ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5)

by Kristina Weaver

  “All I wanted was my job and Bee. That’s all I wanted…and you took her from me.”

  That lonely whisper brings tears of pity to my eyes because, as Bee had said, Eric is not a bad person, he’s just simply lost his way. The fact that he blames me for his failed relationship tells me loud and clear how far he’s fallen, and I almost want to comfort him for the loss I see lining his pale face.

  “Eric…you can still—”

  “There’s nothing left!” he yells suddenly, landing a kick to my ribs. “You fucking told her to leave me, and then that boyfriend of yours took away my job! If he hadn’t…I could have convinced her to take me back.”

  The pain in my ribs doubles me over, and I dry heave into the gravel, coming to my hands and knees in a desperate attempt to get away. Eric lands another kick, this one hitting me in the small of the back to send me sprawling face down.

  “Where you going, bitch?”

  I hear it then, that sing-song quality that tells me he’s gone from pure anger to enjoyment as I roll over in pain and lay panting, defeated by his cruelty.

  “You think I’ll let you off this roof alive? Bianca’s already gone. She’s gonna call the cops, and I’m as good as dead. I might as well just do this thing. At least I won’t be the only one losing.”

  My mind races, and for some reason, I think about Vincent and his brush off. And the meeting that I’ll never get to tomorrow. I want so badly just to see him one more time that I almost sob with regret.

  I know now that, despite the short time and his evasions, his reluctance to let me get to know him, I’ve fallen into that place that’s not quite love, but close enough to regret not getting any further.

  If we’d had just half a chance, I know that I would be head over heels for the guy. As it is, I’m enough of a sap to be seeing his face before I die.

  “Please, please don’t do this,” I beg, puffing wildly as I stare up at him and the barrel of the gun. “We were friends. I danced at your parents’ anniversary party and helped you clean up afterward. I held your hand in the emergency room when Bee fell on the ice and broke her foot. We’re friends.”

  His hand wavers for the briefest second, giving me hope, enough hope to pull air into my oxygen-starved lungs. He pauses and looks down at me, seeming to consider my plea, and I lie frozen, waiting, praying that he’s reliving the good times we all had. The laughter. Sharing pizza and beer while he yells at the basketball game on the tube.

  Please, God, just help me. If he pulls that trigger it will kill Bee. And Mama and Daddy.

  We stay that way for precious seconds, me frozen and praying, him staring at me dazedly, as if he’s seeing every happy time we’ve shared. Just when I think he’s going to lower the gun and let me go I hear the sound of wailing sirens and groan, crying silently when he stiffens and gets the nastiest look on his face.

  He’s on me in the next second, and I cry out, feeling my eyebrow split and gush a stream of blood into my eye when the butt of the gun hits me.

  “You’re a lying whore just like her! I loved her! And she threw me away like garbage because you couldn’t keep your nose where it belongs,” he rages, grabbing me by the throat and squeezing till I thrash for air. “My only regret is that I can’t take that bitch with us.”

  I know in that instant: I’m going to die.

  He lowers the gun and shoves it directly into my forehead, the barrel digging into the skin between my eyes. I close them, feeling tears of terror leaking out, and can’t help a gasping plea.

  “Please.”

  I’m fully prepared now, ready to die, when I hear a thump and feel the weight leave me along with the pressure at my throat.

  “You piece of shit! You touch what’s mine!”

  I’m dragging in big gulps of air as I roll to the left and open my eyes, shocked when I see Vincent pounding the ever loving hell out of Eric. The gun is somewhere to their left, near enough that I see Eric’s hand stretch out amid the pounding his head is taking on the gravel, and curl.

  “He’s got a gun!”

  At my croaked warning Vincent deflects just in time, but gets coldcocked by a right hook that sends him sprawling. Eric rolls and staggers to his feet, weaving, his face a mass of blood and quickly purpling bruises.

  The relief I feel at this last hour salvation dies a quick death when he smiles savagely and points the gun back at me.

  “No!”

  What happens next should be over in the blink of an eye, but I see it all as if in slow motion. Vincent is up and running, his big body slamming into Eric’s, pushing forward, gaining momentum till they’re carried to the edge of the roof.

  “Vincent!”

  My heart almost stops completely when they slam into the edge, but I am saved from desolation when he twists at the last minute and throws himself to the side.

  A bloodcurdling scream fills the air a moment before a sickening thud reverberates around us, and I realize that Eric has gone over.

  The shock and overwhelming relief to be alive, that Vincent is still alive, overtakes my overtaxed senses, and I collapse back to the asphalt, feeling the freezing air for the first time since leaving my bed.

  “Dove! Jesus. Dove, look at me!”

  I’m in his arms a moment later, and I feel great, effervescent with thankfulness even as my nerves protest his tight embrace and the sensation of his lips mashing down on my bloody mouth.

  “I thought, Jesus, I could hear everything through the phone on the way here. I didn’t think I’d make it.”

  Me either, I think, kissing him back despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood filling our mouths. I thought I’d never see him again, and now that I am, I feel like sobbing with joy.

  He’s here. He saved me.

  “You did.”

  It’s all I can say before great shudders of pain and shock wrack me. Police start streaming onto the roof from the access door to the right, and I hear them shouting and cursing.

  “I’m not wearing any pants.”

  So strange to think of something so silly at a time like this, but I’m modest by nature, and I can’t stand the thought of being on display for half of the NYPD. I’m immensely grateful when he lowers me to the ground and whips his sweater off, laying it over my frozen limbs.

  “I don’t think I’ll make that meeting tomorrow,” I say brokenly as he leans over me and cradles my face gently.

  He smiles softly, his green eyes suspiciously shiny, and presses a kiss to my nose.

  “Not to worry, dove. I think it’s safe to say I’ll come to you,” he croons, laying a shaking hand to my uninjured cheek.

  “Bee—”

  “Is just fine, dove. I’ve got you now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Those words give me the release I need, and I give in to the temptation to close my eyes and drift off, warm and secure in the arms of my lover.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wake in the hospital, feeling groggy and out of sorts. My mouth is dry and throbbing, and when I open my eyes it takes me a second to realize that my vision isn’t damaged so much as one of my eyes won’t open.

  Goddamned Eric. I hope that asshole gets locked in a jail cell with Attila the Hun’s brother Killer. Or maybe not. I still feel sorry for him, especially when I remember the sorrow I’d seen when he’d spoken of Bee.

  He’d looked so broken and lost—

  But he would have killed her too, Sissy, remember? He said so just before he shoved that gun between your eyes.

  I feel slightly better and turn my head, groaning at the lance of pain that shoots through it and sets up shop somewhere in my frontal lobe. I’ve never been attacked before—my daddy is way too protective and mean for that shit to have ever happened—and I highly recommend avoiding it.

  It’s laughable how women in the movies get beat up and walk away from it so easily. I feel like a tank took a long, slow ride over every part of my body.

  “Ssh, don’t move so much. You’ll rip your
stitches,” I hear from my right, and I turn my head to see Vincent rising from a little plastic chair.

  He’s beside me in a heartbeat and cradling my face. It feels ten times its normal size and throbs like it’s got its own heartbeat. Man, I must look like Frankenstein’s monster.

  “Vincent?”

  “Ssh dove, everything’s all right. You’re in the hospital, and you’re…just fine,” he says calmly, though I see he’s upset in the way his fists clench before his hands unfurl to stroke my face.

  “Water. Please,” I rasp, feeling my tongue lodge and stick to the roof of my mouth.

  He grabs a cup and holds it to my mouth, cradling my head gently as I sip desperately at the icy cold liquid. Someone must have made sure to add ice, because hospital water is usually tepid and tastes of corpses.

  “Thanks.”

  My throat hurts, reminding me of Eric’s beefy paws and the unholy power of his grip, those clawlike fingers as they’d choked me nigh to death.

  It’s silly, but I feel just as afraid for a split second as I did when it had happened, and I hear a frantic beeping.

  “Calm, dove. There you go, nice, steady breaths,” Vincent croons, stroking my hair until I’ve managed to get control of myself.

  I look over and realize I’m hooked up to one of those heart rate monitor things and that every time I have an episode he’ll hear it. I grab onto the wires attached to my chest and pull, ripping them away.

  “Hey, no, dove—”

  “Vincent, I appreciate your concern here, seriously I do, but if you don’t let me get out of bed for a shower I’m gonna have a fit,” I say, distracting both him and myself.

  It’s true, I need a shower to wash away the horror I still feel crawling over my skin, and I know Vincent: if I don’t give him something to focus on right now, he’ll go all heavy on me.

  I can’t deal with that right now, not and stay sane with the thoughts bombarding me.

  “No. The nurses gave you a sponge bath already, and I combed your hair while you were sleeping. What we need to do right now is talk about—”

  Ew, the thought of some stranger touching my junk makes me sick, but the thought of talking about what had happened…even worse.

  “I don’t—”

  “He got away, dove,” he interrupts, giving me a hard look that tells me to shut up and listen. “He fell onto the fire escape, and by the time the police got there he was gone. That animal is running around, free, at this very moment, so I need you to talk to me.”

  Everything inside me shudders to a stop, and I feel something eerily similar to hysteria bubble up my throat.

  “But…I heard him fall. How didn’t he die?” I rasp.

  Uncharitable, Sissy. No one deserves to die that way, and you know it.

  Yeah, but at this point in time, with my face looking like hamburger meat and beating like a drum, I don’t care. If he’s out there and armed…

  “You need to call Jeffrey Parker and tell him to get Bee. She’s not safe—”

  Vincent calms me by laying a gentle finger to my lips and stroking my hair, his eyes so somber they’re a dark, forest green.

  “I already did. Her parents flew in this morning and have her surrounded by bodyguards. Jeff has taken it upon himself to hire help and is currently scouring the city, along with my own men. Don’t fret, dove, we’ll find him before he can do more damage.”

  “He’s gone crazy, Vincent… Did you really get him fired?” I ask, remembering Eric’s accusations.

  This whole mess had started when he’d lost his job, and while I appreciate Vincent going to bat for Bee, I can’t help but think this could have all been avoided if he hadn’t gotten involved.

  “Yes. I called Barney Smythe. He’s an old friend. The man was reaching the end of his rope with Brennan’s behaviour around the women in his office… He was going to get fired anyway, dove, so don’t you look at me that way,” he warns.

  My face reddens, throbbing more with the introduction of more blood to the sensitive tissues, and I duck my head, fighting back tears.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

  Afraid and hurt and so happy that he’s here right now.

  Yeah, but don’t forget that he’s not yours anymore, a little voice whispers. You broke up with him for a reason.

  “Let’s just focus on getting you better, dove. Everything else can wait,” he says softly, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to the only place on my face that isn’t iffy. My nose.

  “We still need to talk,” I say dully, watching him flinch minutely before his face blanks.

  “We will.”

  ***

  “You’re coming home, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t have my baby vulnerable to the mercies of a madman!”

  I wince and look at Vincent, seeing his face go hard as marble. My parents have flown in just this morning and stormed Castle Blake with every intention of getting me home and behind the walls of my father’s well secured ranch.

  I’ll be safe there. The place is more secure than the White House, thanks to Daddy’s obsession with Mama’s safety. The poor woman can’t tend her vegetable garden without tripping over a ranch hand.

  My whole childhood had been just as restrictive, and while I’m afraid and in need of that security, it makes me shudder to think of going back to that gilded cage.

  That’s why I can’t understand why it’s Mama throwing around her weight now. For a woman who knows how stifling the ranch is, she’s way too intent on getting me back there.

  “I fully understand your thinking, Mrs Bennet, but I have already put security measures in place for Cecelia. We—”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn if you’ve got the fucking secret service skulking around in the shadows! My daughter is coming home with her daddy and me where I can keep an eye on her.”

  Uh-oh. I recognize that tone. It’s the same one I heard when she caught me sneaking back into the house one morning after I’d gone partying with Mary Clinton my senior year.

  The ‘bad seed’ of the town had taken a shine to me, thanks to my car and the fact that I could sponsor her drink money. That had been one of the worst nights of my life, realizing that I had no chance at being friends with someone as shunned as Mary.

  And then, to make matters worse, I’d been grounded for a solid month.

  “Well, Thanksgiving is right around the corner,” I say, not wanting an argument to erupt between Daddy and Vincent.

  He’s seated right beside me on the sofa, keeping my ankle elevated and immobile, and I feel him stiffen as he glares defiantly at my father.

  “You know I won’t allow—”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what you will and won’t allow, boy. You focus on finding that little prick Brennan, and we’ll keep Sissy safe.”

  “Cindy—”

  “No, Beau, y’all know the ranch is the best place for her right now. The Parker girl has already been shipped back to her family, and they’ve got her safely behind the walls of that fancy palace of theirs. I want Sis home.”

  Daddy sighs and casts me an apologetic look.

  “Fine, but Vincent is coming for Thanksgiving and Christmas as well. You can’t just barge in here and start throwing orders around, especially if it affects their relationship.”

  Oh, Daddy, if only you knew that there is no relationship. And this is also just plain weird. Beau Bennet has never once in his life supported one of my relationships, going so far as to have background checks run on every man I’d so much as glanced at.

  The fact that he’s encouraging me to stay with Vincent makes me wonder and second guess my decision to keep things broken off. The truth is that Vincent and I are done. We have been since the time he cold shouldered me, and we both know it.

  It hurts, a lot, but I’m still steadfastly determined that whatever Vincent and I had is over. Yeah, I know he saved me and put his own life in danger in doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna prostrate myself at his fee
t in gratitude.

  He’s still a monumental dick in the relationship department, and I refuse to go any further and lose my heart to him if he’s going to be his usual self. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t think I can live with that.

  “I’ll go home with you,” I say, feeling his body tighten beside mine. “Just give us a few minutes alone. Please.”

  Mama leans over to kiss me and just about hog wrestles Daddy out of the room when he starts protesting my decision. I turn to Vincent, sad but determined to say what I need to say before his silver tongue can talk me out of it.

  “No, just listen. I know that you have some sort of hero thing going here, and that for whatever reason you’ve decided you want me back, but the truth is…I can’t do this with you. We’re so different, too different, and I…I guess I just don’t want to end up falling for you when I know we have no future.”

  “Dove—”

  “No. Mama showed me that tabloid, and I know that you were photographed with that model in France.”

  Mama had shown it to me the moment we were alone, after she’d shooed Vincent and Daddy out of the room and gotten me bathed and dressed. That had hurt even worse than Eric’s fist because, while I can heal the bruises, I’m having a really hard time not bleeding to death inside.

  It hurts that I’m so easily replaceable.

  “Dove, you don’t understand,” he begins, and I cut him off before he can say anything to sway me.

  “No, I do. I just want to go home and get some rest and enjoy the holidays with my family. You saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful, but this thing between us is over. You’re just not what I need right now.”

  Oh God, that lie hurts worse than the pain in my swollen ankle, and it takes everything I’ve got not to start telling him how untrue that is and that I…feel more for him than lust and respect.

  I can’t keep fooling myself, and I know that I already feel more for him than a passing fancy. The man is everything I could ever want and more. I love him. Too bad he can’t return the favor.