28 Seconds: A House of Valentine Novella (4 page)

“We’ll get her over there.”

“Move away from her.”

“What?” Confusion etched across his face but I didn’t care how irrational it seemed. From somewhere within, I launched a full assault on him: kicking, thrashing, punching. But it only caused his grip to tighten and I could feel the anger begin to consume him. He shook me violently, my head snapping back and forth.

Cole, calm with no hint of drunkenness, was beside us. He murmured a few words, but Marco was beyond hearing, his rage unquenchable...until Cole raised a gun inches from his face.

The moving stopped but Marco’s hands tightened with such incredible force that I couldn’t reign in a pain filled scream before it escaped. The other men circled around us, enclosing us, but I had no idea which side they were even on. Cole leaned forward, touching the muzzle to Marco’s temple.

“Get that damn thing away from me,” he hissed. “I’ve served this family since before you were even fucking born.”

“Then you should know that I will send a bullet through your skull without a moment’s regret if you don’t:
Let. Her. Go.
”

I could feel his hands twitching and I could tell he was considering ignoring Cole’s demand. He smiled at me, dark and menacing and then let me go with a firm jerk. He sneered, his voice a taunt that cut into my soul: “welcome back, littlest Valentine.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“The men say you haven’t left this room in over an hour. Not up to exploring just yet?”

I grimaced at the knowledge he was keeping such close tabs on me. I hadn’t, in fact, bothered to explore this house that was now apparently mine. From gossip between the black suited men, I’d learned that this was the house where I grew up. With a dozen or so bedrooms, a library and chef worthy kitchen, I hadn’t had the energy to even try and check out the place. Instead, I’d found a back den on the lower level that had huge old fashioned hand crank windows that overlooked the ocean beach across the road and decided this was far enough into their world.

Cole stepped behind from somewhere in the darkness, his hand resting on my hip. His other slipped down one arm, two fingers resting at my wrist. I tilted my head to him without being asked and mumbled, “look at me, Ariana.”

He chuckled but didn’t stop counting. Whatever the result was, it didn’t make him happy. He tugged on my waist. “Come, lay down for bit.”

“You can’t seem to stop touching me.”

“I admit you are curiously inviting.”

Rather than move, I interlinked our fingers and snaked his hand beneath the fabric of my shirt to lay against my skin. I couldn’t blame my actions on the drugs or alcohol this time: it was the memories of my mother; the fast escape; the new found family; the drugs; and the terrifying visions, that were driving my sudden desperate need for this man to be touching me.

“You’re trembling.”

“It’s just the adrenaline.”

“Like it was just the tequila?”

He stepped away, leaving me feeling empty and alone. I wrapped my arms around myself to stave off the shaking but it only seem to make it worse. He was giving soft commands at the door and then, thankfully, returned to stand behind me. His hands slipped back under my shirt, interlinking at my navel.

“You still don’t remember Marco?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I want to either.”

“He certainly knows you. I’ve sent him away.”

“Because that worked so well last time?” I mumbled and could feel him tense.

“I
am
sorry about that. I underestimated the situation. It won’t happen again. I’ve sent him on assignment out of state.”

“I didn’t know, so how could you have possibly known?” I said, squeezing his hand. “I’m just still trying to shake it off. I didn’t mean to attack you.”

“You didn’t attack me, Ariana. You said the truth. I’m just pissed at myself for it,” he grumbled.

“What did he mean ‘littlest Valentine’?”

“You are the youngest, I suppose.”

A knock interrupted us but Cole made no attempt to move. He called over his shoulder, directing them to put the trays down on the table. “Food,” he explained. “You still haven’t eaten. Will you try and eat something?”

His concern made me smile. It was something my mother would have done...although the warmth and comfort I felt in his arms was anything but motherly.

“Is this concern for my well-being or you trying to get in my pants?”

“Both,” he winked, “always both.”

I moved to sit on the sofa, checking over the choices. Light things - fruit, cheese, crackers - appetizer fair. It all made my stomach wrench. I grabbed a slice of apple to nibble just to keep him from glowering at me. “I don’t have siblings, right? So it’s a weird phrase.”

“True. Why do you ask?”

“It felt…” I trailed off, uncertain.

“Threatening?”

“No...dirty.”

“Dirty?” Cole sank into the chair beside me. “Ariana-”

“Sorry, that sounded inane, didn’t it?”

“No.” He shook his head, his eyes flashing. “It sounded really fucking disturbing.”

“So what were you whispering about with those men when we got back to the house?”

“That was a pathetic attempt to deflect.”

“Agreed, but you are going to let me get away with it because you have something more important to talk to me about.”

“First, I’d let you get away with almost anything. Second, it’s unnerving that you somehow know I have another topic to discuss. And third-”

“You are afraid that Marco just became more important than you ever considered.” I tapped my head. “Observant. Is that a Valentine trait? Because my mother was totally
not
observant.”

“Yes, it is. Nothing gets by your father.
Ever
. Are you going to eat that or simply chew on it until I leave?”

“Neither,” I grumbled and tossed it back on the tray. “So what do you need to tell me?”

He settled back in the chair. “As a biochem major, you know about Valentine Pharmaceuticals. I’ll guess you also know the rumors about the darker side of the company as well.”

“I think we’ve established the rumors to be true.”

“Not where I was headed with this conversation but yes, I suppose we have confirmed that for you as well.”

“So where are we headed with this conversation?”

“Tony, the big guy? He’s a former marine. He was stationed overseas during the Gulf War, serving more tours than any man should and his demons followed him home. He became addicted to a wide variety of substances. Except alcohol. No idea why that escaped his resume.”

“Even the president drinks. Alcohol allows the illusion of control and stability...two things no true addict cares about.”

“That is an excellent theory. Brilliant actually.” He frowned as if it hadn’t occurred to him. “Whatever the case, he’s clean now and one of our top employees.”

“Yes, I noticed you keep him close. I’m still not following.”

“His specialty, so to speak, is drug interactions. How they combine and cause either positive or negative affects to the user and...I’d like him to take a look at you.”

“Pardon?”

“Your reaction isn’t normal. It’s possible you had something in your system already-”

“Yeah, a fifth of vodka.”

“I timed your last dose of Valentine to the second. Your heart rate is still spiking, you’ve had no appetite for anything but sex, coffee and alcohol, and your flashbacks are increasingly more violent.” He touched my knee. “Ariana, this is what we do. We’ve spent our lives in this business and your reaction is
not
normal.”

Worried...he was worried. Not only that but there was an undercurrent of guilt that was easy to recognize. He was afraid that he’d done some lasting damage with the amount of drugs he’d pumped through my system. I exhaled, long and shuddering, to try and steel myself, and then started with the easiest first.

“Coffee equals my mother. After we moved, or fled or whatever, on my very first day of school my mom told me that I was such a big girl that I could have coffee with her. Every day, no fail, she would wake me with a cup of fresh espresso and we would sit together. Sometimes we’d talk, sometimes it was complete silence.... but it was always the two of us and our mugs of coffee. It wasn’t even
good
coffee but, it was her.”

He pushed aside the trays of food, moving to sit on the coffee table across from me. “I’m sorry, Ariana, for your loss. I should have said that a long time ago.”

I waved him off because I knew if he said more I would fall apart. “The alcohol makes me numb. Just like anyone, I suppose. It drowns away everything so I can postpone facing anything. Cowardly, I know, but right now it’s all I’m capable of.”

“You are not a coward. A coward would not have taken a man’s own gun and shot him point blank in the head. A coward would not have tried to fight off Marco Savatini with her bare fucking hands.”

“Sex is, well sex,” I offered, quick to change the subject. “It’s a release, I’m young and it’s uncomplicated.”

“No one on the planet would agree with that statement.”

“Well, it
was
uncomplicated until you showed up in my bedroom.”

“For the record, I have no intention of complicating your life any further.”

“So you have made abundantly clear despite how very many times I find your hands on my body.” He frowned, just as I knew he would. “Which leads us to my heart rate. You know my body’s reaction to you because yours is the same. You are something real, your touch tethering me to the only thing I know to be true. Why would my heart rate
not
spike?”

It took a minute but a slow smile spread across his face. “While I don’t doubt your sincerity, I have a memory for you. When I was a kid, your dad gave me a super expensive bike that I’d begged for. It was perfect: cherry red, chrome, shiny tires - a kid’s wet dream. I’d had it two days before I tried to launch it off Steel Pier. It went flying, it was this damn perfect arc...before it went crashing into the ocean. I survived but that bike didn’t have a chance. I was distraught. Not only had I lost the best gift ever, I’d destroyed what your father had entrusted me with. To my little kid brain, I’d just sunk the equivalent of a Bugatti Veyron into the Atlantic on a fucking whim.

You were four and I came home to find you sitting on the porch of this very house. When I asked you how the hell I was supposed to face your dad because I knew, just knew he was going to kill me, you had the simplest of solutions: compliment him. You told me to compliment him and he’d never realize there was a lie buried in the truth.” He leaned forward, his hands clasping between his legs as he watched me. “I’ve no idea what part of your words were a lie, or what you think you need to hide from me, but you should be aware that while you can undoubtedly fool any person on the planet, you can not fool me.”

“What I said about you was true.”

“But?”

I shifted off the sofa, walking back to the picture window. I tried to crank it open but my hands were shaking too much to even get a grip on it. Cole was beside me, throwing them open in split second. I inhaled the salty breeze, listening to sound of the surf crashing in regular intervals, and ignoring Cole’s desperate check of my blood pressure. It would be immeasurable, I knew.

“Fuck, Ariana.” He tried again, assuming his count had been wrong. “I’m gonna get Tony. I’ll be right back-”

“No,” I held him back. “Just give me a minute. Please.” I climbed onto the window seat, pressing my knees to my chest, and began counting the seconds between the waves. When I’d hit two hundred, I exhaled and offered my wrist up to Cole.

He counted. “Better,” he admitted. “Still not good but better.” He sat down beside me, lifting up my legs and crossing them over his. His voice was soft, a request rather than a command. “But?”

I dropped my head back against the wall, my eyes closing. Though I tried to concentrate on the ocean sounds, knowing it would settle me, it took only moments for the silent tears start falling.

“I’ve been with the Valentine family for twenty-six years. The darkness, depravity, and betrayal that I’ve witnessed during that time is unfathomable. There is nothing you could tell me that would surprise me or make me walk away.”

I hesitated a second longer than he was willing to wait. “Ariana, I cradled you and your mother in my arms as she died. I helped wipe her blood, and the blood of the man you killed, from your skin. I’ve had my hands on every part of your body. I’ve had them
inside
you for chrissakes. I’ve listened to you beg my name as you come. What could possibly be more private than any of those things?”

“The flashbacks were not brought on by the stress of my mother’s death or by Valentine,” I clipped before I lost my nerve.

“The flashbacks,” he murmured with a half smile. “You were distracting me so I wouldn’t realize you failed to explain them. Clever, Ariana, very clever. Have you always had them then?”