Miah (Lane Brothers #2) (21 page)

I wake in the hospital, feeling groggy and out of sorts. My mouth is dry and throbbing, and when I open my eyes it takes me a second to realize that my vision isn’t damaged so much as one of my eyes won’t open.

Goddamned Eric. I hope that asshole gets locked in a jail cell with Attila the Hun’s brother Killer. Or maybe not. I still feel sorry for him, especially when I remember the sorrow I’d seen when he’d spoken of Bee.

He’d looked so broken and lost—

But he would have killed her too, Sissy, remember? He said so just before he shoved that gun between your eyes.

I feel slightly better and turn my head, groaning at the lance of pain that shoots through it and sets up shop somewhere in my frontal lobe. I’ve never been attacked before—my daddy is way too protective and mean for that shit to have ever happened—and I highly recommend avoiding it.

It’s laughable how women in the movies get beat up and walk away from it so easily. I feel like a tank took a long, slow ride over every part of my body.

“Ssh, don’t move so much. You’ll rip your stitches,” I hear from my right, and I turn my head to see Vincent rising from a little plastic chair.

He’s beside me in a heartbeat and cradling my face. It feels ten times its normal size and throbs like it’s got its own heartbeat. Man, I must look like Frankenstein’s monster.

“Vincent?”

“Ssh dove, everything’s all right. You’re in the hospital, and you’re…just fine,” he says calmly, though I see he’s upset in the way his fists clench before his hands unfurl to stroke my face.

“Water. Please,” I rasp, feeling my tongue lodge and stick to the roof of my mouth.

He grabs a cup and holds it to my mouth, cradling my head gently as I sip desperately at the icy cold liquid. Someone must have made sure to add ice, because hospital water is usually tepid and tastes of corpses.

“Thanks.”

My throat hurts, reminding me of Eric’s beefy paws and the unholy power of his grip, those clawlike fingers as they’d choked me nigh to death.

It’s silly, but I feel just as afraid for a split second as I did when it had happened, and I hear a frantic beeping.

“Calm, dove. There you go, nice, steady breaths,” Vincent croons, stroking my hair until I’ve managed to get control of myself.

I look over and realize I’m hooked up to one of those heart rate monitor things and that every time I have an episode he’ll hear it. I grab onto the wires attached to my chest and pull, ripping them away.

“Hey, no, dove—”

“Vincent, I appreciate your concern here, seriously I do, but if you don’t let me get out of bed for a shower I’m gonna have a fit,” I say, distracting both him and myself.

It’s true, I need a shower to wash away the horror I still feel crawling over my skin, and I know Vincent: if I don’t give him something to focus on right now, he’ll go all heavy on me.

I can’t deal with that right now, not and stay sane with the thoughts bombarding me.

“No. The nurses gave you a sponge bath already, and I combed your hair while you were sleeping. What we need to do right now is talk about—”

Ew, the thought of some stranger touching my junk makes me sick, but the thought of talking about what had happened…even worse.

“I don’t—”

“He got away, dove,” he interrupts, giving me a hard look that tells me to shut up and listen. “He fell onto the fire escape, and by the time the police got there he was gone. That animal is running around, free, at this very moment, so I need you to talk to me.”

Everything inside me shudders to a stop, and I feel something eerily similar to hysteria bubble up my throat.

“But…I heard him fall. How didn’t he die?” I rasp.

Uncharitable, Sissy. No one deserves to die that way, and you know it.

Yeah, but at this point in time, with my face looking like hamburger meat and beating like a drum, I don’t care. If he’s out there and armed…

“You need to call Jeffrey Parker and tell him to get Bee. She’s not safe—”

Vincent calms me by laying a gentle finger to my lips and stroking my hair, his eyes so somber they’re a dark, forest green.

“I already did. Her parents flew in this morning and have her surrounded by bodyguards. Jeff has taken it upon himself to hire help and is currently scouring the city, along with my own men. Don’t fret, dove, we’ll find him before he can do more damage.”

“He’s gone crazy, Vincent… Did you really get him fired?” I ask, remembering Eric’s accusations.

This whole mess had started when he’d lost his job, and while I appreciate Vincent going to bat for Bee, I can’t help but think this could have all been avoided if he hadn’t gotten involved.

“Yes. I called Barney Smythe. He’s an old friend. The man was reaching the end of his rope with Brennan’s behaviour around the women in his office… He was going to get fired anyway, dove, so don’t you look at me that way,” he warns.

My face reddens, throbbing more with the introduction of more blood to the sensitive tissues, and I duck my head, fighting back tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…”

Afraid and hurt and so happy that he’s here right now.

Yeah, but don’t forget that he’s not yours anymore, a little voice whispers. You broke up with him for a reason.

“Let’s just focus on getting you better, dove. Everything else can wait,” he says softly, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to the only place on my face that isn’t iffy. My nose.

“We still need to talk,” I say dully, watching him flinch minutely before his face blanks.

“We will.”

***

“You’re coming home, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t have my baby vulnerable to the mercies of a madman!”

I wince and look at Vincent, seeing his face go hard as marble. My parents have flown in just this morning and stormed Castle Blake with every intention of getting me home and behind the walls of my father’s well secured ranch.

I’ll be safe there. The place is more secure than the White House, thanks to Daddy’s obsession with Mama’s safety. The poor woman can’t tend her vegetable garden without tripping over a ranch hand.

My whole childhood had been just as restrictive, and while I’m afraid and in need of that security, it makes me shudder to think of going back to that gilded cage.

That’s why I can’t understand why it’s Mama throwing around her weight now. For a woman who knows how stifling the ranch is, she’s way too intent on getting me back there.

“I fully understand your thinking, Mrs Bennet, but I have already put security measures in place for Cecelia. We—”

“I don’t give a good goddamn if you’ve got the fucking secret service skulking around in the shadows! My daughter is coming home with her daddy and me where I can keep an eye on her.”

Uh-oh. I recognize that tone. It’s the same one I heard when she caught me sneaking back into the house one morning after I’d gone partying with Mary Clinton my senior year.

The ‘bad seed’ of the town had taken a shine to me, thanks to my car and the fact that I could sponsor her drink money. That had been one of the worst nights of my life, realizing that I had no chance at being friends with someone as shunned as Mary.

And then, to make matters worse, I’d been grounded for a solid month.

“Well, Thanksgiving is right around the corner,” I say, not wanting an argument to erupt between Daddy and Vincent.

He’s seated right beside me on the sofa, keeping my ankle elevated and immobile, and I feel him stiffen as he glares defiantly at my father.

“You know I won’t allow—”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you will and won’t allow, boy. You focus on finding that little prick Brennan, and we’ll keep Sissy safe.”

“Cindy—”

“No, Beau, y’all know the ranch is the best place for her right now. The Parker girl has already been shipped back to her family, and they’ve got her safely behind the walls of that fancy palace of theirs. I want Sis home.”

Daddy sighs and casts me an apologetic look.

“Fine, but Vincent is coming for Thanksgiving and Christmas as well. You can’t just barge in here and start throwing orders around, especially if it affects their relationship.”

Oh, Daddy, if only you knew that there is no relationship. And this is also just plain weird. Beau Bennet has never once in his life supported one of my relationships, going so far as to have background checks run on every man I’d so much as glanced at.

The fact that he’s encouraging me to stay with Vincent makes me wonder and second guess my decision to keep things broken off. The truth is that Vincent and I are done. We have been since the time he cold shouldered me, and we both know it.

It hurts, a lot, but I’m still steadfastly determined that whatever Vincent and I had is over. Yeah, I know he saved me and put his own life in danger in doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna prostrate myself at his feet in gratitude.

He’s still a monumental dick in the relationship department, and I refuse to go any further and lose my heart to him if he’s going to be his usual self. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t think I can live with that.

“I’ll go home with you,” I say, feeling his body tighten beside mine. “Just give us a few minutes alone. Please.”

Mama leans over to kiss me and just about hog wrestles Daddy out of the room when he starts protesting my decision. I turn to Vincent, sad but determined to say what I need to say before his silver tongue can talk me out of it.

“No, just listen. I know that you have some sort of hero thing going here, and that for whatever reason you’ve decided you want me back, but the truth is…I can’t do this with you. We’re so different, too different, and I…I guess I just don’t want to end up falling for you when I know we have no future.”

“Dove—”

“No. Mama showed me that tabloid, and I know that you were photographed with that model in France.”

Mama had shown it to me the moment we were alone, after she’d shooed Vincent and Daddy out of the room and gotten me bathed and dressed. That had hurt even worse than Eric’s fist because, while I can heal the bruises, I’m having a really hard time not bleeding to death inside.

It hurts that I’m so easily replaceable.

“Dove, you don’t understand,” he begins, and I cut him off before he can say anything to sway me.

“No, I do. I just want to go home and get some rest and enjoy the holidays with my family. You saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful, but this thing between us is over. You’re just not what I need right now.”

Oh God, that lie hurts worse than the pain in my swollen ankle, and it takes everything I’ve got not to start telling him how untrue that is and that I…feel more for him than lust and respect.

I can’t keep fooling myself, and I know that I already feel more for him than a passing fancy. The man is everything I could ever want and more. I love him. Too bad he can’t return the favor.

He stands from the sofa, string down at me with his jaw clenched and ticking.

“This isn’t over.”

Oh, but it is, I think silently, watching him stalk to the mantle with agitated strides and a slump to his shoulders that I’ve never seen.

Vincent

It’s been three days since dove left me. Three days of forcing myself not to pick up the phone and call her, three days of sleepless nights and miserable regrets.

When I’d answered that phone, happy for the first time since we’d spoken, and realized she had every intention of leaving me, for good—well, I can honestly say I still go into panic mode just remembering her terror-filled voice and the sounds of Eric yelling and shooting at them.

How I’d kept myself together long enough to get there…

When I’d walked into her apartment and seen the broken window, only to be met by a hysterical Bee yelling at me that my dove was alone on that roof, with an armed psychopath, it had unleashed that part of me that I keep well hidden.

That part of me that had grown up in the East End, fighting and scrapping my way towards my ultimate goals. I’ve worked tirelessly to bury the old Vincent, who’d used his fists and superior size to survive.

That night I’d felt him rip free of the leash, and good thing, too, considering what I’d seen when I’d vaulted onto the roof. For the rest of my days I will be haunted by the vision of my dove with a gun shoved into her forehead.

If I’d been a minute later, I know that I would have had to cradle her lifeless body instead of the bloody wreck I’d found. Of course, now I want to kill that piece of shit instead of just getting him fired and beating him senseless for daring to lay hands on my woman.

I just have to find him first, something that’s proving incredibly difficult at the moment, no matter how much manpower or money I throw at the problem.

Eric Brennan has dropped off the face of the earth.

My phone rings, pulling me back from my murderous thoughts, and I answer it with a bark.

“Er, sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a Mr Beechum on the line for you. He says it’s important and that you’ve been waiting for his call.”

“Yes, Marcy. Thank you.”

I’ve been waiting for the ex-Marine to call me back after I’d put him on the job of finding the missing Eric Brennan. The man is reported to be the best in his field, and if he’s calling me this soon I have high hopes.

“Mr Blake.”

“Mr Beechum, tell me you found that bastard.”

“We picked up a lead that he was hiding out in a little hotel down in the Bronx, but he’d already split by the time we got there. I have eyes and ears out for the guy, though. From the looks of that room, you did a lot of damage. He bled all over the place.”

A small thrill of satisfaction arrows through me at the knowledge that I'd at least hurt the son of a bitch enough to cause long-lasting damage, mollifying me for the moment.

It’s killing me that it’s taking this long to catch the piece of shit because I know that getting dove back to New York and into my bed is next to impossible until I either get my hands on Eric or the law catches up with him.

I want her back, now, right this minute, and I can’t even approach the subject until I’ve assured her safety.

“I want that fucker.”

A loud chuckle reaches my ears, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from cursing the big Marine.

“I understand, sir. We’re collaborating with that guy Jeffrey Parker has on the case, and we’re confident we’ll have our guy before the week’s out. Just relax and keep calm. We’ll get him.”

I don’t answer, not needing to, and end the call, leaning back in my seat with a weary sigh.

At this rate I won’t have dove back in my bed where she belongs before the New Year. That thought rekindles my conviction, only to leave me flailing when I think of that hurt look in her eyes when she’d all but accused me of having an affair with that model.

I admit I’d purposely gone out and been photographed with the woman in the hopes that she’d see the pictures—my pride’s reaction to hearing that she’d spent almost twenty minutes with Preston Blake.

When I’d seen the photos and the time stamps, the way he’d been smiling down at my dove…I’d gone a little crazy, I admit, and done the first thing I could think of.

Getting laid and rubbing it in her face.

I should have realized the minute those pictures had crossed my desk that it was a set-up, that Preston was using, or trying to use, dove against me. I know now, and despite the determination, hurt, and pure anger I’d seen in her eyes, I will not allow this to be the end.

She’s made my world a bright place again, and I refuse to give that up just because her girly feelings have been hurt.

Yes, I have every intention of flying down to Texas and bringing her back home. I just have to ensure that her home is completely safe and Eric free before I can do that.

Dove doesn’t know it yet, but I have no intention of ever letting her go. Not in six months, not ever.

***

Another wave of nausea hits me, and I lunge for the toilet, groaning through an intense series of dry heaves that leave me spent and unable to do anything but flop back to the bathroom mat and lie there in misery.

It’s two in the morning, thank God, or I’d be so busted already, and I’ve been dry heaving for the last fifteen minutes despite the fact that my stomach is bone dry and devoid of so much as a drop of food.

I can’t deny it anymore, no matter how much I want to. I’m either suffering terrible food poisoning—please, Jesus, let it be food poisoning—from the nachos I’d inhaled yesterday at lunch, or I’m knocked up.

“Oh God, please don’t let it be true,” I whisper into the darkened bathroom, flinging an arm over my stinging eyes.

I’ve been back in Texas for just a little over two weeks now, and I’ve been iffy the entire time. Mama’s starting to give me funny looks, and it’s all I can do not to puke all over the place just from nerves.

“Shit, Sis, you’re gonna need to sneak out and get to the doc’s—”

But no, if I go to old Doc Bear’s the whole damned town will know before lunch, and that I don’t need. Not now. My bruises have finally started fading to that light, sickly yellow, and I feel almost well enough that Mama has let me off the chain a little.

If she finds out I’m preggers, I can guarantee the evil woman will have me on bed rest and make me go in a bed pan. She’s been way too weird lately.

Drug store.

With my mind made up and resolute, I heave myself to my feet and grab onto the bathroom counter, breathing deeply as I catch my breath and try to shake the woozy feeling in my head.

If that test is positive, I think I might just kill Vincent Blake. Leave it to that arrogant ass to have super sperm that can bypass protection.

Flopping onto the bed, I roll over and stare at the ceiling, feeling lonely and so needy for his warmth and the strength of his arms, I can barely stand it.

Being angry and fooling myself into thinking I don’t want him isn’t working, not when I look at Mama’s sunflowers and think of him. Or when Mama had used fresh mint leaves in one of her flower arrangements. I should have realized then, when I’d teared up at the sight of those stupid leaves, that something was wrong.

Damned pregnancy hormones.

If I am pregnant.