Reckless Kiss: A forbidden, billionaire romance (stand-alone)

by Tia Louise

  He looks from me to my aunt, and the muscle in his square jaw moves.

  I’ve never seen my aunt this way. “Winnie, maybe you should put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”

  “I don’t need your protection, asshole.”

  “Beto?” A scuff of shoes on the driveway draws my attention, and a shadowy figure jogs up. “Chris told me he saw them—”

  “Stay back, Mateo.” Beto’s eyes haven’t left my aunt’s, and he’s holding one hand out, stepping slowly down the stairs.

  “He tried to kill you.” Mateo’s eyes land on mine, and he whips out a pistol.

  “No!” Angel screams, throwing her body against mine, chest to chest.

  A sharp pop cuts the night, and the scene shifts into fast motion as my whole world falls apart. Angel drops, sending us both to the ground.

  My arms tighten around her, and we land on the hard stone. For a split second, I’m disoriented.

  “Angel?” Her body is heavy, and fear seizes my heart.

  She’s not moving. Warm wetness is on my hands. I remember this… I know what it is.

  Blood.

  “Call 911!” My voice breaks.

  “Oh my God,” Winnie lowers the shotgun and pulls a phone from her robe. “911? We need an ambulance, immediately. A young lady’s been shot. Please hurry.”

  “Angel?” I’m holding her, rocking her.

  “Deacon?” Angel’s eyes squeeze, and she lets out a soft cry. “It hurts…”

  A clatter of metal on stone, and Mateo watches us dumbfounded.

  “Mateo!” I shout. “Look at me…” My voice crackles with controlled rage. “I will find you. I will finish you.”

  Now I have hate.

  He takes a step back then turns and runs, disappearing into the night.

  Beto drops to his knees. “Carmie?” He lifts his sister’s limp hand. “Mija…”

  My gaze is fixed on Angel. “You did this.”

  “No…” He shakes his head, moving aside as Winnie appears, holding a thick towel.

  “Press this into the wound.” Her face is white as a sheet. “EMS is on the way.”

  I take the towel, holding it against Angel’s back, securing it with my arms. “I’m here, baby. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

  Her body shudders, and my arms tighten around her, applying pressure, trying to stop the bleeding. “I can’t feel my arm…”

  “Don’t try to talk.”

  “I wanted to take you to Mexico.” She trembles, and I rock her, hugging her.

  Lowering my head, I put my lips against her cheek. “What?”

  “I wanted you to see the mountains…” Her voice trails off.

  “We’re going to see the mountains.” My voice breaks. “I’ll take you there.”

  In the distance, I hear the wail of sirens. My heart is sick, and I can’t think of anything but making them hurry, making them get here before it’s too late.

  There’s so much blood.

  “I can’t breathe…” Her eyes are closed, and her pretty face is so pale.

  The sirens grow louder, and I see the lights flashing at the end of the street. Beto limps to the edge of the driveway, moving into the shadows. I’m not interested in him. My entire focus is on my love, fading in my arms.

  “Stay with me, Angel.” A hot tear hits my cheek. “Don’t fly away. Don’t leave me.”

  The ambulance screeches to a stop, and the scene grows chaotic. A gurney appears, and people are running back and forth. I can’t take my eyes off Angel’s pale face, so relaxed and beautiful.

  Two large men surround me. “We have to take her now, sir.”

  “Let her go, Deacon.” Winnie’s hands are on my shoulders, but I can’t fathom her words. They’re the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

  “She’s so warm.” I hold her closer to my chest, lowering my face to hers, unwilling to let her go.

  “Deacon, you have to let them take her.”

  “Sir, you have to let her go.”

  My brain is reeling.

  I can’t let her go.

  They force my arms apart, and I think I’m losing my mind. My world is imploding, then my aunt destroys my soul.

  “Please do everything you can… She’s pregnant.”

  30

  Deacon

  My eyes ache, and I can’t stop my thoughts.

  “What’s happening?” I growl, pacing like a caged tiger.

  Winnie arranged for Angel to be taken to the private wing of the Methodist hospital, where our family is treated by private physicians. She brought me clean clothes, and we’ve been waiting ever since. It’s like being in a plush prison.

  We rushed here from the mansion. I rode in the back of the ambulance with Angel, but I couldn’t get close for the paramedics doing everything they could to stabilize her, stop the bleeding, monitor her vitals.

  Even though I was shoved aside, I was relived to be in the same space, to know she was alive, even if she was fighting.

  “The bullet entered her shoulder.” One of the big male attendants was on the phone with the doctor the entire drive. “No exit wound.”

  As soon as we arrived, she was taken from us, rushed to emergency surgery to remove the bullet and hopefully repair the damage to her arm and shoulder.

  I think about her not being able to paint. I think about how she turned, putting her body between Mateo and me, and I realize I would be dead right now if she hadn’t. My face drops to my hands, and I fight the tears.

  Clearing my throat, I look up at my aunt. “How did you know she was pregnant?”

  Winnie shifts on the leather couch, adjusting the throw over her legs “She was sick at the house one evening. I took a guess.”

  “You guessed she was pregnant?”

  “Sit down, Deacon.” Winnie reaches out her hand. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

  I let it go she avoided my question. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “I think she was planning to tell you tonight.”

  I rub my fingers over my eyes. It all makes sense now. That’s why she wasn’t drinking—I try to remember the last time I saw her drink alcohol. It was last weekend. She must’ve just found out. “I had no idea.”

  “Fathers are often the last to know.” Winnie stands and walks to the window, looking out at the black night.

  My chest is tight, and even though I’ve only known a few hours, I desperately don’t want to lose our baby. “Where’s the fucking nurse?”

  A cheery young man has been popping in every hour or so to let us know the surgery is progressing and everything is fine. His updates are all the same, but his perky face is wearing on my nerves.

  “Language, Deacon, please.” She turns, not seeming that offended. “Surgery takes time. You want it to take time.”

  Noise outside the door draws our attention, and I look up to see Lourdes rushing in, her red-rimmed eyes round with worry. “How is she? Oh, God, I can’t believe this…”

  “I can’t believe we’re back at the hospital.” Valeria reaches out her hand, and I take it.

  Sofia is on her hip, and when she sees me, her little chin quivers. “I want Carmie.”

  I reach for her, and she leans into my arms, putting her head on my shoulder. I close my eyes a moment, thinking about our baby, how it could look like this little girl.

  My voice is thick. “I want her, too.”

  My aunt stands and straightens her blouse. “Who are these people?” Her tone is decidedly unfriendly, and I hate her choice of words.

  “Sorry…” I gesture between the women. “This is my aunt Winona Clarke. Valeria and Sofia are Angel’s cousins. Lourdes is her best friend.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Clarke.” Lourdes is apologetic. “I texted and asked if we could come.”

  “I see.” Winnie lifts her chin with a sniff. “I’ll leave you with your friends, Deacon.”

  “You don’t have to go.” Valeria’s hands are clasped, and I can tell she’s
been crying. “We don’t mean to intrude.”

  “It’s late. Deacon will call me or text if anything changes.”

  She leaves, and Lourdes frowns up at me. “Did we scare her away?”

  The image of my aunt on the front porch holding a double-barrel shotgun in Beto’s face floats through my mind. “I don’t think she’s scared.”

  I don’t know what’s going on in Winnie’s head—other than her prejudice is strong. At this point, I almost wish she’d pulled the trigger. The thought is bitter in my mind as the door opens and that asshole steps into the waiting room.

  “I wanted to check on my sister.”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here.”

  “I’m sorry, Deacon.” Valeria’s voice is quiet. “Beto asked to come with us.”

  I pass Sofia to her mother, not taking my eyes off Angel’s brother. “Get out.”

  “You can’t keep me out.” He limps closer. “I’m her brother.”

  “You’re the reason she’s in surgery.”

  “It’s not true.” He holds out a hand like he’s so innocent. “I never wanted Angel to be hurt.”

  “You only wanted me to be killed.” I’m slowly closing the space between us.

  “Beto…” Valeria’s voice trembles. “Maybe you should wait at home.”

  “I have a right to be here.”

  “Don’t talk to me about rights. You refused to call off Mateo, even when she asked you to.”

  He doesn’t deny it because he can’t. I’m on him now, and he steps back. Sofia whimpers from behind me, and Lourdes interjects.

  “Can’t we put this behind us for now? Focus on Carmie?”

  “I want you out of here.” My breath is a rasp. “My days of making peace are over.”

  Beto’s back hits the wall, but he doesn’t back down.

  His white teeth clench behind his tight snarl. “I didn’t come for peace. I came for my family.”

  “She’s not your family anymore. She’s mine.” I grab his shirt in both fists, slamming him against the wall. “If I see you touch her again, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

  Sofia cries more, but I don’t care. All I see is my beautiful love lying in my arms, struggling for breath. All I see is a tiny baby I never knew slipping away from me.

  All I see is red.

  He sniffs, trying to twist out of my grasp. “I’d expect nothing less of a Dring.”

  “You should have expected more. I wanted more.” I give him another slam against the wall, and a glass falls from the shelf. Lourdes makes a frightened noise. “But you tried to take everything from me.” I breathe down his nose.

  “All right, then, who could use some news?” A cheery male voice bounces in from behind us, but it changes quickly. “Oh… Oh, no! What’s happening here? Security!”

  Surprisingly fast, we’re surrounded by two guards who pull us apart.

  “Get him out of here.” I snarl. “He doesn’t belong in this room.”

  The guard grips Beto’s arm tighter. “Let’s go, pal.”

  Beto doesn’t even try to struggle. He only glares at me as the guard escorts him out, leaving me bitter and broken, sitting on the couch with my hands in my hair.

  The pleasure of telling him off, of almost hitting him is overshadowed by my pain. This is never how I wanted our story to end.

  The melee is cleared, and the perky male nurse returns to where we’re sitting.

  “Well, that was exciting.” He puts his hand on his chest, tilting his head to the side. “Now who’s ready for an update? I’ve got a little good news, and a little bad news.

  31

  Deacon

  Winnie sits across from me behind the massive mahogany desk. “So you see, the property wasn’t exactly stolen—”

  “But it was taken by force.”

  My grandmother’s diary contains the full account. After my grandfather found out about the affair and the lost baby, he went on a warpath with one goal in mind: Destroying Manuel Treviño—and he had the connections to do it. He had Manuel convicted of embezzlement, he had him thrown in jail, and he had all his lands confiscated and redistributed to the county.

  “They were immediately plunged into poverty.”

  “That’s the oil business, Deacon.” Winnie is dismissive. “It’s always ups and downs. One day you’re on top of the world, the next you have nothing. Remember what happened to the Wells?”

  “What happened to them was political, flooding the market, things they couldn’t control. What happened to Angel’s grandfather was straight up revenge.”

  “Potato, potahto. He should have been saving for a rainy day.”

  As much as I want to rail at her, her behavior since the shooting has quelled my impatience. For all her misguided beliefs, she’s making steps in the right direction, and it’s progress I’d like to continue.

  “I’m going to make it right.” Leaning back in the leather chair, I straighten the cuff of my shirt beneath my blazer.

  “How do you propose to do that?” She leans back in her desk chair, steepling her fingers at her chin.

  Pushing off my thighs, I stand. “I’ll get Rich to help me determine the market value of the land, and I’ll gift it to the family.”

  “No.” Winnie stands, holding up her hands. “I don’t want any part of this. What Manuel did was wrong. He seduced your grandmother, and my father was entitled to his revenge.”

  “I confess I’m surprised to hear you take this position. You saw your mother’s letters, her complaints of neglect…”

  “It doesn’t excuse what happened.”

  “No, but it puts it in perspective.” Pausing at the door, I squint back at her. “I’m not doing it for my grandfather. I’m doing it for Angel.”

  “It’s water under the bridge.” My aunt walks around the desk. “From what I gather they don’t need the money anyway.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I promised Angel I’d fix things, and I intend to keep that promise.”

  Winnie shakes her head, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

  “This can.”

  Beto’s house looms large and empty over the tree-lined road. I remember the first time I came here, and it was filled with music and dancing and family.

  It’s a shadowy husk of that night—a night that ended in violence.

  Looking up at the stone structure, I can’t help thinking he put himself here. His stubbornness, his vendetta, his refusal find common ground.

  “You have to be able to see things from all sides if you’re going to change.” Valeria had said that night two weeks ago in the hospital waiting room.

  It was the night she lowered her walls and we became friends.

  Now I’m hoping I can do the same with this angry lone wolf. I press the button for the doorbell and wait. Minutes pass, and no one comes.

  I follow the walk around to the back patio, where I smell cigarette smoke and music playing softly.

  “Beto?” I open the metal gate carefully. “You back here?”

  He’s at the iron table, a tumbler of clear liquid in front of him and a cigarette smoldering in the ash tray. He’s in a white tee this time with his black hair back in a small ponytail.

  When I step through the gate, his dark eyes flicker up to mine, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while. “What do you want?”

  “Something we’ve never done.” Squaring my shoulders, I enter the patio.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to have a civilized talk with you.”

  He huffs a laugh, lifting the cigarette from the tray. “Is that so?”

  I’m wearing a gray suit, and I don’t plan to stay long. I’ve got a plane to catch in an hour, and I’m looking forward to spending this evening miles away.

  Reaching into my breast pocket, I take out one of two long envelopes. “For the past month, I’ve been searching for answers. I went to Harristown, I went to the county seat, then I went home. Y
ou know what I learned?”

  “I’m not playing games. Tell me or get out.”

  Asshole. “That story you told me was real.”

  “No shit. What difference does it make now?”

  Stepping forward, I place the envelope on the table beside his hand. “In this envelope is the fair market value of your grandfather’s land—provided you sold it today.” He starts to speak, and I hold up my hands to stop him. “I know, it’s not the same. We don’t know if your grandfather would have sold Fate. We do know there’s no oil there.”

  “It’s developed, commercial real estate.”

  “Yes, it is. If we had been alive, perhaps we would have done something different. We weren’t.”

  He lifts the envelope, and opens the flap, glancing at me once more before sliding the check out slightly. His brow furrows. “What’s this?”

  “That’s your half.” Another step forward. “I’m extending this as a peace offering. I want us to be friends.”

  He doesn’t move.

  He stares at the envelope, still as a stone, then stands. “I never wanted to hurt my sister.”

  Acid is in my throat, but I force myself to hold steady, to focus on making peace. I promised Angel. “Okay.”

  “If I had known—”

  “We don’t have to relive it.” My jaw clenches, and I can’t stop myself from asking. It haunts me, an echo of pain in my stomach. “Have you heard from Mateo?”

  “No. For all I know he’s returned to Mexico.”

  “He’d better stay there.” Then I do something I never thought I’d be able to do—I extend my hand to shake his.

  He hesitates a moment before reaching out and clasping my hand. “This doesn’t change how my grandfather died.”

  Our hands are clasped, and I hold his gaze. “No one knows what happened in that room that night. You and I faced off in this house, and you were shot. You could have been killed. Was that my fault?”

  His jaw tightens, and he thinks about my question. Our hands are still clasped, and he nods. “We were both at fault.”

  “I wouldn’t say that—”

  “I told you to stay away from her.”

  “You knew I wasn’t going to do that.”