He might be skinny, but Jace told him he was a fighter.
A scrapper who was gonna take everyone by surprise.
He jumped on the back of the guy who had his mother pinned against the kitchen counter, climbing him like he was a jungle gym. He locked his arms around the man’s neck. He cinched down as tight as he could. “Run, Mama, run. Get out of here. I’ll save you.”
Horror streaked across her face, just as dark as the mascara that ran in messy lines down her cheeks. “Oh my God, Ian. Let him go. Get down. Let him go.”
Ian fought harder, tightening his arms until they were trembling with the force he was trying to exert.
But he guessed it didn’t matter all that much because the man growled and grabbed Ian by the wrist. He gripped him and swung at the same time, tossing Ian across the kitchen like he didn’t weigh anything at all.
Ian slammed into the refrigerator, hitting it like a rag doll, arms and legs flopping around like they weren’t attached. Pain splintered across his shoulder and the side of his head.
He slid down and slumped to the floor.
He tried not to cry from the pain.
But Ian realized he didn’t really know what pain was.
Not until the man ripped his belt from his pants and came for him.
An hour or a minute or a day. Ian didn’t know. All he knew was agony.
His mama was screaming. Begging for the man to stop. It only made the man hurt him more. That was the last thing Ian knew before everything went black.
* * *
Ian couldn’t move, everything hurt so bad. He tried to pry his eyes open, but they were too puffy and swollen, every part of his skin feeling like it might burst.
“Shh, baby, shh. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” His mama’s voice was right there at his ear, and he realized he was in her arms, and she was rocking him. “I won’t let nothin’ bad happen to you, not ever again.”
He drifted in and out, lulled by the sound of her singing softly in his ear. “Forever and ever.”
Her lips fell on his temple as she gave him a soft, soft kiss.
It stung.
But to Ian, it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
Twenty-Nine
Ian
I jolted awake where I’d fallen asleep in the driver’s seat of my car where I’d pulled it up to sit right in front of Grace’s house. Gasping for air and disoriented, my eyes darted around the shadows leaping through the darkened neighborhood. The trees were a bluster where the wind pummeled and pounded, clouds building in the starry-sky, a storm to bring on the winter.
Creeper mode.
Protector mode.
Wasn’t sure I even knew the difference any longer.
The only thing I knew was I hadn’t been able to force myself to drive away from the spot since I’d ran out her door hours upon hours earlier. I’d just . . . sat in my car.
Guarding.
Refusing to leave in case that weasel-dick showed his mangled face.
Grace’s grandmother had gotten home with the kids about an hour after I’d left, and I’d sat there, watching the lights come on at twilight before they’d finally dimmed at around ten-thirty.
The house going silent.
Didn’t mean I hadn’t been able to feel Grace. Her gaze searching for me from out the window. Her spirit nothing but worry, like I could feel it radiating out to gather me up.
Wasn’t sure when I’d drifted. But there I was at after one in the morning, gripping the steering wheel, sweating like a motherfucker. I might as well have been that twelve-year-old kid getting his ass beat to within an inch of his life rather than the man I’d become who refused to allow anyone or anything to touch him.
That man had just been another in the long line of men who had come in and out of our lives. Depraved and deranged.
I scrubbed a hand over my face to break up the exhaustion and grabbed my phone where I’d tossed it to the passenger seat.
Part of me hoped Grace had texted me.
Another was wondering if I’d hear from Mack, my mug plastered all over their alerts, wanted for assault.
Reed’s pride was too bloated to let me get away with it.
I blew out a sigh when I saw that my phone was void of any messages, eyes moving, everything silent except for the howl of the night.
Still, agitation lined my bones. Deep and cold. Filled with dread.
Everything felt . . . off.
I didn’t know if it was the recurrence of that dream, the scars lining my body screaming in agony, or if it was the girl who rested inside that house.
The only thing I knew was I couldn’t sit idle.
I had to do . . . something.
Make the first move.
Not wait around for the bastard to have the upper hand.
I pushed the button to start my car. A spray of headlights lit the road, and I eased by Grace’s house, carefully searching, making sure they were safe before I made a U-turn.
The powerful engine of the Mercedes roared as I accelerated. Streetlamps glared from above, casting the pavement in a hazy white glow, not a soul around as I sped beneath the flash of streetlamps that shined from above.
Had no clue what the fuck I was doing except for crossing all kinds of lines. So many of them, I was sure there was no other outcome than one that was going to be bad.
I was getting myself in so deep there would be no resurfacing.
No reclaiming what I’d worked for. Strived for. Lived for.
Stupid.
Goddamned stupid, but I didn’t know how to stop this out of control train as I flew around a corner, making a sharp right, not even slowing when I did. Tires squealed as I skidded, the rear fishtailing for a second before I caught traction and barreled down the street.
Anxiety climbed with every second. With every mile.
I took a couple more turns the same way, flying through the night like I was invisible.
Invincible.
That’s what it was going to take to win this case.
No fucking fear of what would be waiting for me at the end of the street.
As I approached the ritzy neighborhood, I slowed. I made a left and then a right, thanking God my car didn’t stick out in a place like this.
Here, the houses were set back, surrounded by spiked wrought-iron fences, some surrounded by stone, all fucking pretentious and oozing old money.
The house had been in the Dearborne family for more than a century, Reed’s great grandfather one of the first bankers in the area. Politics had quickly become synonymous with their name. Reed’s father had once been mayor, and Reed seemed all too eager to take it one step farther.
Knowing the prick, he probably just wanted to show him up.
My hands fisted tighter around the steering wheel, my knuckles torn to shreds and starting to scab, a reminder of the sleaze the asshole really was.
Thomas’s voice had become a constant whisper in the back of my head.
Bitches who don’t obey need to bleed.
What the fuck did that even mean?
Didn’t know if it was some chauvinistic bullshit tossed around like banter or some kind of true directive or command.
Probably wasn’t going to find the answer to it by creeping around his house in the middle of the night, but I couldn’t help but drive to his address.
Maybe I’d sit guard.
Cut him off first if the asshole was stupid enough to even think about going back over to Grace’s place.
I eased alongside the estate. It was at least four acres surrounded by a stone wall that was broken by sections of blackened wrought-iron. A passerby would only get blinks of the rambling lawn and expanse of massive, ancient trees that stretched over the property. That and the hint of the grandeur of the white house tucked inside was all a person could see.
Like they got off on the tease. Giving a tiny glimpse to those who weren’t quite good enough to take a look at the whole thing.
My chest fisted.
I hated this pompous shit.
Hated that Grace had been lured into it. Hated that her children were subjected to it.
I pulled to the curb at one of the breaks in the fence, peering into the muted lights that shown through the hedges. I could make out one side of an enormous fountain in the middle of the round drive and the very edge of a step of the front porch.
But it was a shadow off to the side that caught my attention.
I straightened, straining to see through the wisps of darkness that swayed and moved over the property.
What the fuck?
I had to be hallucinating.
Squinting, I angled to get a better look.
My heart took off at a sprint.
I was sure it would be impossible for me to mistake that posture. That overbearing demeanor of the man who stood facing who was clearly Reed Dearborne.
Lawrence Bennet.
Fear climbed my throat.
Locking it up in an excruciating kind of terror.
Not for me.
For her.
It felt like I was going to suffocate in the cabin of my car. Inhaling, I tried to break up the frozen shock, and I forced myself to shift into gear, releasing the brake so my car could roll away from the curb, barely accelerating and praying the rumbling engine wouldn’t draw attention.
When I got to the corner, I gunned it.
One sight in mind.
One reason.
One answer.
I’d promised her I would protect her.
And that was exactly what I was going to do.
Thirty
Grace
Frantic pounding echoed from the front door, cutting into my sleep and sending me bolting upright. With my palms pressed to the mattress behind me, my eyes darted around my room, confusion clouding everything. That was when I noticed my phone continually lighting up from where it sat on the nightstand.
Blip after blip.
Quickly, I fumbled for it. My heart that had spent the evening being subjected to the worst sort of turmoil jumped into an erratic rhythm when I saw who the string of texts were from.
Ian: Open the front door.
Ian: You have to be pissed at me. I know. I’m a dick.
Ian: But you need to open it right now. This isn’t about us.
I didn’t even question it. I threw off my covers and raced for the door, not taking the time to put on pants. I was barefoot, wearing just a tee and my underwear, fumbling down the darkened hallway to the door that a heavy fist was banging on again.
On the other side of the house, a light flickered on, and I knew Gramma had to have been awakened, too.
I rushed through the two locks and tossed open the door.
Ian was there, pacing on the stoop, gripping at mounds of that soft hair.
The man so menacing. So big and powerful where he raged at the door.
“Ian,” I whispered the shock, my mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. Why he would be standing there in the middle of the night after he’d spent the rest of the day and evening out in his car.
I knew keeping watch. Needing distance and not having the ability to fully walk away.
But after whatever had happened in the bathroom, my soul had ached with the reality that it had to. That after all of this was said and done, after the trial, after he saved my family, he had to walk.
He had to protect himself.
His career and his heart.
I knew, without a doubt, he didn’t have the full capacity of loving us.
Not the way I’d come to realize that I loved him.
His thick throat bobbed. The man stood in the wispy shadows of night wearing the same bloodied shirt, though the buttons were askew, the sleeves shoved up his arms. The man was a disaster.
His beauty so intense it was almost a tragedy.
“Grace.”
“What’s going on?”
His jaw clenched, anger blistering and crude, brutal possessiveness flashing in those strange-colored eyes. “We have to get you out of here.”
A bolt of terror stumbled me back. “What?”
Without being invited inside, he pushed through the door, angling as if he couldn’t stand it if our bodies were to touch. Like that might be the one thing that would finally push us over the edge.
As if we hadn’t already arrived at that point the first time we’d met.
“We have to get you out of here. You and the kids. Right now.”
I swiveled to watch him stalk into the house, and my sight caught on my grandmother who was standing off to the side, wringing her frail fingers together with her white hair sticking up all over the place.
I wanted to tell her everything was fine. To go back to bed and not to worry. I didn’t think I could pull off a lie that great.
Because I felt it—the disorder howling in the space.
Reaching out, I snatched Ian by the wrist before he had the chance to go busting down the hall. “Tell me what’s happening.”
He whirled around. I was taken aback by the fierce agony cut into every line on his face. “You’re in danger.”
“How . . . how do you know? What happened?”
“I don’t know, Grace. I don’t fucking know . . . but I know.” He stabbed his fingertips against his heart. “I know.”
He rushed for me and gripped me by the face with those big hands. Stealing my breath. Shattering my world. He’d been shattering it all along. “Please . . . you have to trust me on this.”
I couldn’t tell him that I trusted him more than I’d ever trusted any other man in my life. I couldn’t tell him that he was the one who felt like safety. Couldn’t tell him that he felt like the goal we were running for.
The only thing I could do was nod frantically.
Then his eyes raked down my body.
So hot, they licked across my flesh like the searing of flames, everything turning dark when he realized I was standing there in almost nothing.
He dropped his arms as if he were being burned and stepped away. “Get dressed.”
I nodded again and darted down the hall. He was right on my heels, moving into my childhood room. He filled it with that presence, bounding and pulsing, pouring into my lungs and strumming my heart into a frenzy.
I pulled on a pair of jeans, and the man was at my closet, throwing the doors open and grabbing a bag. He moved to my dresser and started to frantically stuff clothes into it.
I shoved my feet into my shoes, my nerves frazzled where they tumbled from my mouth. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe,” he told me, giving me no details.
It didn’t matter. I trusted him anyway. Trusted him with my life. With my children’s lives.
And I realized that was the most significant thing of all.
That I’d place them in his hands and trusted that he would do them no harm. That he would be the one to stand for them. Protect them.
Even when he had absolutely nothing to gain.
I wondered if he had any idea what type of man that made him. If he had the first inclination that when I looked at him, I saw someone giving and selfless and good, when he believed himself rotten and vulgar.
The devil when I saw a shattered saint.
He zipped up the bag and tossed it to me. “Take that.”
Then he was moving back out of the door and into the hall, going straight for the door that had been left open a crack.
As if he already knew exactly where they rested. As if he could sense the lulled thrums and magnified dreams of their sweet, sweet hearts.
He softly pushed open the door. Light from the hall spilled into the room.
Thomas instantly stirred, sitting up in bed and rubbing his fists in his eyes. “Mom?” He blinked, trying to focus. “What’s wrong?”
Ian went directly to him and knelt. He set a reassuring hand on his knee.
That might have been the very moment when my heart completely burst.
A million
pieces fragmenting.
Scattering.
Spilling.
Seeking a new home.
Finding him.
The moment the man owned every part of me.
Heart and body and soul committed to his hands when I knew full well that he couldn’t hold me. That he couldn’t keep me. That what we were was hopeless except for what we were both fighting for.
But they were worth it.
Every sacrifice and every loss.
Ian’s voice was quieted. “Thomas, I need you to listen to me very carefully. We’re going to pack a few things, and then we’re going to leave. I’m taking all of you to a safer place where I can protect you. I want you to know it’s okay to be afraid, that all of us are sometimes, but I also need you to be brave for your sisters because this is something they can’t understand. Can you help me do that?”
“Are you taking us away from our dad?” Thomas asked, words a muted croak.
Ian didn’t waver. “Yes.”
Thomas slid off his bed and pushed back his shoulders. “All right.”
My chest pressed full, and my throat tightened, and I struggled not to cry.
My spirit was being pummeled by so many things.
By so much love and hope and belief.
All mixed up with a torrent of terrorized fear. The undoubted risk we were taking. The truth that Ian would never show up here in the middle of the night, frantic, if we weren’t in danger.
Compounding it was that I could feel myself already being crushed by the gutting loss that I knew was to come. The gaping hole this man was going to leave at the center of my soul.
Ian pushed to standing and patted Thomas on the shoulder. “Get the things you want to take with you.”
Instantly, Thomas jumped into action. It was no surprise that he grabbed his tablet and charger first and then stuffed a few books and some clothes into the same small suitcase he used when he went to Reed’s.
I quickly packed the necessities for Sophie, diapers and her shampoo and her pajamas, her favorite doll, and then I hurried to get Mallory’s things that she would want most.
All of Me: A Confessions of the Heart Stand-Alone Novel Page 28
