The Art of Control (29 page)

I turn the Benz around and head in the other direction towards the hospital, my mind racing.
The afternoon traffic makes for a slow trip, making my nerves all the more raw.
I can’t lose Sawyer, too.

***

Isabel

As if having Dylan almost killed wasn’t enough…
now Sawyer? Sickened beyond words at the thought of Dylan losing someone so close and important to him, I shut down. I can’t speak. Dylan is trying to act calm and collected, but he can’t hide the frantic look in his eyes. He, too, knows the pain of losing someone near and dear and my heart aches for him.
Oh, God – Sonya
.

We pull into the hospital parking lot and Dylan bolts ahead of me and into the ER. They direct us where to go and I hang back while he talks worriedly to Murphy. He keeps looking over at me and trying to smile, but I can feel his
terror and agitation from across the room.

I force myself to go into Sawyer’s room and Sonya is standing over him, holding on to his hand and kissing it. When I hear her sad cries, I run from the room and into the restroom nearby.
This is all my fault.
Why the hell did I turn on my phone? I promised Dylan I wouldn’t leave him again, but… I don’t know what to do. I know what I
should do
– I should leave here and never look back, but I promised I would stay. Damn me for making a promise that I’m not sure I can keep.

I wipe my tears and remind myself that this isn’
t about me, despite how I feel. This is about Sawyer, Sonya and Dylan. They need me.
I think they need me.
They should hate me for having put Sawyer in this situation and maybe they do. I coax myself to go back out and face them. Dylan is waiting anxiously outside the restroom door and when I come out, he pulls me over to a secluded area.

“I know what you’re thinking and this isn’t your fault. Sawyer is an adult and he made the conscious decision to
do what he did on his own. You’re not fucking leaving me again, Isabel.”

I can’t listen to this. Dylan knows me too well for me to try and lie to him
and deny that I’m not thinking about it. Pulling away from him, I go into Sawyer’s room. I approach Sonya warily, not sure if she’ll rip me a new asshole or beat the living shit out of me for what’s been done to the man she loves. When she sees me, she lunges towards me and I ready myself to tear ass out of the room, but instead she wraps her arms around me, leaning down and crying into my neck. God, help me,
this is my fault.

H
ugging her back, I try to comfort her. I glance over at Sawyer and he’s sleeping, but his color is pale and he looks fragile. It’s heartbreaking to see this normally strong and dominant man lying here so helpless. He has a bandaged wound over his ribs and just under his heart.

I want to ask what happened, but I’m still unable to speak.

Simons.
That albino asshole did this, I just know it. He tried to kill Dylan and now this? Why isn’t that man in jail? Dylan’s hands are felt on my shoulder and he speaks softly to Sonya, consoling her. He leans in and hugs her and tries to give her surety that Sawyer is a strong man and he’ll pull through, but her sad eyes echo doubt.

“
Do you know what happened?” Dylan asks Sonya.

“Murphy said he was shot and that they barely got him here in time. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

I sink onto the couch nearby and close my eyes. Why did I have to turn that damned phone on? Everyone would be safe if I hadn’t been so selfish to want to see Dylan’s photos.

Sonya slides in next to me
and sits quietly. On occasion she breaks into tears and then sits silently again. I let her deal with the situation the way she knows how and try my best to be a fly on the wall and out of everyone’s way. Dylan is in and out of the room and on his phone incessantly as is Murphy.

Several hours later the police show up to question Murphy. Deciding that my presence isn’t needed, I put myself to good use by going to the cafeteria and buying everyone
a late lunch. When I go to pay for the food, several people are looking at me and whispering.
That’s the woman from the sex videos
I hear from behind me. My stomach churns. I had forgotten all about that. No one in Chilé knew who I was and my anonymity was a welcome solace. My face heats from humiliation and I avoid eye contact with the cashier. More degrading comments can be heard about me being leashed and treated like a sex toy, and I almost leave the food behind in an effort to get the hell out of dodge when suddenly Dylan’s deep and irritated voice booms from nearby.

“Don’t you two have a
nything better to talk about than someone’s private sex life?”

I peek up and the offending women
wear a look that is a combination of being smitten and mortified. I know the feeling.

“Perhaps you shouldn’
t be so quick to judge things you know nothing about,” he adds before grabbing my hand and assisting me with the tray of food.

As we walk away, the females
are left with their mouths wide open and their panties soaked, too, no doubt. It takes everything I have not to turn around and stick my tongue out at them like a child and yell
he’s mine all mine!
They could only wish to be his sex toy, stupid jealous beeotches.

Damn, I love and envy Dylan’s confidence. I need to try and be more like him.
Proud to be his wife, I stare up at him as we walk hand-in-hand. He looks down and raises his eyebrows at me in surprise.

“What’s that look for?” he asks.

I shrug, still unable to bring myself to speak, but I’m thinking to myself it’s because I love him so damned much and because, Holy throbbing vag, he’s hot when he gets all Dom. Dylan stops for a moment and watches me, his mouth opening as if he’s going to ask something, but Murphy and Sonya meet up with us and we carry on back to the private meeting room that Dylan has insisted on us having.

Everyone seats themselves close together but I move to the other end of the room, not wanting to hear the gory details of Sawyer’s injuries. I eat in silence and try to push everyone’
s voices out of my head. Maybe I could just slip out of here and no one would even notice. Then life for everyone could go on like normal. I could go back to Chilé, but to a different town. Perhaps if I just…

“Why are you
eating over here, alone?” Dylan asks, startling me.

I shrug and pick at my food.

“Isabel, why aren’t you speaking?”

Continuing to pick at my food some more, I shrug again.

He cups my chin and forces me to look into his poignant eyes.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads.

What does he want me to say? There’s nothing I can do or say that will change this situation.
Nothing.
Sawyer is dying, Sonya is dying inside, and Dylan is losing his best friend and it’s all. My. Fault. What the hell does he want from me? I promised I wouldn’t leave and now I’m stuck here putting everyone in danger. I pull away from him and turn my face, sickened with myself for not having the will power to have kept my damn phone turned off.

“Please, love. Is this how you were when I was sick, too?
Is this your way of dealing with things?”

“I’m fine,” I force myself to say so he’ll get off my back and let me be.

***

The last two days have gone by quickly. Dylan has kept busy with Murphy and I stay stuck to Sonya’s side. Sawyer has started to rouse and after several blood transfusions, his color is back. He has a fierce
lumberjack’s beard and when his soft brown eyes open, I haven’t felt so relieved since when Dylan came out of his coma. Sonya gasps and cries out and latches onto him, and Sawyer looks embarrassed at all the attention being lavished on him. I step away to give everyone their chance at him and to avoid his gentle gaze.  After what I’ve put him and Dylan through, I don’t deserve his kindness.

Dylan has stopped bothering me incessantly to speak to him and seem
s to be off in his own world trying to get things at work under control and figure out what to do about Simons. I overheard a conversation between Murphy and Dylan last night about what really happened and about their plans to get revenge for Sawyer and me.

Simons was apparently prepared for Murphy and Sawyer’s visit and
they were ambushed. Sawyer took the bullet for Murphy, pushing him out of the way. That’s Sawyer – loyal to a fault. I can’t understand why Dylan just doesn’t tell the police everything that has happened so that man can be dealt with by the law. My heart is torn about what I must do and I’m fearful of what Dylan has planned.

Dylan reaches over and pulls me close to Sawyer’s bedside trying to compel me to speak to him.
Sawyer smiles when he sees me and nausea sweeps over me.
I don’t deserve his smile.
I go through the motions and smile back, but all the while knowing what must be done. I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, but now that I know Sawyer is going to be okay, I must deal with the situation on my own. I’m not going to be a chicken shit like my father and make someone else do my dirty work, and I’m not going to allow Dylan and Sawyer to be put in harms’ way ever again. 

I pull Sonya aside and tell her that I have some business to take care
of back home and I should be gone the rest of the day and into the evening. I beg her to keep Dylan busy and to not tell him I’m gone until absolutely necessary.  She begs and pleads with me not to leave, but I swear to her that everything will be fine, even though, deep down, I’m scared shitless and know what I have planned won’t end well. I inform her that I booked a flight to Atlanta after breakfast and should be there in a few hours tops and back in Denver by nightfall.

It’s time to make Simons pay for hurting the ones I care about and to make my father answer for killing my mother.
It’s time for me to take control of my life, once and for all, regardless of the personal cost.

Dylan

Sawyer
’s voice is a welcome sound. His color is back and I feel a sense of relief knowing that he’s on the mend. Christ, I thought I’d lost him, too. That piece of shit Simons will pay for what he’s done to my wife and my friend. The plan is ready but I’ll wait a few days before setting it into motion. No doubt Simons is waiting, so I need to let things simmer for awhile before acting irrationally and too quickly.

I lose all track of time discussing everything that’s happened with Sawyer. He’s animated when he talks about what Simons did and how he
was completely caught off guard. He seems irritated and pissed at himself for falling into such a blatant trap.

“We’ve been out of it too long,” I tell him and he nods in agreement.

“The CIA would’ve disavowed me for getting ensnared so easily,” he chastises himself.

Hell, they fired
him for less, so they would’ve been much harsher if something like this had happened on the clock.

Sonya comes back into the room and seems
annoyed that Murphy and I are taking up all of his time and I can’t blame her. I apologize and she shoos us away, wanting to pamper Sawyer. I tease him a little before I leave, making him blush. It’s good to see him back to his old self.

Stepping out of the room, I realize Isa
is nowhere to be seen. I call her new phone but she doesn’t answer and a sense of alarm sets in. Christ, I need to get this feeling under control. She’s probably just in the cafeteria or the restroom.

Not wanting to overreact,
I settle down in our private room and log onto my computer to get some work done.  Just then someone from work calls and I’m forced to deal with a situation and drive to the office to take over a meeting with a new client. I text Isa of my plans and leave.

Once at work,
I put on my professional hat and try to convince them that despite everything that has come out about my private life, my company’s reputation is unsurpassed and the most logical choice for them if they want the best and most discrete security company to handle their affairs. 

The meeting takes far longer than I had anticipated and when I look at my watch, it’s late afternoon.

After the meeting, I decide to stop off at home and pick up some fresh clothes for both me and Isa. When I get inside, I call her again and she doesn’t answer. She knows I hate it when she doesn’t answer her phone. Why the hell does she even have it if she’s not going to answer it? I text her and still there’s no response. This is such bullshit. On the drive back to the hospital, my sixth sense is telling me that something is very wrong. There’s no way Isa wouldn’t answer the phone when she knows how tenuous things are between us right now.

At the hospital, I question Sonya
about Isa’s whereabouts and she gets flustered. She tells me that Isa is taking care of something, though she doesn’t say what. My sixth sense was right as evidenced by her body language and the way she’s avoiding eye contact. Her voice is stressed and I question her further, sitting her down and facing her directly.

“
Tell me, Sonya, where exactly did Isa say she was going?” I ask in my interrogation voice.

She finally breaks down, “She said she had business to take care of back home.”

“I was just at home and she wasn’t there,” I say clipped.

Hearing
the tone of my voice, Sawyer sits up in bed, listening intently.

“T
hat’s not what she meant, Mr. Young,” Sonya replies, looking nervously from me to Sawyer.

What the hell?
“Then what did she mean?” My patience is wearing thin and Sawyer must sense it because he cuts in before I blow up.

“Sonya dear, just tell us where Isabel is,” he says sternly.

“In Atlanta,” she says quietly.

I’m horror
-struck by Sonya’s words. The blood drains from my face and the same sick feeling that overtook me the day Isa left washes over me. Sawyer leaps up from the bed and stands, not giving a shit that his ass is hanging out of his hospital gown.

“Why did
n’t you tell us?” he snaps at Sonya.

“She begged me not to tell Mr. Young until absolutely necessary. She assured me that everything would be fine,” sh
e comes back defensively.

“Hell, Sonya, her father is a psychotic murderer!”
he yells.

Sonya looks ill and sinks i
nto the couch. “How was I supposed to know? No one ever told me that. You never talk to me…” she whines and Sawyer’s face blanches.

He sits next to her and hugs her, and I step away to try and gather my thoughts.

“You’re right, Lady Sonya. You’re right. I’m sorry for yelling at you. You didn’t know,” he coos in her ear.

Un-fucking-believable.
Feeling lightheaded, I sit back down on the bed and call out to Murphy. He comes into the room looking confused until I tell him what’s happened.

Will this drama
ever end? Why the fuck did she go there?
Why?
I call Isa’s phone one more time, hoping that she’ll pick up but fearing that my call will go unanswered again.

“Hi, sugar,” Isa answer
s after the second ring.

“Jesus Christ, Isa!” I shriek into the phone, startled by her voice on the other end.

“Everything will be okay now. You’ll be safe and so will Sawyer. I have everything under control. I did something really bad, though. I’ll tell you but only if you promise not to be angry with me,” she says in a calm voice.

“Just tell me,” I snort
furiously.

“You’re angry,” she whispers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rein it in, Young.

“No, love, I’
m not angry, I’m just worried. Please tell me what happened,” I say smoothly.

“I killed Simons for you. Now you don
’t have to worry about taking care of him yourself. He was a bad, bad man. I didn’t mean to kill him, but he wouldn’t stop. Are you sure you’re not angry with me?”

Fucking hell.
Wouldn’t stop what?
“Just wait for me before you do anything else, okay? You just stay put. Where are you?”

“I’m with P
apa now. Say hi, Papa,” she says away from the mouthpiece. A man’s voice can be heard mumbling curse words along with rustling, and dread settles in my gut. She’s with her father…
this can’t be happening.

“Papa doesn’t want to talk right now. He’s angry with me,
too,” she responds in a soft voice.

“
Pussycat, listen to me: I’m not angry, I promise. Whatever you have planned can wait. Please promise me that you’ll wait until I get there, okay?” I plead with her, my voice cracking.

“No, my sweet love
r, I can’t promise you that. I want control and he has to be dealt with once and for all. No one is going to do my dirty work for me. Bye for now…”

“
No, Isa!” I bellow into the phone but she’s already hung up.

I try to dial her back but the phone just rings and rings.
My God,
her voice.
It was eerily cool and detached.
Simons is dead?
Isa can’t be held responsible for that. I won’t allow her to be taken to jail for something that she had no control over. She’s been through so much already.

S
awyer is sitting waiting for details but all I can think about is calling Carson to get the jet ready. I step out of the room to discuss what the plan is with Murphy and when I come back in Sawyer is dressed and waiting.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I bark at him.

Sonya is standing next to him and begging him to be reasonable, but I can see by the determined look on his face that our urgings are falling on deaf ears.

“This isn’t a negotiation. I’m
coming with you,” he states plainly.

“Fucking hell, Morrison, you can’t. It would be irresponsible for me to
let you come,” I say walking towards the door.

He stays right on my hee
ls and pushes me up against a wall.

“I’m not staying behind! You need me!” he
shouts and something in his eyes tells me that he needs me to need him.

“I’m not asking for your permission to come along,”
he says calmer and stepping back, but with obvious pain in his eyes from his still fresh wound.

“Please, Sawyer,” Sonya
implores.

I can’t say no to him and I know damn well if I try, I may end up with my front teeth down my throat. I throw my hands up in resignation, knowing this is a bad idea and someone will end up hurt and/or dead.

“It’ll be like old times, brother,” he tells me, p
utting his hand on my shoulder which I suspect is more to steady himself than to be a gesture of reassurance.

Sawyer ends up talking Murphy into staying behind, saying that too many people is never a good thing. I have my doubts and think more is better, personally.

I can’t even focus during the flight to Atlanta and swear I’m going to piss my pants at any moment. I try repeatedly to get through to Isa, but my calls and texts go unreturned. Again, I pray to a God I’m not sure exists that my wife is safe. I keep looking over at Sawyer who is shifting in his seat uncomfortably and gripping his side. Christ, I never should have let him come along.

Simons is dead.

“What the fuck are we going to do about Simons?” I ask Sawyer.

“I’ll handle it,” he simply states.

Isa’s words come back to me,
no one is going to do my dirty work for me.
She was right to think that it’s a cowardly thing for someone not to take care of their own business.

“No, I’
ve put enough responsibility on you, Morrison, and look what it got you. I’ll take care of my own dirty work from here on out,” I tell him.

Sawyer looks completely
insulted by my statement and for a split second, I think he’s going to hurl me out of the jet despite his weakened state.

“That’s bullshit, Young. Th
at’s what you hired me for. More than that, the things I do for you are because you’re not just my boss, but my friend, you jackass. If I thought for one minute that you were taking advantage of me, I’d tell you to fuck off. I’ve known you longer than anyone and we’ve been through more shit than most married couples, so seriously, don’t tell me you’re handling your own dirty work
from now on unless you want to get your overly confident, arrogant, Dominant ass kicked.”

Jesus Christ, how the hell am I supposed to respond to tha
t? Part of me wants to punch Sawyer in the mouth and the other part of me wants to headlock him and give him a noogie. Isa was absolutely right: Sawyer and I have a real bromance going on.

The entire flight is spent discussing and going over our impromptu plan. My nerves are frayed and I end up ha
ving to put my seat back, close my eyes and count down from 100. Losing Isa, almost losing Sawyer, now this. How much more can I take before I completely break down? Suddenly, talking to Maggie doesn’t sound so absurd anymore.

Just over an hour after ta
keoff, we arrive in Atlanta and land at a private airport. There’s already a rental waiting for us. For being injured and still on the mend, Sawyer moves at the speed of light getting in the car. I, on the other hand, feel sluggish and like a complete wreck. I pause outside the car, practically hyperventilating. This is ridiculous. Where are my balls, damn it?
Man up, Young!

Impatient, Sawyer honks the horn and rolls down the passenger side window.

“Grow a pair and let’s go!” he yells.

Fucking hell.
Sawyer is injured and
still
, he has more cojones than me. That’s some fucked up bullshit.

The drive takes nearly an hour to
get to the outskirts of Atlanta and we end up in a wealthy subdivision loaded with overly large gated homes. We drive past Mr. Ibanez’s house once just to stake it out and then make our way back around and park up the street.  We approach the home from behind to avoid anyone seeing us. It’s quite an impressive layout and I find it hard to imagine Isa growing up in such a cold and sterile place because her personality is so warm and charming. Standing near the back entrance, we peer into the windows casually as to not look suspicious.

Sawyer picks the lock swiftly
and grabs hold of his side again in pain, the color draining from his face.

“Are you going to make it?” I ask, grabbing on to his upper arm to give him support.

He nods yes and takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

“For
Isabel and you, yes, I’ll make it. Let’s do this.”

I never thought I’d feel about another man the way I felt about my father, but right now, seeing Sawyer struggle and yet remain strong, I can honestly say, I care deeply about him. Maybe, just
maybe
, I may even love him.