by Livia Grant
Chapter Fifteen
Lukus
Lukus stumbled going up the last flight of stairs leading to his loft. He couldn't see his feet for the crying woman he carried in his arms. Brianna had been too distraught to climb the two flights so he'd scooped her up so they could make faster progress.
He glanced sideways at Tiffany, who was marching up the stairs at his side. A surge of pride coursed through him as he saw the strong set of her jaw. If he hadn't seen what Davenport had done to her with his own eyes, he'd never have known her life had been in danger mere minutes earlier.
She's absolutely the most amazing woman in the world. How the hell did I get so lucky to find her?
He returned his gaze to the shocked Brianna in his arms, who was clinging to him as if her life were over. He understood her fear. If it were Tiffany lying unconscious with a bullet buried in her, he wouldn't be functioning much better.
It was in that moment that the truth of the situation closed in on him. He'd been so focused on saving Tiffany and Brianna that he hadn't allowed the news of Markus and Derek being shot to sink in. He hadn't been able to think about it before. He'd had to focus on destroying Jake.
But now the real possibility of losing his two closest friends had his heart pounding with fear. It was bad enough they were gravely injured. They'd both risked their lives to protect his fiancée. If he'd ever doubted the men's loyalty or dedication to their friendship, it was gone. How would he ever possibly repay them for their sacrifice?
As if she sensed his fear, Tiffany looked his way as they hit the top of the landing. Her smile was bittersweet. It spoke to him. Without words, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Exactly what terrified him.
They'd stopped, both afraid to open the door. Better to stay in the dark with hope than to open the door to get answers they didn't want to know. The three of them collectively held their breath, unsure if they wanted to proceed.
Once again, Tiffany was the bravest of them. "They're going to be okay. We have to believe that."
Brianna wriggled in his arms. "I think I can walk now. Thank you so much for helping me up the stairs, Lukus, but we're out of danger. I need to suck it up and be strong for Markus. He has enough to worry about."
Lukus dropped her legs to the floor, holding her steady until she could hold her own weight. Brianna rushed into Tiffany's arms the second she could. "I don't know how you were so strong, Tiffany, but I know for a fact that I'm alive because of you. Thank you so much for not falling apart like I did."
Tiffany hugged her best friend, her relieved gaze meeting Lukus's. He knew her so well. She may have been the bravest woman he'd ever met, but he saw the vulnerability in her ocean blue eyes. The lingering fear that the nightmare might not be over yet.
She needed him to be strong. "Come on, ladies. We can't avoid opening the door forever. Let's go find Markus and Derek," he said briskly.
Lukus input the six-digit code to unlock the door into the foyer of the loft. Barely controlled chaos hit them like a sound wave. Every nook and cranny of the loft was filled. Police. Paramedics. Security. Friends. It was hard to know where to look first.
Lukus quickly scanned the space until relief loosened the hold on his chest. Derek was sitting up on the couch, being checked out by paramedics. He'd removed his tee shirt, and two large bruises had already formed on his muscular chest—right over his heart.
He'd been wearing his bulletproof vest.
He'd be sore as hell for a few days, but Derek would be fine. Davenport's aim had been true. He'd shot to kill. The vest had saved his friend's life.
As they watched, Rachel pushed her way forward until she was sitting on her daddy's lap. Lukus smiled as he watched the paramedics trying to shoo her away so they could continue their examination, and Derek telling them to go to hell.
His scan of the space continued, taking in Dylan sitting in Lukus's favorite chair, his boots up on the ottoman, a pale Hannah wrapped in his lap. Mama Rosa and Connor were nowhere to be seen, which was good. Scenes like this could give a kid lingering nightmares.
Lukus had to move a few more feet into the great room before he finally found Markus. He was on a gurney being treated by paramedics. They were just hanging a bottle of IV solution onto a long pole, which was a good sign. They don't give dead people IV's.
Brianna had already broken free to run to her husband's side while Lukus and Tiffany held hands, following quickly. Markus was pale, his eyes closed. It looked like he was asleep. Brianna reached for his hand, squeezing it as renewed sobs overtook her.
Markus's eyes sprang open, full of panic. It took him a few seconds to focus, but as soon as he saw Brianna next to him, tears came to his eyes.
"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd never see you again, Bri."
Brianna calmed enough to speak. "You just try to get rid of me, buster."
Markus grunted in pain as he tried to tease her back. "That's Master to you, young lady."
"Yes, Master."
Lukus asked for a report from the medics. "So, what's the damage?"
The tallest of the medics answered, "His vital signs are stable, and the bleeding has slowed. We're taking him to Methodist Memorial."
Brianna leaned over her husband to hug him; gently so as to not hurt him more. Silent sobs shook her shoulders.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay," Markus said. Then he looked up at Lukus. The men exchanged knowing glances.
Markus probed, "It's over?"
Lukus smiled. "Yeah. It's over. Davenport is dead. He'll never hurt anyone else again."
Markus sighed with relief. "You do the honors?"
"Nope. The CPD took care of it."
As if they'd timed it, Aiden and Josh pressed into the room, seeking them out. It only took them a few seconds to come up and stand beside Markus. An awkward silence descended on them until Aiden joked, "Lying down on the job again, I see. You'll do anything to get out of Tiffany beating your ass at basketball, won't you?"
Markus smiled weakly. "I hear you got in a bit of target practice. Well done."
Lukus knew how lucky they were that they could be cracking jokes. If he'd timed his arrival from the airport just a few minutes later, they could be having a very different conversation.
We're pretty damn lucky.
Dylan
Dylan Parker sat silently in the comfortable chair he'd occupied for the last several long hours. Slowly, the crowd in the loft was beginning to thin out.
Now that the imminent danger of Jake Davenport had been extinguished, Dylan found himself strangely paralyzed. He'd been focused for so long on bringing the bastard down that he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. As horrific as the sights he'd seen during the investigation had been, they'd done one thing; distracted him from thinking about the horrors of watching his best friend blown up by an IED in Afghanistan.
Guilt invaded him as he realized it had been days since he'd even thought of Danny. He should be relieved at not remembering the fear in his best friend's eyes as he'd died in his arms. The memories had haunted him for months.
Dylan hated to admit it now, but his brother Derek had been right to push him to get off his ass and go to work for Titan Securities. His only regret was that he hadn't been the one to put the bullet in Davenport.
The last few police lingered in the kitchen, taking statements and confirming facts with Lukus and Derek. A pang of surprised jealousy struck Dylan as he watched Derek answering questions with a sleeping Rachel cradled in his arms like a child. Dylan smiled as he watched the older uniformed cop keep glancing down at Rachel, intrigued by the pacifier she was sucking subconsciously in her slumber. Her diaper was visible under her skimpy pajamas.
Dylan finally got it.
Derek and Rachel had done a pretty good job of hiding the uniqueness of their relationship from their families, yet Dylan had always known there was something different about their marriage. He hadn't gotten the behind the curtain view into their dynamic u
ntil he'd started working for Titan Securities. In the early days of the investigation, he'd had trouble separating what was happening inside the horror house that was Strictly Disciplined from what went on inside his brother's marriage, since both were filled with spankings and punishments.
One look at the love in Derek's eyes as he kept checking on his wife was all it took to understand the difference. Everything Derek, Lukus, and Markus did with their women was done in love. Never to degrade. Never to do damage. Dylan may not understand the psychology behind it yet, but anyone with eyes could see that Rachel, Tiffany, and Brianna were getting exactly what they needed from the men in their lives.
He let his gaze drift back to the sleeping form of Hannah curled up at the end of the leather couch, a dozing Connor in her arms.
I wonder what Hannah needs to make her happy?
It wasn't the first time he'd pondered this question. He'd become obsessed with her in the previous weeks. Of that he was sure. What was less clear was: why? And, more accurately, for how long? Keeping her safe had given him purpose. Was that all there was to it?
The answer came to him when a loud-mouthed cop stomped over to Hannah and jostled her, rudely waking her. Dylan was on his feet in a flash, rushing to her side. He'd known she'd wake in a panic. He saw the fear in her eyes as she glanced around, trying to get her bearings.
The cop was barking orders. "You need to wake up, Miss Martine. We have more questions for you regarding your relationship with Jake Davenport."
Dylan stepped in between them, protecting Hannah and Connor. "Back off. She wasn't in a relationship with the bastard. She was his victim, and she can answer more questions tomorrow. She's exhausted."
Her voice rose, quiet behind him. "Dylan, thanks, but it's okay. I'd rather just get this over with so we can put it all behind us."
He turned to look down at her. She was so pale. She needed sleep. If she were his, he'd order her to the bedroom. A pang of something he wasn't sure of constricted his heart.
She wasn't his, was she?
They barely knew each other, really, and the dangerous predator that had brought them together was dead now. She didn't need him anymore.
He stepped back, preparing to return to his chair; to return to his role as outside observer. The touch of her hand on his stopped him. She silently held him back.
He returned his gaze to hers. So many emotions danced in her eyes. Fear. Exhaustion. Determination. Shyness. She seemed lost, as if she would drown if one more weight were placed on her slim shoulders. A fierce urge to protect her surged up in his chest. This time, it wasn't from guns or bullets or crazed lunatics, but from the harsh life circumstances she'd endured.
They didn't speak. He just sat next to her, reaching for her hand and pulling her closer until she leaned on him.
She spent thirty minutes answering the officer's questions; thirty minutes reliving the hell she'd been put through. At times, Dylan's hand became numb from her squeezing so hard as she fought to hold it together. By the time they were done, she sagged against him, spent.
When the cop pressed for more answers about her pre-Davenport past, Dylan put a stop to it. "That's enough. She's answered enough questions. What happened before she met Davenport is irrelevant. We're done for the night. You have more questions, make an appointment with her in a few days. The bastard is dead. It can wait."
He glanced down and saw relieved tears pooling in her eyes. God, even having lived through twenty-four hours of hell, she was beautiful. Only the faint bruise remaining on her cheek marred her beauty, reminding him of how close to danger she'd been.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed." He reached down to scoop the still sleeping Connor into his arms before standing and helping her to her feet. He nodded goodnight to his brother from across the room before moving them in the direction of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. They came to a small office first, with a pullout bed. Mama Rosa was already asleep there. Dylan left Hannah at the door as he moved to lay Connor down next to the older woman.
Hannah complained. "No. I need to keep Connor with me."
Dylan had been prepared for her objection. After tucking the little boy in, he returned to her side. He took her into his arms, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes. "No, Hannah. What you need is a good night's sleep. Connor is safe now. And Rosa will take care of him when he wakes. It'll be dawn in a few hours. I want you to get more than a couple hours of sleep."
She opened her mouth as if to argue. If she had, he would have backed down. After all, who the hell was he to tell her what to do?
Only she didn't argue. She nodded her consent, allowing him to take her hand and lead her to the next guest room. They'd left in such a hurry that they'd packed nothing, which left him in an awkward quandary. He left her standing beside the bed while he strode to the nearby dresser, rifling through drawers until he came out with an oversized tee shirt that he assumed belonged to Lukus.
Hannah watched him silently as she collapsed to sit on the bed. She was fading fast now that sleep was near. By the time he got back to her, she looked like she'd topple over fully dressed.
He started by slowly lifting the blouse she'd been wearing since she'd been discharged from the hospital. Anger flared as he saw the bruising on her left breast, knowing the marks had been left by Davenport's brutality. The clean tee shirt was huge on her, but at least it hid her damaged flesh.
She was already barefoot, and the jeans Lukus had brought to the hospital for her in California slid down her legs easily. He caught a glimpse of her flat stomach and skimpy panties just before pulling the tee shirt lower to protect her modesty.
Dylan pulled back the sheet, maneuvering Hannah until her head rested on the pillow. It took all his self-control to pull the sheet up. He leaned down, letting his lips linger on her forehead for several seconds, delivering what he hoped felt like a platonic kiss. The rushing of blood to his damn cock reminded him that his feelings towards Hannah were anything but innocent, but the woman had been through hell. The last thing she needed right now was a man pressing himself on her.
As he pulled away, moving to leave, she challenged him. "Wait. You aren't staying?" Her voice was soft. Vulnerable.
Her question gave him hope that she might have feelings for him in return, yet he remained strong. "I think you're too tired right now to deal with me staying here with you. We'll talk more tomorrow."
She reached for his hand, her grasp firm, determined to hold him near. "Please, Dylan. You're tired, too. I thought..."
In that moment, she looked so young. So unsure of herself. She was floundering in her emotions as much as he was.
He was tempted. So fucking tempted. He wanted to strip down and lie next to her. To feel her in his arms. To make love to her until she was convinced he'd never let anything bad happen to her again.
If only it were that easy.
It was the single tear that fell on her bruised cheek that finally tore down his final bit of self-control. There was no place in the entire world he'd rather be in that moment than in that queen-sized bed, holding the beautiful woman in front of him.
He toed off his boots first. Their eyes locked as she finally released his hand, recognizing that he'd decided to stay. If he'd suspected that the sexual tension between them was one-sided, those doubts were put to rest in that moment. As exhausted as she was, Hannah's eyes sparked with a desire he marveled at considering all she'd been through.
Moving slowly, he pulled his tee shirt off first. She broke their eye contact to rake her gaze over his chiseled chest. He'd worked out extra hard the last few weeks, trying to burn off his anger towards Jake Davenport. He saw the concern in her eyes as she discovered the four-inch scar under his left ribcage, a souvenir from the worst day of his life.
His jeans pooled on the floor next. He left his boxer briefs on as he pulled back the sheet to lie next to her. Hannah snuggled in close, replacing her pillow with his chest. She draped her left arm and leg across his body, c
linging to him as if he were her lifeline.
It felt perfect. She felt perfect.
He hugged her close, kissing the top of her head, her long sandy brown hair a mess, yet still somehow smelling fresh, like apple and vanilla shampoo. It calmed him to have her safe in his arms, and he felt tension leaving his body that he hadn't even recognized he had still been carrying.
The little minx in his arms should have fallen into an exhausted sleep, yet he could feel her slowly humping against him, the sexual tension growing. As tempted as he was, he knew in his heart what they both needed most—and it wasn't sex.
"Goodnight, Hannah."
Her frustrated sigh was adorable. "Goodnight, Dylan."
Despite her attempts to keep them awake, he felt her fall into an almost immediate slumber. The tension seeped out of her body as she relaxed into his arms, her soft breathing even and steady. This was heaven. He fell into his own deep sleep, finally allowing himself to believe that the nightmare was over at last.
Chapter Sixteen
Hannah
Hannah awoke to the best sound in the world. The sun was just peeking in through the small slit of the drawn curtains in the guest bedroom she'd been holed up in for the last thirty-six hours. The soft snores of a sleeping Dylan comforted her. She snuggled in his arms, wanting to be closer to the man who'd saved her in more ways than one.
He'd barely left her side since rescuing her from Jake's house of horrors. For that, she was grateful.
She'd spent the entire previous day in bed. Sleeping. Waking to eat, drink and shower, only to sleep and do it all over again. She'd taken at least a half-dozen showers since leaving California, yet she still felt dirty. She hoped the feeling would go away once the bruising her captor had left as a souvenir faded.
Through it all, Dylan had been her rock. Steady. Protective in a way she'd never known a man to be. Truth be told, he scared her, but in a totally different way than Jake had. For the first time in her life, she felt like she cared about someone enough that he had the power to break her heart.
