared she wasn’t fooling anyone. The hunger to see Jack gnawed at her composure, her restraint. Yet the fear of getting sucked into his charisma again, of being duped by her own want, of stupidly clinging to him and giving him the power to hurt her again, kept her away.

  Deke shrugged. “Whatever works.”

  “If he wanted to see me that badly, he knows where to find me.”

  “He’s got the Catholic guilt thing down pat, Morgan. He knows he fucked up, and he’s not going to push his love on you.”

  “He doesn’t love me!” she shouted.

  “He does,” Brandon cut in. “He told me himself, in two languages. I’ve never seen Jack care too much about any one person in his life. I had no doubt when I looked at the man that he loves you.”

  Morgan sucked in a sharp breath. Was it possible she meant more to Jack than just a revenge fuck? Had she come to mean more than the means to fueling a vendetta?

  “I can see your thoughts all over your
face, doll. Granted, spending one morning inside you doesn’t make me an expert, but—”

  “I don’t need to hear this.” Brandon grimaced.

  “I’m pretty sure I know where your head is at,” Deke went on. “You aren’t going to get answers by hiding here.”

  She mentally recoiled. First, the son of a bitch had to remind her about that awful, wonderful morning she’d spent squeezed between the two of them as they’d given her the ultimate pleasure. Her ultimate fantasy, despite Jack’s reservations. Then he tells her that she’s being a coward. Lovely.

  She could feel Brandon’s reproving gaze on her, too, and made a mental note to beat Deke’s ass later.

  Shaking her head to clear it, Morgan forced herself to focus. Even if Jack had put his fears aside, so much else had happened.

  A protest leaped to the tip of her tongue. No way, no how, was she going to talk to Jack.

  But . . . damn Deke, he was right. No one had the answers she wanted except Jack.

  “Talk to him.” Deke’s quiet command went straight to her common sense and made mush out of it. “Come with me.”

  Her thoughts were so tangled, so jumbled. But one reality stood out for her: Jack was the strong, shrewd, sexual man her body and mind had been searching for all her life. She could either stay here and hide and always wonder what could have been. Or she could go talk to the man and find out where his avowals of “love” registered on her bullshit meter.

  “Fine. But no promises that I’ll be nice.”

  “None expected.” Deke grinned, those indigo eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Give me ten minutes to get myself together.”

  Deke grinned. “Jack was nursing a bottle of Tennessee whiskey when I left. Better make it five.”

  CLIMBING into Deke’s enormous Hummer for the long ride out to Jack’s swamp cottage in Louisiana, Morgan reflected that, if she didn’t know better, she’d assume Deke had chosen such a vehicle to compensate for a deficit in masculine proportions. But she did know . . .

  Because of Jack. Because he’d granted her that fantasy.

  It seemed silly to turn the events of the last two weeks over and over in her mind. She’d done it a million times. Jack had reeled her in, duped her by tantalizing her with the lure of fantasies she’d always wanted fulfilled. He’d delivered. No disputing that.