Defiance of the Heart (Book 2)

by Monica James

  “That’s very closeminded of you, Holland. Just because they’re Russian doesn’t mean they want vodka.” He scoffs like I’m some nitwit. We’ll soon see who’s the moron.

  Lincoln clears his throat. “So we’re all set with what to say to Tony? He doesn’t like change, but we have to assure him that with me as VP, this business is only on the way up.”

  As they talk shop, I get the sudden sense someone is watching me and look around. After receiving the anonymous envelope yesterday, my stomach drops. Feelings of constantly looking over my shoulder cloud me once again.

  Tomorrow, I will talk to the lead detective who helped me put Rossi away. There isn’t much he can do, which is what he told me when I originally thought I was being followed, but it makes me feel better to know the police are involved.

  “Hello,” a thick Russian accent greets us, alerting me that the rest of our table has arrived.

  Lincoln and Gerald shoot up from their seats, ready to kiss ass as they exchange handshakes and pleasantries. “Mr. Petrov, I want you to meet my fiancée, Holland Brooks-Ferris.”

  Turning over my shoulder, I smile as Tony’s mouth falls open. “Hi, Tony.”

  Lincoln pales, looking back and forth between us in confusion.

  “Holland?” he says, then swears in Russian.

  Lincoln is seconds away from exploding because he thinks I’ve somehow managed to ruin his name before he even had a chance to do that on his own. But his mood soon changes when Tony bursts into laughter.

  “It’s so good to see you. Give me a hug.” I stand and comply as he kisses my cheeks.

  “How’s your niece? Still taking over the world of show business?” I ask. I represented her and her mom when her asshole father tried to sponge off her. Ironically, it was the call I took when I was in the car, heading back to LA.

  “Yes, thanks to you, her father is where he belongs.” I don’t know if that’s a hole in the ground, but it’s none of my business. I helped them legally. What happened after that—I don’t want to know.

  “Good. I’m glad. One more asshole off the street. My work here is done.” I make a point to look at Lincoln, who looks lost in translation.

  “You know one another?” he finally asks when his tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth, gesturing a finger back and forth between Tony and me.

  “Yes, your fiancée is one bad ass. She represented my sister and my niece. Goes without saying, she won. I didn’t know you were engaged to Lincoln,” Tony says, returning his attention my way.

  I shrug, turning my palms upward. “Surprise.”

  There is nothing but affection passing between us, but Lincoln muscles in, ruining a pleasant moment. “What a small world. Please, Tony, take a seat.”

  “It’s Mr. Petrov,” says Misha, the muscle to his right. I bite my lip to mask my smile.

  We all sit, Tony making a point to plonk down in the seat next to me. He reaches for the bottle of wine but then screws up his face. He says something in Russian before flagging down the waiter. “Bottle of vodka, please.”

  I deadpan Gerald, arching a challenging brow. He loosens his tie.

  “So, Mr. Petrov,” commences Lincoln while I sit back, watching the disaster unfold, “as you know, I’ve been appointed vice president. I want you to know that…”

  He never gets to finish because Tony cuts him off. “So, Holland, tell me, are you still taking those self-defense classes? Misha can teach you a thing or two.” He gestures his head toward the hulking Misha.

  I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure he could. I’ve stopped because I’ve learned that to outsmart a predator, you have to think like one. Because when you do, you’re on an equal playing field, and then you can beat them at their own game.” Lincoln stiffens beside me because my comment is directed at him.

  Just because I agreed to do this doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and be the docile little wifey he wants me to be.

  Tony’s emerald eyes narrow as they flick briefly toward Lincoln. “To know your enemy, you must become them?”

  “Precisely,” I reply, lifting my glass in salute. Lincoln chokes on air, recovering as he reaches for the bottle of wine.

  “God help them.” Tony chuckles, shaking his head in remorse for whomever that may be. He’s a lot closer than Tony believes him to be.

  God help them indeed.

  Dinner has been bearable, and that’s because Tony’s hatred for Lincoln has been entertaining to watch.

  Each time he attempted to talk business, Tony shut him down, and Lincoln knew better than to press. He tried to join our conversations, but it was forced and just made him look like a bigger tool. Maybe if he wasn’t so self-absorbed, he’d actually be able to contribute, but he never cared for what I did. His job as an investment banker was always more important, more stressful than mine. We now both know the truth.

  Throughout the night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. However, every time I looked over my shoulder, I couldn’t find anyone skulking. Lincoln noticed me scoping out my surroundings, so I stopped. I didn’t want him knowing the Rossi mob situation was playing in the back of my mind.

  As I’m enjoying my soufflé, Tony places his napkin on the table and turns in his seat to look at me. “Join me outside.”

  It isn’t a question but a request. He stands, as does Misha.

  Lincoln goes to stand, but Tony deadpans him. “Just Holland.”

  The arms of his chair creak under the force of his hands, and I can tell he’s seconds away from losing his shit. But he nods and sits back down.

  I wipe my mouth on the white linen napkin, then push back my chair. “Of course.”

  When I stand, Lincoln gently clasps my wrist. It’s a warning. I’m to be on my best behavior, or there’ll be hell to pay.

  Looks like he’ll just have to trust me. “See you soon,” I scowl, prying from his hold. Even as I trail behind Tony and Misha, the feeling of being watched follows me out the door.

  Ignoring it, I focus on why Tony asked me outside. There are many things I like about him, and his honesty is at the forefront. “I value your opinion, Holland. So, tell me, can I trust your fiancé?”

  The sidewalk is bursting with people, but Tony stands in the middle of it, uncaring he’s an obstacle. Tony gets what he wants, and right now, he wants me to vouch for Lincoln. If I tell him what a dirty, rotten bastard he is, he will no longer be Lincoln’s biggest investor. But if I do, I will pay. So will London and Emily.

  Even though Lincoln is the biggest scumbag on earth, when it comes to his job, he is damn good. His name is notorious on Wall Street, and as much as I wish he’d contract a disease that would force him to move to Antarctica, I can’t deny that as VP, he will do anything to see his company succeed.

  I don’t see it as lying as such, but I still feel like ripping out my tongue when I say, “You can.”

  He rubs his moustache, pondering on what I’ve just shared. “He won’t fuck me over?”

  He won’t fuck him over, no. “No, Tony. Lincoln wants to see the company grow and succeed more than anything. He will do anything in his power to see that happen.” Me standing here, vouching for him, is proof of that.

  “You’re not just saying that ’cause you’re his fiancée?”

  Scoffing, I can’t hide my contempt at the word. “Please, this is business. Personal feelings aside. Work is far more important than me, trust me.”

  Tony nods, appeased. “Okay. Your word is more valuable to me than him kissing my ass. If you say he’s a good guy, then that’s good enough for me.”

  “I never said he was a good guy,” I correct; I won’t have that on my conscience. “But you don’t want a good guy running the business you’ve invested millions of dollars in.”

  “You’re a smart girl, Holland. Too smart for that little cockroach.”

  In the end, he knows I’m right. This is business. He’s done his research on Lincoln. He’s not just trusting my word, but by vouch
ing for Lincoln, I’ve helped sway Tony.

  I suddenly feel so dirty. I’ve just helped Lincoln further his career, but that’s what I agreed to do.

  “If you ever need my help, you know where to find me.” He kisses both my cheeks, a mutual respect passing between us.

  He hasn’t bought into the Lincoln and Holland forever charade, but he trusts me. I’ve earned that trust. I can only hope Lincoln doesn’t make me regret my words.

  “You go in,” I tell Tony. “I need a minute.” He doesn’t pry and respects my wishes.

  When I’m alone, I wrap my arms around my middle and fold my body in half. I feel sick, repulsed by what Lincoln has forced me to do. I helped that son of a bitch, and I hate myself for it. After everything he’s put me through, I hate that he’s happy while I have a permanent hole punched straight through my chest.

  Frustrated tears sting my eyes, and I allow myself this small reprieve because no one is looking. I can lower my guard and be vulnerable. Just for a minute.

  The sidewalk is bustling with people, so I quickly turn and walk in the opposite direction. Only when I reach a small alleyway do I allow the tears to fall. Pressing my back against a brick wall, I close my eyes and thump my fist against the bricks.

  “One step closer,” I chant over and over, but my conscience screams at me that it’s also one step farther away from London. How many steps before I lose myself too?

  My guard is down—a total rookie move—so I don’t sense I’m not alone until it’s too late. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  A warmth spreads from the inside out as I’m cocooned in what I can only describe as the sensation of coming home. His signature fragrance sings to my very core.

  “Shh,” he coos, pulling me into his arms. I go willingly because I didn’t know if I’d ever feel them again.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, burying myself into the crook of his neck as I loop my hands around the back of his nape.

  “Don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should have left. I’m sorry, Princess.”

  The moment the name which has anchored me to this plane slips past London’s lips, I sob, unable to control my emotions. I’m happy, sad, relieved, disgusted—an array of emotions circles within. “I helped him,” I choke out, shaking my head. “What sort of a person does that make me? I helped the person I hate most in this world.”

  “It makes you the most selfless”—he kisses the top of my head—“and the most courageous person I know. Thank you, that’s what I should have said. Thank you for protecting me and my family.”

  Needing to see him, to ensure he is real, I slowly open my eyes, and through the tears, I see that he’s here.

  He looks as broken as I feel. His dirty blond hair is flicked high, and his stubble is heavier than usual. The dark circles beneath his eyes reveal he’s slept as much as I have. But regardless of his weary appearance, he’s still the most epic man I have ever seen.

  “How’d you know where I was?” I ask through my soft whimpers, placing my hand on his cheek.

  He turns and lays a gentle kiss on my palm. “I went into your work. Yvonne told me where you were.”

  “How much did you see?” Throughout the dinner, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. I thought it was the Rossi gang, but I was wrong.

  “Most of it,” he reveals, lowering his eyes to focus on the engagement ring which sits heavily on my finger. I instantly hide it behind my back, ashamed.

  “Why did you come? Why would you torture yourself that way?”

  Those stormy blue eyes that lured me in all those years ago hold me prisoner as London confesses, “Seeing it was going to be far better than what my imagination would conjure up. I watched from afar for years, him touching you, kissing you”—he swallows, his lower lip quivering—“so I thought I was prepared. But I wasn’t. This time around was…so much worse.”

  London saw history repeating itself, and just like when I was sixteen, I did nothing to ease his pain. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” I can only imagine how hard it was for him to see.

  “It’s okay,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “It’s not your fault. None of this is. It’s his.” I’ve never heard a dirtier word pass through London’s lips.

  “I signed the NDA. So did he,” I whisper, afraid of what his response will be.

  “I don’t care,” he replies, untroubled.

  “You being here is in breach of our agreement.” I mewl when he thumbs my bottom lip slowly.

  “I was never one to follow the rules, Princess. You know that.” To stress his point, he leans in close and suckles the lobe of my ear. I instantly melt because I’ve missed his touch so much.

  My eyes roll to the back of my head when my ear pops free from the warm confines of his mouth, only for his tender kisses to trickle along the slope of my neck. I’m in my own personal paradise, lost to the touch of the man I love.

  “You fucking whore.”

  Those filthy, offensive words sever my heaven on earth because when a ferocious electricity thrums through London’s taut body, I realize in mere seconds, that heaven will soon turn to hell.

  It all happens in seconds—one minute, London is pressed against me, and the next, he’s standing in front of Lincoln. My heart is in my throat as I watch on horrified, certain London is about to kill Lincoln. But he doesn’t. He stands perfectly still, watching Lincoln like a curious tiger who has just stumbled across prey.

  I’m barely breathing, too afraid the noise will disturb whatever is going on before my eyes.

  Lincoln fakes courage, but the white of his eyes reveal he’s afraid. “Lincoln O’Toole,” London mocks, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  I suddenly realize this is the first time, after ten long years, that they’ve seen one another. London needs a minute. This is the ultimate standoff as he sizes up Lincoln. “You’re still the puny, ugly asshole I remember you to be.”

  Lincoln attempts to grow larger as he puffs out his chest. London laughs in response.

  “I can’t believe someone so insignificant has the ability to be such a major pain in the ass.”

  “You’re breaking the arrangement I made with your little girlfriend by being here.” There is nothing but spite in his tone. Using the wall as my support, I place my palms flat against the bricks, watching on with wide eyes.

  “Oh, boohoo. Does it look like I care?” London sharply responds. He soon eats his words.

  “You will when I get to know my daughter.”

  I lunge forward, certain London is seconds away from ripping off Lincoln’s arms and beating him to death with them.

  But I’m surprised once more when a husky laugh fills the air. “You’re pathetic. Using a little girl as collateral. Wow. That’s a low blow even for you.”

  Lincoln is baiting London, and it seems he won’t rest until he gets a rise out of him. “We’ll see who’s pathetic when she’s calling me daddy.”

  London’s teeth grind loudly, but he pulls it together. “You know what? I call your bluff. Do it,” he dares.

  “London, no,” I cry, shaking my head. He may be certain that Lincoln is full of shit, but I’m not.

  My plea seems to alert Lincoln of my presence. He turns slowly, hatred oozing from him. “And to think, I came out here to thank you,” he spits, looking at me like I’m nothing. “You’re nothing but a whor—”

  The slur never sees the light of day because that word finally makes London crack.

  Mid obscenity, Lincoln’s head snaps back with a sickening crunch. He loses his balance and drops to the ground, clutching his jaw—the jaw London just punched. My hands fly up and cover my mouth to mute my screams.

  London’s eyes are wild, his tone lethal. “That’s for laying your hands on my girl, you motherfucker. You will never touch her again. We clear?”

  “Fuck you,” Lincoln spits.

  London tongues his cheek, shaking his head
. He’s done playing nice.

  “No!” I shriek when he kicks Lincoln’s ribs. The blow vibrates all the way to my toes.

  “That’s for my daughter,” he snarls as Lincoln rolls away, groaning, attempting to escape his wrath.

  London stands over him, fists clenched by his side, his chest rising and falling. He’s wrestling with his emotions. His arch nemesis who has caused him nothing but pain for endless years is here. Wounded. All it would take would be one, maybe two blows, and Lincoln would be out cold.

  This is his choice. I understand the need for revenge is too sweet to ignore, but this doesn’t solve anything. This isn’t the way to beat Lincoln at his own game. I just hope he realizes that.

  He does.

  “You’re not worth it,” he hisses, staring at Lincoln’s cowering form, before turning and coming my way. “You okay?”

  I nod quickly, though my rapid heart rate contradicts my claims.

  Just as I’m about to throw my arms around him, a whoosh of air sweeps around us, followed by a nauseating thud. It takes me a moment to realize London has been hit as he staggers backward, cradling his face. Blood trickles down his lip and splatters onto the ground.

  It all happens so quickly. London spins around and delivers an uppercut to Lincoln’s face as he charges toward him with a roar. It catches Lincoln off guard, and he stumbles backward, falling onto his ass. London advances, dropping to a knee and gripping him by his collar. He jerks Lincoln toward him, pressing them nose to nose.

  Lincoln’s bravado dies, and just as when they were kids, London shows him who the alpha is. Lincoln will never be top dog. His eyes widen; the fear is palpable. “If you ever come near us again,” with blood staining him red, he promises, “I’ll kill you.” His threat isn’t empty.

  Nausea rolls within as I watch this scene unfold.

  “You got it?” He shakes him, the grip from his fists threatening to rip Lincoln’s shirt into shreds.

  Lincoln surrenders. “Yes,” he finally snarls with a lisp, as his mouth is beginning to swell.

  “Good.” London pins him with a scowl so fierce, even I’m afraid.