by Dani René
I turn, making my way out the door before her father arrives with the press hot on his tail. The first place I want to go is Sins, to drink, to lose myself in a bottle of Jameson. But I don’t. I head out to the apartment my brother offered me when I arrived.
All I can do is wait, and that’s leaving me antsy. There’s one person I look to when I feel the need to kill. When all I want to do is find Hudson Brockovich and slit his throat, but I need to wait for Oliver, so I head to see my sister.
Even though she’s far younger than me, there’s still that shred of hope she holds onto. The same hope I lost a long time ago. She gives that to me, that comfort that Madison can’t offer right now.
Slipping into the driver’s seat of the SUV, I head to Cayleigh in the hope that she can offer me some form of sanity while I lose my mind with worry.
Oliver
If there’s one thing I learned over the years of doing business with men like Magnus Parker, it's that they’re filled with fear. Those positions they hold, whether in their companies, or government, those are all precarious. And they take those positions and play with them as if they’re untouchable.
That’s where the problem lies.
Nobody is untouchable.
Many men have come to me when they’ve fucked up, when they got caught, and even when they knew their life was over. I can only help those willing to help themselves. And I have a feeling Magnus is not one of those men.
Stalking into the hospital, I unbutton my gray suit jacket as I reach the receptionist counter. “Madison Parker?” I question easily.
The woman trails her gaze over me like so many before. Women are easy to consume. Offer them a smirk, show them confidence, and they’re all over you like white on rice.
“Third floor to the left in ICU, sir.” She smiles.
I nod. “Thank you.” And I'm off toward the elevators. Callan should be here. She’s his girl, but when Magnus is on the warpath to find out what happened to his daughter, I think there’s a good chance Callan would be taken in for questioning as soon as he stepped foot inside the hospital.
I sent my team to the lake house as soon as Callan told me he’d found Madison hurt. I have a feeling there might be much more to her injuries than meets the eye. While waiting for the results on their sweep, I step out of the elevator and find Mr. Parker pacing the hallway.
“Magnus,” I greet, watching his face contort when he sees me.
“Have you heard anything? Please tell me they’ve found the asshole,” he hisses, his voice low and menacing, but he doesn’t scare me for shit.
“I have my men working on it, but the cops are already at your lake house. Why do you think Madison would do this?”
He shakes his head, and for the first time in a long while, I see the man lose his cold exterior. “She’s always had problems. I mean . . .” He trails off, settling in the chair, but he looks like he’s about to fall to his knees. “I just didn’t think she was so unhappy.”
“Have you thought about other options? Perhaps this wasn’t her doing?”
His head snaps up at my assumption. “What?”
“You’re a wealthy man. You’ve just been outed using a girl who is well-known to be your daughter’s best friend. Perhaps someone wanted to get back at you,” I inform him easily, as if he should’ve thought about this earlier. He’s her goddamn father, and all he wants to see is the worst in his daughter.
“Are you trying to tell me someone tried to kill my daughter?” The vein in his forehead looks like it’s about to explode.
Keeping my expression schooled, I nod once. “It’s a suggestion. Once we’ve got the report from my men, I’ll let you know what we’ve found. Is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt your daughter?”
He’s silent for a moment before he responds. “No, my daughter was the pillar of society. Her friends loved her. Hudson was going to marry her,” he insists.
“Marrying someone doesn’t always constitute as love,” I tell him.
“What are you trying to say? That Hudson had something to do with this? If I’d had to warrant a guess, I would point my finger in the direction of O’Leary,” he bites out.
My phone vibrates, chimes, then begins to ring from my pocket. When I pull it out, I note it’s one of the men I have working undercover for me.
“Yes,” I answer, turning away from Magnus.
“Prints on the door handle and the blade were picked up. Matches that Brockovich boy. Checked out the surveillance. Your boy Hudson was at the house about ten minutes before O'Leary arrived.”
The ice that runs through my veins solidifies as I nod in response, and offer him a quick, “Thank you.”
I hang up before he can say anything more. Tapping out a message to Callan, I make my way toward the exit. “I’ll be back. Stay with your daughter,” I tell my client. But as I’ve only taken two steps toward the exit when the loud shrill beeping of the machines from Madison’s room alert the doctor and three nurses at the station right outside.
The energy in the space changes, and when I meet the eyes of my client, I hear the monotonous beep of the machine. That line that should be beeping is now a long droning sound.
I’ve heard that sound far too often in my line of work. Being an insurance lawyer, most of my clients call me into the hospital when they know someone is about to take their final breath. And this is no different, however, the woman who’s flatlining is Callan’s girl and I know, if she were mine, I’d want to be here.
“Get me the defibrillator, stat!”
The doctor races toward the room, pushing by Magnus. I can’t stay, but I want to.
“We’re losing her!”
“What’s going on?”
“She’s not responding.”
My phone rings wildly in my hand, and I glance down at Callan’s name flashing at me. He’s going to do something stupid. I turn and leave Madison in the hands of the doctors and pray to God they can save her.
Callan
Silence.
Loneliness.
I’ve spent so long on my own, not needing or wanting a woman beside me, now that Madison is gone, all I can think of is her. The way her orange blossom perfume used to fill my senses. And how her smile used to crinkle her button nose. I thought I’d miss her body, taking her and fucking her, but that’s only one of the smaller things I miss.
It’s her affection, that gentle touch, and how much she used to make me feel. I knew when she kissed me it wasn’t because she had to. Not because she wanted something in return. No. She spent time with me because she cared.
Love.
Pain.
Loss.
I’ve been through it all in the months I’ve known her. At first, all I knew and felt was that agonizing confusion that comes with wanting to completely obliterate someone and finding your heart torn.
Killing came easy to me all my life. I didn’t need to think about it. I loved it. Reveling in the cool metal of my weapon. Watching blood drip from the flesh of my enemies, I was sated.
Until her.
It all changed when I tasted love.
I didn’t just bask in it, I fucking drowned myself in it. In her. I savored every drop, and with every sip, I became addicted. And all that shattered the moment I saw her lying on the bed, motionless, her body cold to the touch. I broke.
For the first time in my life.
I. Fucking. Broke.
A knock on the door sounds, and I know it’s not her. Oliver told me he’s on his way, and when I open the door, he’s standing there with a look of rage on his features.
“Callan, I need you to focus,” are the first words he tells me, and I know something is wrong. So very wrong, I feel it in my veins. “Hudson was the one who hurt Madison.” That’s what spurs me into action.
My jacket and keys along with my blade are in my grasp in seconds.
“Take me to the asshole, right the fuck now.”
* * *
The house we
pull up to is larger than the Parker residence, and when the security strolls up to the driver’s window, he offers a curt nod at Oliver and opens the gates. As we edge our way up the driveway, my body is tense with anger rolling through me.
Hudson’s car is parked to the left of the house, but what shocks me is seeing Mr. Parker’s car there too. They’re clearly working together, and that makes me wonder if he hired the little asshole to hurt his own daughter.
“Are you going to tell me what happened at the hospital?” I question before we exit the car. Oliver’s gaze lands on me. I know he’s hiding something. It’s clear as day in his gray eyes. The silver glinting at secrets.
I hate fucking secrets.
“Let’s go inside,” he says, ignoring my question.
Shoving the door open, I glare at him as we stalk toward the entrance. “If something happens to her . . .” I allow my words to trail off because I don’t think he’ll like what I have to say.
Before we have time to knock on the door, it flies open, and a man is racing toward me. The old fucker who’s been using his status rears back, but before his fist makes contact, I grip his wrist, spinning him on his heels. His arm twists around behind his back.
“If you ever, come at me like that again,” I hiss in his ear, “I won’t think twice about ending you.” It’s a warning.
“You fucking savage,” he bites out angrily. “My daughter is—”
“I think you’d be interested to learn my team’s findings,” Oliver tells him, stilling him for a moment, and I shove him away from me. The scene before me is of a man who has no fucking idea who’s actually hurt Madison.
“What are you talking about?” he questions. His angry glare penetrating through Oliver, who offers him a smirk.
The cool and calm Oliver doesn’t look fazed as he hands Magnus a manila folder. He steps closer, his expression deadly serious. “Why don’t you have a look at the results? There were fingerprints on the blade your daughter used.”
Magnus wrenches the folder open. He scans the documents, the paperwork that confirms the asshole who hurt Madison is Hudson, the man he trusted to marry her.
“Hudson?” he murmurs, shock evident in his tone.
As if he’s been summoned, the man who raped and broke my girlfriend, my woman, my future fucking wife, stalks out with a smirk on his face.
“O’Leary, I suppose you’ve heard about Madison. It’s sad—” His words spill from his mouth and into my veins, and he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. That’s when I see red. I see blood, and nothing can stop me from mauling the asshole. I pull my knife from my sheath, lunging at the piece of trash I’m about to take out. My fist grips his shirt, tearing the material from his body.
His fist comes out, hitting my jaw with a loud crunch. Pain sears me for a moment before I spin toward him, slamming him down on the pebbled driveway. I’m straddling him, my fist making contact with his face, again and again. I feel inhuman, and when I plunge the knife into his chest, bringing it up to his jaw, blood spurts from the cavity I’ve opened.
“This is for Madison,” I bite out with venom dripping from my tone.
Wrath.
Revenge.
Vengeance.
Hands are on me, and I don’t think when I pull the gun from my holster, aim and pull the trigger. The man behind me, Magnus Parker, falls to the ground, and Oliver’s movement is automatic.
“Callan, get in my car, drive to my apartment, and wait there for me.” His order is cool and collected, as anger simmers through me. “Now.”
I don’t argue. I don’t care about the man I shot. The asshole who’s in front of me is my focus. Security guards are at the scene, and my hands are drenched in crimson. I’m drowning in the blood of my enemy, just like old times.
I grab Oliver’s keys and slide into the driver’s seat of his Maserati. I take one last look at the scene on the driveway, knowing Oliver is going to sort it out. He’s going to do something to ensure I’m not sent to prison.
I don’t know what. But I’m thankful for him.
When my gaze lifts to the doorway, I see her. A ghost of the woman I love.
She’s not dead?
I blink quickly, but when I open my eyes again, she’s gone.
That’s what Hudson came out to tell us.
Madison Parker is dead.
And when the thought sinks in, I feel the agony of a million knives being plunged into my chest. And for the first time in my life . . . I cry.
Callan
It’s been a week, seven long days of agony.
There’s nothing more for me here. I should walk away.
But I can’t find it in my heart to leave.
A knock at the door jerks my attention to it. Cayleigh is gone with Oliver, and Rick is with Peyton, so whoever is at the goddamn door can turn around and leave me to revel in my misery.
Another sound at the door has me growling in frustration.
“Nobody’s fucking home,” I grunt out, loud enough for them to hear, but instead of leaving, another harsh knock comes in response. Shoving off the sofa, I stalk toward the wooden door and grip the handle so hard I’m sure it’s going to come off.
When I wrench the door wide, I’m met with deep cinnamon-colored eyes that peer up at me. Those same beautiful orbs that have pierced the cold, hard exterior of Callan O’Leary. We don’t speak. The air is heavy with anxiety. Her body, those sweet supple curves tremble under my scrutiny, and I wonder if I’m dreaming. If this is some sick joke.
“Hi,” she says. Even though this woman has fought a war beside me, she’s fallen into her shell. A shy, timid girl stands in her place, and I almost don’t recognize her.
“Blossom,” I say, my voice laced with confusion. There’s nothing more I want than to pull her into my arms, but I don’t. Instead, I watch her shuffle her feet on the welcome mat sitting at my door.
I step aside, gesturing for her to enter my apartment. The same place I’ve dreamed of us sharing, of times that never happened, but in the past few days, I’ve pictured every moment I ever wanted with her beside me. She moves into the living room where I’ve fantasized about making out on the sofa with her like teenagers.
I cast a quick glance at the kitchen just beyond where I would love to devour her sweet pussy on the countertop, along with the bedroom, where I woke up each morning thinking she was dead wishing she was beside me making my life complete.
“What are you doing here? I thought . . . I mean . . .” I stutter, turning to face her as I shut the door. Her perfume fills my nostrils, and I inhale it like a man who's been deprived of pleasure. She settles her ass on my sofa, lifting her gaze to meet mine.
“I’m not . . .” Her words trail into silence because she knows what I thought. Her father made an announcement that he needs time to grieve. We all jumped to conclusions. “I’m healed.” Her whisper hanging between us like the night I said goodbye.
“I thought you died,” I bite out, frustration evident in my voice. My tone is rigid with confusion, anger, need.
“I needed time,” she says sullenly. “I’ve been living in a small apartment on the other side of town. Time has been my only friend, allowing me to think about what we’ve been through.” All her words slowly seep into the cracks she left behind. Into the dark recesses of my mind.
“I fucking killed for you. Because I thought he murdered you,” I respond, but my voice is nowhere near as calm as I need it to be.
Each night, I went to bed seeing her face, imagining her beside me. And every morning, I woke up alone, cold, and angry at the world.
“I know why you did it,” she tells me finally.
“He needed to pay.” The words are gritted through my clenched teeth. Even though I’m not angry at her, and I can’t blame her for her father’s actions, I can hold a grudge.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve really cared about someone so much that they become my world. The only thing I want and need. I’ve never loved a man befor
e.” She rises, taking tentative steps toward me. “I broke. I did fall off the wagon as they say, but I never tried to kill myself, Callan. I realized with the week I’ve had to recoup that the more I am away from you, the more I’m punishing myself because I fell for you.”
“You came here to tell me you loved me?” At that, I tip my head to the side, regarding her through narrowed eyes.
“I came here to tell you I do love you. I still do. All the time we spent apart was difficult. I worked through anger, frustration, and sadness. Epic fucking sadness, Callan.” Her voice hardens, her words louder as she forces home the point.
“It took you a week to come to me?” She doesn’t move. Her body is rigid as she lowers her gaze to the floor. I want her eyes on me. To see me. To look me in the eye and tell me what the fuck she was thinking, leaving me to think she was dead.
“I needed time,” she tells me again, “because I loved you too much. I needed you to survive. My cutting was my broken part. I didn’t want you to be my savior. I wanted you to be my equal. You healed me, but I realized, I needed to heal myself first because I wanted to be whole for you.”
“You don’t need to change who you are for me.”
“I needed to change for me, Callan,” she says as she moves in front of me, and my eyes eat her up like I’ve been starving for far too long. Madison faces me then. Her gaze lands on me, and she watches me. “I’m only myself when I’m with you. I’m stronger, but I’m still in love with you.”
She’s in front of me, and my hands itch to touch her. To take her and pin her against the wall, drop to my knees, and show her just how much I’ve missed her, but this is going to take time. There’s nothing about her being here that I can rush.
“I want to be here,” she tells me confidently this time.
“And the next time you see me lose my shit?”
“The next time, you won’t shoot my father in the chest.” Her response is sharp, honest, and raw with emotion.
