This Isn't You, Baby (War & Peace Book 4)

by K. Webster

  But we will get her through it.

  “When I get better, I want to leave. With or without you, I want to get the hell away from this place,” she spits out, her back still turned to me.

  I stride over to her bedside and kneel before her. She tries to hide her hand but I find it anyway, squeezing it in my grip. “Without me is never an option.” My tone is fierce and leaves no room for objection. I repeat my earlier words. “Tenemos que estar juntos.” We need to be together.

  “Don’t you have work to do or—” she starts but we both jolt when we hear a car door slam outside.

  “Stay here,” I order as I rise to my feet. If that bastard came back, I’m putting a bullet through his skull. The springs on the mattress squeak behind me, but I’m already on a mission of yanking my gun from my bedside table. It’s chambered and ready to fire by the time I creep out of the bedroom. When I glance back, Brie is out of the bed and on my tail. As much as it’s good to see her out of the damn bed, she’s much too pale to be up, and I don’t want her anywhere near Esteban. “Get back in the room,” I order with a hiss.

  She glares at me. “No.”

  Gritting my teeth, I continue my trek down the hallway and down the stairs. Keys jingle at the front door a moment before it swings open. I raise my gun, ready to blow my brother’s head off his shoulders.

  But it’s the wrong brother.

  A mixture of annoyance and relief filter through me.

  “What the fuck, man? Why the hell aren’t either of you answering our calls?” Oscar demands, his voice deep with emotion.

  I lower my gun but the moment more people start piling through the door, I jerk it back up.

  Oscar holds his palms in the air and approaches me. “Dude, calm the fuck down. These are my and Brie’s friends. And Vee. We’re here to check on you guys.”

  My eyes lock with the blue eyes of the guy Brie was seeing before me. A surge of jealousy spikes through me. “Why are you here?”

  He starts to shoulder past Oscar toward Brie, but my brother holds out his arm to stop him. Smart man. I’m too amped up with the need to destroy our older brother. This kid might accidentally take a bullet in his place. After all, he broke my wife once before. I won’t put it past him to do it again.

  “Brie,” the fuck murmurs to her. “What the hell happened to you, beautiful?”

  I’m about to punch him in his throat when she pushes past me and runs straight into his arms. Esteban fucked her God knows how many times but seeing her willingly—completely sober—run toward her ex-boyfriend, I find myself raging with betrayal.

  “Duvan,” Oscar growls, swatting my arm with the gun down toward the floor. “Let’s fucking talk about what’s going on here.” He shoves me into the kitchen until my eyes no longer can glare at the man holding my wife. Once we’re in the kitchen, he takes the gun from my grip before setting it onto the countertop. “Talk.”

  An ache forms in my chest, and I glare at my brother. “Esteban.”

  His jaw clenches. A storm brews in his brown eyes. “Did he hurt her?”

  I scrub at my overgrown scruffy jaw before spearing my fingers into my messy hair. “He had Santiago and his men beat the shit out of me while I was tied to my office chair. And while they were doing that to me…” I close my eyes. Thoughts of how I found her grip my thoughts—with my brother’s dick inside of her bloody cunt—and I boil over with rage. My fist slams into the cabinet door, splintering it into several pieces. “He raped my wife.” I snap my glare to Oscar. His mouth gapes open, and sadness crumples his features. At one time I’d been jealous of his puppy love for Brie. Now, I’m thankful he cares for her and not in some sick, perverted way like Esteban. “He got her so fucked up on heroin, man. She hates me because I’ve forced her into detox.”

  A flash of understanding glimmers in his eyes. “You were a bitch too if I remember correctly. That stuff will steal your soul.”

  I nod and my jaw clenches again with anger. “She hates me right now, and you bring in that motherfucker. How am I supposed to bring her back to me with him here?”

  Oscar relaxes and shakes his head. “He’s cool, man. Ren isn’t the type to go after your girl. He cares about her. We all do. If anything, we’re your saving grace. She can talk to Vee, maybe get a break from you.”

  I shake my sore hand, now starting to throb from punching the cabinet. “She doesn’t need a break from me,” I hiss. “I was away from her for five goddamned days!”

  He winces at my tone. “Where’s Esteban now?”

  “Fuck if I know. When I find him, I’m going to slit his fucking throat, though. I’m going to let her watch as he bleeds out all over the damn floor,” I seethe. “La venganza es mía.” Vengeance is mine.

  The sound of both girls sobbing in the living room has my body firing back to life and me reaching for the gun. Oscar groans and shoves me away. “Chill the fuck out, hermano. She’s fine. Clearly, she’s dealing with some shit. Back away from her a bit.”

  I stomp past him to peek around the corner. Vee rocks Brie in her arms on the sofa. Ren and some other fuckface who looks like him tower over the two girls, poised and ready to comfort them. It pisses me off. “That asshole his brother?”

  Oscar tenses and gives me a clipped nod. “Yeah.”

  “Why the fuck’s he here?”

  He gives me a sour look. “Who the hell knows, but he is. Have you spoken to Ravi?”

  “Last we talked, he’d not seen any trace of Esteban or Santiago or the gang. My men know he’s a dead man walking.”

  Oscar nods. “Does Papá know?”

  “No,” I spit out. “He won’t know until our brother’s heart fucking stops. You know Papá would try and protect him. Tell us boys to work it out like we’re still goddamned kids. There’s no working out the fact he had my ass beat while he drugged and fucked my wife!”

  My brother stalks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. “Look at me, Duvan.”

  I snap my fiery gaze to his determined one. “What?”

  “I have your back. He doesn’t deserve to fucking live for touching her,” he snarls, the jealousy in his tone making my blood pressure spike. “Together, we keep her safe.”

  His eyes are clear and not deceptive. I trust his words. His puppy love for my wife will keep him true to his promise.

  “Don’t let him take her from me,” I growl, an ache forming in my chest.

  He scowls. “Never. Esteban won’t touch her again.”

  Tugging at my hair, I give him a tired gaze. “I’m talking about the lawn boy.”

  What the fuck happened to my girl?

  Weeks ago she was a feisty, vibrant woman with curves all over her beautiful body. Her brown eyes shone with intelligence and hope. The smile she used to reward me with is long gone.

  Brie is a shell.

  Empty and used.

  The light in her eyes is gone.

  Desperation exists there.

  Fuck!

  “Tell me what happened,” Vee urges as she strokes Brie’s messy hair.

  I clench my teeth in frustration. Brie’s so bony. Her cheeks are sunken in. Dark circles ring her dead eyes. The hoodie she’s wearing hangs off her shoulder, baring the emaciated flesh there. Rage bubbles up inside of me. My fists tighten and the urge to pummel her husband’s already bruised and swollen face is overwhelming.

  What the fuck happened here?

  “Brie…” Vee’s urges only cause her to cry more. I’m dying to push Vee over and plop down beside my girl so I can hold her.

  My girl.

  I nearly bark out a bitter laugh. She’s not mine anymore.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Brie snaps and claws at her thighs through her pants. Her lip is curled up in anger as she swats Vee away.

  Vee’s gaze meets mine and her eyes well with unshed tears.

  “What the fuck happened?” I bark out to anyone who will listen.

  Brie looks up at me, and for a brief moment, s
he resembles the young, innocent girl I once dated. Before I took her virginity, and Duvan gave her his name. When she was just a girl with no worries. Just a sad girl with a sad past.

  Now she’s much more than that.

  A broken girl.

  Dead inside.

  “Come on,” I tell her and hold my hand out to her. She seems desperate to escape Vee’s mothering. With a flicker of relief in her eyes, she lets me pull her from the sofa. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.”

  She guides us up some stairs on unsteady legs and to a small room at the end of a hallway. It’s painted bright yellow. As soon as we enter the girly space, I can see this room is hers. An office fit with an antique desk and an oversized comfy chair. Posters line the walls that remind me of her. Dirty Dancing. The Breakfast Club. Sixteen Candles. Her favorites.

  “Sit with me,” I instruct.

  The woman who was pissed and brokenhearted over my lies of who I really was is distant. This new woman is different. Harder. Sharper. Feral. She scratches at herself all over as if she’s crawling with bugs. It makes my heart physically ache for her.

  “I’m withdrawing from heroin,” she sneers when she catches me staring.

  When she doesn’t offer up any other explanation, I sit in the large chair and tug her down to sit beside me. She’s shivering so I pull her against me to warm her up. It feels right having her at my side again. Her skin is hot to the touch, and she’s far too pale for my liking. Neither of us speaks while she all but convulses as the long minutes of her recovery drag on in what feels like slow motion.

  On several occasions throughout the day, I wonder if she should go to a hospital. Duvan comes in occasionally, with tender looks for her and glares for me, to bring her medicine or to attempt to force food into her. At one point, when she started gagging when he’d popped in, he carried her off to the bathroom so she could throw up.

  I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life.

  Seeing someone so sick with need but no way to help them.

  As much as I hate her husband, I’m glad he seems to know what she needs. When she shivers, he brings her a blanket. When she complains of body aches, he offers to massage the parts that hurt or hands her ibuprofen. When she starts to sweat, he brings her ice packs and popsicles.

  All I’m good for is emotional support.

  No words are needed as she suffers.

  She just suffers.

  In suffocating silence.

  “You need to tell me what happened, Brie,” I mutter, my words soft and imploring. Oscar gave me the quick horrifying version after she’d gone to bed last night. I’ll stay in denial until I hear it from her.

  Yesterday had been awful. When she’d grown tired of hiding away in the office, Duvan took her to bed. I’d hated seeing her leave with him but she clung to his shirt as if he had the power to heal her. If he can heal her, I sure to hell hope he does and fast. My brother and my friends all wore the same matching expressions. Last night, I told them to book flights for tomorrow. With every passing moment, Brie seemed weaker and more physically exhausted. Having us here only seemed to make her recovery harder. And that’s the last thing I wanted to do. Much to my surprise, Duvan truly does have this handled.

  She swallows but doesn’t speak right away. I’m afraid she’ll ignore me altogether. But then she clears her throat and shaky words spill from her mouth. Words so vile and fucked up, I want to scoop them all up so I can crush them with my fist. She robotically recounts her life during those hazy, awful five days while I viciously attempt to keep my rage to a dull roar.

  With each horrifying thing she says, I stroke at her hair and promise her it will be okay.

  I hope to fuck that it will.

  “And now,” she says in a whisper, “the need physically hurts. I want to claw out this festering inside of me. It’s like a billion microorganisms are squirming around inside of me all begging to be fed. I want to feed them.”

  Last year, a buddy of mine from college kicked a bad heroin addiction. That shit is no joke. I’d never seen a man cry like that before. And here, my girl is suffering just like he did. But worse. Not only is she attempting to get clean, she’s also dealing with the guilt of trading sex for a hit.

  Now I completely understand the hate-filled rage in Duvan’s eyes when we came through the door. He’d thought we were Esteban. With one glance, I know that if it had been his brother, the motherfucker would have been dead on the spot.

  At least the prick is good for something.

  Even if he couldn’t protect her before, he seems dead set on trying now.

  “Do you want to come home? I could take you to my house and—”

  She sits up and regards me with teary eyes. “I am home. This is my home.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, swiping a rogue tear from her pasty cheek. “Would you like to come visit me?”

  Her laughter is not like cheerful bells as it once was. It’s cruel and mocking. “And hang out with the mother of the girl who killed my mother? No fucking thank you.”

  Once again, I want to throttle my sister for ruining every goddamned thing in her path.

  “Think about it,” I say with an edge to my voice. “Besides, I think there’s someone you might want to meet.”

  She frowns. With her this close to me, the urge to grab her face and kiss her is strong. But after the shit storm she’s been through, and our rocky “friendship” coupled with the fact that she’s fucking married now, I refrain.

  “Who?”

  I tread lightly, carefully choosing my words. “Brie, you have a sister.”

  Her face remains impassive.

  “And I think you should meet her when you feel better. She’s so cute—”

  “No.” The word comes out like a violent hiss.

  We stare at each other for a long moment before I tug her against my chest. Words are only riling her up so I simply hold her instead. She settles for this thankfully. Together we sit for hours in silence as her body shakes and shivers. Shouts and conversation, while muffled, can be heard beyond the office walls. Occasionally, the door creaks open, and Duvan checks in on her as he did yesterday bringing her food and medications once more. She lets him nurse her back to health. All I can offer is to just hold her. God, how I wish I could do more.

  And I hate that, come tomorrow, I’m going to have to let her go so he can bring the smiling girl she once was back to us.

  It’s been two long weeks of watching my wife howl and suffer from withdrawals. Fourteen torturous days of exhausting all of my resources to hunt for Esteban. Fourteen goddamned days of only getting to touch her when she falls asleep and I am able to tug her into my arms so I can sleep with her protected in my bed with me. Thankfully, my brother and his friends left after two days of visiting. It was hard on them. Seeing her lows. As much as I was eager to get that Ren fuck out of my house, I hated the way she seemed so empty afterward. Those couple of days he was here, she clung to him. Not like she wanted to fuck him or anything…but like she needed him. I want to be the only man she needs. She cried so hard when they left. Broke my fucking heart for her.

  Slowly but surely though, Brie returns to her hollow body.

  She eats a little more each day. Throws up less and less.

  Her body begins to fill out slightly and the color returns to her skin.

  I even heard her laugh a time or two with Oscar or Vee via Skype.

  I’ve kept my distance. I’ve let her chat with her friends. Email back and forth with Ren. I’ve done what my wife needs.

  And now I need to win her back.

  Sure, she’s pissed I made her detox off the heroin. I was enemy number one. Even Esteban—her fucking rapist—was more preferable to me. At least he would give her what she wanted, she’d spit at me.

  Each vicious lashing of her tongue, though, only strengthened my love for her. It grew the need to protect her. She was mine and I vowed, just like when we wed, to protect her until the day I died.

&n
bsp; I failed her once.

  I won’t fail her again.

  Footsteps pad down the hallway outside of our bedroom door, and I hope Luciano keeps quiet while she cleans. I want Brie to stay asleep in my arms all day. Each morning, she’s all too eager to escape me to sulk.

  I’ve yet to do more than hug her but now I need to let her know how I still feel about her. I need her to remember how she feels about me…before she forgets.

  I press a soft kiss to her soft, parted lips and then one to her cheek. Then along to her jaw. Along her slender throat. And on to her collar bone. When I slip a hand under her T-shirt, she lets out a sweet noise that urges me on.

  “Tigress,” I murmur against her her throat as my fingers gently pinch her nipple. “Let me love you back together again.”

  She tenses upon hearing my words, but I don’t give up. I find her mouth again. This time, I kiss her urgently. I kiss her as if she’s the drug I need. The addiction I am suffering from. At first, she resists. Her anger is still palpable. But when my palm slides down her taut stomach heading south, she lets out a gasp that has me deepening our kiss.

  When her fingers thread into my hair, I groan a sound of relief into her mouth. We can fix this. She and I can find each other again. I break away long enough to tug her T-shirt from her body. Her swollen breasts beg for attention, her small erect nipples teasing me.

  “You’re a vision unlike any other on this earth,” I tell her, my voice serious.

  Her eyes lock on mine and she lifts her hips so I can pull down her yoga pants along with her panties. Once she’s naked, I spread her open and visually feast upon my wife’s sexy cunt.

  “So perfect,” I praise, my fingertips delicately tracing a trail between her tits toward her recently shaved pussy. “Tell me this was for me…” Her cheeks turn slightly pink, and she nods. “Good,” I growl before giving her clit a tiny pinch that makes her whine with need. “I’m hungry for you, mi amor.”