Defiance of the Heart (Book 2)

by Monica James

  The scene before me is reminiscent of high school. Lincoln trying to talk big, but London never allowed Lincoln to intimidate him an iota. He releases him with force, sending Lincoln off balance. He scampers away from harm’s way, watching London closely.

  “Let’s go.” London’s sharp tone snaps me from my stupor, highlighting his busted lip.

  “You’re bl-bleeding,” I stutter, pointing out the obvious as my brain needs a minute to process what I just saw.

  The back of his hand comes away with blood when he wipes his lip. “I’m fine. I was a quarterback, remember? I’m used to people hitting me.” It’s meant to break the ice, but I’m trembling, the vision of what I just witnessed flashing before my eyes.

  He walks toward me slowly, eyeing me as my attention flicks back and forth between he and a bloodied and bruised Lincoln.

  “This, this changes everything,” I whisper, because our agreement is now obsolete. “The NDA…”

  He inhales through his nose and closes his eyes. “Fuck the NDA. I will not stand by and watch that piece of shit blackmail the woman I love and threaten my daughter.”

  I really don’t have a comeback that will suffice.

  “The deal is off, Holland! You hear me? You’re going to pay.” Lincoln clearly doesn’t know when to quit.

  London snarls and goes to turn, but I lunge forward and grasp his elbow to stop him from finishing what he started. “Let’s go.” I don’t give him the option to object when I lead him away.

  Our heavy footsteps expose our mood, and when we exit the alleyway, London gently severs our connection. I try not to take offense because I understand he needs space. His body trembles from the adrenaline, from holding back when he had the opportunity to finally give Lincoln what he’s owed after all these years.

  Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long before he can hail a cab.

  The ride back to my hotel is painful and uncomfortable. London stares out the window, sitting as far away from me as possible. Is he angry with me?

  I let it rest because I need some time to process everything that’s just happened.

  London could have done some serious damage tonight, but he didn’t. He restrained himself. I know how hard that is. It took all my willpower not to slap Lincoln at dinner and tell him to go to hell.

  But things are different now. Without the NDA in place, it’s open season for Lincoln. He will ensure both London and I pay for what we did, and sadly, Emily will suffer.

  Sniffing back my tears, I reach into my clutch, which I had the good sense to bring with me when I came outside with Tony, and pull out the money to pay the driver. London and I exit the cab in a robotic manner. This continues as we enter the building and catch the elevator to my floor.

  We amble down the hallway in a flat mood and with our spirits crushed. I open the door to my room, sighing in relief when London follows me in. He still won’t look at me. I don’t know what to say or do, so I decide to go into the bedroom to undress.

  Kicking off my heels, I instantly feel better as each layer I peel back has me feeling like me again. London enters, head hung low with his hands dug deep into his pockets. I dare not breathe as I’m frightened of what comes next.

  I watch as he walks toward me, still not making eye contact. He stops mere feet away, his chest rising and falling in a hypnotizing cadence. I’ve never felt more distant from London than I do right now. His quaking exhale displays his inner turmoil, and when he reaches for my hand, my left hand, I understand why.

  He brushes his thumb over my ring, the fallen hair over his brow shielding his eyes. He doesn’t speak. He simply slips the ring from my finger and places it on the dresser behind me. I can’t stand to see him this way, so I gently coax him to look at me by placing my finger under his chin.

  When we lock eyes, my soul weeps. London is lost in the past, a past that wasn’t kind to either of us. Seeing me this way has dredged up old feelings, ones which have us reverting to sixteen years old.

  He studies my face as if committing me to memory. With the slowest of sweeps, he drags his thumb across my lips, smudging my red lipstick in a hot mess. He is wiping away any trace of tonight because it’s the only way we can move on.

  Next to go is my dress. He gestures for me to turn around, so I do.

  He sweeps my hair to one side, then drags down the zipper. He peels the garment away from my body, letting it pool by my bare feet. I don’t move.

  With two fingers, he slides down my neck and between my shoulder blades. My skin prickles as he reaches the small of my back, running his pointer finger along the waistband of my black underwear.

  This isn’t sexual, though. It feels as if he’s getting to know my body once again.

  My heart is thrashing wildly, and when London moves from my back to my front, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from speaking. I want to console him because he looks so fucking sad, but this isn’t my show. It’s his.

  His gaze drops to my heaving chest. My black bra is made of lace, so he can see my pearled nipples beneath. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he examines me closely. We remain silent because actions speak a lot louder than words.

  He steps forward and reaches around me, unclasping the clip of my strapless bra. It unsnaps, baring the tops of my breasts to him. My arms are rigid by my side, but he moves them gently, allowing the bra to tumble to the floor.

  As I’m stripped bare, shedding Lincoln from my skin, London transforms before my eyes. He watches me as closely as I do him. This is cathartic and symbolic because it’s ridding Lincoln for good. However, he isn’t satisfied until I’m totally nude.

  He slides my underwear down my legs, dropping to his knees to assist me in stepping out of them. When I’m undressed, he exhales in relief. He wraps his arms around my waist, and with sincerity, he buries himself into the hollow of my stomach.

  The sight evokes my tears because it’s one of complete surrender. I run my fingers through his hair, appreciating this connection because it’s one we both need.

  “I wanted to die,” he whispers, finally breaking the silence. “Watching you with him. It broke my fucking heart. Promise me you won’t do it again.” His chin is downturned as though he can’t bear to look at me.

  Gripping his cheeks in my palms, I gently persuade him to meet my gaze.

  Seeing nothing but vulnerability swimming in the depths, I vow never to hurt him again. “I promise.”

  He nods in relief. “Let’s go to bed.”

  I don’t argue because after tonight, I feel like I could sleep for a million years.

  He comes to a stand, brushing the hair from my cheeks, touching me as though I’m the most precious gem in the world. We interlace our fingers as he leads me to the bed. Naked, I crawl under the covers, watching him as he undresses.

  My name catches the muted light from the bedside lamp as he takes off his shirt, reminding me of the hardships we endured to get to now. Promising London I wouldn’t be blackmailed again was easy because I never wanted to be Lincoln’s puppet in the first place. But the question still lingers—now that Lincoln’s plans have been foiled, what happens next?

  London gets into bed beside me, drawing me into his arms. We’re both naked, but tonight isn’t about losing ourselves to the passion. It’s about losing ourselves to one another—mind, body, and soul. And this connection compares to nothing else.

  I snuggle in tight, intent on never letting go. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Princess.”

  Before long, my eyes drop to half-mast, and my exhaustion finally wins. On the cusp of sleep, however, unsure if I’m dreaming or not, I hear a pledge, one that highlights the unsettled times ahead. “We will figure this out. We have to.”

  The next morning when I wake, my foggy mind attempts to piece together the events that led me here.

  A lifetime ago, I fell in love with a boy who was completely off-limits. We fought our attraction, but eventually, we gave in. Lies and betrayal playe
d a hand in our fate, and we parted ways.

  Ten years later, I thought I had changed, but returning to Los Angeles just proved that London Sinclair is as much a part of me as I am of myself. Our love for one another has never been clearer, but that doesn’t mean we get to ride off into the sunset.

  If anything, the challenges we now face shadow the past.

  As I look upon the sleeping man beside me, I don’t know what today or tomorrow holds. With Lincoln scorned, it can only mean one thing—he is plotting his revenge. It may take days, months, or maybe even years, but eventually, we will pay for what we did.

  “What time is it?” croaks London as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

  I will never tire of the small things—like the morning dew on the petals of a rosebud in bloom or the sunsets that set your heart on fire. But as I look into London’s stormy eyes, the blue rivaling the brightest daybreak sky, I know he will always be the most glorious wonder of all.

  “I’m not sure. Did you sleep okay?”

  He shrugs in response. Something is clearly on his mind.

  “Is Emily back in LA?”

  “Yes,” he replies, shuffling to rest against the headboard.

  I prop myself on an elbow, watching him closely. “What do you want to do?” We can’t avoid the inevitable.

  He exhales, running a hand down his face. “What chance do I have in getting full custody if we do it the right way?”

  “It’s not impossible, but it won’t be easy. Have you legally adopted Emily?”

  His mouth parts in surprise. “No, I never thought of it. She has always been mine. Even when I found out the truth, it never changed how I felt.”

  I understand his feelings. Until now, he never had to prove otherwise. But what happened last night changes everything.

  “If you legally adopt her, it betters your chances of obtaining custody rights. However, one of the biological parents has to give up their legal rights to the child.” I feel like the bearer of bad news, but London needs to know what he’s up against.

  “I should have adopted her,” he says, angry with himself. But there is no point in dancing with hindsight at this point in time.

  “What’s stopping you from doing it now?”

  “I can do that?” he asks, head tilted in interest.

  “I will do everything in my power to help you try.” And I mean it. Belle is going to play a big part in this, and if I’m going to help London, it means we’re all going to have to be on the same side.

  “Okay,” he finally says, his spirits lifted. “Let’s do this.”

  “I’ll get all the paperwork together, and we’ll get started as soon as possible.” Seeing him smile is worth the shitstorm headed our way.

  I will do everything I can to make this happen, but London needs to understand that for this to happen, he needs to tell Emily he isn’t her biological dad. For a ten-year-old, that’s a lot to take in. But so is getting to know your “real” father who couldn’t give two shits about you.

  Belle is the key. And I suddenly feel like we’re back in high school.

  “Thank you.” He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my cheek. “Thank you for constantly saving me.”

  I mewl, his hands on me too much.

  “And what about these Rossi assholes? Will you go to the police?”

  Honestly, they have been the least of my concerns. They’ve taken a back seat because Lincoln has proven to be the far more dangerous of the two. But he’s right. I’ll go down to the station and talk to Detective Freddy Gomez, the lead investigator I worked with on the Rossi case.

  “When did our life get so complicated?” I groan, falling back onto my pillow.

  “Our lives have always been complicated, Princess. The only difference is we now have a say on how our story ends.”

  His comment hits home because he’s right. But I’ll be damned if I allow all this to be for nothing. “Who knew that day when we first met at the ripe ole age of five what was destined for us both.”

  A lopsided smirk tugs at his lips as he recalls the memory. “I’ve been in love with you from that moment onward.”

  I snort in response. “Oh yeah, I felt that love when you cut off my pigtail and when you locked me in the janitor’s closet.”

  “In my defense”—he raises his hands in surrender—“I was protecting you from my mom. It was a rare day that she was picking me up from school.”

  I should have known there was a reason—there always was.

  He turns serious and peers down at me. “Our story is pretty…”

  “Fucked up?” I offer, filling in the blanks, but a hoarse laughter fills the air.

  “I was going to say pretty incredible,” he corrects, reaching for my hand. “You drove me crazy.”

  The memories we made over the years smash into me, and I can’t help but giggle softly. “I would say I’m sorry, but you totally deserved it.”

  His mouth opens and closes, a dimple in his left cheek punching me with its cuteness.

  “Oh, did I?”

  A gleam sparkles in his eye, hinting I am in so much trouble. I don’t have a chance to scamper away because he’s on me, tickling my sides. I squirm and shriek, but he shows no mercy, chuckling deeply at my expense.

  “Just how you deserve this.” To empathize his point, he ups the ante and tickles every inch of my flesh. I’m breathless, choking on my laughter as I desperately try to escape. But he doesn’t let me go.

  The simple act of tickling shouldn’t be this fun, especially when I’m the one who is being tortured. But to laugh after everything we’ve been through proves that we’re stronger than whatever tried to beat us.

  “I give up!” I choke out, tears leaking from my eyes.

  “What?” he sarcastically asks, tickling under my arm. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

  “You win,” I breathlessly pant, wriggling like crazy.

  He thankfully stops but doesn’t roll off me. Instead, he presses us nose to nose and smiles. “We both win. We’re going to be all right, Princess.”

  He feels the uncertainty too, but just as we have done our entire lives, we will fight…fight for the ones we love.

  Freddy Gomez was born to be a cop.

  We nailed Alberto Rossi because both Freddy and I were determined to rid the streets of one bad seed. His attention to detail and the fact he’s actually a good guy trying to do the right thing have me passing him the photo I received and trusting him completely.

  He sits back in his frayed leather seat with the photograph in hand as he strokes his thin black moustache. He makes no secret of the fact he’s examining the evidence for any clues, but when he sighs heavily, I know what he’s going to say.

  “And there was no note?”

  I shake my head in response. “Just a yellow envelope on my doorstep.”

  “A typical Rossi calling card. Bastardos,” he swears under his breath. “Are you sure it wasn’t your ex-fiancée?”

  I look at London who is sitting beside me. “No, I can’t be sure.” I’ve told Freddy everything because I had no other choice but to be upfront. “I know this is a waste of your time.”

  Freddy stops me. “No, it’s not. What your ex said about Benito Rossi is right. A new kingpin is in town. I can have one of my men watch you.”

  “No,” I object. “That won’t be necessary. That’s not why I came here. I just wanted to let you know.”

  He nods, passing me the photo. “Whatever you need, just let me know. Be careful, Holland. If any more packages arrive, call me.”

  “I will.” Standing, I shoulder my bag, feeling helpless once again.

  “So there’s nothing we can do?” asks London, still seated. He’s been awfully quiet, a sure sign he’s plotting.

  “Believe me, if there was, I would do it. But unless there is hard evidence, all we can do is be vigilant and hope the Rossi gang grows bored.” The odds of that happening are slim to none.

  London exhales, not at a
ll pleased with Freddy’s response, but our hands are tied. “Thank you, Detective.” They shake, a mutual respect passing between them.

  We leave Freddy’s office no closer to figuring out what to do. I understand London’s frustration, but I’m used to looking over my shoulder, thanks to Lincoln letting me believe the letters I received were from the Rossi crew.

  Now, I don’t know what to believe.

  “How did Lincoln know about this Benito asshole?” London asks as we enter the elevator.

  “I honestly don’t know. The case was a high profile one. Maybe one of his shady clients who knew I was involved with the trial heard the word on the street and told him?”

  London doesn’t look convinced.

  My cell rings, and when I retrieve it from my bag, I see that it’s my colleague Mitch Alpine. I called him earlier, wanting to discuss London’s situation because he specializes in family law. I need all the expertise I can get. “Hey, Mitch. Thanks for calling me back.”

  We exit the elevator, but I stop so I can hear what Mitch has to say. “No worries. I’m free for lunch?”

  “That would be great. I’ll come by the office in a few.” We hang up, and London waits for me to explain who that was.

  “That was Mitch. He’s also an attorney. The best, well”—I smile—“the second best this city has. I’m going to meet with him today to go over Emily’s case because two heads are better than one. Being so close to this case, I don’t want to overlook anything.” This is personal for me, and sometimes, thinking with your heart instead of your head can lead to mistakes.

  “Okay.” London nods, deep in thought.

  “You’re most welcome to come, but today will just be me laying it all out for Mitch.”

  “It’s fine,” he says, looking down at his black leather cuff watch. “I have a few things I have to take care of. Call me when you’re done?”

  This is news to me, but I smile. “Of course.” He doesn’t appear to want to divulge what exactly he has planned, so I don’t press. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He pulls me in for a tight hug. “Be careful.”

  “Always,” I reply into his shoulder, wishing I could stay here all day.