This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2)

by K. Webster

  She smiles and it quickens my heart. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Her words unnerve me but I’m not sure why. She’s grinning and her eyes are shining but it’s almost too much. Like the time she told me she loved the necklace I’d bought her for Valentine’s Day, and then later admitted she didn’t wear much silver because it irritates her skin. I’d been shocked and saddened that she could lie so easily to spare my feelings. At the time, I thought it was sweet. But now, now I wonder if she’s lying to me again. To keep me calm. Why would she lie to me?

  I narrow my eyes at her and frown. “Don’t leave while I’m gone.”

  She blinks and her smile falls. “I promise I’ll be here when you get back with our food.”

  This time I do believe her.

  THE MOMENT THE door slams closed behind him, I rush to the window. Several minutes later, I see his messy dark hair blowing in the wind as he emerges from the building below and trots across the street to a busy restaurant. When he turns to look up at the hotel, I duck away from the window and locate the phone.

  He said to not leave.

  And I won’t.

  Not yet.

  Not until I call the police. I’d been biding my time alongside Brandon since the cabin. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but I’m not sticking around to find out. He’s an angry, unstable, and volatile man whom I don’t even recognize.

  Like the possessive way he behaved at the store earlier. I’d been horrified by the way he confronted that poor man for simply being nice to me. I know he’s keeping things from me. And I know he’s lying—I can feel it—and it scares the hell out of me. The way he took War’s money—it might not have been a blatant lie, but it was deceitful. Gabe may have been the psychopath in my story who dragged me into his deranged world, but Brandon’s erratic and controlling behavior fills me with the same sense of dread. And I refuse to lead a life of misery in anyone else’s steely clutches for as long as I live. I decide not to think about it too deeply, because if I do, I’ll fall apart. So, for now, I push it to the back of my mind. I need to find Land. He’ll keep me safe and help me get on my feet. We will search for my dad. Then, together, we can raise my child—his grandchild—in a non-toxic environment.

  It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet.

  I can do this.

  It doesn’t take long for me to locate the number for the Oakland PD. Quickly, I dial and try to keep my fluttering heart calm.

  “Detective Stark, please,” I mutter to the receptionist who answers. She tells me to hold and I’m soon listening to elevator music.

  “Stark speaking.”

  Her voice radiates authority and my nerves seem to hum with anxiety.

  “Umm, hi, this is Baylee Winston.”

  I hear her rushed breath come through the phone. “Miss Winston! Are you okay? Are you safe?”

  I look toward the front door of the suite, expecting to see Brandon’s angry form materializing there.

  “Um, for the moment. But I, uh, need to talk to you.”

  She shuffles some papers and her voice is serious. “You have my undivided attention. Where are you, Miss Winston?”

  I sigh and will the tears away. “San Francisco.”

  “San Francisco? Are you still with Gabriel Sharpe?”

  A tear rolls down my cheek and I sniffle. “No. I escaped, but then Brandon showed up and found me. Then, um…”

  “And then…what, Miss Winston?”

  “He—” I pause because whatever I say will implicate Brandon. The thought of him getting in trouble makes my chest ache. He may no longer be the boy I once knew, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be put away as a result of Gabe’s actions.

  “I’m listening.”

  “He died. There was a struggle…and he fell into the cellar at the cabin. The cellar where he was first holding me captive.”

  The line goes silent for a moment. “Where can we find his body, Miss Winston?”

  I rattle off directions to the cabin, as best as I can, since I don’t know the address. When I finish, she speaks again. “Can you come down to the station so we can get your statement? Or can we come to you? Where in San Francisco are you, Miss Winston?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not coming in. Well, not yet at least.” Picking up the phone receiver, I walk back over to the window to watch for Brandon.

  “Okay.” Her heavy sigh comes through the line. “Well, can you at least tell me more about the White Collar Trade group?”

  I swallow down my emotion and nod even though she can’t see me. “They were all rich men in suits. A fancy real estate company in San Diego. I don’t know any of their names except for one. Edgar Finn. He told me he would carve me up after he had his way with me and then dump me in the ocean. I’m afraid he’s hurt or done…worse to other women like me, and I don’t think he planned on stopping any time soon.”

  She’s taking notes. I can hear the scribbling of her pen on paper.

  “Miss Winston, do you know where your father is? Are you staying with him?”

  A sob catches in my throat at the mention of my dad. “No, I don’t know where he is,” I choke out. “I’m…” The last remaining shred of my loyalty to Brandon holds me back. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to God I’m doing the right thing. “We came to San Francisco to look for him. Brandon said Dad left a note stating he’d come here. But we haven’t done anything to look for him yet. He wanted to come to this fancy hotel, and—” I realize the words are rushing out of my mouth and stop to take a deep, calming breath. “He’s acting really weird. I’m scared, Ms. Stark.”

  “Rita,” she says softly, “call me Rita.”

  “I didn’t kill War, you know. Brandon told me you guys think I did, but I didn’t,” I tell her firmly as hot tears roll down my cheeks. “I loved him. So much. Gabe came back for me and shot him, Rita. There was so much blood…he didn’t deserve it. He was sick and that kind of death was the worst possible way for him to go.”

  “Honey,” Rita says, her voice growing firm, despite the pet name, “Mr. McPherson’s not dead. He’s alive. I spoke to him today at the hospital.”

  My heart stops. My world spins and I grab on to the frame around the window to keep from collapsing. “W—What?” I whisper, not trusting my voice. Alive. Alive. Alive. My War is alive. “I don’t understand. Brandon told me he died.”

  “Really? He was touch and go there for the first day, from what I understand. He was in critical condition. Suffered a bullet wound to the chest, but no, Baylee. They expect him to make a full recovery. He’s very worried about you, in fact.”

  My choked gasp is the last thing that comes over the line as quiet sobs wrack my entire body. With my back to the wall, I lower myself to the floor, no longer able to support the weight of my own body.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I don’t know if I am saying it to Detective Stark or God or whoever, but in the midst of hell, this news is heaven.

  “I’m so sorry you didn’t know, honey. We’ve been trying to reach you.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “I personally questioned Mr. Thompson about the attempted murder of Mr. McPherson, though, so he was aware that Warren didn’t die. I’m concerned that he may know more about the disappearance of your father than he’s letting on. Tell me where you are so I can come get you, Baylee. I have reason to believe you’re in danger.”

  My hands begin to tremble and my heart thunders in my chest as if it may burst out at any moment. “He killed Gabe,” I blurt out. “He pushed him into the cellar.”

  “Get out, now,” she orders. “Find a public place and call me. I’ll call the San Francisco PD and have them pick you up until I can get there.”

  My mind races with thoughts of War. I need to get to him. To touch him and kiss him. To see if her claims are true.

  My breathing is completely out of control. I’m heaving breaths as if I just finished running a marathon. “He’s at Fisherman’s Wharf at one of
the restaurants, picking up dinner. I can leave now before he gets back but I have to go now.”

  “Call me as soon as you—”

  I hang up the phone and rush over to the shopping bags. I’d purchased a backpack to carry my clothes. Quickly, I unzip it and rip the stuffing from it. I shove my purse and a few of the new clothes into it. Finding his duffel bag, I search for the pictures of my family, which he’d put in there. I snag those too and then zip my backpack up.

  Pulling my hoodie over my head, I tuck my hair inside and shoulder the bag. War’s alive. The love of my life and father of my child survived being shot. I need to get to him. With Brandon on his way back any time, I have to make every second count. I avoid the elevators and head for the stairwell. I sprint down four flights of stairs, ignoring the ache in my calves and the wooziness in my head. When I reach the bottom, I peek my head out the doorway.

  Brandon is striding into the lobby with a bag full of to-go containers in one arm and a bundle of red roses in the other. He’s smiling, like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, and it causes a slight pang in my chest for my friend. The old Brandon. But he’s no longer here.

  Once he disappears into the elevator, I bolt from the stairwell and past the receptionist. The moment I make it outside, I veer to the right and trot down the sidewalk in search of a cab.

  Cabs are everywhere so I quickly hail one and hop inside as soon as it stops.

  “San Diego,” I blurt out, “hurry!”

  The dark-skinned man turns and glares at me. “Too far. I don’t leave San Francisco.”

  I jerk my head over my shoulder and look back at the entrance of the hotel. There’s no sign of Brandon, but I know it won’t be long.

  “Fine,” I huff out, “take me to the bus station. Please hurry!”

  He grumbles but peels out and into the traffic. I keep my eyes affixed on the hotel until it becomes a blur. Brandon hadn’t emerged yet. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag into the backseat of the cab, but I know it’s not over. He’s going to be furious once he realizes I ran.

  It took everything in me to kiss him and smile at him when I wanted to shake him. For trying to control me. For lying to me. For hiding things from me.

  He hid the biggest thing of all.

  War.

  Had I known War was still alive, I certainly wouldn’t have been sitting at that cabin with him and Gabe. I would’ve been in War’s arms. Kissing away his pain.

  The tears start and they don’t stop, despite the annoyed looks the cab driver sends my way. I cry the entire way to the bus station.

  The bus ride was several hours long but I managed to get in a nap. My sleep was disturbed, though, with interchanging images of both Brandon and Gabe. Each were taking their turns violating me. In the dream, War was dead and bloody. I couldn’t speak or move or cry. All I could do was stare into their eyes—a demented set of coffee-colored ones alternating with an evil set of greens—as they relentlessly fucked me.

  When an old lady woke me up to tell me we were near the bus station, I’d screamed. Actually screamed in terror. She’d scurried off, surely in a hurry to get away from the crazy, screaming teenager on the bus.

  Now, I’m sitting in the back of another cab with the side of my head on the cold glass. It’s after midnight and I’m still on a mission to get to the hospital.

  “We’re here,” the cab driver grunts out.

  I dive my hands into my purse, inside my backpack, and pull out the last of the cash I had left over from the shopping trip with Brandon earlier in the day. After I shove a few bills into his hands and tell him to keep the change, I climb out of the cab and practically limp into the hospital. My entire body aches from the exertion. I’m sure it doesn’t help that all I’ve had to eat today since lunch was a Snickers bar I’d procured from the bus station vending machine. I can barely keep my eyes open but the adrenaline fuels me in my effort to find War.

  “I’m looking for Warren McPherson,” I say to an older woman manning the front desk. Her long grey hair is pulled into a ponytail and she looks up at me with kind eyes.

  “Sure honey,” she chirps, way too friendly for as late as it is. “Looks like he’s in room 1200.” The same number as his alarm code back home.

  1-2-0-0

  He’s alive. A feeling of warmth that I hadn’t felt since Gabe ripped me away from War coats my insides at hearing that room number.

  My heart flutters in my chest and I beam at her. “Thank you!”

  “Wait,” she says, and then frowns. “Visiting hours were over three and a half hours ago. I’m afraid I can’t let you go back there.”

  The emotions from the past four months overwhelm me and I burst into tears. Loud, ugly sobs. She quickly stands and comes out from behind the desk to pull me into a hug.

  “Oh, honey.”

  “He—he—he doesn’t know he’s going to be a father…please,” I tell her through my tears. “I thought he was dead. I need to see him. Please.”

  She pats my head and pulls away, gracing me with a kind smile. “Come on,” she says in a whisper. “It’s my break. I’ll take you there. You’ve been through a lot, honey. That much I can see.”

  I hug her back to me. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  With her arm over my shoulder, she guides me down the complicated web of hallways and to his room. The hallway is dim. His door is pushed forward, but not shut. “Go on, honey. Go see your man,” she says and winks, “but if they catch you in there, you tell them you snuck in there yourself.”

  Nodding profusely, I thank her one more time before slipping into the dark room. The sound of a heart monitor is music to my ears because it confirms he’s alive, just like Rita had said. But panic sets in. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s regressed and the thought of my touch horrifies him? I swallow down my fears and take a few steps into the room. Peeking my head around the corner, I nearly cry out with joy.

  My War.

  His large frame fills the entire bed and a simple white blanket covers him. He’s wearing a standard hospital gown and his hair’s a mess. I crave to smooth it out of his eyes and rain kisses all over his beautiful face.

  Approaching slowly, I shed my backpack along the way. I drop it to the floor and take his warm hand in mine.

  “Oh, God,” I barely choke out before sobs wrack through my entire body.

  He jerks slightly, waking up. His full lashes fluttering to reveal the navy-colored eyes that complete my existence. The entire world fades away except for the both of us, two halves of a perfect whole. Two magnets drawn together by unmeasurable forces. “Bay?” his sleepy voice rasps out. “Is this a dream?”

  My eyes find his half-lidded ones and my tears blur the man before me for a moment. “Not a dream. I’m here and you’re alive.”

  His hand squeezes around mine and he tugs me to him. Bliss. All I know is this is bliss. My heart, so broken and bloody, is rapidly healing with every second in his presence. I blink a few times to let the tears escape and he comes back into view.

  “Thank God,” he murmurs and pulls me until our faces are inches apart. “I’ve been going out of my fucking mind worrying about you. God I’ve missed you.”

  I drop my lips to his and kiss him tenderly. His lips aren’t soft like usual, they’re cracked and dry but they’re perfection to me. I’ve missed them so much. We remain barely touching—simply inhaling one other. He’s hurt and I’m afraid I’ll make it worse if I even move. But then his fingers thread into my hair and he palms the back of my skull, pulling me closer. The hunger—the all-consuming urgency—explodes through him and I fall into him. Just like each and every time. I can’t help but get swept up in the incredible hurricane that is him. He pulls me into the eye of his storm where it’s safe and calm. War loves me with the gentleness no other can give to me while the chaos ensues around us.

  When I let out a happy sigh, his tongue dives into my mouth and he tastes me as if I’m the most delectable thing he’s ever had
the pleasure of tasting. I slide my fingers over his cheek that’s sporting a few days’ worth of scruff and kiss him deeper. His mouth has a way of wiping away all the hurt and pain, and instead filling me with hope and love.

  When we part, my face is cupped in his hands and he holds it a few inches from his, his eyes flitting all over me. “I need you closer,” he murmurs against my lips. “Get into the bed with me.”

  I kick off my tennis shoes and delicately climb in next to him. His arm wraps around my back as he hugs me to him.

  “I’m afraid to touch you,” I murmur, my fingertips delicately dancing along his flesh as if he might disappear at any moment. “War, I thought you were dead and that…that…” I shudder in his arms.

  He strokes my hair and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Shhh. I’m here, Bay, and I’m not going anywhere. As long as you’re here, I’ll make it through this. How did you get away from him? What did he do to you?”

  More tears spill out and I shudder in his arms. “He hurt me…again, but he’s gone. Don’t worry about me. We’re together now.”

  I tilt my head up to look at him. His stormy blue eyes are devouring my appearance. I hope he can’t see the horrible memories of what Gabe did inside my head. If he knew that Gabe raped me, he’d probably be disgusted. I’d become tainted in his eyes. Filthy. Like the infectious bacteria he so ferociously avoids. I want to enjoy this moment. I know it’s a conversation we need to have. But I can’t put those images in his mind. I can’t bear the thought of rehashing the events of the last two days right now. Not when I just managed to escape.

  When I find his eyes in the darkness, they are looking at me studiously. He sighs and nods slowly. “Okay,” he whispers as if he recognizes the fact that any questions he dares to ask should be asked with caution. Because he isn’t going to like the answers. “You’re safe now, beautiful. When I get out of here, we can go back home where I’m never letting you go.”

  Home.

  War is my home.

  “My mom died,” I tell him, my chin quivering. “This whole time she’s been dead, and I never knew. I went to her gravesite. God, I miss her.”