Dylan (Dark Legacy Book 4)

by Jaymin Eve

  The right side had about half the level of water as the rest, but no one had gone that way because the tangled wire there was the most hectic. But with less water and less debris, it was the easiest side to take, and I was fairly sure I was small enough to make it through without getting too banged up. My thick jacket would protect me.

  "Hurry up, Lawson," Matthew shouted. "You're being timed."

  I didn't bother to look at him or hurry; I just flipped him off—Ben gave a shout of laughter at that—and got onto my knees to duck under the first string of barbed wire. Testing if I could make it through, I didn’t feel any snags and decided to keep going. If I kept my head down, I’d be fine.

  Or so I thought, until the constant assault on my stomach had it protesting loudly. That sandwich was not sitting well in there, but no way would it defeat me. If I had to, I’d barf in the mud and keep going. Anything to show Dylan I wasn’t as pathetic and useless as he expected.

  Beside me on the course, the other guys were still shouting and fighting and choking on mud in the heavily watered-down sections. None of them even noticed me cruising right on past. And yeah, my face ended up covered in mud because it was the only way to stay low enough not to catch my head on the wire, but that was a small price to pay.

  As I continued the monotonous movement—head down, elbow over elbow, wiggling forward—I let my mind go into the place that was my safe zone. It was here I escaped to when Blake beat me or when I lay awake at night in fear—a blank, white wall in my head, a barrier insulating me against whatever terrible shit was happening to me.

  Before I knew it, I was at the end, and as I dragged my nauseous, aching body out, I felt a sense of accomplishment, even with my forearms and shoulders screaming at me, because, clearly, neither of them had ever done that shit before. I was pretty sure tomorrow I’d feel muscles I didn’t even know I had.

  And the obstacle course wasn’t even close to being over yet.

  After the mud section was a row of tires. They spanned the path before me in varying sizes, and it was clear we were supposed to run through them. After ditching my outer layer, thick and weighed down with mud, my second layer of a wool jacket and leggings was, thankfully, still warm enough. And now I could move a lot more freely.

  Not bothering to look around, I took off, leaping from circle to circle. And while I was exhausted from the night's events, it was kind of thrilling to be out in the chilly morning air, stretching my body. Sure, my ribs ached, my shoulders hated me, and there was a big-ass graze on my face, but pain was fleeting and this obstacle course was actually fun.

  At the end, three huge tires were lined up, blocking the path, the large center holes covered with a mesh. They wanted us to push the tires down the path to get through. Taking a deep breath, I stretched my limbs out before moving to the closest tire and giving it an almighty shove. It swayed but didn't move, and it was only as some of the guys ran up beside me that I figured out at least two people had to shove these to get them down.

  It struck me that I had been the first one here, and that was so unexpected that I had to chuckle. Blake had always told me I was useless, clueless, and clumsy. Turned out I just needed to stretch my muscles a little more.

  The front row of guys slammed into the three tires, knocking them down, but that wasn't the end of that trial. They had to lift them back up and flip them again, over and over, until the tires went into another mud pit, where we could use them to get across to the other side unscathed.

  Of course, none of us made it that far because they all argued so much about the right way to move a tire. Each guy thought his ideas were the superior ones, when all they really needed to do was shut their mouths and use their muscles. No wonder the camp leaders had stressed the need to work together. Teamwork was a skill severely lacking in this group of campers... myself included.

  I tried to speak up to organize the situation and encourage three or four of them to work with me to pass this obstacle. None of them listened. None of them even graced me with a counterargument; I was just ignored like an annoyance.

  Needless to say, when the horn blasted to signal the end of our time, we had not finished. Matthew gave us all a lecture about failing the course, then ordered us to run the track through the woods behind him. Everyone groaned, but no one argued to his face. As I passed the marker sign, I gulped. Ten miles? I was nowhere near fit enough for that, not at the pace the guys were setting and with my current injuries.

  With a small sigh, I set myself an easy pace that I could—maybe—maintain for the whole run. I didn't need to stay with the other campers; I just needed to keep my head down and survive.

  Footsteps sounded on the trail behind me, then twigs crunched as Ben fell into step beside me.

  I gave him a curious glance. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Aren't you a guide?"

  He flashed that winning smile that was slowly growing on me. "Yup. Someone needs to keep an eye on you fuckers, though, make sure no one falls and sprains their ankle... that kind of thing."

  I couldn't fight my own grin when he winked at me, but the fuzzy moment of flirtation quickly soured when I remembered Dylan was in charge of this whole camp. And that I still hadn't gotten over my infatuation with his cranky ass.

  He’d never been like that when we were together. I knew it was part of his personality; the media loved to talk about how bad-tempered he was. But he'd never shown me that side before. Our nights together had been driven by one thing and one thing only: sex. It was my own damn fault for catching feelings along the way.

  "You okay, Florence?" Ben teased, elbowing me teasingly. "You look like you've got some heavy-ass thoughts going on in there."

  I bit my lip. There was no way in hell I could tell him about Dylan and me. God, I could only imagine the drama if that came out in the tabloids. One of the country's richest, most eligible bachelors fucking a seventeen-year-old? They'd have a field day. No one would care that I'd lied or that he'd never known.

  "What's your deal, Ben?" I replied instead. "I thought this whole camp was supposed to be total torture—disciplinary training or some shit. But you've been, dare I say, nice?"

  "Is that what you were sent here for, then? Discipline?" He gave me a wry look, like that was a joke.

  Bitterness washed through me like acid. "My brother finds me too willful. He had to leave the country for a month or so on business and didn't trust me to be home without him." Even to my own ears, that sounded pathetic. I was eighteen now, and at some point I had to stop letting Blake push me around.

  But I was just so weak. No matter how badly I wanted to be a strong, independent woman, I was nothing more than a broken doll, a shell of a girl, waiting for the next punch to land.

  "Stupidest shit I've ever heard," Ben muttered, like I wasn't supposed to actually hear him say that. "Well, don't stress it. This camp is not what it used to be. Ever since the Delta Five took over and Riley merged Delta to Huntley, things have been different. The objective here is still to train rich, entitled brats. But instead of turning them into white-collar mercenaries to do their family’s dirty work, we're teaching them to be better people. Yeah, it's still gonna require some hard knocks, but the motives are a whole lot nobler than when Dylan and the other Delta guys attended here, that's for damn sure."

  I was stunned into silence for a few moments. That... wasn't what I'd expected. Surely, no one else knew this, though. Blake sure as fuck didn't, or he never would have sent me here. He genuinely thought I would be put through some kind of submissive hell for weeks while he was gone. He planned on coming back to find me totally broken of all my remaining will to survive.

  "Why are you telling me this?" I asked in a small voice as we continued to jog through the woods, side by side.

  Ben gave another winning grin. Damn. He really was a good-looking guy... He just wasn't the one who haunted my dreams. "Because you don't need this training, Florence. You're already a good person... but maybe this camp can teach you something differe
nt."

  I stumbled over a tree root but caught myself before hitting the dirt.

  "Like what?" I asked, hoping like hell he couldn't see my flaming blush from almost face-planting on the ground.

  Ben just shrugged. "How to stand up for yourself, maybe? Or... how to defend yourself? Just a thought."

  With that, he sped up and disappeared down the trail ahead of me, probably to catch up with the rest of the group, which was fine by me. I preferred to be alone most days, anyway. But after hearing that from Ben, that someone who barely knew me could see I needed to stand up for myself more? Yeah, I would rather be alone.

  11

  I vomited at the end of the ten-mile run. It wasn't something I was proud of, and I think I managed to do it without anyone seeing, but it still happened. Maybe Ben was right about me getting something different out of this camp, after all. Maybe I'd walk away with a better endurance for running, which could come in handy if—when—I finally ran from Blake.

  "Go and wash up," a deep voice rumbled, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.

  Spinning around, I quickly wiped my mouth off on the back of my hand as I locked eyes with my green-eyed demon. "I wasn't—"

  "Jesus, Brooklyn," he muttered on an exhale, his voice quiet. "You're not cut out for this. Go and wash up; lunch will be served in fifteen minutes."

  He stalked away before I could find any words, and embarrassment stung as I made my way to my own cabin. The other boys had long been back, so no one was around to see the stupid, hot tears roll down my face.

  Damn it all to hell. Why hadn't I just taken Dylan up on his offer the last time we'd been together? He'd seen my bruises; he'd offered to fix things. But my stupid Lawson pride hadn't let me accept.

  I picked up my pace, hurrying to my cabin so I could brush my teeth to get rid of the vomit taste. My stomach was rumbling something awful after the morning’s activities, so I didn't want to be late for lunch.

  Of course, that would be too damn easy. Halfway from my cabin to the dining hall, Jonnie popped out from behind a tree like a goddamn Disney villain.

  "Brookie, girl, you've been avoiding me." He leered like I was actually going to deny that statement. Jonnie was a goddamn creep; of course I avoided him. In this case, though, it was just a lucky coincidence.

  "Stay away from me, Jonnie," I told him in a voice that only trembled the tiniest bit. "Blake will kill you when he finds out you've put your hands on me."

  Most of the time, mentioning Blake’s sick possessiveness of me was enough to make his men back off. Most of the time, it worked. Today... apparently wasn't going in my favor.

  Jonnie stalked closer, getting up in my face like his sheer height would intimidate me into a quivering mess. Okay, it kind of did. He was so much bigger than me that I wouldn't stand a chance if he forced himself on me.

  Still, I'd be damned if I went down without a fight. I raised my hand, intending to slap him across the face, but he caught my wrist easily.

  "Tsk-tsk, Brookie." Jonnie snickered. "I thought all that fight had been beaten out of you years ago. I think I'm glad it wasn't. I love hearing screams."

  The way he said it, the way he looked at me, I knew he wasn't talking about screams of pleasure. No, Jonnie was a sick fuck who got off on the fear in his prey.

  "Lawson!" a voice cracked through the chilly air. "Lunch has started and you're late. Is there a problem?"

  Jonnie's glare darkened, but he let me wrench my wrist free of his grip and push past him.

  "No problems," I replied to Matthew in a quiet voice as I hurried up the steps to the dining hall. "Just a misunderstanding with my brother's employee." I shot a pointed look at Jonnie over my shoulder, and he just sneered back at me.

  "Actually, Brooklyn, I needed to let you know something." Jonnie clicked his fingers, like he'd just remembered. "You mind, bro? Personal business." He gave Matthew a look like the asshole thought he actually held any power in this camp. It almost made me laugh.

  "Yeah," Matthew replied, folding his arms over his chest. "I mind. If it's important, spit it out."

  Jonnie's glare narrowed at Matthew but then flicked back to me. A nasty smile tugged at his lips, and a cold sweat rolled through me before he’d even spoken again.

  "Blake seems to have gone missing, Brookie. No one has been able to contact him for a few days. I thought you should know." His smile didn't match his supposedly concerned words, and my stomach twisted again.

  "Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you, Jonnie," I replied in a hoarse whisper, my palms sweating at my sides. "Maybe you should think about whether you’ve made any mistakes lately."

  Matthew's sharp gaze darted between the two of us, then he indicated for me to get inside the dining hall. "Hurry up and eat lunch, Lawson," he ordered in a gruff voice. "You're too damn skinny."

  Jonnie shot me a parting look, and the implication was crystal clear.

  Blake had gone missing. He was unreachable by his guys, and that never happened. Which meant no one was in charge. No one was holding Jonnie's leash anymore.

  Oh fuck. Fuck. I couldn't sleep in my cabin alone tonight. No freaking way. I'd just have to think of another plan. I wrapped my arms around my waist, hugging myself for warmth as I made my way across the dining room to the buffet, but I couldn't ignore the feeling of being watched as I moved.

  Dylan. He was constantly watching me here... like he couldn't decide if I was just a lovesick, obsessed stalker or a corporate spy. Either way, he could keep me safe tonight. I just needed to convince him to let me stay in his room.

  "Hey, you okay?" Ben grabbed a plate from beside me as I stood there, staring blankly at the buffet. "You seem super preoccupied, Brooklyn. Or is this your usual state of distractedness?"

  I straightened, trying to get my shit together. "Oh, it’s fine, just some bad news from home, and I'm not sure how to find out more when I'm without any real way to communicate."

  Ben paused in the middle of dishing some salad onto his plate. The buffet was pretty much only filled with healthy, energy-restoring foods, and the sight of it was making me feel sick. Maybe I needed a piece of cake. Or maybe I was just too stressed to eat because everything looked unappealing.

  "I have an emergency phone you're allowed to use, if you need," he said, and his usual smirk was nowhere to be seen.

  I shook my head. "I wouldn't even know where to start. My brother is who I usually turn to for help, and he's... out of contact."

  "Well, the offer is there," he said, still looking uncharacteristically serious. "I've also been told I'm pretty good at listening."

  I chuckled, feeling better for some reason. "I'll keep that in mind."

  As we continued along the buffet, Dylan appeared behind Ben, and even though I could have sworn he'd already filled a plate, he had another in his hand. It wasn't until we reached the end of the spread, where I had two pieces of bread and some pasta salad on my plate, that Dylan nudged Ben out of the way and got in my face.

  "My table. Now," he said, voice soft but filled with undercurrents I couldn't quite decipher. "So I can make sure you eat."

  I wanted to protest because I was not his bitch to order around, but I didn't, because this was the perfect opportunity to drop all the hints I needed to get into his cabin tonight. Or anyone's cabin that wasn't mine.

  Dylan always sat with the other guides, but he herded me toward the end of the bench. The plate he'd held, which was almost overflowing with food, was dropped in front of me.

  "Uh, what is this?"

  "Eat," he said sternly. "You're growing more fragile every fucking day I see you, and I won't have anyone die on my watch."

  His voice was super low, and I jerked my head up to try and read his expression. “You don't want me to die?"

  I mean, only a psycho would want me to die, of course, but to actively try and keep me functioning and healthy spoke of something more.

  As he leaned back on the bench seat, broad shoulders spilling over the sides, h
e let out a dark laugh. "Think of the liability if our only female participant left here in a body bag."

  Right, sure. That made sense.

  "Point taken," I said, but I still didn't eat.

  Dylan shifted his position, reaching out to drag me closer until I was basically sitting between his spread legs. His mouth drifted closer to my ear, and I forced myself not to react. It was harder than I’d thought it would be. "Don't make me force feed you, Brooke."

  Brooke.

  I'd never been called that before.

  Brookie had been my parent's nickname for me, a name that had been corrupted by Blake, so I always insisted on Brooklyn from everyone. But when my name, this new version of it anyway, slid from Dylan's mouth, it fucked me up inside.

  I was that sad and pathetic.

  I reached for a small quiche, and even though I took a decent bite, Dylan didn't move away, keeping me locked in. His strength and natural magnetism held me hostage. "Why did you really lie to me?" he asked, the question murmured so softly that no one but me would have heard.

  I swallowed my mouthful of quiche, and it swirled uneasily in my gut. Turning to the left so that our eyes could meet, I lifted my chin as defiantly as I could manage. "I'm a broken bird, Dylan. And you're a pterodactyl. We don't belong together, considering that one of us could destroy the other with a simple twist of their claws." And that one wasn’t me. I let out a sad burst of laughter, bordering on hysterical. "It's ironic because the pterodactyl is my favorite dinosaur. It's the fiercest hunter and so majestic in full flight." My voice grew hoarse as I fought back tears. "Maybe that's why I craved to have you, even just for a short time."

  His lips twitched, some of the ferocity fading from his gaze as he shook his head. "You are the oddest person I've ever met," he said. I'd never seen his eyes such a bright green before, and as always, I was trapped in their piercing gaze. "But before you get to call it your favorite, you should know that a pterodactyl isn't actually a dinosaur. It's a pterosaur; a flying reptile."