Heartless Hero

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  He was the biggest threat.

  “Some swans change so much, they never find a flock again. They wander lost and alone. Forever.”

  I didn’t realize I was holding onto my swan too tightly until it bit me. I let go with a gasp, and it jumped away with fluttery wings, running down the beach. Blood wept down my wrist, but I was stuck on Theo.

  His eyes locked with mine, and another one of his bone-curling grins broke his cheeks. It was chilling juxtaposed against his pink lips and almost angelic features.

  He was oleander, as beautiful as he was betraying.

  Still with that smile, he asked, “When I’m finished with you, will you be lost forever, Abigail?”

  It wasn’t a rhetorical question, and it froze me.

  Suddenly his hand shot out so fast I flinched and closed my eyes, expecting to be hit. When nothing happened, I opened one eye and saw what he’d grabbed: a camera. A reporter was on the ground, about to take an upskirt picture of me. Theo had grabbed the camera before the reporter could take a picture, his entire hand encapsulating the lens. The reporter tried to pull it back, but Theo yanked it away and threw it to the ground.

  It shattered on impact, glass shards flying. Theo shoved me behind him before the shards could sting.

  The reporter yelled something about suing him, and all Theo said was, “Bill me.”

  I couldn’t keep the awe out of my eyes. No one ever did things like that for me. One of the reasons I’m in the tabloids so much was because I don’t have any protection from paparazzi. My siblings have entire armies dedicated to getting them from point A to point B. I only have me.

  After Theo left, I haven’t had one guard stay longer than a month. I have a reputation for scaring them away. It started as an accident, then it spiraled.

  I just wanted one to stay.

  Like Theo, it was all so easy for them to leave. They were supposed to guard me, life or death, and one threat and they went running. Some even went to Gemma after me, but I suspect those guards would’ve used any excuse to get off my detail for hers.

  Theo narrowed his eyes, and I quickly cleared my throat, rolling my eyes. “Now everyone is going to say I break cameras.”

  Theo grabbed my hand.

  On instinct, I tried to pull it out of his grip. He was too strong. Veins throbbed along the back of his hand, disappearing into his wrist, beneath his hoodie, and no doubt up his forearm. I pulled on his hand with my other one, trying to break free as he dragged me from the beach toward Main Street.

  No use. If he registered my struggling, he didn’t show it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, giving up—for the moment.

  In response, he threw his head over his shoulder. A horde of shark reporters had gathered around the fallen one like chum, the flash of their cameras bright and pointed at us. I quickly turned away. I definitely didn’t press myself against Theo’s back.

  I didn’t notice his muscles, or how it felt to be protected for once.

  His hand wasn’t warm, strong. I didn’t feel safe. I wasn’t thankful.

  Theo was bad.

  Yet as he dragged me farther from the beach, I looked once more over my shoulder at the broken camera, the reporter who would have made a story of me, made me a fool, the Crowne Slut… again.

  If not for Theo.

  I shoved an ice cream cone at Theo. He eyed it like I’d given him a ticking bomb.

  “Hurry, before it melts,” I said, wiggling it beneath his nose. “It’s your favorite, licorice.” I wrinkled my nose. Gross. “I should’ve known you were a psycho back then. Consider it a thanks for, you know, before…”

  My words faded into the air, disappearing into the twinkling lights above us. Thanking Theo Hound was not easy for me to do. Another excruciating second passed, Theo’s bright eyes shadowed beneath his thick brows.

  Then he took it.

  A weight lifted off my chest when he did so.

  “Sharks are clear,” he said, eyes lifting over my shoulder, back to the beach. “Don’t want you to miss your tradition.”

  I looked over my shoulder, finding my grandfather facing the beach, surrounded by a legion of guards and swans.

  I narrowed my eyes back on Theo. “I thought you wanted to take everything from me?” Wouldn’t he want to keep me from my most valued tradition?

  “Maybe it’s a thank-you.” He lifted the ice cream with a soft smile.

  I chewed my lip, unsure what to do with a Theo who took ice cream and seemed to care.

  “Probably shouldn’t bring this to the sand, though, unless we want to re-create the swan riot.”

  The memory blasted through me. One year we’d been forced to run down the beach, chased down by a horde of angry swans gunning for our ice cream. Theo had held my hand, dragging me down the sand as the tide nipped at our feet.

  I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, trying to banish the feel of his hand.

  “That was your fault,” I said on instinct.

  Neither of us wanted to take the blame.

  “Your ice cream,” he said.

  “Your idea.”

  I laughed as we walked to the beach but quickly swallowed it. Not hours ago, Theo had made it clear how much he hated me.

  To my shock, he laughed too. Theo’s laugh was an unassuming soft sound, so quiet you could miss it easily, but once you heard it, it never left you.

  Like him.

  I’d missed it so much.

  I eyed him warily, but he only licked the purple ice cream.

  Still, a small part of me hoped.

  “Papa,” I called when we got to the sand. “I’m ready!”

  His wall of guards parted, and Papa turned around. My gut dropped. Grandpa had the frown reserved for mergers that fell through, the dark, stormy eyes used when he learned someone had dared say something bad about Beryl Crowne. Now that frown was directed at me.

  I tugged on my gauzy pink summer dress. “Papa?”

  “When I really get your thanks, you won’t be smiling, Reject.” Theo’s lips grazed my ear, his whisper harsh and bitter.

  I tore my gaze from Grandpa, just in time to see Theo turn the peace-treaty ice cream cone on its head. The purple-black globe of ice cream landed with a splat on the boardwalk. He then dropped the cone to the ground and smashed the waffle beneath his shoe into a hundred crispy pieces.

  My mouth fell open, but I barely had a second to be stunned or angry before my grandfather’s harsh shout brought me back.

  “Abigail!” he yelled.

  A few of the swans around him fluttered their feathery, white-and-tawny wings nervously.

  “Papa, you’re scaring the swans—”

  He raised a hand. When Beryl Crowne raised his hand, you shut up.

  “Theo had a very hard time telling me this.” Theo and Grandpa shared some kind of look I couldn’t decipher. The rock in my gut sank deeper. “I practically had to dig it out of him. When I did, I almost didn’t believe him.” Grandpa rubbed the wrinkle between his dark, red-brown eyes.

  Enough time passed for me to brave a response.

  “Dig what out of him?” I glanced at Theo. He had his bodyguard mask on now. A stoic, hard jaw. Eyes forward on potential threats. Legs spread and ready to move, arms behind his back but ready to attack.

  Then all at once, his eyes found mine, and he winked.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Have you ever had a sinking feeling something horrible is about to happen? Something that will change your life?

  My smile flickered, a dying light bulb. “Papa, if we start now we can still hold the swans…”

  Though most of them had scattered because of his yell, a few still lingered. I knew I should stop; something worse was happening than my tradition being ruined.

  “I heard the rumors, Abigail,” Papa said. “I heard them and I didn’t listen. I should’ve listened. Are you so attention starved you would sell out our family name? Your own sister?” My grandpa’s eyes were back on me
, his ire hot, unexpected, and before now, unfelt.

  I didn’t know what to do with it.

  I’d heard rumors of my grandfather’s anger, but I’d never experienced it firsthand. I wanted to sink into the crowd and disappear.

  “Weeks before your wedding and the most important merger in our company’s history?” he continued.

  “I don’t understand.” My gaze flickered between my grandfather’s and Theo’s.

  “Cut the shit, Abigail.”

  I swallowed air.

  My grandfather never spoke to me like that. He called me princess, sweetheart, and darling.

  I still couldn’t speak.

  Grandfather held out his hand; a moment later one of his men placed a stack of papers in them. He held them to my face. Front and center, paper clipped as if it had been printed separately: the blackmail bonding photos I’d taken with Gemma, and beneath them, emails printed from my address to make it look like I was planning on sending them to the press.

  I’d never written those emails, and I never would.

  My stomach dropped, my eyes shifted to Theo, a small, wicked smile quirked his right cheek.

  “That’s your email.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that’s your room.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that’s your sister.”

  “Yes! But—”

  “I already have one famous slut for a daughter.” He paused, shook his head. “Did you think you could get out of your marriage this way? As if I wouldn’t realize the trick you were playing?” Grandpa raised his voice, and I startled as someone looked over. He smoothed down the sides of his salt-and-pepper hair, regaining composure.

  “I want to marry him,” I said, scrambling. “I want to get married. I’m excited to marry…” I trailed off, heart paralyzed as my grandfather’s eyes narrowed, and I realized I still didn’t know the name of the man I was marrying.

  I withered and died under his gaze.

  “Edward Harlington,” he said.

  “Yes, Edward Harlington,” I said quickly.

  His red lips thinned. “I’ve been too lenient, too understanding. You are worse than a disappointment; you are a liability. I should have listened to your mother.”

  There were no swans anymore, the sky dark and stars too bright. My main course punishment had already been doled out by Mother; Papa was handing out dessert, taking away his love. Leaving me alone, empty and bereft, like the sand.

  He lifted one finger, signaling for his guard to follow him, heading toward Main Street.

  I couldn’t breathe. My heart was crumbling inside my chest.

  I know there’s a reason there’s a no-tolerance policy on marriage in our family. It’s not some archaic tradition, it’s our lifeboat. After my dad died and a string of bad luck and bad business decisions nearly left us ruined, marriages saved us. When Uncle Albert canceled his wedding and we almost collapsed, it became law.

  As my grandpa likes to say, “You can’t be a Crowne without many sharp points. You’re either part of this family, or you're against it.”

  Grandpa was my one constant after Dad, the only love I’d felt in a home of strings and conditional affection. I was watching it burn down, frozen as debris floated past me, breathing in the ashes.

  Without another word, he turned away. Panic strangled my lungs. My world was giving way beneath me. I couldn’t breathe.

  Paparazzi had gathered around the perimeter, sensing something was happening in the Crowne family. I knew I had to let him leave. We could combust in private, but never in public.

  “Grandpa!” I ran after him and tried to grab his arm. “Papa, please. I want to get married. I’ll get married tomorrow.”

  Just don’t leave.

  Papa eyed the sharks.

  “Goddamn it, Abigail!” He shook me off with distaste that ricocheted through my entire body.

  I stood, watching him walk farther and farther away.

  “When will I see you again?” I yelled.

  He stopped. People walked on either side of him in pretty sundresses and polo shirts, the twinkling lights making the night that much blacker blurred.

  Then he kept walking, and the crowd ate him.

  I locked eyes with Theo as a slow smile spread across his face. When he saw me hurriedly swipe my cheeks, his smile grew.

  He mouthed one word.

  Point.

  I will not cry for him.

  I will not let him see me cry.

  I knew without a doubt he was behind this. Theo had been in my room. He’d seen the pictures. He’d had my laptop. The point I thought I’d gained had actually led to my demise. He’d made me the Crowne Slut with the one person who always saw me otherwise. He’d taken the one thing I had in this family. The one person who loved me.

  THEO: 1

  ME: 0

  Tears were threatening to fall, and I was using all my energy to keep that from happening, so I didn’t see the change in Theo. I definitely didn’t see what was happening a few feet away. Theo grabbed my wrist. In the same instant, I tried to yank myself free.

  Theo was unaffected.

  Someone must have been talking in his ear, because he pressed his thumb to it, nodding, saying something I couldn’t catch.

  All at once his attention was on me. “It’s time to go.”

  Incredulous, halting laughs broke free. As if I would go anywhere with him ever again.

  I gave him the finger, still trying to break free. “Let me go.”

  “No dice, Reject. If I let you die, I’ll get a real shitty Christmas bonus.”

  “I don’t want you to fucking save me.” I kicked the back of his knee. Success! He stumbled forward, only a little, which was more than I’d ever managed with him.

  “If you don’t stop struggling, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder.” He turned around, tongue edging the seam of his top lip. Anytime his tongue pushed his upper lip it meant Theo was frustrated.

  So what did I do?

  “Fuck you.” This time I really did spit in his face.

  The moment was heated. Pressurized. A second teetering like a penny on its side as I waited for him to react, our stares locked and unblinking. Theo slid his tongue between his teeth.

  Why was there a small part of me that wanted him mad?

  Mean.

  Punishing.

  With one, heated exhale, he wiped my spit from his cheek, and I was in the air, his strong arms locking my ass in place. I slammed my fists into his back, even though it was useless.

  A few feet away from where we’d just been a fight had broken out, but that’s not what had my heart hammering, the blood in my veins turning to ice.

  No… no, no, no. It had been weeks since he’d bothered me. Weeks. I was starting to believe he was leaving me alone. He was gone.

  Anyone might believe it was a coincidence, but not me. I learned to take coincidences as deliberate. Resting inside the melted black ice cream Theo had dropped to the ground was a single gold rose.

  A message from my stalker.

  Six

  THEO

  Abigail slammed her fists against my back, but they may as well have been raindrops. Once we got to the safe house, I dropped her to the sea-warped wood, and she immediately jumped back. With both hands she wiped hair out of her face, finishing with a searing glare.

  Fuck, she was cute. Her pale cheeks red with anger, nostrils flared. I liked her mad.

  Too much.

  The perfect size for me as well. Small, but never someone to overlook, despite what she might think. The thought pierced me like a bullet, fast and without any way to defend against it.

  “Theo!” she yelled, waving a hand over my face, and I realized she’d been talking. “What are you doing?”

  “The fuck does it look like, Abs?” I shoved her aside, checking the lock on the door behind her, giving the place another once-over.

  Abigail’s only memories of me were as a teenager. She had n
o knowledge of the man I’d become. I’d been trained. I knew what I was doing. This was one of the many safe houses scouted and assigned in the city of Crowne Point. It wasn’t designed to be lived in, merely a place to stay until a threat passed. Right on the beach, small and inconspicuous.

  Abigail might even think I was a bodyguard in title only, that I was here only to mess with her.

  I should be.

  I should be here just to fuck with her. Shouldn’t give a shit that there weren’t enough exits in this supposed safe house. Shouldn’t care that a glass window was bullshit. They should be tempered.

  After checking the window, I went back to Abby.

  “A Crowne Industries protest turned violent. We’re staying put until further notice.”

  Her brows furrowed. “And that’s definitely all it was?”

  I folded my arms, arching a brow. “Did you have something else in mind?”

  She cleared her throat, raising her chin. “I don’t want to be within three feet of you, and you want me to stay in this cramped closet? Fuck off.”

  She tried to unlock the door so I grabbed her by the elbow, planting her against the many colored wood planks holding up this ramshackle cottage.

  I pinned her with one arm.

  “Be a good girl and stay fucking still.”

  “A good girl?” Abigail started in on me, but a shadow near the window caught my attention, and I tuned her out. The ocean was just outside, as were swans. The occasional hiss or snort or whistling as they feathered their large wings, drifted in.

  The life of a Crowne had its perks, but the higher you rise, the deeper you fall. Beryl Crowne received at least thirty death threats a day, and of those at least ten were substantiated. Abigail was a bit too naïve to the darker side of being a Crowne.

  “I’m trying to think of another way to say fuck you,” Abigail said. “Because it’s clearly not getting through. Go do some unaccompanied fornication.”

  After a moment, once I was sure the only things outside were swans, I turned my attention back to Abigail.

  “Someone has to make sure you’re safe.”