Wicked Torture

by J. Kenner

  "You're welcome."

  We walk for a while longer, until I realize that we're not heading toward his car. "Where are we going?"

  "Right here," he says, as we reach the corner of Brazos and Sixth. Across the street, the Driskill Hotel stands, proud and lovely.

  "Oh." A shiver runs through me, but it's anticipation, not fear. I move closer and slide my arms around his waist. "Noah, I--well, wouldn't you rather go to your place?"

  He pulls me close, his strong arms holding me tight against him. "Baby, no. I'm putting you in an Uber."

  "What?" I push away, confused.

  "I've already called for one. I've had too much to drink to drive you home. I'm just going to leave my car where it is and walk."

  "Don't you--I mean--"

  I shake my head, confused. I'd been certain he was taking me to a hotel room. I thought he wanted--well, I thought he wanted what I want.

  Because I do. Right now, I really want to sleep with this man.

  "I can go home with you," I say softly. "I'd like to."

  He strokes my hair, his focus on my face. "I'd like nothing more," he says. "But the answer is no."

  I start to protest, but he presses a finger against my lips.

  "I want you, Kiki. Make no mistake about that. I want you so badly, I ache. But I want all of you, and so I made up my mind. I'm not sleeping with you unless there's more than just sex between us.

  "I don't want to be friends with benefits," he continues. "So I'm telling you right now, Kiki, I want more. I want it all. And I'm not a man who settles. Not anymore."

  A white Toyota with an Uber placard pulls up, and Noah bends to press a kiss to my forehead. "Your chariot," he says, while I continue to stand mute, overwhelmed by everything he's just said. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

  17

  Noah glanced at his watch. Two minutes past nine. Which was exactly two minutes later than the last time he'd looked.

  And Kiki still wasn't there.

  He'd been disappointed to find her office dark when he'd gone early for coffee and pastries, but he'd assumed she slept in. After all, he'd considered doing that very thing, but the allure of seeing her had forced him out of bed and into the kitchen, where four ibuprofens and three cups of coffee had reduced his hangover to a dull throb.

  But now his disappointment had turned to worry. He grabbed his phone and called Maia's extension. "Anything?"

  "Not in the last fifteen minutes," she said, referring to his previous call. But she didn't sound irritated. On the contrary, she sounded concerned, too. "Hang on," she continued. "We have each other's logon information. I can track her phone."

  "Good." He'd intended to do that himself through a few back doors he still had access to from his Deliverance days. He tapped his fingers while he waited for Maia to report back.

  There'd been a few moments when he'd worried that he'd pushed Kiki away last night. That by putting her in the Uber and sending her home, he'd made her rethink their connection and where they might be going personally.

  Or, worse, that he'd embarrassed or pissed her off.

  None of which were good scenarios, but they were possibilities that he could handle. That they could handle. And the moment she arrived in the office, he'd intended to push work aside, sit her down, and have a serious conversation.

  That, however, was no longer the nature of his fear. And as he paced in front of his office window, his mind filled with dark images of twisted metal and broken bones and blood spattered on concrete.

  Oh, dear God, no . . .

  "Noah?" He'd never heard such a tentative tone in Maia's voice.

  "Tell me." He stood stiff, steeling himself against bad news.

  "I don't know," she said. "It says her phone's turned off. The last recorded location is South Lamar and Oltorf."

  "That's the route she likes to take to downtown," he said. "Down Lamar toward the river."

  "Do you think--"

  "Mr. Carter?" Carina burst into his office, her face flushed. "Ms. Porter's brother is on line two."

  "Maia, I--"

  "Yes, go! Call me back."

  He pushed the button to switch lines. "What happened? Where is she?"

  "She's fine," Cam said. "Banged up, but fine. I'm with her. She's in the ER at Dell," he said, referring to the still-new teaching hospital by the University of Texas campus.

  "I tried to call."

  "Yeah, well, her phone's in pieces. I'm listed as her emergency contact. Do you want me to--"

  "I'll be right there."

  "She'll probably be released in a few hours. It's okay. You--"

  "I said, I'd be right there."

  There was a pause, then Cam said, "Text me when you get here, and I'll tell you how to find us."

  Noah scribbled Cam's number, said he'd be there soon, then barked orders at Carina to fill Maia in.

  Then he sprinted to the elevator and grabbed a cab at the hotel across the street, because no way was he wasting time going back to his condo for his car.

  Downtown abutted the Capital grounds, which bordered on the University, so it didn't take long for him to get to the hospital. He followed Cam's directions and found himself at the nurse's station in the emergency room.

  "Kiki Porter," he said, breathless and worried, despite Cam's reassurance that she was fine.

  "Noah!"

  Cam hurried over before the nurse had finished looking up Kiki's bed number. "She said to tell you that she's okay, and that you're an idiot for leaving the office when there's so much work to be done."

  "Screw that," Noah said as they walked the length of curtained ER bays.

  "To which I'll reply that I'm sorry if I ripped into you too hard yesterday. As of this moment, you're okay in my book." They paused in front of the curtains surrounding bed number nine. "So don't fuck it up."

  "Promise."

  Cam nodded, then pulled back the curtain, which clanked as it opened, revealing Kiki's bruised face and embarrassed smile.

  Noah grabbed the steel post that formed part of the curtain's railing. He'd been doing fine, but on seeing her, his knees suddenly turned to jelly, and it took all of his effort to stand up and not look like he was gutted.

  Because he was.

  He hadn't realized it--hadn't let himself feel it--but now that he knew she was safe, it all rushed over him. The realization that he'd come close to losing her a second time. And the certainty that this time, he wouldn't have survived.

  "The other guy looks worse," she mumbled, breaking the spell. Her smile was wobbly and her eyes glazed, but she was looking straight at him, as if she understood. "He should. Bastard. It was his fault and he--"

  She stopped, her head tilted as she looked at him.

  "What?"

  She exhaled. "Wow," she breathed. "You look so good." She held out her hand and he took it, then she smiled at Cam. "I told you, right? Why he's special?"

  "Kiki." Noah could barely get her name out past the lump of emotions swelling in his chest. Christ, he needed to get a grip. She needed him to be strong. In control.

  "You did," Cam said, shooting Noah a small, amused smile.

  She looked at both men. "I'm a little loopy."

  His laugh was a relief. "No, really?"

  She turned her head, then blinked, obviously trying to focus on Cam. "Now go. Shoo. Time to leave."

  "I have a presentation to my advisor in two hours," Cam explained to Noah. "But I've already explained that he'll cut me some slack."

  "It's okay," Noah said. "I'll take care of her."

  Cam hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

  "Your advisor might cut you some slack, but the rest of the department might not. And I've got this. I'm not leaving until Kiki does, and then she's coming home with me."

  "I have a house," she protested, and Noah ignored her.

  "I'll text you the elevator code," Noah told Cam. "You can come see her anytime tonight. Seriously. Go."

  "Go," Kiki said. "Don't scr
ew up college because I'm all banged up."

  "A concussion," Cam corrected. He turned to face Noah. "The doctor said he'd release her so long as someone stayed with her and woke her up throughout the night."

  "Done."

  He looked over to Kiki, certain she was going to argue . . . only to find that she'd drifted off to sleep. He moved to her side, then stroked her hair, his heart twisting. He hated feeling this helpless, this worried.

  He might not be able to fix her injuries, but he decided right then and there that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that she never left his side again.

  18

  "Hey. There she is." Noah's soft voice drifts over me as I force my reluctant eyes to open. "How do you feel?"

  I take stock of my body and answer honestly. "Like someone shoved me into an oil barrel and then dropped me from the top of the tower at UT."

  "In other words, mild discomfort," he teases, and I hear the relief in his voice. The worry, however, remains in his eyes. He's sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, and he starts to rise as he speaks. "I have your prescription. Let me get you a pill and some water."

  "No, that's okay." I'm tired of being drugged up. The entire day is either missing or a blur, and I use my hand to try to push myself up, but I'm too stiff and sore.

  "No," he says. "Don't even think about it. Sit back. Relax. Whatever you need done, I can take care of it."

  I make a face. "I need to go to the bathroom."

  To his credit, he doesn't even crack a smile. "Except that." He shifts, getting his arm around me. "Come on, let's get you up."

  He's sweet and gentle, and though I can walk fine--stiff, but fine--he stays with me in case I fall, and then is waiting to walk me back to the bed. I'd inspected myself in the bathroom mirror, and now when I see him, I wince.

  "Pain?"

  "Just the mental pain of knowing that you're seeing me looking like this." The left side of my face is covered in such a variety of colors I could open my own Sephora. I can't even think about my hair, which is a tangled, unwashed mess. And while my swollen lower lip may be all the rage, I don't think the pouty-lipped look is supposed to feature a scabbed-over laceration that bleeds when I smile.

  Noah's looking at me like I'm insane, and I lift a shoulder in a shrug, wincing again as I do.

  "You're beautiful," he says, with so much sincerity I almost believe him. "Come on."

  He leads me back to bed, then tucks me in. "Do you want soup?"

  "No, I'm okay."

  "Thank God, you are." He gently brushes my hair back, and I lean back against the pillows and sigh, moved by his tenderness and his attention.

  "And fair warning, those pills knock you out, and you need more sleep. I'm going to make you take it soon."

  "If I get any more sleep, I'll beat out Rip Van Winkle. What time is it, anyway?"

  "After midnight."

  Surprise rocks me. "Seriously? I slept all day and this late at night?"

  He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. "I take it back. No more drugs for you."

  "Why? What did I say?"

  "I've been waking you up about every two hours. You don't remember?"

  I think about it, but there's just a big blank. "Nothing."

  His green eyes sparkle with mischief. "Such an opportunity and I didn't even know it."

  I cross my arms over my chest and try to look affronted. "If you're thinking you could have had your wicked way with me, then you should know that I prefer to be awake for sexy hijinks."

  I'm teasing, but as soon as I say the words, I blush. I remember all too well that I came on to him just the other night. And, I remember that he turned me down--in the absolute sweetest of ways.

  "I'll keep that in mind," he says, with so much intensity that I blush all over again. "By the way, Ares called. He said to tell you he'll call again tomorrow."

  "Did he need to talk to me about his show?" He's got the staging and song order down pat, but for the last two weeks, he's been running tweaks by me.

  "Just checking in to see how you're feeling."

  "Oh." I wait a second while my fuzzy brain processes that. "Did Cam call him?"

  "I did. I got his number from Maia. I thought he'd want to know."

  "I can't believe you thought of that. Thank you." I blink, and a tear trails down my cheek. I wipe it away, embarrassed. "Do you have any idea how much I love you right now?"

  His eyes widen, and I realize what I've just said.

  "I mean, you've been so sweet, taking care of me, and all." I'm trying to cover, even though the truth is that I am falling for him all over again. But I'm not ready to say it out loud, because I'm not ready to risk my heart. "All I've been doing is sleeping--you're the one shouldering everything. Hell, I don't even remember the accident."

  He shudders, then reaches for his phone on the bedside table. "A witness sent the responding officer pictures of the scene. He forwarded it to you for insurance." His voice is flat, so tightly controlled it's almost emotionless. "Cam brought your laptop over a few hours ago, and he forwarded the pictures to my phone."

  "Bad?" I honestly don't remember, but I can tell from his posture and his voice that it's not just bad, but very bad.

  He doesn't answer. Instead, he passes me his phone. There are five pictures, each worse than the one before. The front of my Honda is completely crumpled, and the driver's side door is practically turned inside out.

  I feel sick. Because looking at these pictures, I have no idea how I got out of that car alive.

  "You slammed into the side window as it shattered, they think. And thank God you had airbags."

  "He ran the light," I say, flinching as the memory breaks over me. "I was in the intersection, and . . ." I trail off, shuddering, then gasp with surprise when he pushes himself violently off the bed and slams his fist into the half wall that separates this area from the rest of the studio.

  "Noah!"

  "I'm sorry," he says, his back to me, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

  "I'm sorry," he repeats, and I watch as his posture straightens and he turns to face me. I see the struggle play out over his features, his green eyes haunted.

  "What are you sorry for?"

  "For this." He indicates himself. "For losing my shit like that. But Kiki . . ." He trails off, then sits at the foot of the bed and scrubs his hands over his face. He looks tortured, and I hug myself, because I know that I'm the reason.

  "I'm fine," I say gently. "It was a horrible wreck, but I'm fine."

  "I could have lost you." His voice breaks, and the pain I hear humbles me.

  "You didn't." I take his hand and hold it tight. "I'm right here."

  His eyes meet mine, and in that moment I regret stumbling backward from my declaration of love. Because it's love that I see in his eyes right now.

  "This is twice now that you've proved to be a miracle," he whispers, lifting my hand and gently kissing it.

  "What do you mean?" I shift against the pillows, wincing a little.

  He frowns. "I'm getting your pill now, whether you like it or not."

  I nod in acquiescence, and he heads into the kitchen. Since it's a studio, it's easy enough to hear him.

  "I mean that I lost you in Los Angeles, and found you here. Miracle One. And you walked away from that accident with no broken bones or serious injuries. Miracle Two."

  "Lost me?" I don't mean to sound snippy, but I can't help it.

  He returns with my pills and my drink, and I swallow them reluctantly.

  "No, you're right," he says. "I didn't lose you. I tossed you away. God, I was so fucking lost back then." He draws a breath. "I've been drowning in guilt for almost ten years now. Guilt that I hurt you, yes. But more than that, guilt that I married Darla. That I stayed with her."

  "Because of me?"

  "Because she's dead," he snaps, then curses. He draws a breath, and when he speaks again the words come more slowly. Almost eerily slow. "Because if I'd
followed my heart--you--then she and Diana would still be alive."

  It takes me a moment to follow that chain of reasoning, but when I do, I see where it leads. To Mexico. To anonymous kidnappers. And to a crime that never would have happened had Noah not taken his family on that trip.

  "That's not your fault."

  "I know that. As far as facts and rational thought go, I'm one hundred percent with you. But in here?" He presses a hand over his heart. "In here, I killed them myself."

  "Noah, no . . ." I don't know what to say. How to make him not feel what he feels. "You can't keep punishing yourself."

  "No? I'm doing a remarkable job. Or I was. Then I came here, and I started to heal. I'm not sure if it was the passage of time or closure with Darla's official death declaration or getting out of LA. Whatever it was, this city was working its magic. I was healing."

  "I'm glad," I say truthfully. "But why . . .?"

  I trail off.

  "Why, what?"

  I hesitate, not sure if my question is one to which I truly want an answer. But this may be my only chance to ask him. And even if the answer hurts, I want to know. "Why didn't you come to me after the kidnapping? Was I already so far out of your heart?"

  His eyes go wide. "Have you been listening to some other conversation? You never left my heart."

  "Then, why?"

  "How could I do that to you? 'Hi, I love you, I left you, but now I'm back because of a horrible tragedy'?"

  "We could have worked through it. Or maybe we couldn't have. But didn't we deserve a chance?"

  He drags his hand through his hair. "I don't know. I can look back and see so many possible paths now, but then? Back then I only saw my guilt. And I loved you too damn much to foist that on you. The man you'd fallen in love with was happy. Ambitious. But the guy who returned? Well, he was broken." He meets my eyes. "In a lot of ways he still is."

  "Do you think that scares me?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it should. But I hope it doesn't, because everything changed for me the day I walked away from a blind date and into The Fix. Because there you were, singing a song about lost love."

  I blink as tears prick my eye.

  He strokes my right, unbruised cheek, the gentle touch as potent as a kiss. "Like I said, a miracle."

  I reach up and press my hand lightly over his, holding his hand against my face. I want so much right now, and yet I don't even know how to put my feelings into words, especially now that the drugs are kicking in and the room is starting to tilt as my eyelids get heavier and heavier.