by Naima Simone
“I wanted my life to revolve around you! I built my life around you. But did you see that?” he snapped. “No, because you’ve never seen me. You never see. Me.” He glared at her, his fist clenching and unclenching. Clenching. Unclenching. “I nursed you back to health, remained by your side through the stabbing and recovery, and even offered you my home when you wanted space. And still you wanted Sutter. To replace me. God, I wanted to—needed to—punish you. To make you suffer for all the pain you put me through.”
Unrequited love. He’d caused so much pain and misery because of a case of unrequited love? The fury rolled through her like a drum of incoming storm clouds—heavy, dark, and thick.
“So you’ve killed an innocent man, possibly three, and plan to add me to the body count, because I didn’t love you as more than a friend?”
“No.” He stopped, loomed over her. “I’m going to kill you because you let that son of a bitch fuck you,” he snarled. “I’ve waited for you. After those first two idiots years ago, I knew you were mine. No one had touched you in four years, because you were mine. But then you come here, and within a week of meeting him, you’re letting him rut on you like an animal.”
“H-how did you…?” She studied him, a sickening suspicion sneaking into her brain.
“I watched you,” he said softly. Almost gently. “After you had the security system installed, I couldn’t risk coming around the house and taking pictures again. So when you left the house the following day, I set up cameras all over the house. Thank you for the security code by the way. You made it so easy for me.” He grazed the back of his finger over her knee. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. She fought not to cringe.
But she must not have succeeded because his expression hardened and he rose to his feet again. Hatred glinted in his ice blue eyes. She shivered.
“You don’t like when I touch you, but you allowed that…that bastard,” he hissed, “to put his hands all over you. You left L.A.—and me—so easily. I thought after a month by yourself you would realize you missed and needed me and return. But one month stretched to two. And two to three. And during all that time, you still didn’t appreciate anything I did for you. I ran interference for you with the record company, the orchestra, the crew. If not for me, everyone would’ve known you couldn’t even touch a piano, much less play and fulfill your obligations. You think I didn’t know about that?” He scoffed. “I kept your secret. And still all I hear from you is, ‘I’ll be back soon. I need time. Have you heard from Jeremy?’ Ungrateful. You were such an ungrateful bitch,” he snarled. “So I wanted to punish you. Punish you for your disloyalty. Scare you into returning to me and realizing I was the only one who could provide for you, care for you, give you everything you needed. But after your betrayal with Chayot Grey, you deserve to die. You both do.”
She gasped, gaped at him. “The brakes. Chay’s brakes. You did that.”
He shrugged. “It worked once before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, Aslyn,” he said, condescension dripping from his tone.
With that frigid stare trained on her, she racked her brain. What could he—? Then, like a veil lifting, the truth—the god-awful truth—whispered through her head. Oh God. Oh Jesus.
“You didn’t,” she rasped. “You didn’t. Liam, please…”
But he nodded, a malicious smile curving his mouth.
“Yes, I did. Your mother noticed the way I looked at you. One night after a show, she caught me in your dressing room, watching you shower from the bathroom door. She fired me, ordered me not to come near you or she would tell everyone what she saw. She threatened to destroy my career and take you away from me. I couldn’t allow that. So the next day, I sliced your parents’ brake line. The rainy night was pure coincidence. She shouldn’t have threatened me,” he explained, his nonchalance disgusting.
Disbelief, rage, grief. They consumed her. He’d taken so much from her. Her family, her security, her peace, and now he sought to take her life.
“You can’t get away with this,” she recited more to herself than him. “I won’t let you get away with this.”
“Really?” he sneered. “And what do you plan to do about it? You couldn’t stop me from luring Sutter here and killing him. You couldn’t stop me from planting a tracker in your purse when I broke in the house to install the cameras. You couldn’t stop me from following you to that so-called safe house. You couldn’t stop me from getting to you. How exactly do you propose stopping me now?”
He strolled to the mantel above the fireplace, confidence and menace in every step. He picked up the knife, his manner almost reverent, loving.
“Do you think no one is going to find out you’re behind this?” she demanded, terror clawing at her chest and throat. Her vision narrowed, expanded, and narrowed again on the lethal blade. Deliberately, she inhaled. Focus, goddamnit. You can’t die. Not like this. “Once they run Jeremy’s fingerprints, they’ll know you’re not dead. That you’re involved.”
Again, Liam lifted a shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter. I knew the ring would only buy me a few days at most. Once I take care of you, nothing else will matter; I’ll disappear.” He ran his thumb along the knife’s edge. “The most important matter is you. I can’t bear to exist in a world where you’re living happy and without me. Jeremy couldn’t have you, and that bastard, Chayot Grey, definitely won’t have you.”
Time had run out.
He advanced on her, the blade glinting in the afternoon sunshine. When his toes brushed hers, and he raised the knife, she shot out of the chair, palms up and pressed together. She thrust the heels of her hands at his face. Her stomach lurched at the audible crunch of cartilage and the spurt of blood from his nose. The weapon clattered to the floor as Liam covered his broken nose with his hands.
But he didn’t go down.
“Bitch,” he snarled, lunging for her.
She ducked. Shot out her foot. Kicked the back of his knee. Liam dropped, knocking the chair over. The impact vibrated up her flip-flop-clad foot and jarred her own knee, but she didn’t wait to see if he would stay down. Blood and adrenaline racing through her veins, she limped to the front door, which seemed miles and miles away.
High, keening whimpers scraped from her throat. She fumbled with the lock, ordering herself not to look back. Not to dare look back. As if through a wall of glue, she struggled to twist the lock.
“Please, please, please,” she begged, crying. A sob escaped as the tumbler finally turned, and she wrenched the door open.
Or rather it burst open.
She stumbled back, toppling to the floor. Her tailbone slapped the hardwood, and she cried out. Blinking, she stared up into Chay’s face.
Oh thank God.
Relief, joy, and love poured through her, knocking her back onto her elbows.
“Chay,” she croaked. The same emotions swamping her flashed across his face. He crouched down beside her, but an instant later, fury darkened his features.
“Chay!” Rafe suddenly appeared in the doorway, yelling out a warning at the same moment Chay pounced to his feet.
His arm whipped out, his fist connecting with Liam’s throat. He jerked his knee up and plowed it into the other man’s midsection. Again, the knife tumbled from Liam’s hand, hitting the floor and sliding several feet. Chay drove an elbow into Liam’s back, and her former manager crashed to the ground with a groan.
Chay stood over him, fists clenched. Fury hummed off his rigid body. If Rafe hadn’t stepped forward and pulled him back, she imagined him finishing the job.
Goddamn, that was hot.
Moaning, and her ass protesting, she shoved herself to her feet. Chay met her halfway, pulling her up and into his arms.
“I knew you would come.” She kissed his collarbone, the base of his neck. Wherever she could reach. “I never doubted you would find me. My hero.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aslyn thanked the detective as
he ushered her into the Brighton police station’s lobby, which was surprisingly crowded at ten o’clock at night. After hours of being interviewed by the police, weariness weighed her down, and she longed to scoot the prostitute with the pleather micro-mini and shredded fishnet stockings over so she could sit. And not move for about twelve hours.
Instead she scanned the congested area…and didn’t find him.
Disappointment added to the fatigue, and she glanced at the prostitute wondering if she was the friendly sort or not. Maybe she could ask her where she’d bought those stockings…
A din of voices flooded into the lobby, and her head jerked up at the clamor.
“No comment,” Chay called grimly over his shoulder before closing the front entrance door shut behind him and cutting off her glimpse of the loud throng of reporters and photographers outside the station.
She gaped at him, even as her hungry gaze ran over his tall frame. Her heart, which had sank in regret upon not initially seeing him in the lobby, soared to the back of her throat. And lodged there. Even when he spotted her, and strode toward her, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
Not until she was in Chay’s arms.
The air burst from her lungs, and his chest was the recipient of the blast. She shuddered, and his arms tightened around her. If she could find her voice she could explain the tremor wasn’t out of exhaustion, but gratefulness. Relief. Even in the middle of a police station lobby that smelled like sweat and disinfectant, she was home.
She was safe.
She was home.
So much had happened in the hours since Chay and Rafe had burst into the house where Liam had held her captive. The police had arrived and carted Liam off. She’d been examined by the paramedics, then escorted to the station where she’d given her statement for what seemed like hours. The detectives had asked her to go over what happened several times, and by the time they’d given the okay to leave, her brain felt liquefied and her tongue numb.
She tightened her arms around him, her nails digging into his back. He was her lifeboat in the midst of the grief and exhaustion that battered her in relentless waves.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” she mumbled against his chest.
He snorted then, burying his fingers in her hair, tilted her head back. His hazel eyes searched her face before coming back to meet her gaze.
“Are you okay?” he murmured.
She chuckled, the sound humorless and tired. “No. Not even close. I’ve seen two men shot in front of me. Was kidnapped by my best friend, who I discovered is not just a deranged stalker but a murderer. Two of his victims being my parents. I’m so far from okay, I don’t know if I can ever find my way back to that zip code.”
“You’ll find it, baby,” he assured her, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. “I’ll help you. We’ll find it together.”
Damn tears. Damn freakin’ tears. She should be cried out by now.
“You can’t make me cry,” she complained, voice hoarse. “I’m an ugly crier.”
He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I won’t hold it against you,” he promised. “You should know that Riley and Jared are going to be okay. The apartment security team found them in time. They both lost a lot of blood, and Riley’s chest wound is slightly more critical than Jared’s, but their surgeries were successful. They’ll make a full recovery.”
“Oh thank God,” she breathed, clutching his shirt in her fists. “I was so worried. I thought…” She shook her head. “Thank God.”
“Are you ready to go?”
Sighing, she eased out of his arms, glancing at the entrance. Chay followed the direction of her gaze.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “A detective came out right before they released you and let me know so I could pull the SUV up front. Rafe’s waiting. You’ll be okay.”
That wasn’t her worry. Being in the national and international spotlight for years, she was accustomed to the press. Chay’s experience with the press—especially after the revelation of the murder—hadn’t endeared them to him. He didn’t want to deal or live with the scrutiny of a nosey reporter or telephoto lens. And both came along with her like matching shoes and purse.
“If you want we could probably avoid going out there. I’m sure the police have a rear entrance…” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the door they’d just escorted her from.
“Hey.” He captured her chin between his fingers and turned her head around. “I appreciate your concern, but running a gamut of reporters is something I should get used to. Besides, my ‘no comment’ accompanied with a death stare works…for the most part.” The corner of his mouth hiked in a half smile. “Also, dealing with them means having you, and I can’t lose you.” As if unable to not touch her, his hand skimmed over her hair, her cheek, her lips. Hope, fledgling hope, stuttered in her chest. “I need you. You’ve brought joy, laughter…and love into my life. I didn’t believe I could have that. Didn’t believe it was meant for me. Until you.”
“Chay,” she breathed.
There was such heat, such warmth in his eyes. And truth. Absolute truth. She closed her eyes. Inhaled his scent. Moved her hand and covered his heart.
“No, look at me. Look at me, baby,” he urged. When she obeyed, he said, “I love you. I don’t have the pretty words or long speeches. All I have is, I love you. I’ll follow you to Los Angeles. I’ll stand beside you whether it’s in the shadow or in the spotlight. I’ll be your family and give you mine. You’ll never be alone again.” He rested his forehead on hers. “And neither will I.”
No pretty words? Had he really said that? He’d just cracked her heart right down the middle.
“When Liam locked me in that closet, all I could think about was staying alive so I could tell you how much I loved you. Damn it.” She laughed, the sound a bit waterlogged. “You stole my thunder.”
She rose on her toes, erased the last few inches separating them, and kissed him. She poured her love and happiness into the caress, sweeping inside his mouth to taste him, savor him. Worship him.
“I waited for you,” she whispered against his lips. “And you were worth it.”
For the first time in a year and a half, a dark, menacing cloud didn’t loom over her head. She was free. Free from looking over her shoulder. Free from harassment. Free from terror.
Free to love.
And be loved.
Epilogue
“Puerto Rico in the fall and a concert by a world-famous pianist,” Mal said. He shot a side glance at Chay. “I knew being your friend would pay off one day.”
“Actually, I think being friends with Aslyn has benefited us more,” Gabe drawled.
Chay shot his middle finger up at Gabe and Mal. Until Rafe reached over and slapped it down.
“Hey,” he snapped. “You can’t use language—verbal or non-verbal—like that in front of my daughter.”
Gabe, Mal, and Chay stared at him before snickering.
Rafe scowled, cradling his sleeping two-month-old daughter in the crook of his arm. Eva Sharon Marcel, with her father’s black hair and her mother’s green eyes, had wrapped Rafe around her tiny finger from the day she’d come into this world.
Hell, her uncles, too.
“You degenerate bastards,” he growled. “You,” he stabbed a finger at Gabe, “just wait. Five more months. I’m counting ’em down.”
A wide grin split Gabe’s face. The joy seemed to light him from the inside out. A hard fist squeezed Chay’s heart. There’d been a time when he—all of them—had doubted they would ever see such happiness on him again. Gabe had his wife and son stolen years ago, but now he was married to a woman he loved with all his heart with a baby on the way.
In the last year, all of them had had their deepest secrets exposed and faced their darkest fears. They’d endured struggles and survived the most evil danger.
Yet each of them had found the purest, strongest l
ove.
Mal’s firm was more successful than ever, and with Danielle by his side, their clientele had nearly doubled. All he’d lost when the truth about Richard’s death had been exposed had been restored. Jerrod, Guerrero, & Associates was one of the top law firms in the state. Although the name would soon change to Jerrod, Jerrod, & Associates once Mal and Danielle married in the spring.
Marriage and fatherhood had softened the edges around Rafe from razor sharp to just sharp. Chay silently snorted. His friend and business partner was still the scariest motherfucker he knew, but his wife and daughter had given him a peace that had been missing. Greer, now the artist of the graphic novels based on Gabe’s bestselling detective series, had healed the broken places in Rafe. And for that, Chay would forever be grateful.
Sighing, Chay turned away from the balcony railing and glanced over his shoulder into the luxury hotel suite. Leah, Danielle, Greer, and Aslyn joined his mother and aunts at the large dining table, laughing and talking.
His family. His brothers. His heart.
It’d taken twenty years, but they’d come full circle.
“I’m taking Eva in for a nap before the concert.” Rafe kissed his daughter’s forehead and headed for the open balcony door.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he breastfed her instead of Greer,” Chay drawled.
“I heard that,” Rafe called over his shoulder. “Highbrow,” he said to Aslyn as he passed by her, “for your sake I’m gonna refrain from kicking your man’s ass until after your performance.”
Aslyn laughed, rising from the table. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.” She patted his shoulder. “I use his pretty face as inspiration, so afterward is cool.”
“Remind me whose side you’re on again?” Chay asked, stepping into the suite.
She grinned, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yours, of course. You know Rafe’s still experiencing hormonal changes.”
