This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2) (15 page)

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and continue my retreat toward the bathroom in the dark. “I have nightmares about him and the stuff he’s done to me. I was scared.”

He climbs off the bed and strides over to me. His strong arms wrap around me and pull me to his sculpted chest. “It’s okay. You’re drenched in sweat. Take a shower and you’ll feel better. I’ll grab you a bottle of water for when you get out.”

I want to be thankful for his gentleness. Want to be able to accept it for what it is. I let out a sigh when he kisses the top of my head. He leaves me to head for the kitchen. Making my way inside, I turn on the light in the bathroom and kick a discarded towel out of the way. I lock the bathroom door behind me and head over to the mirror.

My hair has dried from my last shower and is a mess on top of my head. Dark circles paint the flesh under my eyes. A quiver has set in on my bottom lip and tears stain my cheeks. I’m crushing under the weight of all that’s happened to me.

I twist my hair into a quick bun and then turn on the shower. Seconds later, I’m standing under the hot spray, hoping to wash away my nightmares forever. I quickly rinse my body but when I bring a washcloth between my thighs, I wince. My pussy feels slightly sore as if I’ve recently had sex. But the last time was the night before with Gabe. A shudder ripples through me and I push away another nightmare, as a dark sense of foreboding comes over me.

With everything that’s happened, my body has been thrown out of whack.

Pregnancy hormones and all that.

I remember falling asleep with Brandon protectively curled up behind me. Waking up, entwined in him, as if we’d been—

No.
He wouldn’t. As much as I know he wants to, he’d never violate me like that. I need to stop painting him as a villain and lean on him as a friend. Perhaps he had a wet dream, while I was having another nightmare. I have to chuckle at the irony. Because if I don’t I’ll start to cry.

I’m going to take care of you, babe.

I remember his words to me, once he ripped me from sleep. I have to trust that he is doing just that. Even though I don’t trust anyone right now. But I need a friend. Incredibly so.

When the water grows cold, I step out and begin to dry off.

Then I hear it.

Shouting.

What if Gabe got loose and is hurting Brandon?

Panic sets in
. I can’t lose Brandon too.
My desperate resolve from just outside this godforsaken cabin two days ago comes rushing back over me. I might not entirely trust Brandon anymore. He might be deceiving me in some way that I
will
sniff out. But he’s all I’ve got. I didn’t let Gabe steal him away from me then. And I will not fucking lose him now either.

Not wasting any time, I bolt from the bathroom naked and down the hallway. I’m just pushing through into the kitchen but then slam to a halt.

Brandon’s green eyes are glowing with manic rage. His hair is drenched with sweat and his shoulders quake with heavy breaths as he drags Gabe in his chair over to the hole of the cellar. I open my mouth to plead for him to stop—that if Gabe doesn’t tell me what happened to Dad, I’ll never have any answers. But instead, I stand there stunned silent and reaching out to him.

Gabe’s dark eyes find mine and they’re sad. He mouths that he’s sorry before he drops heavily down the hole. The sickening crunch resounds over and over again in my head. Chair splintering. Bones breaking. Over and over again. No other sounds. No movement or moans or noise of any kind follow the sound of his descent.

I hate Gabe.

Detest his existence.

But I wanted him to suffer.

Humanely.

In prison.

To always think about his crimes and pay for them over his lifetime.

“W-W-What did you do?” I stammer out and meet the enraged glare of Brandon. Pushing past him, I make my way over to the hole that Gabe was pushed into. I fall to my knees and peer inside. My stomach clenches into a fist as I clutch onto the sides of the floor to keep from hurtling down into the abyss with him. Gabe’s lying on his side facing the darkness of the cellar. A pool of blood forms around the middle of his body and he’s unmoving. The chair is smashed into a several pieces around him. His neck seems to be turned in an awkward way and I wonder if he broke it upon impact. Tears are streaming down my face and I angrily swipe them away with the back of my hand. Finding the cellar door, I pull it closed and then latch it shut. I can’t look at his broken body any longer.

With a scream of frustration, I scramble to my feet and charge for Brandon. “Why? Why did you do that?” I demand, fresh, hot tears chasing the ones before them, race their way to my jaw and drip onto my breasts. “You killed him!”

His eyes hungrily lick up and down my naked form before they’re back on my teary ones. They soften at the sight and he slowly approaches. “The nightmares wouldn’t stop until he was dead, Baylee. I’m healing you. I’m fixing you, babe.”

Fury explodes within me and I attack. My fists become tiny weapons of destruction as I try to beat some sense into him. When my hands don’t seem to be doing the job, I set to shoving him. He lets me push him against the counter. I slap at his face and am about to claw his stupid eyeballs out when he snatches both wrists and yanks me to him. His face is bright red, anger twisting up his handsome features into something ugly and hateful. I want to rip the look right from his face.

I shake my head at him and jerk my wrists from his grasp. “Don’t touch me. You can sleep on the couch tonight for all I care,” I hiss at him. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

The unmasked rage begins to melt from his features. His face falls into a frown—clearly heartbroken—as I storm from the room. Once inside the bedroom, I lock the door and then crawl into the bed.

This time, when I dream, Brandon takes the place of the monster. And this new monster is equally terrifying.

The birds chirping outside the window wake me up at dawn. My entire body aches from crying and exertion. With Gabe gone, I’m ready to leave this hell hole once and for all. Maybe Brandon did me a favor. Although I will never let him know that. But by him getting rid of our villain, maybe now I can move on. Problem is, I don’t want to move on. I want to go to the police. Tell them about the cabin and all about Gabe. Expose the WCT sex ring but leave War’s name out of it. And most importantly, I want to find Land. If I can’t count on Brandon, I know I can count on Land to help me find my dad. He’ll want me in his life once he learns I’m carrying a part of his son.

And life will get better. I can control that much.

I couldn’t control what Gabe took from me.

I couldn’t control my mother’s death.

I couldn’t control War’s fate.

I couldn’t even control gaining the answers I wanted and the closure I needed from this whole mess.

But I am going to take care of myself from here on out. And I will control that.

A soft knock on the door makes me jump. I quickly throw on my clothes from yesterday before opening it.

Brandon’s face is contorted into one of guilt and regret. He rests his forearms on the door frame and leans into the room, eyes on mine.

“Baylee,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

I gather up Mom’s sweater, my nightgown, and the picture frame. Ignoring him, I stuff them all into my small purse, making it bulge. “Take me to the police station. Now.”

He leaves his position in the doorway and stalks over to me. I refuse to show weakness anymore and I square my shoulders, looking him in the eye. When his hand reaches for me, I swat it away.

“We can’t do that,” he says with a sigh of frustration. “They’ll take you to jail.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”

He growls and runs his fingers through his hair. “Listen, babe. Let’s talk this through first.”

“No. There’s nothing to say. You killed a man. I told you not to hurt him. I told you we needed answers out of him. But you did whatever the hell you wanted to anyway. I need some space from you.”

I start past him but he grabs my wrist. His almost glowing green orbs find mine and his brows furrow. “That is exactly why we can’t go to the police.”

With a huff, I jerk my arm from his grip. “I thought you were worried about
me
being taken to jail. It’s your own ass you’re looking to save? Well tough shit. Besides, it was self-defense, Brandon. Wasn’t it?”

“He was hogtied, babe, and he was covered in cuts and bruises
we
gave him. They’ll see it as premeditated murder or some shit. You can’t let them take me away from you now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Guilt tries to wash over my anger, but I don’t let it. Not this time. “Either you take me to the police, or I find my own way. Your choice.”

A streak of anger flashes in Brandon’s eyes before he masks it and releases a sigh of defeat, his hands scrubbing over his face. “Fuck, Baylee! Aren’t you listening to me?” I jolt backwards because in the next second, he’s in my face, hands gripping my arms, shaking me. “We cannot go to the fucking police. The whole time you were gone, I tried to get their help. The whole fucking time. They wouldn’t believe a word I said. They were only interested in talking to me once that freak who
bought
you was killed. We have no proof. We have no witnesses. My parents sure as hell aren’t going to help us, and—” He catches himself and lowers his tone. “And yours can’t help us either, babe. You want answers? You want to find your dad? Fine. Let’s go to San Francisco and start asking around. I’m with you. But we have to take matters into our own hands.”

I move my gaze from Brandon’s stormy one, and look over to one of my arms which he is still squeezing. His movements are jerky when he releases me and takes a step back, almost as if he hadn’t even realized he was holding me so tight.

“Fine. I just want out of this cabin. We can figure out the rest once we’re on the road.”

A smile lights up his face and he nods. I leave the room so he can pack up and spend the next few minutes standing near the hole in the kitchen. The cellar door is still closed and latched. A part of me wants to pull it open—to peer into the dark abyss. I would almost expect him to be standing there with his arms crossed over his bulky chest waiting for me to toss him the rope so he can climb out. But the little girl inside of me refuses to open that door. I know he won’t be standing there. He’ll be curled up and stiff in the same position as last night. And I can’t see him like that. I’m not strong enough to deal with the finality of it.

I shouldn’t feel remorse or sadness. I shouldn’t feel guilt. I shouldn’t feel as though I’ll burst into tears at any moment from having lost another person in my life.

A hot tear streaks down my cheek, though, and I let out a sob. Gabe had become a monster, but for ten years, he wasn’t. I know, deep down, he did love me. Even if that love was born of something sick. It doesn’t make sense to me but my heart still hurts.

I consider some of his last words to me. How he tried to warn me about Brandon being dangerous. It was almost laughable, considering the source—a source who stole an underage girl, forced her to have sex with him, sold her, only to later shoot and kill the person he sold her to. Gabe took and took and took. But in that moment, he gave. And in his final moments, he gave too. When he told me he was sorry. What it all means, I may never know.

Swiping away my tear, I shake my head.
These are the pregnancy hormones talking.
It probably meant nothing. It was probably just another one of his twisted head games. There’s no way I’m going to mourn the loss of Gabriel Sharpe. He took my innocence, took my love, and who knows what else?

All he gave me in exchange was heartache and pain.

And the monster he created.

He gave me the dragon.

He gave me Brandon.

“Where are we going?” I question as we hit the expressway that will take us to San Francisco.

“I thought I could take you shopping and that we could stay in one of those boutique hotels that overlook the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d always planned on taking you there for your eighteenth birthday. But then…” His voice cracks and I risk a glance at him. His features are more innocent and reminiscent of the boy I knew. Maybe he needed out of that cabin too because now, in his truck with the sun filtering in through the windshield, he looks like the Brandon I remember.