by S. L. Scott
I slip on the other shoe; the straps twisted uncomfortably under my feet. While trying to remain calm, I reply, “He forced me, Chelsea. That’s not a lie. That’s the truth I have to live with every day of my life.”
“What are you saying?” She crosses her arms over her chest, the sleeve slipping down on the right side. “Are you accusing him of raping you?”
Closing my eyes, I remember meeting him like it was yesterday. I was so bright-eyed and innocent to the real world. I was the perfect prey. “I was a girl with daddy issues who would accept any advances as a substitute.”
When I see her lower her defenses of him, I add, “He didn’t rape me.” Our history races through my mind. “He blackmailed me instead, presenting my options like I had a choice when I knew I had none. So yes, Kurt fucked me how he pleased, even if he gave me the option of where. But I never begged.”
“He blackmailed you how?”
My mother’s locket catches my eyes, hanging from the mirror behind her. I want it. I look back at Chelsea, hoping she doesn’t notice. I’m not sure where her heart lies right now—precariously balancing between a breakdown and her love for a man who doesn’t love her.
I take small steps forward, determined to get the necklace around my neck before I leave this place for good. As careful with my words as my steps, I reply, “My family’s company. He could have destroyed it, but he didn’t.”
“He didn’t because he had you.” She’s connecting the dots.
And for the first time, I exhale all the guilt I’ve carried around for years. Rubbing my wrists, I also ask, “Did you release me?”
She’s very approachable in her sorrow, looking for a friend in an enemy. Sadly, she’s just another woman used by that disgusting man. “I did. He never hit me before tonight. For this, he’ll kill me,” she says, losing the energy to fight.
I understand the hopelessness. I’ve been living like that for years because of him, but I’m not willing to die with her. Expending the weight of what I took the blame for, I take the chain from the mirror and drop it over my head. It’s a risky move but one worth taking, not only for me but also for my mother. She deserves to be remembered. I walk toward the door.
“You can’t leave, Winter.”
I turn back to see the broken woman before me. It’s then that I realize she’s right. I can’t leave. Not yet. I’ve been in her shoes—alone, hurting, with nowhere to turn. I take a cleansing wipe from the vanity and go to her. “Let me help you.” If anyone ever needed someone in her corner, it’s Chelsea at this moment.
She tilts her head back, and I wipe gently across her cheeks, removing the mascara streaks from her face. She doesn’t move, but her eyes stay on me the whole time. I whisper as if someone else will hear us. “I got out, and you can, too.” Her heart is good. I just know it is, so I treat her with the kindness I wish I had been shown. Tossing the wipes on the table, I then hold out my hand. “I’ll help you.”
As if the prospect of leaving overwhelms her, she sits on the edge of the chair, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and adjusting her slipped sleeve back into position. “He’s going to kill us.”
“We have to fight.” I’m so close to the door, and here I am, giving my freedom away by waiting. But this may be the only chance she’s ever given, so I stay. “I’ll help you.”
“Promise?” She grabs her shoes and slips them on.
“I promise.”
Taking her clutch in one hand, she holds my hand in the other. “I want to go home. I want to see my family. I don’t want to live this life anymore.”
“You will, but we need to go.”
“He’s been living next door to you the whole time.”
I take a shuddering breath. So much makes more sense now. I have no doubt my apartment had cameras to spy on me too, even if I never found them. “Is he there now?”
“Yes.”
There is no escape. “He’ll know we’re leaving.”
“No. He took a sleeping pill earlier after he made me pour him a drink. He needs both to sleep.” The monster can’t sleep with his dirty conscience.
“So we need to be quick and quiet.” She nods as I open the door of the apartment and peek into the hallway. It’s clear.
“I want to finish college. Kurt made me quit when we got engaged.”
I hold my finger to my lips. I’m not sure where the monsters reside, but I don’t want to wake the sleeping beasts. We tiptoe down the hall as quiet as mice.
But not quiet enough it seems . . . I hear the click of the knob before I hear him. “It’s a little late to be going out, Chelsea. Come here.” Kurt snaps his fingers, commanding her like she’s his pet. “I see you made friends—”
“With your obsession.” She holds my hand and looks back.
“Obsession.” He rolls the word a few more times.
Squeezing my eyes tight, I gather strength from my mom and from the man who wanted nothing from me, but who I am. I look down at my hand wrapped around hers and see the deep blue painted on my nails. It’s not a coincidence I chose this color for the first time since my mom’s death. I know she’s here with me, watching over me. Now I need to be the warrior she believed me to be.
With my other hand, I hold the locket and start walking again, taking Chelsea with me.
“Winter!” Kurt’s voice slaps our backs. The cock of a gun follows. Chelsea stops and looks back again, causing me to stop. He asks, “How does that make you feel, Winter? To have a man willing to dispose of anyone in our way to have you?” I don’t look back, not one millimeter. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my face. But I do tighten my hold on Chelsea, praying she sees him for who he really is and not the Prince Charming she wants him to be. Two more snaps and then another command, “Here! Now, Chelsea.”
I look at her. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”
Sobs wreck her frail body. “I’m not strong like you.”
“Don’t go. Please,” I beg, my hands starting to shake. Do I let her go? Do I save myself? Looking at her, I see so much of who I used to be—clinging to anyone who pretended to love me. I was wrong. I didn’t need attention like that. I needed the patience to find the attention I deserved. I know how this ends for her. “He’ll kill me, and then he’ll kill you. Maybe not today, but he will be the end of you.”
“Chelsea!” His voice booms, causing us to jump.
Then time slows, my breath heavy in my chest when the elevator dings. The hall goes quiet as the brass doors slide open ahead.
Thirty feet.
Two doors.
Three seconds.
Weapons drawn.
Lars’s eyes land on me as he rushes from the elevator with a gun leading the way. I can’t find comfort in the rescue because Bennett runs right after. Our eyes meet, and my free hand flies in front to stop him from coming closer when the fire of a bullet echoes from behind me. “Nooooo!”
34
Winter
Chelsea screams, and her body crumples next to me. Another shot is fired as I’m dragged to the floor with her. Our hands stay clasped as the brightness in her eyes fades, seeking that life she spoke about. “Chelsea?” I cry, trying to get to her.
Red blood spreads across the white dress like ants spilling out of an anthill. It all happens so fast and flows slowly through each thread covering her chest. A heavy form lands behind me and rolls me to the other side before I can take a breath.
The soulful eyes I could stare into forever look back at mine as gunfire fills the air. That incredible smile that had me hooked from the moment I saw him shines, but then disappears as he jolts, falling forward. His back arches in as he lands on top of me. “I love you,” falls from Bennett’s lips as his weight comes to rest.
“No—” I’m about to scream again, but Bennett’s hand covers my mouth. He kisses under my ear, and whispers, “Be still. Play dead.”
Oh, thank God. “I thought you were dead,” I say in a quiet sob, but then do as he says and close my
eyes. Chelsea’s fingers still clasp mine. I can’t see her, but I know she’s hanging on.
Bennett’s phone is on the floor and 112 on the screen. His body remains still as his finger presses send. I hear the emergency call answered just as a door slams down the hall.
Lars’s deep voice penetrates my soundless tears when he yells, “Move.”
In one giant jump, Bennett pulls me to my feet, and I’m ripped from Chelsea as we run toward the elevator. He lands with a thud against the wall, my body crashing into his before we change places. I say, “Get Chelsea.”
“Lars has her.” Tucked in a corner hidden from view of the door, Bennett’s hands roam my body as he checks to make sure I’m in one piece. Wanting to protect me from the whole wide world, he uses his body to shield me. Cupping my face, he finally asks, “Are you okay?” I turn my gaze to the sky, seeing the sandstorms roll into his eyes and concern forcing a line between his brows. “Winter.” He pauses, and I catch a glimpse of pain shade his expression.
Holding his wrists, I finally release my anguish. “We have to get her to a hospital.”
“We will, but we have to get out of here first.”
Lars runs into the elevator with Chelsea in his arms, Bennett punching the button as I maneuver around to see her. Moving her hair away from her face, I lift on my toes. “We’re going to get you help.” I take her hand and warm it between mine. “Okay?”
The elevator finally starts its descent, but through the quiet, I hear her hard swallow. Though her body is limp in Lars’s arms, a small smile appears before she rests her eyes. I look at Lars, and he silently reassures me.
“I texted the police the address and to send an ambulance,” Bennett says.
Reaching up, Chelsea rests her hand on my shoulder. “You should forgive yourself.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head and then lower it in shame. “I caused this. I set everything in motion.”
“With good intentions, Winter.”
“The road to hell.” I take a harsh breath, inwardly scolding myself. I never related to a cliché more than I do now. My legs feel weak, so I move to the side and grab onto the railing, holding myself up.
“When these doors open, Lars will go first, and we’ll follow,” Bennett says, “There will be a car—”
“No, they need it. They have to get to a hospital.”
He glances at the numbers as they light up above Lars’s head. “I need you safe.” His phone vibrates, and he starts typing again.
The elevator stops, and the doors open on the second floor. Lars is a wall of a man with a woman in his arms staring down at an elderly couple. The man shrinks under the stare. The woman on his arm grabs the fur at her neck, and her mouth falls open. Lars’s deep voice vibrates against the elevator. “We’ll send it back up.”
Bennett hits the button to close the doors, leaving the stunned couple behind. Then he continues like we never stopped at all. “You’re going to walk out the front door like nothing is wrong. We can’t put other lives at risk.”
“Why didn’t we take the stairs?”
“Because they did.”
“They . . .”
“Kurt and his men,” Lars says. “Showtime.”
The doors slide open, and Bennett’s hand covers my lower back. We start walking, pretending we weren’t just in a gunfight or have a bleeding woman in desperate need of a doctor. “Black SUV at the curb,” he says under his breath as we pass through the people in the lobby.
I look down at the cold, checkered marble floors when I see a couple’s eyes go wide. “I lost my shoe, and there’s blood all over my skirt.”
“No one cares about us. Keep walking.”
Lars and Chelsea are in front of us, but once we reach the doors, he stops to wait. He’s still trying to cover us when he should only worry about Chelsea. “Take the car. Go,” I say, pushing his back as we exit onto the sidewalk.
“Winter!” My name bleeds off the sharp-edged blade of Bennett’s tongue.
“No. They need to go. We’ll be fine.”
Bennett eyes me and then glances to them. Seeming to go against his better judgment, he shakes his head. “Take it, Lars.”
“Go inside until the next car arrives,” Lars replies. He runs for the car and climbs in the back with Chelsea.
I catch her gaze one last time. She raises her hand up, so I raise mine. The door closes, and the car pulls away.
Paris is cold in November, reminding me of what I’m wearing, or the lack of. As the chill sets in, sirens sound around us, bouncing off the walls just as two policemen race toward the hotel. “Shit,” Bennett says, and then grabs me and pulls me into a kiss.
Safe.
Deep.
Passionate.
Real. So raw, reflecting how I feel for him.
True and honest.
Full of promise and a future.
Our lips part the moment the shot rings out. My silent scream swallowed by Bennett as I look at him, praying this isn’t the last kiss I ever get from him.
The snap of another bullet punctures the air, and he curls his body around me, shielding me as we fall. Protecting my head from hitting the ground, his hands slip into my hair
The sound of tires ram the curb and the back door to an SUV swings open. A man jumps out of the front seat with a gun, covering us, and Ethan yells from the back, “Get in.”
We’re up on our feet in seconds, and I climb in with Bennett hot on my heels. The door closes, and the vehicle takes off to the sound of metal ricocheting off the SUV. Barricaded in Bennett’s arms, I don’t move, and I don’t look away from the only person who makes this life worth fighting for.
“Breathe, Winter.” Bennett’s steady hand touches my trembling body, my shoulders quake to the fear inside.
What we just survived begins to sink in while the walls of the SUV start closing in. In a succession of quick exhales, I try to regulate my breathing to match his calming eyes. When my breathing stabilizes, the words come tumbling off my tongue. “Are we safe?”
“We’re safe.”
I finally breathe with ease, and then say what I wish I could have back there, “I love you, too.”
He leans in and rests his forehead against mine. “You love me, sweetheart?”
“I do.” I wrap my arms around him, wanting to breathe in his entire being so our souls will forever share the same universe. “I love you.”
I wish things were different. I wish I had never dragged him into my mess to clean up. I wish so much that I’m not sure I’ll survive this regret, or that we will. When this is all over, how will he look at me? Will he still care? I can ask a billion questions, but deep in my heart, I know the answers. I see them written in his eyes. Yes. We will survive this together.
Kissing me quick, he says, “I love you, too.”
“Hey, that’s great and all,” Ethan says, leaning forward and looking at us. “I’m all for love, but there’s a psychopath loose in Paris who needs to be found—”
“We need to get Winter to the hospital,” Bennett says.
“What?” I ask, confused. “Why?” And then I look down at my forearm.
Taking hold of my wrist with one hand and my elbow with the other, he examines it. “Fuck, Winter, are you okay?”
I was cold, but figured that was the adrenaline rush subsiding. It’s not a long gash, but it might be deep. “Will I need stitches?” I ask, feeling a little woozy.
“Maybe,” Ethan answers. “We need it checked, and then we’re out of there. I’ve set up extra security.”
“I promised to help Chelsea, Ethan, I need to be there.”
He says, “It’s dangerous, Winter. The longer we stay, the bigger the risk.”
Bennett groans. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because she has no one else. I know you’re worried, but Ethan said there would be security. I’ll be fine,” I say, touching Bennett’s arm. “They’ll check my wound and then we’ll see to Chelsea, okay?”
; “No. It’s not okay. You were hurt. Again. I’m still trying to deal with that. I’m fucking furious that fucker took you. I can’t lose you, Winter.”
Cradling his face, that strong, scruff covered jaw, in my hands, I kiss him. “I’ll listen this time. I promise.”
His brother says, “Ben, we’ll have eyes on her every minute.”
“Yeah, I know. I know,” Bennett moans. “Extra fucking security. Got it.”
“Okay,” Ethan says to me, “you need to do exactly what we say. We don’t know what we’re walking into, but as I said before, we have bulked up security.”
I sit back knowing I’m not telling the truth about being fine. My heart is still beating overtime as I think about what happened. My arm is throbbing, but I’m so thankful to be alive and in Bennett’s arms once again.
35
Bennett
Eight hours at the hospital waiting for more information has worn us down. Hearing Chelsea was in recovery after surgery was good news, but the silence since has been deafening.
Winter paces the private lounge in a pair of slip-on shoes a nurse offered her. The cut on her arm wasn’t very deep after all, so they’ve stitched and bandaged it and told her it should be fine, but there might be a scar. We’ve each napped at some point or another, but she’s back on her feet, trying to run a path into the tiles.
Ethan’s been speaking with the police just inside the door, and I’m stuck staring at the stained grout, hunched over in a chair next to Lars.
He laughs lightly to himself, making me look over. With nothing obvious entertaining him, I ask, “What?”
“She asked me how she looked in the car because if she was going to die, she wanted to look her best when she shows up at the pearly gates.”
That makes me sit up. “Chelsea? What did you say?” I’m not going to rush to judgment, but I think we need to take things slow. She was with Kurt, after all. But Lars must see the same thing that made Winter want to help her.
Lars is calm, wearing a slight smile that’s rarely there. He looks over at me, and adds, “I told her she looked too good to die. When she asked what she had to live for, I said when we get back to Manhattan, I’m taking her out on a date.”
