Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  “You’re hurt,” she gasped, running her finger over the scabs on his knuckles. “Why are you hurt?”

  “I had a conversation with Andriy,” Carrick conceded, but remained circumspect. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  “What does that mean?” she said breathlessly, fast and desperate. “What did you do?”

  Carrick kept his face cold and serious. There were things he’d done that she didn’t need to know, things he didn’t want to tell her.

  “All you need to know is that I dealt with it, and now we can get this done.”

  Danica dropped his hand and leaned back, though she was stuck by the bed and unable to retreat any farther. She was not happy.

  “What do you think of me?” she gasped. “Don’t you think you should have talked to me first? Don’t you care about what I want?”

  Then she started to cry.

  Carrick watched as she reacted—knowing what he had done had been for the best. Sure, she was taking it harder than he’d expected, but what else did she want? This was his job. So he stood firm, his arms tightly crossed and his gaze narrowed on her. He wasn’t wrong. She would learn, and she would come to understand.

  And he watched…and waited.

  And she ran her hands over her face, still crying.

  The longer he stood, waiting for her to relent, the more he came to realize that there was something different in the air between them. He shifted in discomfort as he held his arms across his chest, watching her shake her head, clearly frustrated.

  Not willing to wait longer, he pushed, “Like I said, I’ve got everything ready. Let’s go get it done.”

  She finally stopped, wiping the tears from her face. He figured that she had come to understand his point of view. He reached to pull her into him. She immediately shook her head and backed away, turning so he couldn’t take her mouth with his. That was when he knew. Something was very, very wrong. It was more than he thought. She didn’t speak. She didn’t say anything.

  The intensity within him tripled, and he demanded, “Is there something you need to say?”

  “I-I just… I can’t afford to do this with you anymore because—”

  “You can’t afford to do anything else and I—” he cut her off, scanning her face.

  “You can’t love me.”

  He didn’t reply, growing hard and angry, and just stood firmly planted. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Why the fuck would she say that?

  She watched him, slowly shaking her head. “We deserve more than this. You are a closed-off, locked-down vault that I’ll never get the code to.”

  He assessed her, his tone as emotionless as ever. “And what specifically do you feel you need to know?”

  “About her.” The words spilled out of her mouth as she turned, reached down and pulled back the crumpled mess of sheets on his bed, revealing sympathy cards and the cardboard box. “About what happened.”

  Holy fuck.

  Fury filled him, as he was betrayed and broken by Danica. He gazed back and forth between his private past and the woman standing before him, unable to process what it all meant.

  “What the actual fuck?” He clenched his jaw and was livid. “You don’t need to know.”

  “I don’t need to know about you? About your past?” She pushed herself away from him. “About why you need to keep emotion out of this? About why you want to marry me, but can’t ever love me? I don’t need to know? Then what do I need, Carrick?”

  As he reached out to pull her against him once more, goosebumps rose on her arms and chest. Her reaction to him was equally visceral.

  “You have no idea how you make me feel.” She stiffened her spine, holding his gaze as raw emotion rose in her tense face. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t let you in anymore.”

  Carrick realized she’d made up her mind. She was leaving.

  She was leaving him.

  Her gaze falling from his, Danica pouted and showed a deep sadness he’d never seen before. She appeared defeated. She peeled herself from his hands then took a step to the side, moving toward the bedroom door.

  “You can’t leave,” he choked out as she walked away, then sealed his mouth. He couldn’t fucking talk anymore.

  She snapped around, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

  “I’m falling for you, Carrick—and I’ve realized that there’s one person you can’t protect me from,” she said as big tears rolled down her cheeks, “and that’s you.”

  Then she turned back to the door and walked out.

  And he made a bizarre noise that he’d only heard himself make once before.

  As he watched her disappear, he stopped feeling anything. He stopped hearing the ocean, the seagulls. He barely felt a drop fall onto his forearm as he looked down at his aching, bloody hands.

  Reaching up to touch his face, he realized that his cheek was wet.

  But it wasn’t from blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Carrick

  Carrick stood in silence for minutes after she’d left—frozen in place.

  A long-forgotten part of his mind was trapped, flipping back and forth between the cardboard box on the bed and Dani walking out of the door. Essential life support took over, turning up his survival instincts and turning off emotion. His body knew it had to survive because his mind…was just breaking.

  He found himself moving down the stairs, numb, looking from side to side for any detail he needed. What had happened when he was gone? How had they gotten to where they were?

  His gaze moved from the chair to the couch—where he’d had some of the hottest sex of his life—the way her body curved underneath his, the way she took every inch of his swollen manhood and made him feel…

  Before the thought could finish, Carrick drifted to the tequila bottle that still sat in the middle of the coffee table from the previous night. He moved toward it, picking it up, rotating it in his hands. He wanted to break shit.

  He wanted to thunder.

  And that was exactly why he’d found himself at Petrov’s office tower that morning in downtown LA, the place where Carrick had signed for the search and rescue job. Sure enough, Andriy—the CEO—had been there and Carrick had given him a piece of his mind. Carrick wasn’t a ‘sit back and take it’ kind of guy. He was a ‘determined, no bullshit’ one—and Andriy had gotten to know exactly what that meant.

  Tilting his head back, he raised the tequila bottle and took three big gulps. It burned on the way down and tasted amazing. It reminded him of taking her mouth, tinged with tequila, and wrapping his tongue around hers. He hated reliving the memory right now, under the new circumstances of her departure. He hated it so much.

  He whipped the bottle against the wall, watching it shatter into glass shards, leaving a lasting scar.

  Fuck it.

  He looked around his place—his perfectly decorated place, thanks to Aunt Kathy. He’d told her he’d pay her anything to set the place up because he didn’t want it to feel like his old house, his past…like Lauren.

  He needed to forget.

  Immediately, Delta was bolting upstairs, clearly having heard the shattering bottle. Carrick didn’t give a shit. He couldn’t give a shit about anything right then.

  Not even his best friend.

  “What the fuck happened?” Delta’s voice echoed behind him.

  Carrick shot a fierce glare over at the shoreline, ignoring the question and the ball of fire inside his chest.

  Delta didn’t relent as he approached. “What the fuck is going on with you? She stormed out?”

  Carrick remained silent, as Delta’s feet crunched the glass.

  He stopped in his tracks.

  “What the fuck is this?” Delta roared, and finally Carrick turned to him. Delta’s gaze dropped to his bloody, scabbed knuckles. “You didn’t. Tell me you fucking didn’t.”

  Carrick stood firm, staring his friend down—daring him to say it.

  “Yeah,
I paid Andriy a goddamn visit,” Carrick said, cold and hard. “Thanks for letting me know where he was.”

  Delta’s expression grew incredulous. “I told you we would be putting lives in jeopardy if we acted on that intel. You told me it was to make sure your girl was safe. I trusted you.”

  “I didn’t lie. You misunderstood,” Carrick sneered at him. “And maybe it’s time for you to cough up who the fuck is your intel source?”

  It was the one question Carrick knew would have the effect he wanted. Delta backed off. Immediately, the man stepped away, crunching more on the broken glass. His face said it all.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Delta exhaled, his eyes wild.

  “You’re not getting it from your cop girl, are you?” Carrick growled, stepping forward, determined. “You’re bad news for her. She’s a good girl. Leave her alone.”

  Aggression felt fucking good.

  Delta bellowed, “That’s a little rich coming from you!”

  Carrick cocked his head and threatened Delta to say more. He was just looking for a reason to fight.

  Delta carried on, his voice breaking with anger as he stepped closer to his friend. “Are you fucking awake? Do you realize what you’ve done to your company?”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Carrick countered, and he turned to glare out over the water again. “I did what I had to do.”

  “You don’t give a shit?” Delta lashed out, now yelling. “Aside from the mob hits now on both of our heads, aside from the girl you’ve let run away, despite the threats she’s facing, let me get this straight. You don’t give a shit that we’ve got Petrov’s lawyers threatening to sue the shit out of you for breach of contract? You don’t give a shit that you’re at risk of losing millions? I don’t know if you remember, but the last time I saved your ass, I said it was going to be the last time.”

  Carrick whipped toward his friend and snarled, “I remember a lot, buddy—too much. I don’t want to remember anymore.”

  Delta looked down, kicking at the broken glass. “Yeah, that’s what you said when Lauren died—when you quit the SEALs and started drinking booze like water. And now, you’re hitting the bottle again?”

  “I retired. I didn’t quit.” Carrick jumped forward, ready to punch his friend. “And it’s none of your damn business.”

  “You need to wake up, brother. Life is moving on without you.” Delta lunged forward as well and pushed Carrick hard on the chest. But since they were both tall and strong, neither of them budged.

  “You’ve been blind since the beginning,” Delta challenged. “Petrov used you. He didn’t want you to protect her. He wanted you to control her. And that’s exactly what you’ve done, isn’t it?”

  Control her—the words hit the back of Carrick’s mind as he flexed his neck and shoulders, still wanting to punch someone. It hit a little too close to home.

  “I told you not to try to save this girl,” Delta followed up, his fists up. “I told you this job was nothing but trouble. And here we are. You’ve fucked it up. You’re collapsing. And where is she? Where the fuck is she, Carrick?”

  Carrick heard the words, but he didn’t feel them. He was numb. They stared each other down, frustration and old problems rising to the raw surface of their friendship.

  “She left,” Delta stated, leaving the words to linger in the stale air. “And so am I.”

  Hearing the words, Carrick felt nothing. Whatever man he had once been, he was no more.

  Delta turned and headed back down the stairs, furious as all hell. Not only had Carrick lost his girl, but he’d also lost his best friend. And the constant vibrating of his cell in his pocket told him that his problems were just about to climax.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Danica

  “Just one ticket—Klamath Falls,” Danica replied in a sullen tone to the attendant at the train station kiosk, handing over her credit card. She’d just transferred in downtown LA to the long-distance line.

  “Oregon?” The attendant swiped the card then typing into her terminal. “With the wildfires, expect the trip to take longer than the usual one day, three hours.”

  “No problem,” Danica mumbled, holding her clutch wallet tight against her chest. An entire day stuck on the train was the last thing she needed, but her options had run out.

  The attendant stopped typing, leaning back from the terminal with a confused face as she gripped Danica’s card. She looked back up at Danica, inquiring, “Do you have ID?”

  “Not on me,” Danica said slowly, confused. “Is there something wrong?”

  “It’s declined, Miss Jacobs.” The attendant eyed the card suspiciously before looking up.

  Danica found herself searching for words. Her fake names were starting to pile up, and so were the bridges she’d left burning in her wake. Slowly, she shuffled backward, explaining that she was going to come back with ID. As she walked quickly through the terminal, she checked her phone, seeing that her accounts had all been frozen.

  What the hell is going on?

  Zipping her clutch back up and stuffing it into her black backpack, she looked around at the bustling urban train depot. Quickly making her way outside the exquisitely designed art deco metal-and-stone front entrance of the downtown LA station, Danica ran across the concrete sidewalk in the city park garden. She frantically looked back and forth, wondering if it was Carrick. He was a SEAL. Wouldn’t he have connections?

  Her mind racing, she decided that she had to regroup, to think things through—make a new plan and act fast. Damn, she needed to take her mind off the burning hole she had in her heart. But, more than anything, she had to keep going.

  I can’t stop now.

  Danica wasn’t thinking about where she was going. She just ran—with her pink hoodie Carrick had washed but that still had a little dirt stain on it, her black mini skirt that he’d watched her slip off before he’d taken her for the first time and with her glasses sliding down her nose, the ones that Carrick said made her look like a sexy librarian.

  People darted out of the way as she hurried through downtown, tears falling from her eyes. No one seemed all that surprised. Obviously, it wasn’t the weirdest thing downtown LA would see that day. Finally, she hit a red light and had to stop to catch her breath. Something about few calories and little caffeine had debilitated her athletic prowess.

  Panting on the street corner, feeling lonelier than ever, she knew there was something about being downtown that made it all worse. She needed nature. She needed something to guide her.

  What am I doing?

  She heard her cellphone’s text sound and pulled it out of the pocket of her pink hoodie. It was her roommate, Addie.

  What’s going on with you and Rambo? I miss you. It sucks here without you.

  Danica exhaled slowly, missing Addie as well but wishing the words had come from someone else, that someone else missed her. As throngs of pedestrians whipped around her, busily moving to wherever they needed to be, Danica leaned against a metal post off the curb. She inhaled, slowly reliving the whirlwind of the past few days. She found herself struggling to put together coherent thoughts, especially when her betraying mind let in visions of Carrick’s delicious smile, twinkling eyes and wide, strong chest.

  Danica let out an exasperated moan, closing her eyes as the world moved about around her. She pushed Carrick out of her thoughts—or tried to. She needed to stop remembering how he’d held her down and run his tongue along her body, what it felt like to fall asleep in his arms, in his bed—and how desperately she wanted him to love her, how she wanted to just marry him.

  But I can’t.

  Because… Because I love him.

  Pressing her cheek against the cool steel of the street pole, Danica felt like the lost child she once had been. She was a runaway girl all over again. A deep pain rose in her throat and she desperately wished her mom and dad would pull up on the side of the road and pick her up, like how they used to get her from school. They’d bring her snacks and hu
g her and kiss her cheeks until they were tender. An only child of immigrant parents, she’d never had anyone else. It had been just them.

  Until they were gone.

  Feeling a wet trickle down her cheek, Danica opened her eyes briefly—just as arms were reaching around her. Masculine arms grabbed her, throwing her into the back seat of a dark SUV. She screamed, but it didn’t matter. The engine roared and they were already moving. She realized what had happened.

  I’ve been kidnapped.

  “Andriy!” she cried out, seeing the tall, blond man’s face as he held her down. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He had a black eye and cuts on his cheek—consistent with the injuries on Carrick’s knuckles that she’d seen earlier.

  “You’re late,” Andriy snarled at her, grazing his hand over his purple, swollen cheekbone.

  “For what?”

  “Our wedding.”

  Danica’s eyes widened with horror as she realized that the worst had happened. She had been kidnapped by the two people on earth she wanted to see the least.

  “You can’t do this.” She grabbed for the SUV’s door handle. She’d jump out. It wouldn’t be the first time. She could still run.

  Andriy pulled out a pistol from his jacket.

  “I hadn’t wanted this to be at gunpoint, but your boyfriend’s visit this morning changed my mood,” he barked, narrowing his eyes on her with a viciousness that she couldn’t describe. “Cooperate now and marriage won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “Marriage is for people who love each other!” she cried, shrinking back from him as she adjusted the frames on her nose.

  “Marriage is not about love,” he snapped, his vicious gaze falling back on her. “Marriage is a legal contract—and we are going to have exactly that. And these will be the first to go,” Andriy lunged forward and snatched her glasses off her face. He snarled as he looked at them in his hand just before crushing the frame and whipping them out of the window. A vain man, she knew he hated the way she looked in them.