by Scott, S. L.
“I woke up, Bennett. I woke up and realized I was in a box with very little air on a private plane, not nice like yours. It didn’t haul people, and it smelled.”
I hold her tighter, my apologies built in every touch. How could she survive that and come out the other side? She did. She is still doing it.
“I found light in the bottom corner and wedged myself, so my mouth was as close to that pinhole as possible, but it hurt too much to stay that way.”
“Winter?” Her eyes look up, and I can finally see the peace she has with me returning. “How did you survive?”
“I begged for my life. The lock was removed, and I was taken to the bathroom to relieve myself as if I hadn’t already. I had no choice. The fear was too great.”
“Was that sick fucker there?”
“No. When I saw the interior of the plane—dirt, grime, other crates—and the men on it, I thought I was going to die.” I wish I could erase that memory. And then I want to kill the men who did this to her. Every last fucking one of them. “They groped me. The harder I fought, the more it entertained them. I remember wondering if they would stop if I gave in, or would they take more. Would they take all of me?”
“What did you do?”
“I continued to fight. I’m too stubborn to give them the pleasure of my death.” A small smirk shines, reaching her eyes. “Fuckers.”
My girl is a beautiful badass. “You’re incredible.”
She sighs, the devious glint in her eyes now gone. “They grabbed me from behind, though, and covered my mouth. I was shoved back into the crate just as I passed out. Four against one. Not great odds.”
“Did they . . .?”
“No. They knew better.”
Stretching her neck to the side, the Winter I know emerges, and she eases off my lap, taking a deep breath. I stay seated, and ask, “What does that mean?”
“I was Kurt’s property. I still might be. I don’t know. What I do know is that nobody touches Kurt’s belongings without paying the price.” She starts looking around and spies the kitchen. “Water?”
“I’ll get it.” We walk into the small sectioned-off space together, and I pull a bottle from the fridge. I twist the cap and give her one while I take another. She’s rattled, the aftereffects of the attack upstairs and her panic attack here wearing off. I drink half my water when she drinks.
Leaning against the counter, she says, “Kurt knew we slept together.”
“How?” I finish the water, trying but struggling to keep my anger controlled. Squeezing the bottle, I crush the plastic in my hand.
Winter pauses and then wraps her hands around mine that’s still holding the bottle. She doesn’t need more worries. I lower my shoulders and keep the fury hidden inside. Predicting it’s safe to proceed, she says, “He followed us and he had photos.”
Photos—Shit. “Of us?” Am I the reason he beat her?
“At the park, not from your room,” she replies as if that’s better. I haven’t asked if he touched her, but I can’t move on without knowing.
“He hit you . . . I’ll never forgive myself for letting you leave that night.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me. Stubborn, remember?”
She’s letting me off the hook, but imagining what she went through, picturing him touching her, hitting her . . . I raise my fist up to punch the wall, but she steps in front of me. “Bennett.”
My fist shakes in the air, my anger needing a release. She reaches up, and as she did before, she embraces my hand and then lowers it. “It’s a concrete wall. I don’t want you to ever feel pain because of Kurt.”
“Too late.”
“No. It’s not. Together, we can fight through this.”
“Together.” Together. I let it sink in. Hearing her say the word, hearing her talk about a future together starts to diminish my hate with her love. I hug her and kiss the top of her head. “Together.”
“I’ve been thinking about that night.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you didn’t chase after me. You were naked, after all. I would have worried about you freezing off your good parts.”
“My good parts?” I laugh. My quirky, funny girl knows how to ease the tension in a room. “Now’s not the time to argue that I have a sparkling personality and a smile that has made you weak in the knees.”
“Very true. You have a talented tongue too.”
“You must be speaking of my conversational skills,” I tease.
“Not at all, though I can credit you there as well.”
She takes my hand and twirls under it. When she stops, she’s facing me again, so I lean down and kiss her neck. “You’re no one’s property. Not ever.”
Her hands were roaming the front of my body, but stop on my shoulders and pull me close. “Not even yours?”
“Not even mine.” Disappointment causes her shoulders to slump. I can’t take seeing her sad. “Don’t doubt how much I care about you. My heart is already yours, and I’ve called you mine, but you’ll always be free.”
“I don’t want to be anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I want to be yours, Bennett.” There’s a plea in her tone, a fear in her eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere, Winter, but—”
“But? Don’t say but. It’s been amazing this last week.”
“A week. Yes,” I reply, rubbing my hand over my jaw once. “I see you in my life, and I want you to be a part of it. But a lot is still unsettled, and we’ll never be free to be together how we want until it is.”
“Kurt?” That fucker won’t be a problem for much longer.
Her father crosses my mind, the truth scraping across my tongue. “And your family.”
She crosses the room and sits on the couch. “I don’t ever want to see either of them again.”
When I sit, I pull her legs across my lap. Rubbing her shins, I say, “I’ll support whatever you decide.”
“I’ve decided.” She smiles. “I’ve never dated anyone like you. You truly support me.”
“That’s the difference between me and those assholes.”
“You have more differences than that.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Touching my cheek, she says, “This face can’t be beat.”
“Tell that to Joey Kendall in the fourth grade.”
That makes her smile. “You, sir, are hands down the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. But it’s not your face that has me falling. It’s your heart. Let me ask you, Monsieur Everest. Is it made of gold or steel?”
“Depends on the day.”
“Today?”
“Steel because I want to protect you like the walls around us.”
“And tomorrow?”
I drag her onto my lap, making her laugh. Holding her waist, I shift her onto her back and lean over her. I kiss her delectable lips once, twice, and then reply, “Gold, because although I’ll never own you, don’t ever doubt that you’re mine.”
29
Winter
Bennett has become so ingrained into my life in such a short time that I think we missed a few steps along the way. Does it matter? Would this happening over months or years bring us closer than we are now? Or have these tragic events linked us inexplicably?
The cogs click as the bolt releases, and the vault door opens. Ethan rushes in with Hutton, their wives running into their arms. I lean my back against Bennett, out of the way.
His hand clasps around mine, and then he leads me to the door, but Hutton stops him. Although he’s still hugging Ally, he holds a hand out. “Thank you.”
“No need.” Bennett glances at me and then shakes his brother’s hand. “We clear?”
“No. We’ll be driven to different locations tonight.”
When Ally steps to the side, Hutton brings Bennett in and pats his back. “Seems you’ve pissed off the wrong people.”
“Or the right ones.” When they step apart, Bennett adds, “I have no
doubt it’s McCoy.”
“Ethan has the team trying to locate him.” An intensity has taken over his features—his eyes darken, his brows pull together, his hands fist. “We’re about to be separated for the night. No calls. They might be traced. Don’t go anywhere unless you’re with Lars, and we’ll meet at a secure site tomorrow.”
We take the stairs down one level and enter the parking garage just as Singer slips into one SUV and Ally with security in tow gets into another. After escorting his wife, Ethan comes back, and asks, “Are you both okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bennett replies.
I nod, my heart pulsing in my throat as the cool air swathes us.
“You saved her,” Ethan says, “You did, little brother.”
“I did what you would do.”
Aaron and Lars appear calm, but they start to herd us toward the vehicles. Before we split up, Ethan adds, “Get to the safe location and I’ll see you tomorrow,” and then gives his brother a hug. “Thank you, Ben.”
“Take care and see you tomorrow.”
Lars moves me to the vehicle with light pressure on the back of my arm. I climb into the large SUV, and Bennett slides in next to me. The doors are shut and locked, and as soon as he climbs in the front passenger seat, we’re off.
“Where are we going?” I ask, tugging at a straggling cuticle.
“I don’t know.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know, Winter. I’ve never been shot at before. I don’t know how this works.” The glass slides up between the front and middle row, giving us privacy.
There’s a growing distance between us despite how close we’re sitting. “I’m sorry.”
The comment surprises him, and he looks at me quizzically. “I’m not mad at you.”
“You have such an incredible family, and because of me, their lives are in danger.”
“Because of you? No. This started before you, remember? Someone tried to kill us this time and stupid enough to attack one of the most secure buildings in Manhattan. Everybody who lives in that building was in danger. So I am mad but not at you.”
“You should be. I’m mad at me.”
“It won’t solve anything, so I’d rather spend the energy fixing this mess than dwelling on it.”
“Why are you always so reasonable? Get mad, Bennett. Get it out,” I shout in the small space.
He takes a deep breath as he turns toward me. “You’re picking a fight with the wrong guy.”
“I’m not picking a fight. Your family could have died tonight, Bennett, and that would be on me.”
“No. A sick fuck fired shots at my home because they’re evil. And that’s not your fault.”
“But your brothers . . . they must want me gone—”
“Why do you hate yourself so much?”
The question smacks me, stinging my heart and stopping my breath. “What are you talking about?”
“This mess was caused because you hate yourself enough to burn everyone who gets near you just to prove you’re right.”
“I don’t do that.” I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window. A memory of my mother comes back, one I haven’t thought of in years.
I hate this bed, the one she’s been left to die in, in the room on the other side of the house. Climbing up on the bed next to her, I look at my pretty mama. “Do I look like you?”
“Do you want to look like me?” she asks with the smile she always gives me. Love.
I nod eagerly. “Daddy says I do.”
“He’s right.” She taps the button of my nose. “You’re going to live a beautiful life, Winter. Promise me that more than anything else, you’ll live and love and learn. Those are the things that make you a survivor. Those are the things that you need to hold on to when you have nothing else.”
. . . The lights outside the vehicle race by as the memory fades into my reality. I lower my head, rub my eyes, and mumble, “How do I hold on to a life when everything else fails me?”
“With a helping hand. We all falter at one time or another.” Bennett’s rich and comforting voice warms me. “We fail. We make mistakes. We learn. We move on.”
His words are so similar to my mom’s. “We live. We love. We learn.” Her words and his meld together. She would have loved him.
Bennett’s phone rings. When he looks down, his head angles, and he turns the screen away from me.
Curious, I ask, “Who is it?”
“It’s . . .” He pauses and lets it go to voicemail. When his eyes reach me, he says, “It was your father.”
“What? Why would he be calling?”
“I don’t know.”
“He knows I’m back. I have no doubt he’s working with Kurt.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I add, “I wonder if he’s in on the attack.”
“Sadly, I think we both know the answer to that. Do you want me to listen to the message?”
“It’s your phone.”
He turns away, directing his gaze out the window, and holds the phone to his ear. It’s the longest thirty seconds of my life. Traffic in Midtown Manhattan during rush hour is faster. An indecipherable mumble follows when he pulls the phone from his ear.
“What did he say?”
“He knows you’re back.”
“No surprise there,” I reply sarcastically and roll my eyes. “What else?”
“He said he’s leaving a box of your mom’s things with the doorman.” Now I sit up, interested. Very interested. “If you don’t pick it up tonight, he’s throwing it in the trash tomorrow.”
“What’s in it?”
“He didn’t say specifically. Just said it’s your mother’s stuff.”
I grab his arm. “We have to get it.”
“We’re not getting it.”
Releasing him, I say, “Bennett—”
“No.”
“I can go if I want.”
“Yes, you can, but I’m begging you not to, Winter.”
“It’s my mother’s belongings.”
“It could be a trap.” Shrinking back to my side of the SUV, I stare at him in disbelief. He reaches over and touches my leg. “Don’t go.”
“But—”
“Please. Please, Winter.” His eyes plead with mine as he leans forward with his head lowered. “I almost lost you today. I can’t take this chance.”
The pain in his voice makes me want to soothe his concern. That I’m causing that pain breaks my heart. “I’m sorry.” I reach for my neck and rub. “I know I should let it go. It’s just stuff. It was a dumb thought. I just . . . I don’t have my mother’s necklace anymore because I left it in Paris. This box might be the only thing I ever have of hers again.”
Covering my hand, he studies me. “If he left the box with the doorman, we won’t see him.”
“My father is a manipulative, egotistical asshole, but if it’s a trap, he wouldn’t leave it in the lobby.”
“That’s true, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“He wouldn’t risk anything in the building where he lives.”
“I agree.”
I watch the world pass by outside, trying to figure out what my father even has left of my mom’s. He threw out so much after her death. Why now? Today? I hate asking this of Bennett, but I think it would eventually tear me apart to know things of Mom’s were thrown away instead of me cherishing them forever. “I want it. Doesn’t matter how small or big it is. If it was hers, I want it. I can stay in the car, and we can have the doorman bring the box to me. Please.”
Bennett contemplates that idea for a moment and looks at me, really looks into my eyes. Then he shakes his head at the same time he rolls down the privacy glass. “Lars, we’re making a stop.”
30
Winter
Listening to his steady heartbeats soothes the anxiety trying to cripple my strength.
Live.
Love.
Learn.
Take strength from the man beside you.
> I can do this.
Through the window, I recognize the neighborhood. I lift my head from Bennett’s chest to prepare—mentally and physically—and use his love as armor around me.
Lars says, “I still don’t think this is wise.”
“I’ll be quick, and then we can leave.”
Bennett’s hands go up. “Whoa. Hold on. What happened to the doorman coming to you?”
The vehicle pulls to the curb. Glancing at the building, nothing has changed. Twelve stories. Clear glass with arched windows. Red brick exterior with cream-colored trim. A familiar doorman dressed in teal, still here after all these years. Same as it ever was.
When Fred doesn’t make a move, I pop the locks. “I’ll be fast.”
The privacy glass slowly rolls down. “You’re not going anywhere. Lars can get the box.”
“It’s a box. Right there. I see it on the counter just inside the door.”
He says, “Lars, will you get the—”
“No.”
“This isn’t a time to be stubborn, Winter.”
“Stubborn would be getting it without a conversation.” I can tell he’s not going to be convinced. I look back at the box on the counter. There may only be twenty feet between the damn box and us, but Bennett’s concerns are warranted after the past forty-eight hours. “Fine. Lars can get the box.”
“Would it feel better if I say it? Like you’re still winning?” I hear his amusement in his tone.
“Yes, actually.” I fold my fingers together and straighten my shoulders.
He mumbles, “At least I know what I’m getting into,” then adds, “Lars, will you get the box.”
“Yes.”
Leaning forward, I add, “Thank you, Lars.”
“Stubborn,” Bennett mutters from beside me. I’m okay with it.
We watch as Lars walks inside and talks to Fred. As soon as he puts his hands on it, Fred is quick and pulls the box back.
The elevator doors open, and my father and brother enter the lobby. I shrink, sliding down just a little on the leather seat despite the privacy glass. I’m tapped on the hip. When I turn to Bennett, he says, “They can’t see you. You’re safe inside here.”