The Choice

by Alice Ward

  Just as I headed his way, headlights barreled up the hill. My heart lodged in my throat. Security coming to take me back to my cage. I fingered the butterfly Roman had given me. I hadn’t even thanked him yet. For the first time since Nate died, I felt like I had a chance at a life, maybe even love again. I wouldn’t let them take the chance from me.

  I remembered I was wearing a black hood and must look like the Grim Reaper emerging from behind the darkened bungalow, so I flipped the hood back, letting my hair fly loose in the wind. Steadying myself on my cane, I limped forward as fast as I could.

  The second Roman caught sight of me, he took off toward me at a sprint. Then my feet were off the ground, and I was in his arms, pressed against his warm chest. Heat from his body radiated through me as he carried me to the car. A crazy need surged through me. I wanted his hands on my body and my temperature raised by several degrees.

  It was stupid, because we didn’t have any time to spare, but I just wanted him to kiss me.

  The cars flanked either side of his car and two armed guards exited their vehicles. I wasn’t sure if he would be able to get us out of this situation. They hadn’t drawn their guns, but they had them at the ready, each with a hand strategically poised over the weapon. Unlike the interior guards who wore Armani suits and spoke into earphones with discretion, these were Jewel campus muscle — armed, trained and maybe even licensed to kill.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wellington,” the one closest to us said. “There’s been a slight misunderstanding, and we’d like to escort you and Ms. Arc to Mr. Harmon’s office to straighten the matter out.” The officer was both threatening and polite.

  Roman nodded to him, then leaned into my ear as he helped me balance on my feet on the sidewalk, whispering, “Go straight to the car and get in. I’ll handle this.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

  I immediately did as he asked, and with some effort slid over the cool leather seat and tucked myself into the back of his car. The interior smelled expensive, the dark leather accented with deep mahogany trim that reflected the light of the bungalow porch lights.

  I could hear Roman talking to the officers outside. “There’s been no misunderstanding. I’m escorting Ms. Arc off the property and to safety. If you stand in our way, I’ll have no other recourse than to call the Montana State Police Department,” he said with unwavering authority.

  “No need to call the police. We’re perfectly capable of keeping the peace around here,” the second officer chimed in.

  “I don’t believe you are. If you were, you’d let us go, because you must’ve heard by now that there’s been an attempted rape by one of your clients perpetrated against the woman in that car.” He stood tall and towered over both of the officers.

  I watched the driver to gauge his expression, but he simply sat with his hands on the wheel, ready to drive off at a moment’s notice.

  “If you’ll come with us,” the first officer stated again, “I’m sure we’ll be able to clear up this misunderstanding and explain the arrangement Ms. Arc has agreed to, which must be upheld.”

  Anger seared through my body. I’d never agreed to anything with Jack Marshall.

  Roman’s eyes momentarily glanced over to me, and I shook my head. He smiled and turned back to the men. The driver tensed as Roman spoke so low I couldn’t hear what he said then casually moved to get back into the car.

  The first officer grabbed his arm and Roman glared. “I suggest you not add assault to an attempted rape and trafficking charge. It wouldn’t be good for PR.”

  “I have orders to detain you and the woman, sir.” The guard didn’t look quite as sure as he had before.

  Roman ripped his arm out of the officer’s grasp, and entered the car as he pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the police. I suggest you and your buddy not follow, as anyone in pursuit of this car will be named when I press charges.”

  Neither guard responded as Roman shut the door.

  “Back the car up,” he told the driver, “and turn it around. They may try and block you, but play chicken as long as you can. I think you can dare them off. If not, we’ll have to play crash-up derby.” He flashed a genuine smile.

  The driver laughed. “Yes, sir. I happen to have a little bit of experience in demolition derbies, and racing for that matter. It’ll be like in the movies.”

  “I don’t care about the car, just make sure we win.” Roman clipped the seatbelt around me as the driver turned the car around and headed straight down the hill.

  Both of the vehicles quickly followed behind us. I wasn’t sure what they were hoping to do since they’d already let us go, but we didn’t need to stick around and find out. I stayed silent and bit my lip, nervously watching the open gate come closer.

  That’s when Roman reached out and touched my hand, coiling my fingers into his gentle grasp. “It’s going to be okay,” he assured me with an assuring smile.

  I sank deeper into the seat and tried to relax, telling myself they had no legal right to keep me here. I didn’t agree to see Jack.

  Roman held my hand in a strong grip as the driver raced toward the guard stand at the entrance of the compound. I closed my eyes and squeezed Roman’s hand, expecting the guard to close the gates at any second. I braced for the impact of metal and iron.

  After a few minutes, the car was still moving and Roman squeezed my hand one more time, then let it go.

  “We’re out,” he announced.

  Disbelieving, I looked behind me to see the entry guard simply watching us turn onto the road. I blew out the breath I’d been holding and turned to Roman, who was watching me with an intense expression on his face. I burst into laughter. “We did it!” I screamed in amazement.

  “Did you doubt us?” Roman asked, a wide smile splitting his face.

  Then he also blew out a long breath, and I knew he was just as surprised we made it out as I was.

  He leaned forward and inched closer to the driver’s seat. “I owe you a raise, Warren. Damn good job back there.”

  “I’ll take it.” The driver wiped sweat from his forehead and looked in the rearview mirror hopefully. “Do I still need to drive fast?”

  Roman laughed. “Tear up the pavement, Warren.”

  Noticing a cord, I asked, “May I charge my phone for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  My fingers were still trembling so badly that he plugged it in for me. He settled back into his seat. A few minutes was all it took before the device powered back on. Five missed calls. I yelped as the phone rang again in my hand, nearly scaring me half to death. Brandy’s name lit up on the screen, and I held it in front of me, unsure of whether to answer.

  “Is it them?” Roman asked.

  “It’s my friend, Brandy, the one who got me the job.” I heaved an enormous sigh, hoping to blow all the anguish, fear, and disappointment out of my body.

  “Don’t answer it.”

  I could tell he was used to commanding others and getting his way. I didn’t have any intention of answering the phone. However, hearing Brandy’s personal ringtone, Celine Dione’s “My Heart Will Go On” paralyzed my heart with fear.

  Roman took my hand again and stroked his thumb across my skin. His strong, gentle fingers offered comfort without invading my space. What he didn’t know was how much I wanted him to invade my space, how much I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and hold me right here in the back seat.

  We both remained silent as the phone continued to ring. I didn’t dare touch it for fear that, with my nerves, I’d accidently answer it. I couldn’t speak to her, for her own safety, until I knew what I was going to do.

  It seemed like a million years before the phone stopped ringing… only to have it start again.

  “Why don’t you give it to me, and I’ll turn it off,” Roman offered, extending his other hand. Roman looked behind him, directing my attention to the empty street. “I think it’s over. We’ve driven a fair distance now, so if someone was coming after us,
they would have done it by now. It doesn’t look like they followed us.”

  I breathed out another deep sigh of relief. “Thank you,” was all I could muster as I handed him the phone. As I dropped my only lifeline to the outside world into his hand, I hoped he wouldn’t change his mind about me.

  Staring out at the darkness, I wondered if it really was over. “I’ll have to talk to someone there at some point. All my things are there, along with the money I’ve kept in an account.”

  Anxiety began to creep in. I’d been so sure of Roman when he was a phantom from my imagination, the incredible lover who adored me in my dream, despite my disability and scars. The man who’d only wanted to talk then had defended me from Jack.

  But this was real, not a dream. I just prayed Brandy wasn’t the one living a nightmare now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Roman

  I let her sit with her feelings for a moment and just held her hand. I didn’t feel like it was the appropriate time for me to start offering solutions. However, there were very simple resolutions to the problem of her belongings. I’d have someone go to her apartment and get her things. The money would be easy to replace, and she didn’t have to know it was from me.

  With her skin touching mine, the absurdity of my feelings for her disappeared. I promised silently that I would do everything in my power to protect her. Her safety was all that mattered.

  Helping her would be nothing in the great scheme of my world; I had more than enough money to set her up over and over again. The satisfaction, however, it would give me to offer this amazing, resilient woman sitting beside me a chance at a new and better life would be life altering. Since she consumed my every thought, offering something back to her when the world had obviously taken so much, would be satisfying.

  The idea of getting even with Jack Marshal was also too gratifying to pass up. I knew he’d become the largest internet retailer in the world. I’d heard talk that he went to poor manufacturers in foreign countries and offered slightly less than what they would normally get for goods in bulk wholesale, to be delivered in a fraction of the time they’d usually be produced. Although this arrangement meant a great deal of money for struggling businesses, it was a large, lump sum of money with a demand for the goods to be delivered at an inhumane rate.

  If a company could make a million t-shirts for a dollar a shirt in a month’s time, he’d ask for a million shirts in two weeks for a lower price. Having big orders helped failing businesses in impoverished places, yet the money was less than the value of the product. This was Jack’s signature, and he’d have them sign nondisclosure agreements, or no money would be tendered.

  My business was similar, we also went into poor areas overseas and sold locally made goods internationally. There was a great profit in having this kind of business practice, but when my company went in, we negotiated fair-trade for both parties. It was essential that their workers be paid fairly while working fair hours. Every business had to be in complete agreement and happy with the terms, or we wouldn’t contract with them.

  After the initial set up, my analysts always went in and gauged the realistic yield for the businesses. Often, we would upgrade machinery and make it more efficient as well as consult about niches in the market that weren’t being served. We’d find ways the company could capitalize on these needs. It was a win-win.

  I felt certain I could create a win-win for the Butterfly. If she’d let me.

  After we sat in silence for several miles, I thought it was time for me to speak up. “This must be painful for you. I can only imagine what it’d feel like to have somebody I cared so deeply for disregard everything I am because of their greed. I want you to know, I can help you. I want to help.”

  “She gave me a gun.”

  I stared at her, unsure if I’d heard her correctly. “What?”

  “Brandy. She gave me a gun before I went to the meeting I thought was with you. It was in the clutch we always carry. It’s stocked beforehand, so I didn’t know it was in there until I was in the room. It’s how I got away from Jack.” She covered her mouth, her shock obviously not worn off yet.

  For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Well, thank God she did. I think you should take some time just to heal and recover. I have a large home with lots of space, very private. You’ll never know I’m there.” Unless you want to. God, I hope you want to. “I hope you’ll consider staying with me until you get back on your feet again. We’ll find a way to recover your belongings. I won’t allow them to win.”

  “I just left her there. Roman, there’s no telling what they’ll do to her.” She looked at me with large glassy eyes. Her mask was the same color of her skin, giving the illusion of being able to see most of her face. The mask had been jarred a bit, revealing more of her bone structure than it had before. As we passed out of the small town we’d just driven through, ironically called Anaconda, the light shifted, and moonlight struck her face — like a spotlight. A sudden memory jolted me, and it was like I was watching it all again on the giant TV monitor that had been hanging from the wall in the VIP lounge.

  It was an old lounge, at a stadium that was within the fairgrounds and only used for the county fair. But when a business associate had offered me tickets, I’d had to see the famous duo.

  Her voice. It was one I’d heard many times, yet different.

  I felt like someone punched me in the chest, all the breath knocked from my lungs.

  Adara Wilde and Nate Galloway. An unlikely couple, her a rock star and him a country music stud.

  They were magic. Even that night, as the fair called the concert off. But the fair board had waited too long, and the crowd wasn’t willing to leave and miss their heroes performing together.

  I’d watched in horror as it all happened. The screaming of the crowd, the whistling of the wind, and the horrible wrenching of steel as it dropped to the stage.

  There’d been nothing I could do then.

  I’d tried to find out what had happened to her after Nate’s death, which was bad enough to witness in person and just as horrid when a video of it went viral. Adara had been in the hospital for weeks. But then she’d disappeared from the public eye completely.

  Until now.

  In disbelief, I knew I couldn’t do anything more for her than offer her safety and help her find a new life. But I would do everything she would let me.

  “What if they hurt her? I have to help her, and the others. Jewel is so much darker than it seems.”

  “As soon as we get back to the house, I’ll make a call. It’ll be discreet. If your friend wants out, I can be sure she gets out.”

  Maybe I could really get her out. And shut the damn place down. Maybe get Jack Marshall in a jail cell where his fucking ass belonged.

  I let go of her hand and wrapped my arms around her. As she sighed and leaned into me, and I held her, a protectiveness I’d never felt before bubbled up into my chest.

  Stunned, I stared out the window, holding Adara Wilde in my arms. It all made complete sense now. The mask, the limp.

  Most of her fans had assumed she was dead, but her records still sold, even to this day. Why didn’t she have that money? Why would she have to work at Jewel? Had she suffered a bout of mental illness? My curiosity raged within me, but I couldn’t bring myself to let her know that her secret was out.

  I stared for a moment at the beautiful woman sitting quietly beside me as Warren drove us up the driveway.

  “We’re here,” I said softly.

  She looked up at me and seemed so small and fragile that I took her hand and helped her out of the car.

  “Let’s get you inside and to bed.” I didn’t leave room for argument, and she didn’t protest.

  As we walked inside the ranch house, Ms. White greeted us. “Good evening, Mr. Wellington. You have a guest this evening?” While she did well concealing her shock, it was evident in the fractional rise in her tone.

  I hadn’t thought about the sight Adara made, sta
nding in the foyer in her barely there dress and black cape. Ms. White looked like she was trying to keep from having a stroke and was probably regretting her advice to me.

  I cleared my throat to cover a chuckle. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but do you mind opening up the west wing? I think the rose suite would be best, it has the most light.”

  There were three suites in the west wing of the house, each with a living area, bathroom, study or kid’s room, and a bedroom. There were also five single bedrooms, with two shared bathrooms. I never visited that side of the house, but I knew Ms. White kept the rooms tidy, dusted, and ready for use. It was one of her household duties.

  My side of the house had my apartment and an identical one my sister used when she and Pete were here. When I was young, I remembered sharing rooms in the west wing with my siblings. Ms. White still had an apartment on the first floor behind the kitchen and there were other servants’ quarters on the grounds that were for our seasonal staff.

  I watched Adara’s eyes widen when she walked through the foyer. It was quite grandiose. The sweeping banister staircase was straight out of a 1950’s movie and the three-story entry more resembled a grand ballroom than a home.

  Adara’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. You live here? By yourself?”

  I nodded, but at that moment I seriously wondered why I chose to live here alone. I’d done a lot of updating to the place, so everything was modern, sleek and top-of-the-line, but I hadn’t altered the original structure. It’s what held most of the memories, there wouldn’t be any point living here without those.

  “Mr. Wellington, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to go and freshen the linens,” Ms. White commented, a minuscule glint of panic lighting up her features.

  Ah, so she did slack off at times, good for her.

  I nodded. “Of course.”