by Monica James
“Yes, Princess, I’m here. Keep your eyes open, okay? Help is on the way.” He searches the room, screaming for someone to help me.
“I don’t, don’t understand,” I pant; my world tipped on its axis. “He shot you.” With every last scrap of strength I have left, I raise my floppy hand, attempting to touch his chest.
London rips open his shirt, revealing his lift raft or, more accurately, his bulletproof vest. The silver bullet was fired with every intent to pierce London’s heart, but he was two steps ahead.
“You set him up?”
London nods slowly. I burst into winded laughter as the karma train is coming.
This is really happening. He’s alive…but I’m…oh, god, I’m dying.
As each hollow breath escapes me, I know it’s a race until my last. “I love you,” I whisper, placing my hand over his as he caresses my cheek. I’m okay to go…with this as my vision. But there is one thing I request. “Kiss me.”
London doesn’t hesitate. He lowers his lips to mine, erasing Lincoln’s touch because this kiss is the last one I want to remember. Salty kisses sealed with a lover’s promise that this is forever.
“Goodbye…”
Parting is such sweet sorrow…
My body hurts. But I suppose that’s a good thing as the last thing I can remember is not feeling anything at all.
I’m bound once again, but this time, the restraints are to help, not do me harm. The gentle beeping of a machine monitors my heart, which I believe stopped beating some time ago. The antiseptic smell confirms that London came through—just how he always had.
Help did arrive, and it seems fate wasn’t done with me just yet.
My eyes feel heavy and my mouth parched, but I push through the shakiness. “Oh, thank god.” His voice is my anchor, and the strength I need to let the daylight in.
I open my mouth, but I’m unable to form a sentence.
“Hang on. I’ll get you some water.”
While I hear London make good on his word, I slowly open my eyes. My vision is blurry, but I blink past the fog because I need to see him, to make sure he’s really here. And he is.
London stands before me. He’s still battered and bruised, but he’s alive.
The moment we lock eyes, I get lost in a blue abyss and never want to be found. I thought I’d never see him again. But I should have known our love would withstand the test of time. He traces my cheek with an unbelieving, wavering touch as we once believed we’d never feel it again.
“Here.” He helps me shuffle upright and then gently presses the glass to my lips, coaxing me to drink. The last time I was in this position, I was drugged. I need to know how my story ends. The water spills down my throat, the burn welcomed this time.
Once I’ve had my fill, London sits down beside me on the hospital bed. There is so much I want to ask, but for now, I just want to look at him. “Hi,” I hoarsely whisper, leaning back against the pillow.
“Hi, Princess,” he replies. I sigh.
The quiet overlaps the noise, and I could bask in this feeling forever. But there is much to discuss, especially when Detective Freddy Gomez walks through my door.
“You’re awake?” he observes, pausing, clearly shocked.
“Yes, it appears that way. How long was I out?”
“Let me get a nurse.” London attempts to rise, but my hand snaps out to grip his forearm. I don’t mean to, but a low moan escapes me when I feel his soft flesh. It warms me from head to toe.
He thankfully sits back down and tenderly places his hand over mine. “Two days.”
“That’s not too bad.” I was thinking two weeks. “What happened?”
“How about we talk tomorrow?”
“How about we talk now?” I counter while Freddy laughs.
“Good to see the cut on your head didn’t affect your stubbornness.”
Instinctively, I rub the back of my head, my fingers passing over gauze and bandages. I must look like Frankenstein.
Freddy pulls up a seat in front of me and leans back, ankle crossed over his knee. “We got them. Those sons of bitches are where they belong.”
“What?” I ask, blinking once.
“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s because of your husband here that we were able to arrest half of the Rossi family and their associates for money laundering, kidnapping, possession of illegal firearms…the list is endless. They will be put away for a very long time.”
“Back up,” I say, my brain unable to play catch-up. “Start from the beginning.”
London runs his fingers along the back of my hand. “I’ve been working with Freddy.”
“Since when?” My mouth falls open.
“Since the day you went to see Lincoln at his work. I was livid, desperate to make him pay, so I paid Detective Gomez a visit, wondering if he could help me. Turns out he was already investigating Lincoln. When we came to see him with the photos of Emily, he dug a little deeper and found out Lincoln had made a deal with Benito Rossi. He would give you to Benito as long as he paid him for his efforts.”
The bed creaks as London shifts his weight.
“So all that talk of blackmail wouldn’t have made a difference if I eventually caved?”
London shakes his head. That’s why he was so adamant it wouldn’t work. He already knew.
“Motherfucker,” I curse under my breath. What a fool I must have looked like, coming into his office, thinking I could reason with him when my fate was already planned. He pretended that option was still on the table, hoping I’d agree to humiliate me further. He was always going to sell me out.
“I followed Lincoln, and it didn’t take me long to see he was making a deal with Benito Rossi, and you were always the wager. Lincoln was to give you to him, and in return, they were to give him money for a very long time. They would put their dirty money into his company and make him look like the star VP. When we overheard talks of embezzlement, we knew we had him,” Freddy explains. I listen on, unbelieving this is my life and not an episode of Law & Order.
“The only problem we had was we needed the deal to happen; otherwise, all we had was speculation. That’s when London walked into my office, and the plan was formed.”
So “I’ll handle it” actually meant joining forces with Freddy. It explains his weird behavior and secret phone calls. But I’m still pissed they didn’t tell me.
“You should have told me,” I say to London, who lowers his chin.
“I know, and I wanted to so many times. But I knew what you’d do…what you’ve done every single time. You’d try to help.”
“He’s right, Holland,” Freddy backs London. But screw their newfound comradeship. “We needed you as far away from this as possible. We needed it to be believable; otherwise, the deal wouldn’t happen.”
“So I was your scapegoat? Is that it?” I’m angered they would put my safety at risk. And Emily’s.
The thought of her has me opening my mouth, but London beats me to the punch. “She’s fine. She didn’t see much. She’s tough.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Princess, what happened, that all went to shit.”
Oh, well, that makes me feel somewhat better.
“That night when I left, I called Lincoln earlier to organize to meet him, claiming I wanted to talk. We would meet at a location where Freddy and his team would be listening, and I would get him to confess it all.”
My stomach roils. “How?”
“One of the undercover detectives called Lincoln during the day, pretending he worked for Rossi and said he wanted the deal to go down that night. They were done waiting, which is why Lincoln agreed to meet me. He knew he was running out of time, and he couldn’t make you come willingly, but I could. If I were there and with Emily, he could use us as bargaining chips if things went south. My phone call, Lincoln believed, couldn’t have come at a better time. But that’s what we planned. I called right after the undercover officer did, hoping he would fall for the bait. He did.
“The plan was I would ask him to give up all custody rights. It wasn’t hard to guess what he would have wanted in return. You. I would have eventually agreed, trading you for Emily.” London’s admission is guilt-ridden.
“Seeing as Rossi was up his ass and supposedly turning up during our meeting, we knew he would want the trade to happen immediately. I would then call you.”
“My men were then going to come to your hotel and tell you what we had planned, taking you to London. The plan was simple,” Freddy adds, which is why London wanted me to stay at the hotel. “London would have lured you to the meeting point, fooling Lincoln into thinking he was going along with the plan of trading you for Emily.”
“You were going to be under police guard when the alleged trade occurred. Lincoln would think the undercover officer was one of Rossi’s henchmen and hand you over. The terms were then going to be discussed while Freddy listened in. Once the deal was done, they would swoop in. No one was supposed to get hurt. It was supposed to be foolproof.” London frowns, clearly distressed that the proposal didn’t go as planned.
“That is until Lincoln foiled our plan. We didn’t think he’d figure out an undercover officer was involved because Rossi always called the shots. Lincoln never called him, but on this occasion, he did. Apparently, he asked Rossi if he could borrow a gun for their meeting, which clued Rossi in. We didn’t intercept the call as Lincoln called him from a payphone, paranoid to be discussing a firearm on his cell. Money laundering and kidnapping wasn’t an issue, though.”
“Hang on, let me get this straight. You were going to tell me, eventually?”
London nods. “Of course. We just needed you to know at the last minute because…”
“Because you have a hard head,” Freddy adds with a smile. “And you wouldn’t like us feeding your husband to the sharks. You were going to go with our undercover officer, fooling Lincoln into believing he just delivered you to Rossi. He would get his money, then deal done. Then we’d arrest his ass, and he’d eventually rat on Rossi to everything they conspired to do because he’s a spineless cretin.
“We’d never get Rossi. You know they don’t make mistakes. This was the only way to nail him.”
“So you wanted Lincoln to be your rat?”
“Yes, Benito was never supposed to be there.”
My head is reeling. This is a lot to take in…especially since I’m recovering from being drugged and almost dying. “So what happened?”
“There was a change in plans,” London says bitterly. “Rossi’s men jumped me and dragged me to the bar. We were supposed to meet downtown at a predetermined location monitored by the police, but that asshole decided to shit on our future by taking me to our bar. I was on my own. Rossi was sick of waiting and knew the police were closing in. He had no choice; the deal was to happen immediately as it was now or never. So his men jumped you too and brought you to the bar. Emily was just extra collateral.
“Lincoln asked Belle to meet him at the address. When she arrived, Rossi’s men were waiting for her, and they took Emily.”
“That’s why she called me?”
“Yes,” London replies.
This is too farfetched, but it seems greed and revenge know no bounds. It appears the police’s ploy transpired into real life.
“If Rossi’s men had me, why did they bring me back to the bar? They could have made away with me then and there.”
“Rossi needed Lincoln as his money laundering scheme was the perfect way to hide his crime. With the location change, they knew there was no way we could track London. Our plan was a bust.”
This is insane. It explains why London was wearing a bulletproof vest as he was indeed meeting Lincoln, just not in the location where we all ended up. Rossi’s time was running out, so he put his better judgment aside as his need for revenge overrode good sense.
“How did you find us?” I ask.
“Belle.”
I gasp, blinking once. “How?” is all I manage to say.
“Lincoln isn’t cut out for this life of crime as he didn’t take her phone. She dialed 911. She was unable to speak but left the line open so the operator could figure out what was happening. We were called in. I’m just sorry it took so long.”
Peering at London, I understand his intentions were good, but he was shot because a “foolproof” plan was foiled by a simple change in plans. “What if he had shot you in the head?” I question, shivering at the possibility.
Freddy frowns as does London. “That was a risk I was willing to take.”
I hiss, my lower lip quivering. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“My vigilante days are over,” he replies, brushing my cheek. “I almost lost you.”
“I almost lost you too.”
“London is right, Holland. That potion he made you drink was a concoction of ketamine, morphine, and GHB. Medically, you should be dead.”
“Date rape drugs?” I question, not even wanting to know how he was in possession of these illegal substances. “Why did he make me drink it? Why was he trying to numb the pain?”
“We thought you could answer that,” London asks, barely holding on.
Thinking back to his reasoning, I tug at a loose thread on the blanket. “He said because he loved me, and he didn’t want me to feel pain.”
The room falls silence as no one was expecting that response.
It may not make sense, but the optimist in me wants to believe a small, tiny part of him is still good because I did love him once upon a time. And I choose to believe that small sliver of goodness is what I loved. “What happens now?”
“They go to jail for a very long time,” Freddy replies with a grin. His job here is done.
“You’re all eyewitnesses, as is the 911 call recording. We have enough evidence to put these assholes away.”
I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. “And Lincoln?”
London doesn’t judge. Just because Lincoln lost sight of his humanity doesn’t mean I have to as well. “His charges are serious, Holland. He will do time.”
I nod, hating this is how it ends for him. But he had a choice; we all did.
Freddy stands. “I’ll check in tomorrow. When you’re feeling better, we will have to take statements.”
“Okay.” I know the drill.
When he leaves, I inhale because it’s information overload, and I need time to digest everything I’ve just heard. London sits beside me, holding my hand. The bright fluorescents catch the gleam of his ring.
I instantly clutch my finger. “My rings?”
He smiles, then tugs a silver chain out from under his T-shirt. My rings hang from the end. “Close to my heart,” he says, which has tears developing. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”
“It is now, but do you know how crazy this entire tale is? You went undercover to try to trap Lincoln, but he nearly had the last laugh. I suppose that explains why you were acting so distant.”
“I only did that because I hated lying to you. It was easier not to talk at all.” I understand his response as I would have eventually caved too.
“He tricked us, but it looks like good does triumph all. With him going to prison, you know what that means?” London nods, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “You can adopt Emily now.”
I never thought I’d ever speak those words. We have been through so much; I can’t believe we’re still standing.
“I thought you hated me,” I confess, needing him to know my feelings.
“Princess, I hated myself, not you.”
“When Belle called, I thought—”
London presses, “You thought what?”
Unable to look at him, I confess, “I thought you had had enough and slept with her. It would have been the far easier option.”
Silence.
“Look at me,” he gently coaxes, and eventually, I do. “I meant every single word when I vowed to love you forever. You are my wife. My best friend. You are my Princess, so don’t you ever think that again.
”
I nod quickly, sniffing back my tears. “You look like shit.”
He bursts into husky laughter. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean you probably should be in the bed lying beside me.” Reaching out with a tender caress, I stroke his cheek gently. “I can’t believe you were willing to sacrifice everything for me again.”
“It’s my job to protect you.”
Words to live by because my room suddenly becomes smaller.
“Honey!” Before I have a chance to speak, my mother and father come running into the room, throwing their arms around me. “Are you okay?”
London smiles, rising from my bedside so my parents can hug me to death. “Mom, you’re choking me,” I say, gently patting her arm so she loosens her death grip.
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” She pulls away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
My father lets me go also. His red rimmed eyes reveal he’s been crying. “Don’t you ever do that to us again. If I knew you going away to New York would result in you getting hurt time and time again, I would have never allowed you to accept that damn scholarship.”
He’s hurting, I get that, but we don’t have a crystal ball. No one knows what the future holds.
My mom looks at London and gently turns his chin from side to side, examining his wounds. “Thank you, London. Thank you for protecting her.”
“With my life, Delores.” Both my mom and me surrender to tears when she steps forward and hugs him.
Once she’s done crying into his shirt, my father rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. This is big for him. I don’t expect miracles. “Thank you, son.” He extends his hand, and London peers down at it, wondering if there is some catch.
There isn’t.
Their handshake opens new doors and possibilities because this is a brand-new start.
“London.” Who walks through the door next has my mouth gaping open.
“Dad?” London speaks; however, he articulates all our thoughts. “What are you doing here?” It’s clear from his surprise that he didn’t call his parents. So, who did?
