Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

The brakes aren’t working.

  Thud. Thud.

  My heart stops working… the third thud never coming as the car crashes into me and I tumble over it. My thigh hits first, my body’s limp, maybe from shock, I’m not sure. It’s all so cold, so sharply violent.

  I know that I tumble over the hood and land on the asphalt, unforgivingly hard. The pain is immediate, but it doesn’t feel real. None of it feels real until I see Delilah standing over me, but looking at something else, someone else, screaming to call an ambulance.

  Seth

  I used to revel in these moments. The talk of the business, the exchange of money. I wanted to know all the ins and outs of every deal. I craved the power of it all.

  But as I sit in this room, Carter’s office in the Cross brothers’ estate, I can’t stand to be here.

  My thumb keeps tapping on the hardwood armrest of the walnut chair. My mind keeps racing. I imagine this is what men look like when they have something to hide. Exactly what I look like now. And ever since that warehouse meeting, it’s been getting worse and worse. Every day, I break down more as I come to terms with it. If only I could tell them, but Marcus needs to go through with his promise. I won’t say shit to anyone until she’s healthy and safe.

  I’ll do it for her. I’d do anything for her.

  “And what about Nikolai? We just let him leave?”

  Jase questions Carter about men in the upper west area of our territory. Each section is essentially cut into fourths and the income that comes and goes is analyzed, problems sorted, men, police and drugs alike. I can’t focus on a damn thing.

  There isn’t one topic I’ve spoken up about. Not even the bar.

  “What happened at the warehouse?” Carter’s deep voice breaks through my racing thoughts. It’s at that moment when my phone rings. I silence it without looking, unable to look away from Carter’s dark gaze as he broods in his chair behind the large desk. Placing it on vibrate, I answer him, “Nothing that concerns you. It was about Laura.”

  The sky is white and angry behind him in the large paned windows. It only makes him look that much more foreboding. I don’t fear him; there isn’t anything I fear right now more than losing Laura.

  I feel remorse for all of them. But they’ll understand. When it’s done and over with, they’ll understand. I trust that they’ll follow through accordingly.

  “Bullshit,” he bites out.

  “We know something happened.” Jase’s voice is calmer, less threatening as he leans back in the seat across from me, both of us on the other side of Carter’s desk. Declan’s across the room. He likes to sit there, in the back corner near the books.

  “Walsh is leaving. He retired. So Marcus told him something,” Jase prods, and I can feel all three of them staring at me. Wanting answers.

  I don’t look at the roaring fireplace with intricately carved marble; I don’t glance down at the expensive rug beneath my feet. My gaze moves easily from Carter to Jase as I tell them I’m not privy to what was said when I left.

  “All I know is that Marcus wants a meet and that he traded information about Laura’s health for me to make it happen.”

  It’s not all a lie, but it’s not all the truth either.

  “Right,” Jase says then drops his head and his gaze. “I know I’ve said it before,” he says as his foot taps on the rug, creating a dull thump each time that mirrors the sound in my chest. “But if there’s anything we can do...”

  “There’s nothing,” I answer them and carefully breathe in and out. Marcus said he could.

  He said he’d come through first. And then, I come through for him.

  I’ll save her first. Gentleman’s honor. That’s his promise. Once she’s saved, the events are put in motion. Then I’ll tell them. One way or another.

  The letter is already written.

  My phone rings again, vibrating in my hand.

  I clear my throat, wanting to give them something. I feel like a rat, sitting here with them, with men I respect, men who have been there for me and I’ve been there for them.

  “I get the idea that you’re hiding something,” Carter prods and a sick smile kicks up my lips when I look back at him.

  The air between us all is different now. It feels thicker, heated, suffocating.

  “I am,” I admit to him, but I don’t elaborate.

  “If Marcus made you a deal—” Jase starts to say but then his phone vibrates loud on the desk and he has to silence it.

  “I want to tell you, but I can’t… it doesn’t concern you anyway.” I add the last part more for reassurance than anything. Even though it’s not true.

  I know what happens to men who keep secrets. Men who admit them are signing a death wish. I won’t lie more than I have to, but I can’t tell them.

  “You’re really going to keep something from me?” Carter questions and for a moment, a small moment in the silence of this room, surrounded by three men who would kill me, three men who are positioned all the way around me, all carrying guns, I fear they will.

  It’s gone quickly and it’s the first time I’ve felt it, not because it’s the first time Carter has thrown his weight around, but because for the first time, I can’t die. I have to follow through on my deal with Marcus. If I die, there’s no way in hell he’ll save her.

  “I ask that you trust me. That’s all I ask. I’ll tell you everything when I can.”

  “Tell us what?” Declan questions, then his phone goes off and so does mine again. They’re both only on vibrate, but all of us notice in the tense room.

  Irritation mars Carter’s face, creating hard lines in his features. “It’s about Marcus and Walsh and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t involve us.”

  Jase and him share a look before he says, “You can tell us anything.”

  “I will. When it’s time.”

  Carter’s fist slams down but as it does, his own phone rings, the shrill sound of the tone filling up the room.

  “What the fuck is it?” Carter roars, clearly pissed from my insolence. I’m only doing what must be done and I know damn well he’d do it too.

  His expression falls as silence overcomes him. When his gaze lands on me, I know it’s bad. Not in the way he elicits fear, but in the way that’s often followed with “I’m so sorry about your loss.” I know it’s Laura. I know it is from the look on his face.

  “Take this.” Carter’s tone is full of remorse and a sick gut-wrenching feeling comes over me. I don’t know how I even stand and take the call.

  “Hello,” I answer and swallow thickly, prepared for whatever happens, silently praying I’m wrong. That she’s just fine. But I wasn’t prepared for the sound of Bethany’s choked voice or her sobs.

  “It’s Laura.”

  Laura

  It’s all in and out. A white haze floods my vision and my eyes are so heavy. There’s a pounding in my head but it flows through every inch of me and it hurts. Well, for a moment, and then…

  I know it hurts, but more than anything I’m tired and my body feels light, not in pain. There is no agonizing feeling. All it is, is falling.

  The stark white walls of the hospital fade and so does the chaos of yelling and the man barking out orders above me, his white coat open, his baby blue scrubs taking up all the space as he leans over me… it all blurs and I don’t mind. His stubble comes into focus and then out, his hazel eyes seem to hover over me and then it’s all gone and I fade into them.

  Because I’m falling and it’s so light, it’s so easy. It’s comforting to let everything fade and blur and then there’s silence in a rush of peace.

  But then I’m back again. Bright white lights, screaming and the pain.

  In and out.

  “Keep up compressions,” one voice says, or rather demands.

  “It’s thready but it’s there.” A woman’s comment is rushed, panicked.

  I suck in a breath, my eyes going wide. No, make it stop! Fuck, the pain is all-consuming. I can’t move, even as I feel
like I’m choking and the instinct to grab my throat takes over, I can’t move. Something holds me down and it digs into my skin.

  Help me, it hurts so fucking much.

  “Miss Roth, Miss Roth.” Someone’s calling for me, talking over the storm of worry that thunders with every sound in the elevator. “We’re taking you up to surgery.”

  “What happened?” I swear I speak the question aloud but he talks over me. My throat hurts. Why does my throat hurt? What happened? Why does everything hurt? A deep crease runs down my forehead and I try to move, to turn over, but I can’t.

  “You’re in good hands,” he says and his statement comes with a ding of the elevator. “Let’s move!” his voice booms.

  In an effort to get a grip on reality, I lift my head only to be met with the dizzying need to lie back down. Be still. In this moment, I want to fall again. I don’t want this.

  A striking pulse of pain, as if in anger at my thoughts, races from my heart up my chest. A strangled cry leaves me as I writhe in agony.

  The car. The accident. It floods back in a hurried tumble.

  “My baby,” I whimper, my expression crumpled. It’s only a whisper forced into a plea for something. To stop this. Make it stop, I pray as my throat tightens and tears leak from the corners of my eyes. Please, I only want to fall.

  The hot tear rolls down my cheek and the salt meets my lips as I cry out again in pain. I can’t move and that makes it worse. Everything hurts. Every moment, every thought. Every breath steals strength from me.

  Make it stop. Please, please.

  My memory whirls with thoughts of how I got here, but with the pounding I can’t remember it all. I don’t know what happened. It’s in and out and I can’t hold on to it.

  Where’s Seth? I want to cry out for him. He’s still with me, isn’t he? Seth would never leave me. Seth is here. He has to be. I cry out his name, Seth, but he doesn’t answer.

  “We’re losing her,” a voice says. She sounds young and scared. My head falls to the left as I sob through another bolt of aching pain.

  It’s my heart. My heart. Did I go to the doctor’s? I can’t remember. Did I tell him about my heart? The way it pitter-patters.

  Slowly I remember the doctor. And then leaving. Leaving the woman who was dressed for a date, so distracted. I remember her. I remember coming home. Cami. Cami. “No, no,” I scream a hollow sound that I don’t recognize, tearing at the restraints holding me down.

  “You have to stay calm, Miss Roth, calm down!” they yell. Both at me and at each other.

  Cami. Other memories rush back to me.

  It takes me a moment, watching the fluorescent lights blur above me as we’re rushed down the hall. One deep breath. The white and silver blend into a pattern as a prick hits my arm. I barely notice it. Another deep breath. It’s the chill of whatever they’ve shot me with that brings the action to my attention.

  My eyes burn, but my body relaxes. On the third breath I can’t even feel the rise of my chest anymore.

  My blood chills and with a deep inhale, I remember. That was years ago. It’s been years.

  Fuck, why does that make it hurt even deeper? A heaviness weighs down on me, and with it, a numbness in my toes and fingers.

  I ran. The memory forces the tears to flow easier, harder, although I’m silent. Watching the years of my life come and go in waves.

  I left him.

  No. No! He’s here. I know he’s here. “Seth!” I scream out, knowing I can’t live without him. I could never be without him. My head shakes and strong hands object to the movement. There are yells and demands but I don’t hear any of them because they aren’t Seth’s voice. He’s not here. Seth, I murmur pathetically. Pathetic, painful, lonely. My voice echoes all the mournful emotions. I don’t want to be alone. I could never bear it if the last person I ever said I love you to wasn’t Seth King.

  Memories flash. His hands on my wrists, his lips on my neck. Seth, I whisper to no one. He’s not for them.

  I remember now, the last weeks coming slower, more detailed. I can feel him, his hard body and the heat of his embrace.

  Seth. I don’t bother saying his name. It’s not for them. It’s for me.

  The car is the last thing I see. Delilah and the shock, the fear that rolled through me and with the impact, my body jolts and another wave of pain.

  My head is heavy, and so are my eyes. It’s cold, freezing cold as goosebumps dance along my skin. The loud ringing in my ears is unbearable and then suddenly the noise is faint, soothing. It’s not so cold anymore.

  It’s only as cold as the breeze when I fall.

  I recognize her voice. The doctor. My doctor. Doctor Tabor.

  Fuck, the pain. With the recognition of a voice, the pain comes back. I feel it first, then the ringing. It’s so loud. The pounding, the ringing, the screaming pain.

  Blinking rapidly, the lights come back. Everything whirls and falls back into place. No, no, let it be over.

  “Miss Roth,” she says and the force in her voice grips me. I know her voice. Her hair is pulled back tight, making her look even thinner, even frailer, although I know her to be an imposing force with the strong will she has.

  The light in my eye is blinding and I fall again.

  “Laura, can you look at me?”

  I know her voice. The doctor. My doctor.

  I nod my head ever so slightly without moving my neck. I can’t now, I can’t move it. The brace is tight, but not constricting. I can breathe better. I can breathe.

  It takes me a moment.

  “Miss Roth, do you know where you are?”

  Hospital. I don’t know that I’ve spoken the answer until Dr. Tabor tells me that’s correct.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  With the inhale, I wince from the pain and in an instant I’m moved from the gurney to a table, bright lights shining down in my eyes.

  The headlights. The impact.

  I can’t breathe.

  Car, the screech of tires. Delilah.

  “Miss Roth, you were in a car accident and your injuries are severe.”

  Baby. My little prince.

  I try to move my hands to my belly. He’s not kicking. Please kick. Fear cripples me and they tell me to stop, but I can’t see. Did the car hit my belly?

  “My baby,” I say and barely get the words out as my doctor hovers over my face. All I can see is her and her stern look although her eyes hold compassion.

  “We’re doing everything we can,” she tells me, but her expression slips.

  It lacks confidence because it lacks hope.

  “Save my baby,” I beg her but she doesn’t listen. Someone else is talking. “My baby!” They don’t listen.

  “She needs a transplant right now.” She answers someone else. She doesn’t listen to me.

  “Stay on the line with medical.”

  “They don’t—”

  “Keep calling,” my doctor screams in response.

  “We’re going to do everything we can, Laura.”

  “My baby,” I cry and I wish Seth were here. He’d fight for what I want. He’d tell them to save our son. He’d hold my hand. He would have hope.

  “I’m going to do everything I can.”

  Did I tell him that I loved him? I can’t remember. Did I at least tell him I loved him before I left?

  Seth

  I’m supposed to sit here.

  Tapping my phone against my suit pants in rapid succession, I stare down at the movement thinking, How am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing?

  Gritting my teeth, I lean back in the simple chair and then stand up without conscious thought. I can’t sit still.

  I can’t leave though.

  There are fourteen wooden chairs in this room, all with squared backs and fabric with a navy pattern. It’s like small petals scattered on them, I don’t know. I’ve been staring at them for hours and I can’t even say what they are.

  Two rows of seven chairs, two long coffee
tables between them and a large single-pane window on the far right. It’s dark now that the sun’s gone down. So it’s just two black rectangular squares that I can see and the only light is from the fluorescent tubes above my head.

  It’s not supposed to happen like this.

  Marcus promised he’d save her.

  He swore he would.

  Yet here I am, on death row with the Cross brothers, while Laura lies open on an operating table. And I can do nothing. This is my penance and I’ll take it all and more, as long as they get to live.

  When my hand starts trembling again, I shove the phone back into my pocket and pace.

  My head is light from not breathing right. I can’t do anything right. All I can hear is Bethany’s voice when she called.

  There was an accident.

  Her cadence was full of dread and it ricochets in my mind, hitting every vulnerable place and with every impact, I see Laura, smiling, laughing, biting down on her lip as she peers up at me.

  I just want her back like that. Please, God.

  I’ve made a deal with the devil. I’ll make one with God too.

  I’ll make every deal I can with every man in power on the face of this fucking earth if it means she gets to live.

  “Hey, you want one?” Bethany asks, her voice small and quiet in the large room even though it’s just the two of us.

  “No thanks,” I answer her as evenly as I can, even though dread seeps in regardless.

  Her eyes are red and the mascara’s no longer there where it was hours ago. She’s barely moved from her seat. I don’t know how she does it; I can’t sit still at all. A few people have come into the room and saw her in scrubs so they approached her. Other than that, she’s only gotten up to get coffee from a machine down the hall that takes two dollars to spew out an inferior form of caffeine.

  “What about something else?” she asks me and when I look up at her splotchy face, I can see she’s begging me to give her something to do, something to make it better. I can’t tell her how much I relate. If only it was as easy as putting two wrinkled dollars into a machine.