The Everest Brothers: An Alpha Billionaires Series

by S. L. Scott

  A threat to my father’s life was thrown in for good measure, and Kurt laughed that I could still shed tears for the man who basically abandoned me.

  I’m strong. Stronger than Kurt ever thought I could be. I die a little inside every day. One day, it won’t be my body, but my soul that slips away, and until that day, I’ll play by his rules and live this isolated life like he made me promise.

  Bait. That’s what he called me, but the term never made sense.

  Until tonight.

  Everests. He’s after the Everest brothers, which means he’s after Bennett.

  I may not know what to think about Bennett’s involvement with my father, but I still don’t want him mixed up with Kurt.

  So I’ll take a hit and then another if it protects him. Bennett and I spent enough time together for me to see the real man. And with him, I was me again. I don’t know why he lied, but I had no problem filling in the blanks before he could tell the truth. If I had only listened to my heart and his words, things would have turned out so differently.

  I know deep down he’s a good man. He’s shown me how he cares—he listens, he asks questions, and he wants to make me feel not just good but great. Not giving him a chance to speak is another regret I’ll add to my already long list.

  If I had stayed, I’d be wrapped in his arms instead of bleeding on this bed in pain. I left because I felt betrayed, but the most unforgivable act of all is that I led Kurt right to him. I suck in a sob, knowing what this monster is capable of. Bennett’s life is in danger because of me.

  Kurt’s hand touches my face, but I turn away, a sharp ache pulsing on my jaw. “Don’t be mad, Winter.”

  Mad? I must have heard him wrong. “Should I be happy?” I still poke the bear. “Do you hit Chelsea?” I suspect he hasn’t. Her milky skin would reveal the monster he really is sooner than the yellow undertones of mine.

  He punches the mattress next to my head in frustration. “Why must you bring her into our time together?” he asks.

  I thought he loved me until I found out there was another woman. I read about it in a gossip column. When she became his fiancée, I became his whore. Not by choice, but his drunken violence stopped and made me hate myself as much as he did that night.

  Leaning down, he smells my hair, and groans. “You’re my archangel, the one who will save me one day.”

  “What about your fiancée? I think she’s more suited for the job.”

  “You’re fire, and she’s ice.”

  I’m dark. She’s light.

  I’m pretty. She’s beautiful.

  “She’s the misses, and you made me the mistress.”

  “Don’t be bitter, Winter. You get parts of me she’ll never see.”

  Bitter, I mentally scoff. “The abusive ones.” The evil.

  Pushing off the bed, he tugs at his cuffs, but that won’t remove the wrinkles in his soul. He pulls my phone from my purse, and demands, “Give me the code.”

  I struggle to sit up, the ribs on my right side hurting. Holding my hand over them to see if they’re broken, I reserve a comeback. My resistance to Kurt bothers him more anyway. “Why?”

  His tone turns harsh as annoyance sets in. “Give me the code.”

  “Why do you want to speak with him?”

  The deadly stare of a shark has nothing on Kurt McCoy’s glare. “Code.”

  My jaw aches, but I manage a solid, “Fuck you.”

  The case breaks under the pressure of his crushing hand. The screen will be next, but he stops, and his eyes dart to mine. “I’m tired of playing games with you.” He stalks over with heavy footsteps that echo against the gilded walls of the room.

  “I don’t think so. I think that’s why you started the game in the first place.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you came to me?”

  “To talk, to work something out, not to be chloroformed, kidnapped, and blackmailed.”

  He shrugs dismissively and then holds the phone toward me. “It sounds so much worse when you put it like that. Now enter your code before I grow tired of you altogether.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “He’ll never meet with you.”

  “He doesn’t have to.”

  “What do you mean? What are you going to do to him?”

  “Why do you assume the worst of me?” Really? He doesn’t understand why I would possibly think the worst of him? “As much fun as this has been, getting reacquainted, I must run. Maybe next time I can stay, and we can get reacquainted in a different way,” he says.

  “Never.”

  “I’m not asking, and I won’t then either.” He slips on his jacket and straightens his sleeves, making no efforts toward me. Thank God.

  “What happens now?” I dare to ask.

  “Your interactions and that pretty face are serving me well. Continue to do what you’ve been doing.”

  I lean against the pillows, tracking him as he moves around the room. “What am I doing?”

  “Enjoying Paris.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  He reaches into his pocket and drops three photos on the end of the bed. “The photos say otherwise.”

  I peek to the foot of the bed, and my stomach drops to the floor. Bennett and me. “Why do you hurt me?”

  “Because I like you, Winter, or I would have killed you already.”

  He stares at his reflection in the mirror. Sweeping his hair back, his eyes catch mine. “How long are you going to make me stay here?” I ask. “Why are we in Paris?”

  “So many questions. It won’t be much longer. And because Chel—look at me almost slipping. Let’s just say, singling one out from the herd works better. And you’ve done well, ma princesse ténébreuse.”

  “What did I do?” He marches toward the door. “Tell me,” I yell.

  He takes a fast step forward but then stops and takes a deep breath. Straightening his jacket, he exhales, and then says, “Don’t you ever raise your voice at me again. Do you understand?” I will not give him anything else of myself. “I’ll take your silence as agreement.” On a half-bow, he adds, “Bonsoir, Winter,” and then leaves, slamming the door.

  I bolt from the bed to lock the door behind him. I can’t keep him out, but I won’t leave the door to my life wide open. My lungs fill with clear air for the first time since I walked in. I can breathe again.

  The ache returns and a pulse in my face causes me to rush to the bathroom. Standing in front of the large mirror, I see the damage he’s done. It hurts worse than it looks, but maybe he meant it that way.

  Blood is smeared from my nose to my ear, and the shape of his hand is still imprinted in the heat of my cheek. I pull my shirt off over my head and take inventory. The upper arm bruise will be easy to hide under my clothes, but my face is a whole other situation. My ribs. I press my hand over them gently. I’m hurt, but fortunately, I think it’s only skin deep. My heart still pumps, and for that, I’m grateful to have another day.

  I splash cool water on my face and dab a rag across it until I’m clean of blood and makeup. As I dry my skin, I think about Kurt’s words—singling one from the herd. Does he mean Bennett?

  Bennett. What was I thinking? I thought he was different.

  As I continue to look at my face, I realize that I’m the one who put everything in motion. If I had been stronger a few years ago, I would have never walked into McCoy Properties. I would have never said yes to a date with a man I knew my father hated. I wouldn’t be here now, trapped between my regrets and my will to live.

  If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t do this again. I would go back and change my fate altogether. With a second chance, I’d walk into Everest Enterprises instead.

  I don’t know why Kurt is collecting Everests—and I have no clue what that means—but I pray I diverted him. He’s always been distracted by shiny objects. First me, and then Chelsea. I’m an old toy he still enjoys playing with since he apparently can’t seem to leave me alone.

 
; My palms go flat against the cool marble of the counter, and I lower my head, mentally and physically exhausted. I spy the time and sigh, finally finding the freedom to feel relieved. When I look into the mirror again, though, I know I need to put some ice on my cheek.

  Kurt is always conscious about my eyes and not messing up my face. It’s a face he likes too much to ruin, but I’m already ruined on the inside. Tonight he slipped with his hands like he did with his words. He made sure to humiliate me enough that I lost who I was when I was with him. Maybe I should be grateful for Chelsea. Without her coming into the picture, I’d still be under his thumb.

  Pushing off the marble, I’m angry I could have such a thought, momentarily forgetting that I’m right back where I was, under his control. This time, I’m hidden in the shadows instead of the limelight of Manhattan’s high society.

  He destroyed my friendships. My girlfriends were too afraid to be around him and, in turn, me. I didn’t believe them when they told me he threatened them, not even the day they walked away, leaving me in a hell I stupidly confused for heaven.

  When I left him and his company, I began to rebuild my life, starting with a new job. The anonymous letter came not even a week after I started. HR cited concerns with my ties to Kurt. It didn’t matter how I pleaded the truth; I was let go, believed to be a part of some espionage scheme.

  Ironic, since that’s why I applied for a job at his company.

  Kurt McCoy was on a mission to rip me away from any life that didn’t include him. Paris makes a lot more sense now. Since the minute I stepped into his office, he’s been planning this all along.

  Pulling a bottle of water from the small fridge, I hold it to my cheek. The icy cold is shocking, but I force myself to keep it there until my skin numbs.

  I can’t stop worrying about Bennett and what I’ve done. Even worse, what Kurt will do if he gets to him? I acted juvenile, letting my head spin instead of listening. I close my eyes and see Bennett so clearly in my head. That’s the Bennett I know because he showed me who he really is. Gray days can’t hold a candle to his sun. His six-foot-three frame has solid gold insides.

  I wanted to know what redemption tasted like. He was my reward for being good all this time. And now, I’ve put him in danger like I did myself.

  There’s no debate about calling him. Kurt is probably tracking him down now, so I need to tell Bennett. I take the shortcut to try to fix things, to apologize, and then make sure he’s on his way back to the States. The hotel operator answers, and I ask for Bennett’s room. “Please take my call,” I silently pray.

  On the third ring, he answers, “Hello?”

  “Bennett?”

  “Winter?”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Are you all right?” he asks with the utmost care for me. “Where are you?”

  “In my apartment. I need to talk to you.” Will he think I’m crazy? I cringe at how insane I’ll sound when I tell him the truth. Will he believe me? “This time, I promise I’ll listen if you promise to hear me out.”

  Another pause and I start to think he’s doing it on purpose to torture me. “When and where?”

  “We can talk now.”

  “I leave later today, but I want to see you again.”

  God how I want that too, but is it safe? The three photos Kurt left behind lie scattered on the floor. The picture of us at the statue catches my eyes. A public place. That’s probably best. “The Kiss.” Checking the time again as if it’s days later, I say, “Noon.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you. See you then.” I hang up, not breathing easier but surviving, and that’s key these days.

  16

  Bennett

  Carbon.

  A gray so dark that it borders on black. Dressy, but befitting the occasion. I only have this last chance to win her back.

  Win?

  Is that what I’m doing? Is that what I want?

  Yep, it sure is.

  I hate that Winter left hurt and angry. Betrayed. I’ve felt the same in varying degrees, but if only she had listened and given me time to explain. The words were right on the tip of my tongue until the blade of her assumptions hacked through them.

  Yes, I think she’ll like this suit best because I’ve seen the way she looks at me. Past the clothes she appreciates on my frame, she looks into my eyes with stars in hers. She’s a romantic at heart from her favorite song to the book she was reading at the bistro. The door might have slammed behind her, but she’s reopened it to hear me out.

  I don’t know what changed her heart and put this opportunity in my path, but I’m not going to blow it. I’m not only wearing my best suit but also my heart on my sleeve. I’ll tell her the truth and hope she sees my earnestness through honesty. From there, I’ll know where we stand, and if we’ll get a second chance.

  My suitcase is packed, and my computer stowed in the charging pocket. The high-tech traveler was worth the money I spent. It’s weird to think about the money I’ve made and how I can buy anything I want. We didn’t grow up poor, but we weren’t spoiled either. I’ve spoiled myself a few times since—the apartment, the land next to my brother’s down in Texas, that VIP backstage pass for my friends and me last year at an Austin music festival, and the suits.

  But money can’t buy everything. It can’t buy things that matter like second chances. Second chances lie in the hands of the ones betrayed.

  I knew what I was doing, or thought I did when I told her father I’d be the liaison to bridge the gap between them. Him telling me that I needed to do this for the deal didn’t faze me. It sounded so easy that I didn’t think about the emotions involved, selfishly, other than mine.

  But the moment I saw her? Bright pink sweater. Long brown hair. A mouth that appears innocent in pink but depending on her mood can make you laugh or take a step back. She’s cold water on a hot summer day. Refreshing and quenching with a sharp bite.

  I slip my watch on and then call the front desk to have a car ready by the time I get downstairs. Looking around the room once more, I see the bed where we made love, her glass with remnants of lipstick still on the nightstand, and pink lace hanging from under the end of the comforter.

  Grabbing it, I tuck her panties in my pocket and leave. There’s nothing here that needs me to stay. No, it’s not the room or the city. It’s the woman who I’m going to meet.

  After I settle the bill, I walk out to the black sedan waiting at the curb. The driver loads the suitcase into the back while I slip into the car. The doorman instructs the driver to pull around the park, closer to the statue, and wait. I scroll through emails and reply to Zenny’s. The plane will be arriving shortly fueled, restocked, and ready by one. Hours earlier than originally told. That doesn’t leave much time with Winter, but I’ll take what I can get.

  Maybe she’ll come with . . . I’ll let her lead this conversation and see where we go from here if anywhere.

  The car stops, and I get out, leaving my belongings. I don’t see her as I walk the sidewalk to the statue. Looking left. Turning right. In the distance or waiting nearby, she’s nowhere to be seen.

  Will I be stood up?

  Or did she set me up to make me pay for the betrayal?

  I don’t think she’s vindictive like that, but who knows with a woman scorned . . . though scorned might be a bit much. She jumped to conclusions that I or the internet could easily deny. I thought she looked me up online. The last time I checked, it clearly stated I’m the Director of Media and Communications division of Everest Enterprises. I can’t imagine it has changed.

  Movement in the distance catches my eyes, which I then narrow to make out the figure. Surprised, I lift my sunglasses. Is that Winter? What is she doing?

  Dropping my shades back down, I watch her running toward me yelling something, but she’s too far for me to understand. People are parting on the path to let her by.

  Arms waving.

  Purse flapping around on her body.

&n
bsp; Her sunglasses fall from her face, but she never breaks her stride to retrieve them.

  Shit.

  “What?” I call out, confused as to what’s happening, and run toward her.

  Thirty feet away, she screams, “Run! The other way!”

  Twenty feet. “Run, Bennett!”

  Ten feet. “They’re going to hurt you.” I catch her in my arms, spinning to keep her from falling. Her body is tense and she can barely breathe from exhaustion. A bruised lip. Fingermarks on her neck? What the fuck? Pushing me away, she says, “Go, Bennett. Save yourself. Go now!”

  “Save me from who?” That’s when I see them. Looking over her shoulder, my gaze lands on two men crossing the park faster than she did. “What the fuck?”

  “Go, Bennett. Please.”

  Glancing once more from them to her, I say, “Not without you.” I grab her hand, and we start to run to the car. The driver’s eyes go wide when we approach, and he quickly opens the back door.

  “Start the car,” I yell several times. He shakes his head, not understanding what I’m saying. “French, Winter. Tell him in French.”

  “Umm . . . Démarre la voiture!” she shouts.

  He nods and hurries back into the car. I slow and pull her forward. She ducks into the back seat, and I follow, shutting the door as the car peels away from the curb. Through the tinted glass, I stare at the men chasing us until they’re out of sight.

  Winter’s holding her chest, her breathing erratic as she rests back on the leather with her eyes closed. My heart pounds from the adrenaline, and I catch the driver staring at us in the rearview mirror. I say, “Aéroport. Tout de suite.”

  Elbowing me, she asks, “I thought you didn’t know French?”

  “I don’t. I heard it in a movie once. I know poquito.”

  “That’s Spanish.”

  “Oui.” I wink.

  She rolls her eyes, but a smile underscores it. Not enough to distract from her bruises, though. “What happened?” My gaze dips to her jaw area and then back to her pretty blue eyes.