Still Not Yours: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  I wonder if it’s choking him more than his conscience. “Spit it the fuck out,” I snarl.

  “I have a vested interest in not being discovered, considering it would be prudent to avoid jail time. And considering Milah’s connections to the Pilgrims could lead to my connections to the Pilgrims, it was in my best interests that they be suppressed.”

  You little idiot, a vicious voice stabs at the back of my brain.

  My leash is fraying. I can feel it, popping one thread at a time as the tension in me pulls tighter and tighter on it. “Did you tell them where we are?”

  “Not this time,” he answers glibly—then freezes, teeth half-bared in a frightened grimace, as he realizes what he said.

  This time.

  My hands slowly curl into fists. “I want you to be very clear on what the fuck you mean by this time, Mr. Holly. You get one chance to answer. Take a second. You don’t want to know what happens if you answer incorrectly.”

  “I-I-I didn’t have a choice!” he blubbers, scooting back along the couch. “They were going to shoot me! They were going to shoot me if I didn’t give them your address to find Olivia!”

  Sneaking suspicion feels almost like dread. “And the night they tried to kill us at the Vancouver airfield? How did they know we'd be there, Holly?”

  He can’t meet my eyes, and his voice is barely a whisper. “They swore they would just take Liv and Milah...not that they’d hurt anyone. And that they’d give them back once we’d...negotiated a suitable settlement. The girls were only supposed to be collateral! To make things fair and even!”

  I can’t speak.

  If I do, I’m going to say every hateful, cruel, murderous thing inside me – and then I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.

  I thought I was a monster.

  Fuck, no. I’m nothing compared to a demon-man like Alec Holly.

  I'd never turn my kids over to animals like the Pilgrims. I'd never consider sacrificing Em to line my own pockets.

  Hell, Em's why I took this job, to make sure she had a future, and yet now I feel sick at the idea that this foul bastard’s money will trickle through Landon to Em when it’s as tainted as he is. Alec Holly claims to love his daughters, but all he really loves is himself.

  To him, his daughters are an extension, an expendable one he can live without if need be as long as he doesn’t have to sacrifice his power, his position, and his luxury.

  No wonder Milah’s tried to drown herself in drinking and drugs with a shit like him controlling her life. No wonder Liv’s learned to make herself small, invisible, so at least she can find a moment to hide where she’s not jerked around on his string. His need to control everything for his own benefit has come one hair short of killing them both – and they’re not out of the woods yet.

  All because of this selfish, stupid, shameless fucking prick.

  I don’t even realize I’m moving until I am.

  Until he’s small and gray in my shadow, until he’s looking up at me like a sparrow just before the hawk dives down to catch it in its claws. I snare his hair in one hand, gripping up a thick handful of it, and drag him to his feet.

  Higher. Higher, until he’s practically squawking in pain, clawing at my forearm, struggling, his toes dragging on the ground as he dangles from my grip, his face stretched out of proportion as my grasp and the full force of his weight pulls on the skin of his head and skews it into a warped mockery of a scream.

  “You have two choices, little man.” The black shroud is wrapping me up again, sucking away all emotion from my voice, my thoughts. I can’t feel if I’m going to keep myself under control.

  But I can’t feel if I’m going to kill him without conscience, either.

  And I can’t quite trust myself not to do that right now.

  This is the monster in me. The one not even Liv or Em have truly seen.

  They’ve seen me kill in self-defense, seen me threaten and hurt men for a purpose, but never seen me willing to kill someone simply for threatening the people I love. Simply for being the scum of the earth.

  I give Alec Holly a rough shake, just enough to stop his screaming.

  He stares at me, practically blubbering. I hold him dangling for several long seconds more before I bite off, clear and cold and slow, “Time to make a choice. You can either confess everything – to the police, to the FBI, and to the Pilgrims – and take full responsibility for this mess. I don’t care if hell rains down on your head. I don’t care if the Pilgrims kill you, as long as they leave Liv and Milah out of it and stay away from my family. You take responsibility for your shit, and you deal with the fallout. That’s option one.” I give him another shake, and he makes a gagging sound of pain. “Option two is that you mysteriously disappear while traveling for business. Maybe in two or three years, some hikers will find your bones in the bottom of a ravine, if the coyotes even leave enough to pick over in a forensics' lab.”

  It’s not Alec who answers.

  It’s Liv.

  Just a sharp, shocked sound, strangled in the back of her throat.

  It’s enough to tear me from the black and shadowed place and dump me into the harsh, garish light of reality, where it’s all too clear to see her standing in the doorway, staring at me with her eyes wide and filled with tears. Em’s behind her...and for the first time in her life, I see fear on her face when she looks at me.

  Just like her mother.

  Fuck.

  What am I doing?

  I let Alec Holly go. He crumples to the floor, half-sagging against the couch, moaning and rubbing at his reddened scalp and hairline. I can’t meet their eyes. Not Liv's or Em's.

  I just turn around and walk out, heading out into the deepening afternoon sunlight.

  * * *

  I don’t go far.

  I can’t go far. Not when I know there’s not even an illusion of safety in the house, and even if I need a moment apart, I also have to stay close by in case anyone trailed Alec Holly here. Or in case he tries to drag Liv out by force.

  So I only make my way out into the garden, surrounded by sprays of flowering milkweed, clematis, daisies, and vine blooms left to run wild and untended until the garden is a burst of bright color too sweet and soft for my dark, brooding mood.

  That look on Em’s face was familiar.

  Just like Crystal.

  I’ve made my own daughter afraid of me, and that’s something I can’t live with.

  I drop down heavily into one of the green wire patio chairs out near the rock-lined garden pond, just staring at nothing, my hands limp against my thighs. I thought I was in control.

  I thought I knew myself, thought of this other side of me as someone else who wasn’t the real me. But now I wonder if he’s more real than the Riker who tries to be a good father, tries to be a good role model, tries to be a good protector.

  More real than the Riker who's learned over the past few weeks that it’s okay to let the cracks in his armor show to let someone else in.

  Maybe those cracks were what let this darkness out and gave it more space to grow.

  I never should've tried to be anything besides Em’s father. That was who I threw myself into being after Crystal died. That was how I tried to honor her memory, and tried to fill in that gap in Em’s life by being two parents in one.

  As long as that was the only role I had to play, I could balance between myself and whatever this black, cruel thing is inside me.

  But the second the chaos of Liv’s maddening, beautiful, wonderful sweetness, fragility, and odd inner strength entered my life, I was fucked.

  That’s when I started losing control.

  I don’t know how long I sit out there. Long enough to watch Alec Holly go slumping out of the house, alone. He casts me one furtive look, but I hardly even glance at him.

  Just long enough to watch him make his way toward the paved trail that will take him at least a couple of hours to walk in those shoes, and I wish him many raw, bleeding blisters along the wa
y. But at some point I realize there’s something on the table as reality begins to filter through my numb, bitter haze of self-recrimination.

  Liv’s notebook, with that chewed-up pink pen clipped into the rings.

  I shouldn’t read it.

  But I need something to take me out of me, just for a little while. Maybe something to remember her by, when I know the awful decision waiting for me, the only thing I can do if I really care about keeping Liv safe instead of being no better than her father and keeping her to myself.

  So I flip the notebook open to where the clip of the pen makes a bookmark, landing on a single messy paragraph scribbled and crossed out and rewritten on the page.

  I skim it, adjusting to her looping, slanting handwriting – she could’ve been a doctor with writing like this – and pick up that apparently her hero is in the hospital.

  The scratched-out parts have him in a car accident, but in the new writing it’s different. He’s suffering from chills, weakness, because he was brave enough and deeply in love enough to dive into the frozen waters around a small town lighthouse to save his nanny-turned-lover and his daughter from the deadly waves. The moment I see the word “daughter,” a prickle starts on the back of my neck, one that turns into a full-on tingle as I recognize the description of green eyes, of silvering brown hair, of a man shut off from the world by grief, of a cold and ruthless side used to protect those he loves. Of layers peeled away to show a warm and loving heart underneath.

  She describes him as a dark knight who wasn’t meant to live, but found a way if only to give his life, his last breath, for everything he loved. His daughter. His beloved.

  A dark knight.

  And even as I read the last line about him promising to always be with her, even as he slips into a coma...

  I realize that this truly is how Liv sees me, because somehow Liv has managed to fall in love with me, and love is more than just blind.

  Love is careening toward a cliff, and when the crash comes, there can be only tears and ruin.

  This isn’t just a fling to her. It’s not just incredible sex.

  It’s not catharsis, experimentation, self-discovery, running out of control with this new and wild and unnamed thing. Not for her, and not for me.

  What is it but pure self-destruction for both of us?

  And if I don’t put an end to it, I’m going to get her killed.

  I drop the journal, pressing my face into my hands. If I care about her at all, I know what I have to do.

  I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Landon’s number.

  17

  A Little Bit Softer (Olivia)

  I promised myself I wouldn’t let this mess break me, but I’m not so sure that’s a promise I can keep.

  Not when I’m sitting on the couch numbly with Em limp and quiet against my side, watching my father scuttle out of the house like a frightened turtle without even a glance back to say goodbye.

  I thought I knew what betrayal felt like.

  After the number of times Milah stole from me to feed her habit.

  After the number of times she said I swear I’m done this time only to show up on the front pages of the tabloids the next morning, coked up and half-naked.

  After the many times my father dismissed me as if I was nothing.

  After...after I realized he was manipulating me, realized he was just using me to soothe his own ego and somehow couldn’t even hold his fragile self-image together without me around to be his dutiful, pretty little prop.

  After realizing my father screwed everyone so bad ordering that hit on the Pilgrims.

  But it’s nothing compared to the betrayal of realizing that my father is the one who put me in this situation, that it goes so much deeper than an attempt to protect Milah gone wrong, that he left me and Milah to be hurt. And rather than doing the right thing, all he’s cared about is covering his own ass so he doesn’t look bad in the Monday headlines.

  My own father. My own father.

  How can he even claim to love me, to love Milah, but then do these things?

  What pulls me out of myself isn’t my own willpower. It’s Em, who’s finally coming out of her daze with a soft whimper, her face crumpling. She’s been put through too much today, and even if she’s a smart, wonderful little girl, she’s still a little girl.

  If I’m overwhelmed, I can only imagine how she must be feeling.

  “Em?” I coax, offering my open arms. She immediately dives in, wrapping her arms around my waist so hard she nearly chokes the air from me.

  “Liv, I’m scared,” she whimpers.

  I hug her tight. “Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared.” I rub her back. “Your dad was just a little angry.”

  “I’m not scared of Daddy,” she whispers with utter faith. “Daddy’s a hero. Sometimes heroes have to hurt the bad guys.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” I wish the world was that black and white. That simple. I smile faintly. “Your dad is so lucky to have you. Then why were you scared?”

  She peers up at me. “I thought my dad was going to kill your dad, and I was scared you’d be sad.”

  Oh.

  What scares me the most?

  It's the fact that right now, I don’t know how I’d feel if Riker hurt my father.

  That shakes me even deeper, but I can’t let it show. So I just kiss the top of Em’s head, and lean into her, offering every support I can.

  “Yeah,” I say numbly. “Me too.”

  * * *

  Eventually, Em dozes off. I guess today took a lot out of her, and I ease her to rest on the couch with one of the throw pillows under her head, then drape the crocheted quilt over her before slipping out to look for Riker.

  We need to talk about what I overheard, and then plan our next move.

  I thought I’d have to look for him, but turns out, he’s right outside.

  The sun’s setting, the light slanting blue and twilight purple, falling over his motionless form in the garden. He’s sitting at the patio table, elbows resting on his spread knees, clasped fists pressed to his mouth, staring at nothing.

  God, he's gorgeous. This huge, somber bear perched in all his imposing splendor.

  The events of the past few hours must have taken their toll.

  I hadn’t realized just how open and expressive his face had become when we were together until I see him like this, completely closed off behind the same impenetrable wall that masked him when we first met.

  Somehow, that frightens me more than everything else.

  I drift closer, starting to reach toward him, then drawing back, curling my hand against my chest. “Hey?”

  He doesn’t look at me. But that doesn’t mean he’s not aware, when he goes hard as stone in an instant from head to toe. There’s nothing of Riker in this statue in front of me. Especially in the clipped, cold voice that says, “Pack your things. I’ve already called Landon. Skylar and Gabe are on their way.”

  My stomach sinks like a bag of rocks. “Your crew? Why?”

  “Because you’re being escorted to a new safe house. I can’t protect you anymore. The Pilgrims know who I am. Your old man knows how to track me. It’s time you wind up in someone else’s custody.”

  “What? Someone else’s custody?” I stare at him, but he’s still just this motionless block with his gaze trained somewhere distant.

  I thrust myself into his line of sight, anything to get him to look at me. To see me the way he did before. This can't just be about the argument with my Dad. There's something else. Something darker.

  “Riker, this isn’t just custody, obviously. I mean, we’re in this together, I thought...”

  “Doesn’t matter what you thought, Liv. What matters is keeping you alive. Anything else is second to that.” Finally, he looks at me – and I really wish he hadn’t. It’s like being stabbed in the chest by icicles, the blank way he stares through me, the affection in his eyes frosted over. “They’ll be here by morning. Get moving. Don't argue
.”

  “So this is it? Just like that?” I can’t believe it.

  I’m so thrown, I can’t even find it in me to argue, to process this, to defy him.

  I'm just standing still. Frozen. Stunned.

  This is the second time today a man I loved tossed me aside like trash, and I can’t freaking stand it anymore.

  I don’t know when I start crying. I just know that suddenly the world is wet trembling crystalline prisms and Riker’s just a mess of dark color so I can’t see that awful empty way he’s looking at me. “Talk to me...please. We can make this work. I want to stay with you. I only feel safe with you.”

  “Just because you feel safe with me doesn’t mean you are.” Grim resignation. There’s a hint of emotion there, lost and heavy, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough to ease this ripping, terrible feeling inside. “You have to go, Liv. Someday, you'll understand.”

  “Understand what? This crappy goodbye, all of a sudden? That it's done, just like that?” It comes out wavering, choked. “That you never cared at all?”

  There's a brutal pause. Then he looks at me, and my whole world goes hot and sad and white.

  “If I didn’t care,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t be doing this.”

  But he is, and I can't hear it anymore. I can’t hear him telling me he’s breaking my heart and shutting me out for my own good.

  It’s like being thrown from summer into the bitterest winter. I’m freezing inside-out.

  I turn, run from him, into the house, stumbling blindly through my tears, through the shattered feeling in my chest. Then I'm brushing past Em, past this amazing girl I’ve come to love like family, past the illusion that I could ever be a part of their family.

  I should have known all along it was just pretend.

  I just never knew reality could hurt so bad.

  * * *

  They let me have the bedroom to myself tonight. Riker sleeps on the floor while Em takes the couch. One of them, probably Em, leaves a forlorn wrapped sandwich on a plate outside my door. I ignore it.