Where She Belongs (The Forever Collection Book 1)

by Dani Wyatt

  Wake up. Wake the hell up so that they can kill me. If they do, I won’t have to look at you for another day. When I die, we die . . . or the beautiful disaster we could have been will die. For one fucking moment, the empty space in my chest felt a beat—a warmth—and now it’s ice again. But, that’s for the best. I was never cut out for this. For you.

  Lilly’s eyes moved beneath the thin veil of her lids. Without a hint of surprise, she looked at Flynn as though she’d expected him to be there, her focused glow of green and gold on him like a cheetah deciding which angle of attack would be most efficient.

  “I hate you.” She went straight for the kill.

  “I know.” Flynn sucked in some air, the sound of her voice weaving a noose around his neck.

  Flynn caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over her bed, his face cast in half-shadow by the moon. He looked like a man who had nothing to lose.

  “I love you,” Flynn whispered.

  “I know.” Lilly’s eyes keened on him, her voice sadly resigned.

  “Come with me. Right now, we’ll disappear.”

  Flynn knew it was pure folly, but he was about to die, so he let his fantasy take flight in the streaks of moonlight that filled the air between them.

  Flynn Dunleavy—the bastard son of the infamous Colin Dunleavy, marked by his mother's hot green eyes and his father’s elegant symmetry of features. He was equal parts lean fighting-thug and Detroit, mob royalty.

  “That’s impossible. I’m already invisible. I don’t exist. And soon, you won’t either.” Lilly brushed the tangle of waves and curls off her translucent pink cheeks as she shifted under the stark white bedding and leaned, half sitting, against the pile of pillows at her back.

  “Why haven’t you screamed yet?”

  “I’m playing with you. Isn’t that why you’re here?” The forced cheerfulness in her voice shining light on the hopelessness it tried to hide. “What made you decide to speak to me? I’ve gotten used to the silent stare. I think I’ve enjoyed wondering what’s been going on inside that head of yours more than actually knowing.”

  He watched her hands pull at the covers, then wrap around the lush curve of her waist. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, to silence the insecurity that told her somehow her glorious soft lines made her less-than.

  “It took me a long time to decide what to say is all.”

  “It’s been almost a month since you spoke to me.”

  “I had a lot to think about.”

  Flynn could see the almost imperceptible movement of her pulse just below her jaw. His own blood rushed downward, filling the length under his pants even as he realized that he would die without ever discovering the dream of binding himself to her.

  “So, you’re here. All I have to do is scream, and they'll come. It will take them a few seconds to get through the locks, but it won’t be enough time for you to get away. After a month of thinking, do you have anything interesting to say?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered. He could see the way the blood flushed and blotched over the swell of her chest. Her hair, an utter mess, only made him want her more. And, the way she looked so fragile yet so fierce told the story of the years that had molded both of them into the broken soldiers of their family duty.

  “No.” Flynn choked on the word because he had so much to say, and yet nothing to say.

  Come with me, I need you more than air. I’ll carry you through thorns and storms and the highest mountains until they can’t find us. I’ll make love to you until you can’t remember what it was like for us to be apart. I’ll put walls around you, choke with razor wire any fuck who comes near you until the world understands this is a bridge not to be crossed. I’ll taste you until your flavor becomes part of me, root inside you until your belly swells and your smile never leaves your lips. I’ll leave a path of destruction behind us with all the faces of those who made you what you are now . . . who caused your indifference, your heart to forget to beat, lest you feel anything.

  “Two poison vials and we could be yet another star-crossed lovers’ tragic story. Only, we never got to be lovers, not really.” Lilly fisted the white sheets in her hands.

  It became difficult to take a breath. The word ‘lovers’ coming from her rose-petal pink lips creating in him an entirely new level of need.

  “Maybe I don’t scream.” Lilly’s voice turned flat. “Maybe we die together. You snap my neck like you did to that boy, then throw yourself off the tower onto the patio. That would be a fitting end, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe.” Flynn locked his gaze with hers, his tension showing in the notch of his eyebrows.

  “Could you imagine?” She shrugged. “What a war you could start; it would almost be worth dying for. Our fathers, once united in their pursuit of all things evil and profit-making, turning against each other in mutual blame and hatred. Neither of them able to claim the prize of fortune I hold inside my head. What a tale it would be back in Ireland. We would be legend. Folktales filled with angst and heartbreak, all about us. They would have to embellish, of course. Lovers have to be lovers, after all.”

  The gentle lilt of her accent made Flynn think of running away with her, back to the stone cottages and fields of a world far away.

  “If you love, you’re lovers.” Flynn looked at the floor, not sure he’d even said the words out loud.

  “People like us don’t love. We don’t get happy endings. That’s what you told me the day you picked me up off the front steps. Remember? Colin came out, told the driver to let me carry my own bags, then showed me exactly how he would love me. You—as silent as you are now—watching as he split my lip and kissed my forehead. My future husband, the man I thought loved me enough to bring me halfway around the world and make me the happiest girl ever.” Lilly tipped her head and put her hands under her chin like a bad actress.

  “You changed my mind.”

  Lilly ignored him as she looked at the ceiling, then settled her jaguar-green eyes on his.

  “I remember precisely what you said. You helped me up, then told me, ‘Did you plan on Prince Charming, Cinderella? This place ain’t no fucking fairy tale. There’s no love here. Welcome to hell.’ ”

  “A lot’s changed since then. I changed. You changed.”

  “No, nothing’s changed. You were right, about everything. I’m the princess in the tower, right? My own father abdicating my care to a man with hands and heart as cold as ice. Then, there’s you. What do you want from me? I have nothing for you. What we could have been was exactly what you told me not to believe in. A fairy tale. This is a tragedy. Everyone dies in the end.” Her smile, as dark as the sky, still lit up the room, and Flynn felt his own heart pound against the wall of his chest. He felt sick.

  “I want to die.” Flynn fought to keep his voice steady. “I’ve seen enough people die, I’m not scared. Hell will be better than this. I know that’s where I’m going for the things I’ve done. I could have been everything to you, everything you want, everything you need. You fucking belong to me even if I never get to have you.”

  A creak on the floor boards outside the door drew their eyes.

  The slow, steady steps faded, and Flynn watched Lilly’s chest begin to rise and fall again.

  She reached for the cut crystal glass on her nightstand, the resting vessel for the amber liquid she kept hidden in a shoe box on top of the mahogany armoire.

  “I’m not going to scream.” Lilly looked out the window and took the last sip from her glass.

  Flynn leaned forward, trying to catch his breath, imagining how it would have felt to be inside of her, two souls melting into a bliss only reserved for those willing to risk indescribable pain. He could smell her subtle scent in the air. It rippled his skin and made the room seem too warm.

  When he raised his own emerald eyes, Lilly sat staring at her hands, playing with the gold band on her right ring finger, a reminder of the mother she wished would have protected her. But, still the one person in the world she lo
ved.

  “I want you to live.” The ice in her voice melted.

  Flynn strained to hear as her voice softened until he could barely make out the words. “I want to keep you around as a reminder of just how close I came to real danger, the kind of danger that only comes when you allow yourself to be seduced by what could have been. By fairy tales.”

  Flynn let out another long breath, both hands rubbing over his head before settling on his face. He felt the weight of their sadness, their obligations and secrets. The room felt like it was filling with ice water, both of them freezing and suffocating and unwilling to swim to safety.

  “Did you hear me?” The cut in her voice brought him back to the moment.

  “What?”

  “I’ll let you live if you make me a promise.”

  I’m not sure I want to live. I came here to die. I was ready—now my heart is beating again.

  “What?” Flynn felt the wave of sick grip his gut.

  “Don’t come back here. Don’t think of us. Pretend I’m dead . . . or you will be.”

  The crystalline reflection of a single gathering of salt water in the corner of her eye wrapped wire around Flynn’s slowly thumping heart. His fingertips were cold and the room warmer with every second he let his eyes stay on hers.

  She held his life in her hands. He’d come here to die. He’d already decided. One scream from her and it would be over.

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Flynn didn’t bother to whisper. He was done playing.

  The gathered tear found its way down the ripe warmth of her cheek, and a sardonic smile curved the fullness of those beautiful lips.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Flynn closed the ten feet between them and took those lips from her, tasting the flavor that haunted his dreams every night since she took his hand that day on the front steps.

  Her taste crashed over him. When he released her, the sound of her scream echoed inside the mansion loud enough to raise the roof. Within a minute, the room filled with the sound of footfalls from the hall and the click of the locks opening from outside her gilded prison.

  And let it all be done.

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  PROLOGUE

  Beckett

  {10 years old}

  “Dad–“

  My lungs feel like the flames have moved inside. I hand him my sister in her charcoal-smeared unicorn pajamas.

  “Why?” Dad’s voice is raw, his eyes full of hate. “Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you, I told you—” He buries his face into my sister’s tiny body only to raise his eyes and ask me the question I don’t want to answer. “Where is your mother? You didn’t even try, did you? You didn’t even try!” He scans the crowd, desperate, screaming at the men in yellow suits. “My wife’s in there! She’s still in there, please, please God, help her . . . someone . . . please.”

  I remember my science fair project is sitting on the kitchen table. I have to turn it in tomorrow. I need him to be proud of me.

  Last year, he helped me make an electromagnet—a super, duper one—and he tried to hide the tears when I won the blue ribbon for the best project out of every fourth grader in the Upper Cleveland School District.

  Two paramedics rush toward me.

  “Get him in the ambulance.” One of them yells as they grab at me, lifting me off my feet then strapping me down. “Call ahead to Children’s Hospital burn unit.”

  That was the day I realized the pain that comes from outside is nothing comparted to the pain that comes from inside. That was the day my childhood ended.

  Chapter One

  Beckett

  {Eight Years Later}

  ”Rent is due on the first. But you know there are alternative ways for you to pay.” Denise is more cougar than landlord.

  I know, because I fucking hear half the other tenants giving you their ‘rent’ through the paper thin walls. I don’t have that much experience with women, but I think I know enough to know that Denise is loud.

  Her dime store, blue eyeshadow and the ever present snapping piece of Wrigley’s Spearmint are signatures of my landlord who has not stopped trying to seduce me since I moved in.

  She’s Mrs. Robinson with red hair and a tramp stamp.

  I’m unfortunately in the room next to hers and the sound of her bed denting the plaster wall must be heard in all seven bedrooms plus the kitchen of this makeshift boarding house on the low rent end of Cleveland’s ass.

  I mean, come on. All that noise is distracting as fuck. I have zero interest in her, but I can imagine if you were riding that ride all that fucking noise would be a boner killer.

  She’s sitting on my bed thinking that come-hither look might get her what she wants this month. Sorry champ, no can do.

  I can’t keep my eyes off the clock.

  7:41 AM.

  Wrap it up, Mrs. Robinson.

  “I’ll have the rent by tomorrow.” I take a step toward the bathroom hoping she will take the hint and get herself gone. I needed my ass in the shower five minutes ago when she let herself into my room in search of her ‘rent’.

  “You . . .” She points to me, making that single word sound like an accusation.

  Denise is propped up on my threadbare pillows, checking her manicure and snapping on a fresh piece of Wrigley’s. Her tits are motionless, silicone coconuts standing unnaturally high on her torso and half spilling out of her halter top.

  Personally, I prefer whatever size mother nature designed. I’ll take a double A true-blue over triple D fakery any day.

  “You’re gonna get me in trouble, you know that? I shoulda never rented you this room.”

  A touch of her Brooklyn roots comes through.

  “How am I going to get you in trouble?” I put one hand on my forehead and one on my chin and jerk my head around. The twist and the pop pop pop as much a part of my morning routine as taking a piss.

  I blow out a breath, feeling the momentary pressure-release the neck cracking gives. I’ll do that twenty times today. I have to.

  “People talk. And, I don’t even want to know what Leon would do if he thought something was going on. If he found out, we’re both dead. That lady in that back bedroom looks like a bible thumper. She might stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.” Denise’s shrill voice rakes on my nerves. “Everyone sees me come in here.” Denise adjusts her tits and I do my best to not roll my eyes.

  “You come in here because you let yourself in here. That doesn’t mean shit. And there’s nothing to find out.” I’m tired of this game, I have places to be but I need to not get my ass evicted either.

  “Well, there’s talk. I hear them whispering. That’s just as good as it actually happening, so why don’t we just . . .” She pats a spot on my bed next to her. Now I’m going to have to change the sheets, no way I’m laying myself down where she’s been.

  I want to tell her if she didn’t howl like a fucking hyena on a fresh carcass everytime someone fucked her, maybe half the neighborhood wouldn’t know she lets half the male residents who rent rooms here know she’s getting boned twice a day and three times on Saturday.

  Why I don’t have a better sense of self-preservation, I’m not sure. I should have been an asshole to her right from the get go. I should have seen this coming. I think the only reason she rented me the room was because she had on cock-colored glasses when she saw me.

  But, if anything was going on, she’s right about Leon. He would probably kill me first, then kill her with my dead body.

  I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower, shutting the door as much as I can because this place is so old and crooked, the door won’t close all the way. But, her mention of her boyfriend leave me with an uneasy feeling.

  “You said Leon got picked up last night, right?” I have to yell over the rush of the shower as I stick my hand in to check the temperature. I drop my jeans which I’d slipped into when I got out of bed before Denise decided to make
herself at home.

  The steam is hanging in clouds and beginning to mist the mirror that is cracked like an old road map. Whoever mounted it must have been on their knees or ten years old. All I can see in it is the bottom of the shiny, textured skin on my left shoulder and the cut of my abs . . . along with the shadows of my ribs.

  I need some groceries.

  I like this mirror. My face is not my best feature.

  I step into the shower trying to keep my thoughts about the day in check.

  “Yep, he got picked up at the Diablo’s. That biker bar on 2nd.” I hear her raising her voice and the squeak of the bed springs just when I lean back into the steaming water, squirting shampoo into my hand.

  Denise’s sharp voice makes me jump as she pokes her head around the shower curtain, her eyes shamelessly settling down below my waist with a wicked grin.

  Fucking crazy woman, get out. I’ve got real life happening today.

  “He’s in holding at county.” She glances up over my chest, avoiding my face, then back down. “Two warrants and he won’t see the judge ’til Monday.” She’s snapping her gum, and each time she does it my neck twitches.

  “Do you mind?” She’s never pushed the limits this far and I would never hit a woman but I’m getting fucking pissed.

  My twitching is nothing new, but she’s not helping. Today isn’t just another day. It’s when a judge decides what I already know. That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself without help from the State of Ohio.

  Don’t climb in here with me, please.

  I lay my head back into the stream of hot water and close my eyes. Luckily, when I look again, her face is gone.

  I throw on the one dress shirt I own and a worn pair of khakis. It’s the best I’ve got, and it’s been my standard uniform for the many days I’ve found myself visiting the fifth district court over the years.

  One swipe of my fingers through my hair and I’m ready. I can’t see myself in the damn mirror without bending down, but I’m sure I’m as presentable as need be. I grab my backpack, double check my files and sketchbook are inside, then deep breath, and I’m on my way. My hand is on the door, my mind already halfway down the street.