SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  It’s cold enough that I can feel my fingertips tingling, and, judging from the sharp tang in my nose and the dark clouds overhead, I’d bet good money that we’re in for rain at some point during the next hour.

  “We aren’t giving up, Chilli. But I agree with Grange on this. We need to move on from here. Heath and Nate both agree that whoever dumped her car here wouldn’t leave it within walking distance of where they’ve taken her. We need to move away from this area and expand the search further west,” he tells me vehemently, his frustration with me more than understandable.

  Hell, even I know that there’s no way that the man who took her would have left her car anywhere close to wherever she is right now, but the more I try to tell myself to move away from here, the more panicked I get. This is all I have tethering me to the ground right now. This car, which is the last place that I can say with certainty that Alex was. What if we move on and miss her? What if she’s out there, alone and cold and afraid—

  “Do it,” I tell him, curling my fists into balls inside my pockets to stop myself from hitting something.

  It’s been hours. Hours of combing the woods and calling out to Alex, despite my fears that if we’re heard, they’ll hurt her and run. This whole search has been like shooting into the dark, praying that I don’t hit her with one of the bullets, because the truth is, there’s nothing for us to go on right now. Even the jewelry that I gave Alex, all equipped with tracking, isn’t giving off a signal anymore, leading me to believe that it’s been destroyed somehow.

  Her phone is gone, her car’s GPS has been removed, and the only reason that we found the car at all is that Nate spotted it on this dirt road while we were speeding past.

  I have nowhere to start looking, and it’s killing me that nothing I do is making a difference. There’s no magic wand that I can wave—no magical intuition to guide me to her. I’m stumbling around blind out here, just praying that we manage to find her through some miracle.

  “Good. Come on—we’ll tell Grange together. Ares! Yo, tell Paris and Z that we’re moving on,” Adonis yells to our brother, who nods and grabs his walkie-talkie, barking orders into it while the rest of us start walking away from the car.

  I’d agree with Adonis and drive farther out, but a clenching in my gut keeps whispering to me that I could miss hearing her if she’s out there somewhere.

  I refuse to even contemplate what I know most of these men are already thinking. Alex could be gone already, unable to hear us because—

  “Don’t think that way! She’s alive, and she’s out there. We just need to find her,” Adonis barks, his hand falling onto my shoulder in a squeeze that is probably meant to hold me up more than to provide comfort.

  “It’s been hours.”

  “She’s fine, Chilli. Do you hear me? Alex is okay. We just need to find her. Remember what Cleo said. Someone called and told her that all we have to do is look,” he reminds me, cranking my anger up from a slow simmer to boiling again.

  Yeah, someone did call and tell Cleo that Alex is fine, and that we’ll find her all in one piece and still breathing. What makes me want to rip something apart is the way that he said it, as if he were amused, or so Cleo believed as she raged at him on the phone, while Rosetta yelled in the background, threatening to unleash her black ops “friends” onto him.

  How Rosetta knows any black ops guys at all isn’t something that I think I want to know. All I can say is that I appreciate her knowing them, because they’re all out here with us, searching for my wife.

  The point is, I get the message, as does everyone else here—Alex was taken to convey a message of sorts. It’s a message that both terrifies me and thrills me at the same time. It scares me because it’s blatant, a final warning that I have to heed. This guy is showing us that he can get to us no matter how much security we have, or how safe we think we are. The thrilling part comes in because this move also tells me that whatever Rosetta and Zeus are digging into, it seems to be closer to home than the stalker would like, which means that we’re close to catching him and ending this nightmare once and for all.

  “That’s what scares me! Don’t think for even a moment that this guy isn’t watching, Adonis. He is, and you can bet your ass that right this minute, Rosetta is neck-deep in questions, just rooting around and searching for answers,” I seethe.

  I love Rosetta—about as much as it’s possible to love a woman that I consider a homicidal maniac, that is—but the truth is, I hate her as well. She’s never going to stop digging for answers about this stalker, and that means that the rest of us are going to remain in danger at all times. Not that I blame her, because answers are necessary, but her methods…

  She’s like a bull in a china shop, breaking things left and right with absolutely no regard for who gets smashed up in the process. Right now, the only person being hurt is my wife, and I don’t like that one bit. Like I said, I love Rosetta, but if she’s the one that’s willing to poke at a hornet’s nest, then she’s the one that should be getting stung, not Alex.

  “We need answers, Chilli. The longer this goes on without our finding any answers, the more dangerous the situation becomes. It’s all well and good for me to sit back and rely on the detectives to keep looking, albeit very covertly, but don’t forget—Rosetta, Sin, and Mindy were almost killed.”

  “I’m not forgetting, Adonis. I was there,” I grate out, a cold sweat forming on my brow despite the chill in the air.

  I was there. I saw just how close those women came to dying, and, God help me, all I can imagine right now is how close Alex must be to death, if she isn’t…

  There’s no one there to help her. She doesn’t have Sin and Mindy rushing to check on her, and she doesn’t have me making a heroic entrance just in the nick of time. At the rate that this search is going—

  “Stop. Just stop it. I can see what you’re thinking; it’s written all over your face. I told you, Chilli—she’s fine. Alex is a fighter, man,” Adonis tells me, his face going hard when Grange runs up and starts to lay out his plans for the next sweep of this section of the woods.

  This time, I am going in instead of standing out here, simply waiting for word. I can’t just idle around, waiting—

  “Alex isn’t a fighter, though,” I whisper, wincing when Grange falls silent and glares at me, along with my whole crew, who turned up hours ago, demanding to help.

  French just glares, as do Clarke, Miguel, and all the others who heard me.

  “She is a fighter.”

  “She is, but she’s soft. Dammit. You guys don’t know her the way I do. Alex is tough, but underneath all that hardheaded bravado is a woman who doesn’t enjoy violence. For God’s sake, she hides under the covers when we watch scary movies!”

  “Only that one with the guy who lives in the lake,” French mutters. “Can’t blame her. I don’t like that one, neither. Gives me the straight up willies, what with him being immune to water and bullets and shit.”

  That’s a valid point.

  “She had nightmares for a week after watching IT. She even threw away all her red lipstick because she said that it reminded her of Pennywise,” I point out, a small smile flitting over my face when Grange chuckles and shakes his head.

  “That doesn’t mean that she’s not strong, Chilli. That woman is tough. She’ll keep her wits about her and figure out a way to survive. All we have to do is find her.”

  Alexandria

  “Oh, God,” I groan as I wake up and roll over onto my back, the pounding in my head turning into all-out agony when I lift a hand to inspect it and encounter a lump that throbs so hard that I almost black out when I touch it.

  My hand comes away sticky with blood, and I smell its coppery scent even as I feel the warmth against my scalp, where it’s trickling down in a steady stream.

  Head wounds bleed a lot, I remind myself when I have the urge to panic. Calm down. It’s just a little lump and a small cut. I then try a different approach—the blood isn’t there, I tell my
self. You’re not even bleeding.

  Suddenly, a snapping twig, somewhere to what I think is my right, has me sitting up hard and fast, despite my dizziness. My heart is pumping like I’ve run a five-mile torture-thon, and my limbs are so cold that it hurts when I force myself to stand up and feel my way around the tree trunk that I just took my header into. This time, though, I don’t run. It’s not safe, and even if it were, I know that my body won’t obey the flight instinct that’s pumping through me right now, anyway.

  I don’t have the strength to run, and even without knowing how long I was lying on the ground unconscious before I came to, I have the feeling that it was long enough for me to have lost a lot of body heat.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper, stumbling over another tree root before I can right myself.

  Cursing, I take the impact of the fall on my right shoulder and curse again. Damn Chilli! His clumsiness is contagious, I think, a small smile sliding over my mouth when I think of him, the big oaf. God, I love him. I just hope that I get to tell him that in person.

  “Tick toooock.”

  “Oh, shit!”

  Now I do run, because—let’s face it—hearing someone sing-songing something creepy behind you while you’re stumbling through the dark woods is not a good thing. Breaking into a sprint, I keep my hands out in front of me to break any other falls, and try not to scream when I hear soft laughter behind me. This time, when I do fall again, I roll and spring right up, my legs pumping harder and harder.

  By the time I fall to my knees, completely spent and near hysterical, I’ve made it to the edge of the trees. Lifting my head, I scan my surroundings and almost sob when I see the flat black asphalt of a road.

  I can barely keep my knees from buckling when I stand, but I force myself to walk, alert and aware of the trees, and of the darkness that seems to swallow me whole. The air is thick with rain, chilly and humid at the same time, and I shiver as I trudge on, frequently glancing behind me and to the right as I walk. At this point, I’m so hungry, thirsty, and spent that even if a psycho maniac bursts from the trees, I’m not sure that I can run. Hell, I’m in agony thanks to my boobs, so running is definitely not something that I even want to attempt right now.

  Maybe Cleo is right, and the best defense that I can offer myself right now is to just stand and fight.

  “Aaaaa-lex!”

  I hear my name being yelled from somewhere up ahead, far enough away that I almost mistake it for a whirl of wind. Immediate fear fills me, the paranoid part of my brain thinking that it’s the stalker toying with me—until I hear another yell, that is, and then another and another. So many, in fact, that when I see the foggy beams of flashlights in the distance, I ignore my aching boobs and jog onward, taking each step with a wince of pain.

  “I’m here!” I yell, or try to.

  My cry isn’t very effective, since I can hardly breathe, but someone hears me, thank God, and when I fall to my knees, unable to take another step, I almost cry when I see a stumbling, completely uncoordinated figure running my way.

  Chilli, my mind whispers, right before I fall to the road, unable to stay upright for a moment longer. Then I hear hard footsteps, followed by the din of male voices, and then suddenly, miraculously, I hear his curses, and what sounds like the scrape of his shoes before he falls down beside me and grabs for me.

  “Alex! Christ, you’re freezing. Adonis, I need a blanket,” he yells, so close to my ear that I would wince if I could keep my eyes open.

  “Alex! Wake up. Look at me. Are you hurt? Grange, call Nate—she’s losing consciousness!”

  I try to tell him that I’m fine, try to reach up to touch him, but all I can manage is a choked sob that hardly makes it out of my throat. Then I’m being wrapped up in a blanket and hauled against his chest, which feels so good that I hardly mind when he squeezes me so hard that my boobs get pressed flat as more milk wets my shirt.

  I should say something, probably get all sappy and blurt out how much I love the man, and how grateful I am that he’s here with me. Instead, I find myself being kissed senseless as I pass out, utterly thankful that I’ll have the time later to say everything that needs to be said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Achilles

  She’s fast asleep, the twins are ensconced in the portable crib that my folks brought over when I asked them to bring the boys, and I have about ten security personnel standing outside the door, their trigger fingers so itchy that the nursing staff is scuttling around tender-footed, side-eyeing me whenever they have to come in here to check on my wife.

  I am in seventh heaven, my body exhausted as my mind goes over everything again and again, while my eyes remain locked on Alex, who’s fast asleep, breathing easily and unaware of the fact that I was “milking” her just an hour ago. She’d have a heart attack if she knew, which is why I have no intention of telling her that I strapped that machine to her chest and watched every moment of it, breathing out only when the angry red swelling seemed to dissipate.

  Now I’m watching her for other reasons, mostly the fact that I’m not going to relax until she opens those blue eyes and looks at me, assuring me that she’s okay.

  When Axel grunts in his sleep and snuffles, I look over for a split second—only to find Alex’s eyes open when I face her again, her stare alert. Now my heart speeds up, and I find myself choking up a little. I choke up even more when she gives me a wobbly smile, and her eyes mist up.

  “You found me.”

  “Of course I found you. I’ll always come for you,” I whisper, my ass glued to the seat because suddenly, I have no idea what to say to my own wife.

  And that’s the problem, really. We’re married, but I haven’t really allowed her to be my wife. We’re together in every way that counts, but if I’m truly being honest, I have to admit that the emotional side of it hasn’t really been there for me. I work more than I should, and I’m away as much as I can swing without pissing Adonis off and having Ma on the phone, demanding to know what the hell I think I’m doing. In essence, I’ve been absent, and, knowing that, I feel every word that I’ve been holding in evaporate.

  Alex giggles, and I bark out a laugh when I realize what my comment sounds like, though my amusement dies quickly when she shakes her head and gets serious, her smile slipping.

  “For a second, I didn’t think you’d find me. For a moment there, I thought…that I was lost, and that I wasn’t ever going to find my way back,” she admits softly, sniffling when I clear my throat and shake my head.

  So much needs saying. Everything, really. I need to tell her that I love her—truly, deeply, and so desperately that when I couldn’t find her, I thought that I was going to lose my mind. She deserves to hear how much she means to me, and that she isn’t just the mother of my children. Not to me. To me, she’s happiness and safety and love. And it’s about time that I was brave enough to tell her those things. I’ve always looked at my reticence as something that I cling to because Alex seems to be a runner, but right now, seeing her safe with me, I realize that I’m the one who needs to stop running.

  “That will never happen, Mrs. Hart, because I will always be here to light your way,” I say softly, rising to lean over the bed and cage her in.

  “You will?”

  “Always. I will always be searching for you, chasing you, and running you down, because”—I stop, take a deep breath, and feel my heart speed up to a gallop as she gazes up at me expectantly, her eyes filled with such longing that I can hardly breathe—“I love you.”

  The words come out as a whisper instead of the roar that they should be, and for that, I feel like a heel. Until Alex grins and grabs my shirt, yanking me down so that her lips meet mine in a kiss that isn’t about passion or sex or any of the things that we’ve had before. This kiss is love, as corny as that sounds, and, God help me, it’s the best kiss that I’ve ever had in my life.

  “I love you, too.”

  And that, as they say, folks, is all.

  I
t’s everything I need. Everything I want.

  Simply.

  Everything.

  Epilogue

  Sin

  The trouble with guilt is that it’s not an emotion that you can easily lie your way out of. To make that guilt worse, and the main reason that I can’t lie my way out of it, is the fact that everything I said and did was to hurt him, on purpose.

  I set out to hurt Paris Hart, and I did it the only way I could—by making him feel like less of the man he is, and more of the boy that I know he’s been running from all his life.

  See? That’s the problem that Paris had once he was stupid enough to open himself up to me. He didn’t think that I would use all those secrets, all those inner feelings, against him.

  He underestimated me. He trusted me. He was a fool.

  Because the truth is, I can’t let a man like Paris Hart love me. I’m nowhere near good enough for him, and if he knew just how messed up I really am, he’d have known that instead of running toward me, he should have been running away.

  I’m not good enough for him. I’m bad news.

  And now he knows it.

  I just wish that my heart would understand that, and let him go.

  The trouble now?

  I love him. And instead of staying away, I find myself drifting closer, needing more. Wanting everything that he was so freely offering before I pushed him away.

  I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next few months, now that he’s taken control of the restaurant that I’ve been running.

  “You should really, really, really not write this shit in your diary if you don’t want people knowing,” Tee muses as she looks up from where she’s sprawled out on my couch, reading every word in my diary while eating a tub of Cherry Garcia, wearing my favorite slippers, and sporting a pair of underwear that I am almost positive is mine, too.