by S. L. Scott
When Ally steps to the side, Hutton brings Bennett in and pats his back. “Seems you’ve pissed off the wrong people.”
“Or the right ones.” When they step apart, Bennett adds, “I have no doubt it’s McCoy.”
“Ethan has the team trying to locate him.” An intensity has taken over his features—his eyes darken, his brows pull together, his hands fist. “We’re about to be separated for the night. No calls. They might be traced. Don’t go anywhere unless you’re with Lars, and we’ll meet at a secure site tomorrow.”
We take the stairs down one level and enter the parking garage just as Singer slips into one SUV and Ally with security in tow gets into another. After escorting his wife, Ethan comes back, and asks, “Are you both okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bennett replies.
I nod, my heart pulsing in my throat as the cool air swathes us.
“You saved her,” Ethan says, “You did, little brother.”
“I did what you would do.”
Aaron and Lars appear calm, but they start to herd us toward the vehicles. Before we split up, Ethan adds, “Get to the safe location and I’ll see you tomorrow,” and then gives his brother a hug. “Thank you, Ben.”
“Take care and see you tomorrow.”
Lars moves me to the vehicle with light pressure on the back of my arm. I climb into the large SUV, and Bennett slides in next to me. The doors are shut and locked, and as soon as he climbs in the front passenger seat, we’re off.
“Where are we going?” I ask, tugging at a straggling cuticle.
“I don’t know.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know, Winter. I’ve never been shot at before. I don’t know how this works.” The glass slides up between the front and middle row, giving us privacy.
There’s a growing distance between us despite how close we’re sitting. “I’m sorry.”
The comment surprises him, and he looks at me quizzically. “I’m not mad at you.”
“You have such an incredible family, and because of me, their lives are in danger.”
“Because of you? No. This started before you, remember? Someone tried to kill us this time and stupid enough to attack one of the most secure buildings in Manhattan. Everybody who lives in that building was in danger. So I am mad but not at you.”
“You should be. I’m mad at me.”
“It won’t solve anything, so I’d rather spend the energy fixing this mess than dwelling on it.”
“Why are you always so reasonable? Get mad, Bennett. Get it out,” I shout in the small space.
He takes a deep breath as he turns toward me. “You’re picking a fight with the wrong guy.”
“I’m not picking a fight. Your family could have died tonight, Bennett, and that would be on me.”
“No. A sick fuck fired shots at my home because they’re evil. And that’s not your fault.”
“But your brothers . . . they must want me gone—”
“Why do you hate yourself so much?”
The question smacks me, stinging my heart and stopping my breath. “What are you talking about?”
“This mess was caused because you hate yourself enough to burn everyone who gets near you just to prove you’re right.”
“I don’t do that.” I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window. A memory of my mother comes back, one I haven’t thought of in years.
I hate this bed, the one she’s been left to die in, in the room on the other side of the house. Climbing up on the bed next to her, I look at my pretty mama. “Do I look like you?”
“Do you want to look like me?” she asks with the smile she always gives me. Love.
I nod eagerly. “Daddy says I do.”
“He’s right.” She taps the button of my nose. “You’re going to live a beautiful life, Winter. Promise me that more than anything else, you’ll live and love and learn. Those are the things that make you a survivor. Those are the things that you need to hold on to when you have nothing else.”
. . . The lights outside the vehicle race by as the memory fades into my reality. I lower my head, rub my eyes, and mumble, “How do I hold on to a life when everything else fails me?”
“With a helping hand. We all falter at one time or another.” Bennett’s rich and comforting voice warms me. “We fail. We make mistakes. We learn. We move on.”
His words are so similar to my mom’s. “We live. We love. We learn.” Her words and his meld together. She would have loved him.
Bennett’s phone rings. When he looks down, his head angles, and he turns the screen away from me.
Curious, I ask, “Who is it?”
“It’s . . .” He pauses and lets it go to voicemail. When his eyes reach me, he says, “It was your father.”
“What? Why would he be calling?”
“I don’t know.”
“He knows I’m back. I have no doubt he’s working with Kurt.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I add, “I wonder if he’s in on the attack.”
“Sadly, I think we both know the answer to that. Do you want me to listen to the message?”
“It’s your phone.”
He turns away, directing his gaze out the window, and holds the phone to his ear. It’s the longest thirty seconds of my life. Traffic in Midtown Manhattan during rush hour is faster. An indecipherable mumble follows when he pulls the phone from his ear.
“What did he say?”
“He knows you’re back.”
“No surprise there,” I reply sarcastically and roll my eyes. “What else?”
“He said he’s leaving a box of your mom’s things with the doorman.” Now I sit up, interested. Very interested. “If you don’t pick it up tonight, he’s throwing it in the trash tomorrow.”
“What’s in it?”
“He didn’t say specifically. Just said it’s your mother’s stuff.”
I grab his arm. “We have to get it.”
“We’re not getting it.”
Releasing him, I say, “Bennett—”
“No.”
“I can go if I want.”
“Yes, you can, but I’m begging you not to, Winter.”
“It’s my mother’s belongings.”
“It could be a trap.” Shrinking back to my side of the SUV, I stare at him in disbelief. He reaches over and touches my leg. “Don’t go.”
“But—”
“Please. Please, Winter.” His eyes plead with mine as he leans forward with his head lowered. “I almost lost you today. I can’t take this chance.”
The pain in his voice makes me want to soothe his concern. That I’m causing that pain breaks my heart. “I’m sorry.” I reach for my neck and rub. “I know I should let it go. It’s just stuff. It was a dumb thought. I just . . . I don’t have my mother’s necklace anymore because I left it in Paris. This box might be the only thing I ever have of hers again.”
Covering my hand, he studies me. “If he left the box with the doorman, we won’t see him.”
“My father is a manipulative, egotistical asshole, but if it’s a trap, he wouldn’t leave it in the lobby.”
“That’s true, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“He wouldn’t risk anything in the building where he lives.”
“I agree.”
I watch the world pass by outside, trying to figure out what my father even has left of my mom’s. He threw out so much after her death. Why now? Today? I hate asking this of Bennett, but I think it would eventually tear me apart to know things of Mom’s were thrown away instead of me cherishing them forever. “I want it. Doesn’t matter how small or big it is. If it was hers, I want it. I can stay in the car, and we can have the doorman bring the box to me. Please.”
Bennett contemplates that idea for a moment and looks at me, really looks into my eyes. Then he shakes his head at the same time he rolls down the privacy glass. “Lars, we’re making a stop.”
30
Winter
&
nbsp; Listening to his steady heartbeats soothes the anxiety trying to cripple my strength.
Live.
Love.
Learn.
Take strength from the man beside you.
I can do this.
Through the window, I recognize the neighborhood. I lift my head from Bennett’s chest to prepare—mentally and physically—and use his love as armor around me.
Lars says, “I still don’t think this is wise.”
“I’ll be quick, and then we can leave.”
Bennett’s hands go up. “Whoa. Hold on. What happened to the doorman coming to you?”
The vehicle pulls to the curb. Glancing at the building, nothing has changed. Twelve stories. Clear glass with arched windows. Red brick exterior with cream-colored trim. A familiar doorman dressed in teal, still here after all these years. Same as it ever was.
When Fred doesn’t make a move, I pop the locks. “I’ll be fast.”
The privacy glass slowly rolls down. “You’re not going anywhere. Lars can get the box.”
“It’s a box. Right there. I see it on the counter just inside the door.”
He says, “Lars, will you get the—”
“No.”
“This isn’t a time to be stubborn, Winter.”
“Stubborn would be getting it without a conversation.” I can tell he’s not going to be convinced. I look back at the box on the counter. There may only be twenty feet between the damn box and us, but Bennett’s concerns are warranted after the past forty-eight hours. “Fine. Lars can get the box.”
“Would it feel better if I say it? Like you’re still winning?” I hear his amusement in his tone.
“Yes, actually.” I fold my fingers together and straighten my shoulders.
He mumbles, “At least I know what I’m getting into,” then adds, “Lars, will you get the box.”
“Yes.”
Leaning forward, I add, “Thank you, Lars.”
“Stubborn,” Bennett mutters from beside me. I’m okay with it.
We watch as Lars walks inside and talks to Fred. As soon as he puts his hands on it, Fred is quick and pulls the box back.
The elevator doors open, and my father and brother enter the lobby. I shrink, sliding down just a little on the leather seat despite the privacy glass. I’m tapped on the hip. When I turn to Bennett, he says, “They can’t see you. You’re safe inside here.”
I don’t know why I’m on edge. Is it seeing my family for the first time since my kidnapping, or is it that they helped organize it? I know. My heart just aches thinking about it.
My father is paler than I’ve ever seen him, feeble in ways that start to temper my anger. I’m not sure if it’s age or his body rotting him from the inside out, but I turn to Bennett. “He doesn’t look good.”
Bennett doesn’t say anything. I know he’s struggling with his own anger toward that man, and I’m surprised he’s been able to hold himself back. His knuckles are paying the price—whitened fists rest on his thighs.
When I turn back, my asshole of a brother takes the box from the counter and steps back. His mouth is running. By his expression, he’s pissed. “He’s not going to give the box to Lars,” I say.
His hand finds mine, and he takes hold. “You’re not getting out of this vehicle, Winter.”
Turning back, I’m met with worry. I give his hand a squeeze. “I know.”
Lars stands well above my father and brother, and by size alone, he’s intimidating. To most. “Braden’s a dickhead to fight this.” As if my brother can hear me, I say, “Give him the fucking box.”
“Are you willing to leave without it?”
“You know I’m not.” I don’t look behind me because I also know he’s probably fuming over this situation.
Fred argues with Lars as well and comes around the desk, pointing toward the door. Lars relents and comes back to the vehicle. Coming to the other side of the SUV, Bennett partially rolls down his window. Lars says, “They’re not giving it unless they can talk to her.”
“I’m right here.” Both of them turn to me. “I can talk to them. I have a few things I want to say as well.”
Bennett’s eyes narrow. “You’re kidding me, right? They had you kidnapped, not knowing if you were going to be raped or killed or both.”
Lars says, “We can’t stay here. The area has not been secured.” He looks down the street and then the other way before returning to us. “We have to leave it.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
He replies, “I understand, but it’s not safe for us to be here.”
Bennett releases me and runs his hands through his hair, stressed. He knows how important this is to me, but says, “He’s right. I’m sorry, Winter.” When he turns back to Lars, he signals toward the front. “Get in.”
“No.” I shoulder the door open and dash from the vehicle as Bennett swipes to grab me. “Winter!”
Lars is hot on my heels by the time I reach the door, drawing everyone’s attention from inside in the lobby. I swing it open, and Lars catches it. He doesn’t say a word but follows close behind me as I enter.
Fred greets me with the same unfriendly tone he’s had for years, “Ms. Nobleman.” No eye contact, only acknowledging me out of obligation to his job.
I smile as polite as I can, trying to kill him with kindness. “Fred.”
Braden stands before me like someone who’s gotten away with murder. I survived. I’m sure to his disappointment. He says, “The queen herself decided to grace us with her presence.”
“So glad to see you too, brother. Still living with your daddy?”
His laugh has lilted more toward a cackle as he holds the box hostage in his arms, taunting me. “While I’ve been saving the family farm, I hear you’ve been traipsing around Europe.”
“You could have called,” my father says.
“Why? You knew where I was.” Held captive in Paris. Shot at in New York. I have a feeling he’s known all along, just like Bennett’s theory on him being the key.
“And how would I know that?” His eyes move above my head as a gentle caress curves around my shoulder. I look back. I didn’t hear Bennett enter the lobby, but I’m glad he’s here. With him on my side, maybe this won’t be so bad. One can hope.
“Mr. Everest,” my father says as if he’s greeting a peer on the golf course. He reaches to shake his hand, but Bennett doesn’t move. He doesn’t even bother speaking to him.
A spark of recognition strikes Braden’s eyes, and his expression morphs, suddenly very interested in us with dollar signs floating in his eyes. Asshole. The grin that splits his cheek is . . . wretched . . . not finding another word that fits better for that creepy expression owning his vapid features. “Good going, sis.” Turning to Bennett, he adds, “She bagged an Everest. Guess getting Mom’s looks paid off.”
Bennett steps forward, but my hand whips out against his arm. “It’s okay.”
My brother doesn’t know when to shut up, though. He adds, “You brought backup.”
“I brought my friends. Do I need backup from my family?” I don’t know how our mother could produce that beast, but then I remember that my father insisted he “be a man” and suck in his emotions. He sucked so hard he lost them altogether. “I’ll take the box now, Braden.”
My father stares at me like he’s seen a ghost. “In this light, you look so much like her.”
“Nora. You can say her name. She loved you even when she shouldn’t have. You should give her the respect she deserves for trying to survive you.”
Braden spits, “You’re such a bitch.”
When he bobs forward like a school kid threatening others on the playground, Bennett steps in, and says, “Keep your distance from your sister. Do you understand, Nobleman?”
“Is that a threat, Everest?” His slithering tongue lands hard on the T. My brother is the worst human ever.
They hold their own against each other, but I’m not worried about Bennett. He’s clear
ly in the power position. His voice is smooth and deep, laden with menacing undertones. “That’s definitely a fucking threat.”
“That will be enough, Braden.” My father’s voice catches us off guard, and I see him still staring at me. I’m the ghost that’s come back to haunt him. I’m the warrior my mother raised.
Despite how little I feel in his presence, I stand my ground, but a shaky breath exhaled reveals my fear. I’ve never lived up to anything this man has expected of me. I was set up for failure the day I was born. Seeing him now, after what I’ve survived, I wonder why I cared. So much life wasted trying to appease him. No more. “I want the box.”
My father’s arms open, and a smile that almost appears sincere slides into place. “Winter, I’ve been worried out of my mind.” He comes to me . . . He. Comes. To. Me. Miracles never cease.
I stand there stunned, unable to will my arms around him. No tears come. Not even a loving embrace can erase what he’s done to me.
He pulls back and taps his legs nervously. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ve received anything that might concern the company?” His nonchalance is anything but casual. Every word articulated has an underlying meaning.
“What do you mean?”
“If you received anything . . . there was unfinished business with your mother.” He waves his hand as if he’s shooing a fly away, then smiles. “Then I suddenly remembered maybe Winter can help since you were close to her.”
“You were married to her.” I see a flash of irritation before his fake grin returns. I say, “What unfinished business?”
Braden steps forward with the box again, taunting me behind my father’s back. “This is just trash, but you can have it if you give us what we want.”
“I don’t know what you want other than me dead.”
Neither of them even bothers to feign innocence. I shake my head. At least I know the truth.
My father says, “Have you received anything from your mother? If you did, you need to give it to me right now.”
From my mother? “I only had my mother’s locket, so I guess you’re shit out of luck.”
When I turn to leave, my father says, “The locket! That’s it. You always did wear that piece of junk.”
I take a breath, pausing before I turn back around. “I’m surprised you noticed. I thought I was invisible to you.”
