She's (Still) Too Young (She’s Too Young #2) (7 page)

Jack doesn’t give me an answer, but steps away from the stairs, backing across the foyer toward the kitchen. “Is this where you have your goons come and drag me off?”

Slowly, I follow him down the steps. “They’ve been asked to remain outside. This is between us, and it ends now.”

“You don’t seem too nervous about the knife in my hand,” Jack says, that cocky expression giving way to nerves. His face is gray, and as I reach the bottom step, I can smell his foul breath, courtesy of the liter of scotch he drank mere hours ago. He’s even staggering somewhat, telling me he’s either still intoxicated or there’s a stocked bar downstairs.

“Nervous?” I tilt my head and follow him into the oversized kitchen. “Maybe. A reckless man is a dangerous man.”

“Then I’m as dangerous as they come,” Jack seethes.

There might have been some truth to his claim if he was in a room with anyone but me and I hadn’t just caught him coming near my future wife with a knife. That makes
me
as dangerous as they come. And there’s only room for one of us. “You have another weapon, though. Don’t you?” When he pauses in his amble around the dining room table, I know I’ve surprised him. “You make Veda…nervous. And there’s more to it than your apparent desire to watch her engage with a man.” He has the decency to go pale, a twitch beginning beneath his right eye. “She’s told me you were overprotective, but I remember the night on the roof. When I first met her. There was an ease between you and her—it’s not there now. The opposite, in fact. I need to know why. Now.”

“Damn you
, Beckett. You’re so
arrogant
.” He moves the knife in a downward slash, burying the tip in the table. “We’re not in your office now. I’m not required to jump for you on command.”

Whether the abuse of alcohol is responsible or if there was always something inside Jack waiting for the right moment to rear its head, I can see that he’s lost whatever balance he’d been maintaining. Veda has opened up in stages about the way he’d kept her and her mother—when she was still alive—confined, not allowing them to go out or have friends. So it could be the loss of his power that has tipped him over the edge, too. Whatever the reason, misery, hatred and self-loathing collide on his face and direct themselves at me.

“You’re right,” I say, well aware that I have to change tactics or I’ll get no answers. “You’re not required to jump or tell me what I want to know.” I stop at the kitchen island, leaning against it and crossing my arms. “But I think you want to.”

Rage is wiped from his facial features and at once, he’s smug, drawing the knife out of the table and moving it in a figure eight motion. “Damn right I do,” he says, punctuating his words with a laugh that makes my stomach clench. “Did you ever stop to ask yourself why Veda went back to you, Beckett?” He pauses to let that question sink in…and it does. It sinks and sinks, because I
have
asked myself a thousand times. I was amazed when she came back to me. I still am. “Did you think she just suddenly got over being
bought?
Being taken away from the only family she knows?”

“Get to where you’re going with this,” I manage through parched lips.

Jack has the look of a man with the upper hand. He is. For the first time in my life, I’ve gone into a battle without the winning strategy.

“I was all set to quit. To come home and find a different job so we didn’t have to live under your thumb. Then I had a better idea.” His smile is sickening. “All those hours Veda spent alone in your home, with access to your office, your electronic files and bank statements? It was pretty easy for a career accountant to…move things around.” He taps the knife against his outer thigh. “But I couldn’t have done it without my eager accomplice. She wanted to make you a fool even more than I did.”

Icy cold begins at the top of my head and crackles down until it reaches my toes. I’m not even certain my blood is flowing any more. What reason would it have to flow if there’s no heart to keep pumping? Because mine is dead, dormant in my chest. “She’s…been stealing money from me.”

“Ramsey,” Veda sobs from the doorway, but I can’t turn to look at her. My neck won’t move. “It’s not how it sounds.”

“How much?” I ask the room in general. It’s such a pointless question, because if it had been a substantial amount, my accountants would have caught it. Moreover, it could be twenty dollars or twenty billion and I would still feel like death in the face of betrayal. Of course she came back to me for the money. Did I really believe she could love someone as soulless as me? A man whose own mother could barely stand to look at him, he turned out to be such a ruthless bastard?

A carbon copy of his father.

Jack snorts. “How much? A drop in the bucket to someone like you.”

“Dad!” she screams. “No more. That’s
enough
.”

He points the tip of the knife across the room toward Veda. “We took just enough that when she leaves your ass, she’ll be set for life. And I don’t have to be on your payroll anymore.”

I’m crumbling. Handing over your love to someone is a serious fucking thing, I realize too late. She has handed it back to me riddled with stab wounds. Finally, I turn to look at her in the doorway, which is a mistake. The morning sun has finally started to filter in through the windows, highlighting every glowing inch of her. Her bed-tousled hair, her long, lithe legs, the outline of her body beneath the black silk nightgown I bought for her. There is a wealth of regret and sadness and fear swimming in her expression, so I already have my answer when I ask, “Is it true?”

“Yes. But I stopped. I
stopped
.” She mashes her fingers to her lips. “After I left…I missed you so much, Ramsey, but I was
mad.
So mad that you’d made so many decisions for my life without telling me or caring if they would hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, sounding numb to my own ears. “I must have hurt you worse than I imagined for you to do something like this. I would have given you as much money as you needed. Even if you’d left.”

The pitiful sound that comes out of her turns a spiked wrench in my gut. “You’re not letting me finish.” She swipes a hand beneath her nose, her expression pleading. “I told myself I was only going back for the money, but I was
lying
to myself. It was you. I
love
you, Ramsey. Even before I left. And as soon as I realized I didn’t care about the money, I refused to do it anymore, no matter how much…pressure there was to keep going.”

This is what Jack had on her. Why she was so nervous about coming to see him, being around him. The son of a bitch.

“You should have come to me.” My voice churns like gravel, along with my bones. “You should have told me what was going on.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Tears slide down her cheeks. “Please just tell me you believe me. Tell me you’ll take me home.”

Take her home? Does she not realize that’s a given by now, whether I believe her or not? She’s mine. I’m keeping her, no matter what she has done. Or how she has betrayed me.

“Veda, I can’t let you do this,” Jack grates. “We had a
plan
. I won’t let my daughter attach herself to some asshole who takes whatever he wants and damn the consequences for anyone else.”

“Well, I’m eighteen, and that makes it
my
decision,” Veda returns smoothly, and some part of me that’s still alive swells with pride. “You haven’t seen the good parts of him. There are so many, and I choose all of them. I choose him. And if I have to sell every gift he’s given me until I pay him back—” Beloved blue eyes shoot wide, her attention swinging between me and Jack. “No
. No.”

Everything happens in a blur, but I move with precision, as if my body hasn’t forgotten what it was expecting to happen, even while my heart lay in ruins.

Jack is charging me with the knife when I turn. My hand closes around the cool butt of my gun, where I’ve been keeping it at the small of my back. And I draw, knowing I have no choice but to fire on the love of my life’s father, ending his life right in front of her. But before I can pull the trigger, Veda is there, throwing herself between Jack and me.

My bellow echoes in my head like a foghorn going off in a cave, but my physical inability to harm Veda has me dropping the gun on the chance a bullet could hit her. Jack’s reflexes are not as sharp as mine after the night of drinking, however, and the knife arcs down…down…and I with utter horror, I watch the blade slice across Veda’s raised forearm.

Her whimper of pain almost collapses me. Jack is stunned enough at what he has done that I remove the knife from his possession and barely resist burying the blade in his jugular. But Veda has one hundred percent of my focus as she sinks to the ground, clutching her arm against her chest. “Ramsey…”

“Angel, no.
No
.” I secure the dropped gun in the front of my waistband where Jack can’t reach it, and turn to find Veda’s father has collapsed into a dining room chair, head in his hands. I strip off my shirt and wrap it around her wound, bile rising in my throat at the sight of blood anywhere near Veda. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should have stayed away. Don’t you know I’d rather be stabbed through the heart than see you hurting?” I suck in oxygen, but it only makes my lungs burn. “It’s going to be okay. I won’t let it be anything but okay.”

“It’s just a scratch,” she breathes.

Wrath is like a snake slithering through my bloodstream, rattling its tail and preventing me from feeling anything other than the urge to punish the man who would dare put a mark on Veda. Spots are appearing and bursting in front of my eyes. I can’t breathe. I can’t reason. My focus narrows down to one inescapable fact. Jack will pay. For everything.

Moving on autopilot, I force myself to stop obsessing over Veda’s breathing, the pale quality of her skin, the nervous way she’s looking at me. There will be time to straighten out everything between us once I know she’s safe and healthy. Until then, thinking straight is too much of a challenge. My girl, my
life,
is bleeding on the kitchen floor. I grab my cell with a shaking hand and hit the speed dial for security, thanking God I had the foresight to hire someone with first-aid experience.

“Get inside now. Veda has been injured.” Within seconds, three members of security enter from two sides of the kitchen, two with weapons drawn, one—the woman—heading straight for Veda. “See that she’s cared for. Please.” My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable. “Make sure she isn’t in pain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Logically, I know Veda’s injury is only superficial, which is the only reason I’m able to rise and step back, away from her. Without my having to instruct them, the two remaining members of security hustle out Jack, who only begins to struggle when they’ve reached the door.

Jack throws a wild look at me over his shoulder, his face full of dread. He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut, which is just as well.

It’s too late for words or apologies.

W
hen Veda steps
out of the town car, my chest pulls tight, and I want to shout with the relief of seeing her whole, even as I ache over the white bandage on her arm.
Never again
. She’ll never be harmed again. My life’s duty is to make that vow a reality. What’s left of my sanity wouldn’t be able to stand witnessing her injured twice.

I’m standing on the edge of Keukenhof Gardens, the most renowned flower field in Amsterdam, where I’ve been waiting for just under an hour for Veda to arrive. Of course, I’ve been checking on her through the security guard I left behind at the house to treat her, but it’s not the same thing as seeing her with my own eyes.

Has that glimpse of peril made her even more breathtaking? She hesitates after shutting the car door, wringing her hands at her waist. Nervous. She was nervous before I left the house with Jack and my security guards, too. Whether it’s about the status of our relationship after what Jack revealed or something else, I don’t know. But I plan to find out and make her forget every single worry in her mind and fill the holes with contentment only.

Going on instinct, I open my arms. “Veda.”

She kind of deflates a little against the car before she straightens back up and runs toward me, the material of her blue dress flowing out behind her, blonde hair fluttering in the wind, putting the flowers growing alongside the footpath to shame. And forget about the
feel
of her. I’m in heaven on earth when she throws herself into my arms, tucking her face into my neck, her body wracked by a series of sobs.

“I’m sorry for stealing the money,” she cries. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” I stroke my hand down her hair. “I drove you to it. I made it impossible for you to trust me, and you only acted accordingly.”

“I trust you now. More than anyone.” She lifts her head, and I’m almost knocked flat on my ass by her red, chewed-on lips, her damp eyes and lashes. God. She’s beautiful even in her distress. “I didn’t even want to do it the first time…you came home that first night with flowers, and we danced in the living room. And I just wanted to die.”