The knife twists at my hairline, skimming over me with a hiss that I feel more than hear, and a small trickle of warmth dribbles down the side of my face.
“Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?” he asks mournfully, looking like the old Eric for a beat. “I didn’t want to hurt anybody. All I wanted was her and my job, that’s all.”
No, I think, feeling tears stream freely down my cheeks, you wanted to be in control of everything. You had what you wanted and you weren’t satisfied.
Vincent had been. No matter how goofy or clumsy or just plain weird I’d been at times, he’d been satisfied just to have me. Shit.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper brokenly, begging him with my eyes for mercy.
I’m almost hopeful at this stage, which is so stupid because I should know not to hope for anything, when he tightens his grip and rips my head back, raising the knife menacingly.
I close my eyes tightly, holding my breath, when a shot rings out, deafening me, causing me to bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. The hand holding my hair slackens, and I open my eyes just as a clatter hits the floor.
Eric is frozen above me, his face a picture of horrified shock. He looks down, and I follow his eyes, confused when a bright red flower spreads across his chest, painting his shirt an obscene shade of crimson.
He turns, stepping back, and gasps, his hand extended pleadingly.
“Are you okay? Oh my God, I was so scared. I ran next door and called security and I was so scared but I couldn’t leave you alone and—”
We’re both crying and shaking as Bee frees me from the chair, her trembling body all but collapsing into me as I stand, swaying so badly I know I have a concussion.
“You saved my life.”
“No. You saved mine. I love you, Sis,” she sobs, pulling me out of the apartment and into the hall just as the elevator dings and people start streaming out.
“I love you too,” I breathe, leaning my head into her sweet-smelling neck and letting go.
Chapter Thirty Nine
“Come on, sugar. Open those beautiful peepers for Daddy. Come on, that’s it, let me see those beautiful blue eyes.”
That voice and the familiar words make me smile just before I obey and slowly raise my lids to the sight of my father’s own matching blue eyes gazing down at me with so much love and devotion I feel my own eyes mist over.
He’s been crying, I see, as evidenced by the red rings around his eyes and the slightly pink tinge to the tip of his nose.
“Hey, Daddy,” I rasp, lifting a heavy hand to his stubble-covered cheek. “You been watching The Notebook again, old man?” I tease, swiping clumsily at his tears.
He laughs and shifts his arms under me, pulling me up and into his embrace. The comfort takes me back to every memory I have of being hurt or scared or sad, and every time, he’d been there to hug me and make it all better.
The feeling of being so cherished after what had happened is so sweet I hug him back as hard as I can and cling to him.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Sshh, little girl, ain’t nothing to be sorry for. I hurt ya and—”
“No. You brought me a miracle, and I was too damned stubborn to look past your bullshit to see it,” I cut in, pulling back to look into his eyes.
His expression lightens a little, though it doesn’t clear completely. He’s feeling guilty, something my soft heart wants to absolve him of completely just to see him smile, but I stop myself because it’s something he’s gotta face.
He’d manipulated me and used his business connection to buy me a suitable husband, and he needs to earn back my trust.
“I’m so goddamned thankful that animal didn’t hurt you,” he breathes raggedly, laying me down gently. “Bee told us how you kept him occupied long enough for her to get out of there, darlin’…”
I snort and roll my eyes despite the dull ache at my temples.
“That girl’s really got a helluva big set of balls. She came back for me even though he could have easily killed her and the baby. You better hope that kid gets some of your and Mama’s genes, ‘cause her and Justin seem to be senseless,” I mutter jokingly, and he laughs roughly with a shake of his head.
“She’ll make a decent addition to the Bennet clan, that’s for sure. Now dry your eyes, ya big crybaby. I don’t want your mama in a tizzy when she comes in here,” he scolds, wiping his eyes.
“Hah! I’m not a lightweight, old man. You’re the crybaby.”
“Me? Jesus, girlie, you think I’m a crier? You shoulda seen Blake! That man’s got it bad for you.”
“And on that note, your wife is calling for you. Bianca is awake.”
We both look up to see Vincent reclining in the doorway, looking all bad boy chic with his sleeves rolled up and his tie handing loose over his shoulders.
“So, you’re a crier, huh?” I tease when Daddy gives me a quick peck and walks out, leaving us alone in the silent room but for the beeping of a distant machine.
“I wouldn’t say that, but I was definitely worried when I got a frantic phone call from Justin and was told to rush to the hospital,” he muses, coming over to kiss my cheek gently as he lowers himself to the bed. “Your face looks like hell.”
It feels it, I think, probing delicately at my bruised face.
“Better than last time, though. So, I was actually on my way out the door when that pig cornered me. I was coming to see you,” I say, picking awkwardly at the blanket over my knees. “I owe you an apology for the way I reacted when you came to the apartment. You were concerned and trying to help, and I…I was mad at you.”
“Dove—”
“No.” I rush ahead, cutting him off with a finger to his lips. “Please.”
He nods once and I pull my hand away, feeling so uncertain of myself it’s hard to meet his eyes. I also look a fright and need to brush my teeth like yesterday, which is doing nothing to boost the confidence I’m struggling so desperately for.
Vanity.
“I was mad at you for the wedding.”
“I should never have—”
I cut him off before he can crush me and tell me what a mistake that had been. The Vincent I’m seeing here isn’t the same frantic, unleashed lover that had rescued me from the rooftop, the same man who’d spent hours at my bedside urging me to wake up.
This man is being kind and gentle and so friend-like that it’s breaking my heart. I’d almost prefer cold, yelling Vincent to this guy, because at least then I’d know he feels more for me than friendly concern.
“Because you said you ‘missed this’. You missed the sex, which I have to admit was awesome, but…I wanted you to say that you missed me. That maybe the divorce had been a mistake and that…but I was stupid. I mean, even as I’m saying all this it’s dawned on me that you brought a date… Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for being here, for continuing to be my friend even when I don’t really deserve it,” I finish, feeling prouder than hell that I’ve managed to keep my eyeballs dry through the whole thing.
“Dove—”
“God, Sis, can’t you manage to keep out of trouble for a few measly days?”
Parker and Jules sweep in, putting paid to whatever he was about to say, and we pull apart, me sighing deeply in chagrin and relief because I’m not sure I’m rock steady enough to hear Vincent tell me kindly how over me he is, and him, well, he looks more freaking relieved than I do.
“The honeymoon was almost over anyway, you big goof.”
I can fake my way through this. Maybe when I get out of the hospital I can paint some really sad examples of how shitty I feel now. Maybe I’ll join a rock band and scream out my pain. Or maybe I’ll get Marty a companion or sixty to join us.
By the time I’ve been smothered in hugs and taken a good ribbing about getting caught with my pants down—Jules actually head slapped Park for that one—I look up and he’s gone.
“The honeymoon was just getting started as far as I’m concerned, but yo
u’re right. I had to come back to work eventually, no matter how sexy my wife is in a bikini.”
“All jokes aside though,” Jules says seriously, taking my hand in her grip and squeezing gently. “You’re my hero.”
“But I didn’t… It was all Bee,” I whisper, feeling my eyes tear again.
It’s not this that’s making me cry but the reminder that someone died, that Eric, even in his madness, had lost his life and that no matter how necessary it’d been, Bee will have to live with this for the rest of her life.
She’d killed a man she’d loved once, and that…I can’t imagine what she’s feeling if even I’m struggling not to cry for him.
“You kept your head and gave her the break she needed to get out and get help. Now tell me how you feel,” Parker says gently, cuddling in beside me. “You look sad.”
I am, because Eric isn’t the only thing that’s died, and I need to find a way to move past it.
Chapter Forty
I ended up attending the funeral three days later, and it’s truly sad how few people Eric had left to call friend. I’d laid a rose over his casket and hugged his Aunt Lo when she’d broken down and cried, telling me that he’d been a good boy and that he’d just been lost.
I don’t quite agree with that, but it didn’t stop me from saying goodbye and telling him that I forgive him for everything. Of course, I’d had my hard-eyed daddy standing off to the side, watching everything with a stoic reserve that I was proud of, especially when one of his cousins had yelled obscenities at me.
Daddy’s eye had twitched frantically, but he’d kept his cool and not beaten the shit out of the guy. He had nodded regally at one of his security guys, and I’m not sure what had happened to that cousin, but I hadn’t seen him at the gathering after.
Now I’m just plum exhausted and disgustingly grateful that my parents and Justin have left the city—under order from Bee, thank God for her—and that I can sit back on my sofa and relax.
That’s not true. I’m brooding and feeling sorry for myself more than anything, and quite relieved to be in a hotel room rather than my apartment.
Daddy’s having my things packed and held in storage till I get a new place. When the hotel phone rings it takes me a split second to realize it’s nothing sinister, and I answer with a frown, ready to cuss Mama out if she’s calling to check up on me already.
Everyone around me has been treating me like I’m made of freaking glass, and I’ve gotten some weird looks from Parker.
“Hello?”
“Sissy.”
“Vincent?” I squeak, blinking in confusion at not only the name but the fact that he knows where I am and that he’s calling me.
I haven’t seen him since the day I’d woken up in the hospital, and I’d quite frankly thought I wouldn’t. Ever again.
“I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.”
“Um, uh… I’m kinda tired,” I aver, staring up at the ceiling.
Seriously? He wants to have dinner to tell me what? Let’s be friends? That’s not something I can safely do without losing what little dignity I have left.
God, I’ll probably grab onto his freaking ankle and beg him to take me back.
“Please.”
That does it for me, and I find myself agreeing to meet him at his place at six for a light dinner that makes my stomach knot.
I get there at 5:59 and take the steps with a gulp, nervously straightening my black slacks and loose peasant blouse as I knock and wait.
“Dove. Come in,” he says when the door finally opens to reveal him in a pair of faded jeans and an old black t-shirt that’s seen better days.
He looks gorgeous, perfect in his barefoot casual, and I smile tremulously, taking his hand.
“You’re looking well.”
Dinner has been…an ordeal of flushed faced stares—from me—and nervous scrapes of my fork over food I can’t work up a decent appetite for. By the time dessert rolls around I’m tense and anxious and my old impatient self.
“Look, this is great and all, but I’m really uncomfortable sitting here trying not to stare at you like a moon-eyed cow, so could you please just say what you wanted to say so I can get out of here and go cry alone?”
Vincent laughs and pushes his chair back, shaking his head ruefully as he holds out a hand and pulls me to my feet.
“I should have known you would come back sooner or later. Took you bloody long enough, though,” he growls, pulling me along behind him to a door leading down to the basement.
“What’s going on?”
“Just…” He pauses halfway down the well-lit, sturdy steps and looks back at me uncertainly. “I want to show you something, and…I hope it doesn’t upset you, but I need to be honest about everything, and…just don’t hate me.”
I nod silently and follow him, my nerves strung so tight I know I’m digging my fingernails into his hand. He doesn’t protest though, and I relax when we come to the bottom and meet a door.
His hand trembles when he pulls away and unlocks it, hovering uncertainly over the door knob.
“Vincent.”
“Please, let me explain after you see,” he whispers softly, swinging the door open and standing back, head bent.
What I see makes my knees weak, and I’m so grateful I hadn’t let out that nervous crack about serial killers and dead bodies in the basement. The room that I step into is climate controlled and pristine, nothing at all like a basement, and—
“Oh my God.”
“Dove.”
The walls are covered in art. All of the pieces from my original series, the first ones that had sold out immediately and prompted Vern to set up another showing. Two from the new show and every single one I’d sent him just days ago in the hope that he’d see them for what they are, an expression of my love.
This room is a shrine, I realize, turning in a circle to see the extent of Vincent’s true obsession. Me. In that moment I know he loves me, even without him having to say it.
“Oh God,” I cry, covering my face and shaking as sobs of pure relief course through me.
He loves me. He really does love me.
Most women would look at this and run shrieking from the house, because honestly, this is the most stalkerish thing I’ve ever seen. Not me, though. How can I be anything but flattered that he’d wanted me enough to be satisfied with any part of me he could get his hands on?
“Dove, please don’t cry,” he begs, stepping close enough that I feel his heat but far enough away to give me space.
“I love you too, Vincent,” I whisper raggedly, lifting my eyes to his so that he can see how badly I mean it. “I’ve always loved you.”
His breath stutters out in a series of what I can only call gasps, and then I’m in his arms and being kissed so fiercely I taste the salt of my tears and inhale his whispered thanks.
“I thought you hated me,” he breathes, pulling away to stare into my eyes. “When we got back to the city I had resolved to tell you how I felt, but you blindsided me with the divorce.”
“Oh, Vincent.”
He laughs, shaking his head, and looks at me ruefully.
“I ripped those papers to shreds and started plotting to get you back. I was so determined that you’d be mine again, I never considered for a moment that we’d ever be parted for more than a few weeks,” he admits sheepishly, ducking his head.
I giggle at his arrogance, recalling the ‘loss’ of the papers and his snarky comments when I’d called him to set up a meeting with his lawyer.
“Your belongings from Georgia finally arrived the morning we were to meet and I…I saw the painting,” he says heavily, making me gasp in horror that he’d ever seen that terrible example of my bitter rage.
I should have burned that thing the minute the paint dried, and I say so, caressing his cheek lovingly.
“You made me seem so cold and dark, and I realized that’s what you thought of me. You showed me in such a ruthless light that I couldn�
�t stand to look at myself, much less expect you to look at me. To go from the unconditional love I’d had before to that level of hatred.” He stops and swallows heavily. “That’s when I knew that no matter how much I loved you I had to let you go. I couldn’t bear to be the reason that all your happiness, all that color you had once brought to life, was gone.”
“No, listen—”
He kisses me once, hard, and pulls me back into his arms, holding me to his rapidly beating heart.
“I was miserable without you, dove. I only went to that bloody wedding to make you jealous! All of my hopes were answered when you reacted so violently to my being with another woman. God, after we made love, I was euphoric.”
I cringe a little at his words and duck my head deeper into his chest to recall the appalling way I’d behaved afterward. I’d basically told him he hadn’t been good enough and that I was going to look for a better lay.
Jesus.
“I didn’t go anywhere near ‘the Jason’.” I say wretchedly. “I mean, who the hell refers to themselves as ‘the Jason’?” I giggle brokenly, feeling his answering chuckle reverberate beneath my ear. “I just wanted to hurt you back.”
“I know. You have much better taste in men than that, dove. I was angry that…” I hear him swallow and fill in the blanks, my mouth drooping derisively.
“I’d rejected you.”
“Yes. But then I started plotting again. You see, I’m really rather manipulative, and I was so sure I could find a way to get you back. That’s why I called that night. To start laying my plans to have you come over and complete the portrait and the landscapes I’d commissioned. A deal’s a deal, after all, and I’d planned to use your sense of duty against you.”
I gasp and slap his chest lightly, giving him my most ferocious scowl.
“You’re so devious.”
“Yes,” he admits, but I see how unconcerned he is by this.
“I chased you away.”
His mouth twists at that, and I bite my lip to stifle a giggle at his scowl.
JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) Page 32
