by Linzi Basset
It was a somber group that gathered around Jaxon’s bed. His usually tanned skin looked pasty with a sheen of sweat that slicked his hair against his head. Lauren had stayed behind with Beckie. Keon didn’t want to upset her further.
“H-ey, what … are you … guys doing here?” Jaxon stammered in a weak voice. His eyes caught Ethan’s. He lifted his hand and Ethan caught it in his. A brief smile trembled on his lips. “Don’t worry … Dad, I’m gonna … be—”
One moment he was talking, the next his body arched, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor flatlined. Ethan didn’t hesitate and immediately started with CPR, Bruce at his side. Morgan rushed outside to call for help but was nearly run over by a horde of medical personnel charging toward the room.
The surgeon, Nate Hart, chased them out of the room but Bruce refused to budge. His heart hammered painfully against his chest and his ears zinged from the tension that crippled his entire body. Ethan and he stood watching while the medical team did their best to revive Jaxon.
“Charge,” Nate’s voice clipped through the room. “Clear.”
A rumble of denial broke through Ethan’s stellar resolve and he went down on his haunches, watching with tears coursing down his cheeks.
“Come on, Son, wake up. God, please don’t let my boy die.”
Bruce laid his hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard as Nate repeated the process. The sickening long beep broke apart by a heartbeat. Ethan surged upright.
“He’s back.” Nate leaned over Jaxon. “Jax, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” The silence stretched out like an eternity. “Good boy.” He straightened, his eyes trained on the monitor as he scrutinized his vitals. “Prep the operating room and get the team ready, stat.” He turned to Ethan. “I’m going to open him up. The chip of the bullet I didn’t want to remove because it was too close to the nerve in his spine must be causing the infection that’s feeding his fever.”
He waited a moment for the repercussion to sink in. Ethan shook his head, battling to keep fresh tears from falling again.
“I’ll be better equipped to evaluate if that is the case once I opened him up. You know as well as I do, the particle might have shifted by now. It’s your call, Ethan.”
“If it means he’ll live, and there is no other alternative … remove it.” Ethan sounded like he had just issued his own death sentence.
Nate laid his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of your boy, Ethan.”
“I’m assisting,” Ethan glanced at Jaxon, his voice raw with emotion, “and no, you’re not going to stop me. It’s my son, Nate. I have to be there.”
Nate glanced at Bruce. He smiled grimly at the message he read there. “Very well, Ethan but only to observe. No, I insist. We both know you’re too emotional at the moment.”
“Let’s go.”
Bruce watched the two men leave. He turned to the bed where the nurses were preparing Jaxon for surgery. He took his hand and squeezed hard.
“Hang in there, Jax, you hear me? Hang the fuck in there.” The pressure around his hand was slight but enough to bring tears of hope to Bruce’s eyes. “That’s the spirit,” he managed to choke out.
Soft arms circled him from behind and a warm body pressed reassuringly against his back. It was such a small gesture but one that broke through Bruce’s veneer. He swallowed hard and turned to wrap Morgan in his arms. He hung on for dear life, praying for Jaxon’s safe recovery.
“He’ll be fine, Bruce, I just know it. With all of you rooting for him, how could he not?” she whispered against his throat.
Bruce didn’t respond, knowing she didn’t expect him to. He treasured another few minutes of her reassuring embrace before he straightened and led her back to Ethan’s office to join the rest of his friends to wait.
“What happened, Bruce?” Paige asked the moment they arrived.
“They managed to revive him. Nate is going to operate again.” He took a deep breath and with clipped tones relayed the disturbing news.
Paige turned even paler than she already was. “Are you saying he might be … that he might not … oh god, Bruce! Are you saying he might end up a paraplegic?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Paige. Nate is an excellent surgeon. The most important thing to concentrate on now is to save his life,” he said in a soothing voice.
“How is Jax?” A deep voice growled from the doorway.
“Jack! What the devil are you doing out of bed?” Max rushed toward him and assisted Jordan in leading him to a chair.
“I’m right where I should be,” Jack huffed. His breath wheezed from his chest from exertion. He winced as he sat down and his broken ribs reminded him that he was far from full recovery himself.
The next four hours were harrowing as the men took turns to pace and the women to fetch coffee and sandwiches. They all surged upright as Ethan and Nate appeared in the doorway, both looking tired.
“Nate managed to remove the particle. At this stage, it’s too early to say if he’s going to … if he’s …” Ethan was too choked up to continue and sought out Paige who didn’t hesitate to run into his arms. He clutched her against him, burying his face in her hair.
“As with any of these kind of procedures, the following seventy-two hours are critical. There’s slight damage to the nerve but not as much as I feared. Jaxon is young, healthy, and strong. The nerve should fully regenerate. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Nate squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ll be here 24/7 until he’s out of danger, Ethan. Go home. You need some sleep.”
“No, I’m staying. He needs me.” He pulled Paige under his arm. “Us. He needs us.”
Nate nodded, not surprised at his reaction. Since Jaxon had returned from Saudi Arabia, they had grown very close. His protectiveness was normal, especially under the circumstances.
Ethan looked at Bruce, a silent plea in his eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere, mate. We’ll be right beside his bed with you.”
“We’re all staying. At least until he wakes up and gives us one of his cocky smiles,” Rhone said with finality before Ethan could chase them home.
The men looked at each other. Each of them, including Lance, silently offered a pact to end the reign of the demented man who had once been their friend, Reece Talbot.
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan was listless and bored. Bruce was happy with a short visit from her to the hospital once a day but he demanded that she go home afterwards. She understood his reasons that he didn’t want her to be dragged down by the emotional turmoil but didn’t necessarily agree with him. She might be new to the Precision Secure family but it didn’t mean she was less invested in what affected them, especially when it came to Bruce.
“I don’t know why he has to be so hard headed,” she muttered around a piece of apple she’d popped into her mouth.
He was suffering as much as Ethan, but he was the strong shoulder his friend leaned on in this dark time. Jaxon had slipped in and out of consciousness over the past three days. He had developed a raging fever twenty-four hours after the operation. It had been touch and go but they finally managed to break it early that morning. Morgan prayed that it meant he was healing from the inside. Bruce needed sleep. He said he was fine but she could see this morning he was dead on his feet.
“God, I can’t sit around like this! I need something to do.” Morgan jumped up and roamed through the house. Since her arrival, she hadn’t taken the time to explore the massive place and there were numerous rooms she hadn’t seen. Her exploration ended in a massive formal lounge.
“Oh, my,” she gasped as she stared wide eyed at the beautifully decorated room in shades of autumn. It oozed with warmth that invited her inside. The paintings on the walls drew her attention and she studied each one intently. Bruce had excellent taste and the best artists adorned the walls.
“What? But that’s … it’s one of mine,” she ended lamely, staring at the large oil painting depicting her personal rendition o
f the storm of Galilee, an original concept painted by Rembrandt. Her hands covered her mouth as she stared at it. She had been broken when she came back from Saudi Arabia to find that Will had sold all the paintings she’d kept that had special meaning to her. The emotions that had been at war inside her at the time she’d painted this specific one, erupted to break free from the chains where she’d buried them for the past four years. It wrapped around her with such a vicious twist that she sank to her knees in defeat. Staring at the painting, she was doused in the same despair as when she’d put to canvas her inner turmoil.
It was done in the Baroque era style, similar to the one of Rembrandt, only in her painting, she was the only occupant in the small sailboat being tossed and turned asunder by the violent storm raging above and the tumultuous waves threatening to swallow it whole.
“Oh god, will it ever stop,” she moaned, unable to tear her eyes from the raw emotions she still felt as she stared at the scene. That was how she’d felt then, after that fateful night. Alone, frightened, and slayed bare and vulnerable against the forces of a man, more cruel and vile than she’d ever believed possible. A man who had crushed her spirit, with every bolt of thunder that slashed from his lips as he molded her into his own personal sex toy.
Morgan finally managed to stumble to her feet. Her mind was numb but she was driven by a sudden urgent need to paint. She gasped as she splashed cold water on her face in an effort to yank her mind back to the present. Within minutes she was driving toward Lorton where Yavelberg Art Studio was situated. She’d be able to buy all the equipment she needed to start painting. She glanced in the rearview mirror as she turned out of Ox Road into the Workhouse Arts Center, searching for building four where she’d bought supplies when they’d returned from Saudi Arabia under Precision Secure’s protection. She relaxed as the black SUV of the security detail followed behind her. She’d been in such a rush, she never told them she was leaving. Luckily, they took their duties seriously and were always on the lookout for her.
She eased the car into an already packed parking area in front of the supply shop. Her heels clicked on the tar as she rushed inside, only to come up short when she encountered countless people milling around. A large sale sign caught her eye. She sighed heavily and with resignation wormed her way through the people to the back room where the canvases and easels were. She was two steps down the short hallway when she was hauled from behind. A large hand clamped over her lips and yanked hard on her hair. Her breath wheezed from her chest when she was slammed unceremoniously against the wall. Tears of pain filled her eyes as her forehead connected with a hard thump against the red bricks. Morgan couldn’t breathe, fear pulsed through her veins with every staggering puff she tried to take.
"Listen and listen well, bitch. If you make a sound, I'll slit your throat. Do you understand?"
Morgan nodded, listening to her own haggard breathing, a harmonious melody to the white noise of fear beating against her brain.
"You've been a naughty girl and my boss isn't happy. He wants to see you."
He yanked her around without removing his hand from her mouth. She moaned fearfully as she felt the sharp point of a knife against her throat.
Oh god. Not him! She cried out in her mind, now consumed by terror. He was Zee and Dexter’s right hand man, the one who didn’t hesitate to use the knife he pressed deeper against her throat. She had always feared him and had walked wide circles around him when Zee and Dexter came to visit Will. She couldn’t withhold the shudder as she stared into his black eyes, cold as chipped ice.
"And you know very well that what Mr. Z wants, Mr. Z gets. Capiche?"
She nodded. There was nothing she could do but pray that one of the security detail realized she was no longer among the milling crowd in the front shop. She cursed herself for rushing ahead and not waiting for them.
"This is what you're going to do. You're going to finish shopping and then you're going to tell your muscle outside that you need to go to the ladies' room before you leave. Use the back entrance. I'll be waiting there." His eyes turned sharp. "Do not fuck with me, Morgan. If I have to come for you again, my knife is going to get a taste of your juicy cunt."
Morgan didn't doubt him for one second. She'd heard too many tales of what he was capable of. She blinked and he was gone.
She went through the motion of choosing the supplies she needed but the urging she’d had to paint had dissipated with the appearance of Dan Scott, cruel assassin to The Sixth Order.
“Would you mind taking this to my car? I really need to use the ladies room before we head back.” Her insides quivered as she smiled at Louis, the man in charge of her safety. She felt like a traitor when he smiled and told her to wait right there so he could walk with her. The door was still closing behind him when she turned and walked toward the back like she was on her way to the gallows, which she imagined, could very well be the case.
"Get in the back and lie flat on the seat. Don't lift your head until we arrive. Got me?" Dan sneered through the window of a silver BMW waiting for her.
Morgan didn't bother to respond. She'd contemplated sending Bruce a text message while shopping but, in her haste, she had left her cell phone at home. No one would know where she was. By the time Louis discovered she was missing, they’d be miles away. She closed her mind and concentrated on listening to the sounds as they drove, desperate for some landmark that would tell her where they were heading. The thirty-minute drive ended on a gravel road.
"Let's go," Dan growled as he opened the door. Morgan looked around with fear gnawing at her mind. They were on the banks of a lake, where she had no idea. Dan yanked her along with a hard hand around her elbow, heading toward a house that was built on stilts over the water. It was a house meant for nature. Windows glinted in the sun all around.
Morgan recognized the stocky frame of Zee through the window as they approached. Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes insolently travel over her body. She felt dirty in the wake of his lustful perusal, even over the distance. It was the first time she’d be in his presence since her return from her incarceration. She couldn’t withhold a shudder of disgust as she watched him lick his lips as she neared.
Fuck him! I refuse to cower in front of him. Not ever again. She yanked loose from Dan's grasp and squared her shoulders, lengthening her strides, adamant to face Zee without fear. She had been to hell and back in Saudi Arabia. The only thing he could do worse than that, was kill her.
"Still as feisty as ever, I see," he snickered derisively as she came to a halt in front of him. He circled her slowly, allowing her long hair to fall through his fingers. "And more beautiful than ever."
"What do you want?" Morgan spat with flashing eyes.
He stood in front of her. His gaze was amused as it trailed over her body. "For now, I want you to greet me properly, little slut."
"Fuck you! The days you could force me to bow to your orders are over. I don't owe you shit!"
He was on her before she could blink, his hand closed around her throat, squeezing until her eyes began to bulge, forcing her to go on her toes to try and alleviate the pressure. She didn't blink, resolutely hanging onto her dignity, and just stared at him with hatred that scorched right through him. He couldn't help but admire her spunk.
"It seems you've grown some balls since our last meeting." He barked out a laugh. "Or is it all the cum the mighty Goliath pumps into your cunt that gives you the edge of testosterone?"
The spittle splattered on his face before Morgan even realized what she was doing. He roared and stepped back, releasing her throat with a hard shove that flung her to the floor. She grasped her neck, gasping for breath, glaring at him with unrestrained disgust.
"You fucking bitch! You think you can oppose me? I'll show you what I'll do to that fucking mouth of yours."
He ripped open his pants. Morgan crawled backwards on her elbows, shaking her head. She’d been the recipient of this kind of cruelty too often not to know what was coming.
"Get the fucking whore and hold her," Zee barked.
Morgan kicked and screamed but to no avail. Dan forced her on her knees and pinned her in place with his hard hands hauling her arms behind her so hard, it felt like he was tearing them from their sockets. He fisted her hair and yanked back her head. She screamed at the pain that flashed through her mind, fearing he was ripping them from the roots.
"Let's see if my memory of your tight throat is as good as the real thing," Reece taunted as he forced her mouth open. He laughed like the demon he was as he pressed his fingers into the side of her jaw, keeping it open by painfully digging them into her cheeks. He thrust his hard cock down her throat, to the hilt. His eyes glowed as she gagged, tears spilling from her eyes.
"Yes, Morgan, feel my power. Do you remember? I am your master. You will obey me."
He began to pound his hard shaft into her, with such force that it felt like her lips were ripping open at the sides. She battled to breathe but was helpless in their combined hold. All she could do was pray that he finished quickly. She wept inside silently. Rape took many different forms but she’d never considered this to be one of them … until now. Tears burned her eyes and she closed them, refusing to allow them to fall as she sobbed silently at the memory of how tender and careful Bruce had taken her throat in the kitchen.
Reece had no intention of rushing it, enjoying her distress too much. It was how he got his kicks, what excited him beyond measure, violation of others, women in particular. He continued to ram his cock down her throat, highly entertained by the pain and humiliation in her eyes. All too soon the telltale prickle of heat in his loins warned him he was nearing the edge. He sped up, forcing her mouth wider as he drilled down deeper. He grunted as he ejaculated, his balls pressing against her mouth as he forced himself as deep as he could.
"Yes, you little whore, milk my cock," he taunted her as he felt the desperate convulsions of her throat around his length. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets as he humped her face, watching gleefully as her lids fell closed. She finally lost the battle for oxygen. He pulled out and laughed like a mad man as she crumbled to the floor, spittle drooling from her lips.
