“You think I like doing this? This is all because of you.”
“You’re pathetic,” Vincent spat.
“You want to see who’s pathetic? I’ll show you.” Gun in hand, Marty stood up and stomped toward Vincent.
“Marty, no!” I screamed.
Chapter Eight
Marty stood in front of Vincent menacingly. Vincent looked up at him with defiance.
“Let’s see how you like it,” Marty said. “Kris, turn away. I don’t want you to see this.”
Marty balled up his fist and punched Vincent across the face.
“Stop Marty!” I screamed.
“Not so easy to beat me up when you don’t have your goon squad to hold me down, huh?” he sneered.
Vincent tried to shake off the blow but it was clear he was in pain.
“You don’t really care about her. You don’t love her like I do,” Marty said.
Marty landed another punch to Vincent’s face and I shrieked. Vincent didn’t protest but his nose began to bleed.
“Admit you don’t really care about Kristen.” Marty punched Vincent in the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Show her I’m right.”
I leaped from the couch, my hand around my necklace. “Stop it Marty! You proved your point. You got your revenge. You don’t need to hurt him anymore.”
Marty wrinkled his brows. “What’s that around your neck, Kristen?”
Oh no. I’d planned on macing him but hesitated because he still had the pistol in his hand.
“Don’t touch her!” Vincent shouted hoarsely, straining against his cuffs. He was still trying to catch his breath.
Marty hurried over to me and ripped the necklace off. “He gave you this, didn’t he? To buy your affection.” Marty examined the heart-shaped pendant. He squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger and liquid squirted out from the bottom onto the carpet. “What the hell? What is this thing?”
I could feel my heart beating through my chest. The one chance I had of getting out of this mess was gone.
He brought his finger up to his nose to sniff then he touched the pad to the tip of his tongue and grimaced. “Is this like pepper spray or something?”
I shook my head, horrified.
“You meant to use this on me didn’t you? He made you wear this.” Marty went back to Vincent. “Trying to turn her against me? Making me out to be some kind of monster? Let’s see how you like being treated like that.”
Marty squeezed the pendant and squirted fluid into Vincent’s face. Vincent closed his eyes and tried to turn away but it got all over his face.
“Oh god!” I cried.
Vincent didn’t cry out in pain. He kept his eyes closed but his jaw was clenched tightly. I could only imagine how bad his eyes were burning right now.
“Say that you don’t really care about Kristen. Say it and I’ll stop.”
“Please, Vincent,” I pleaded. “Just do what he wants. I don’t want you getting hurt anymore.”
Vincent hung his head, panting. He tried wiping off the mace with his sleeve and managed to get enough off to crack open his eyes. “I don’t care about Kristen,” he murmured, blood dripping from his lip.
Even though I asked him to say it, and the circumstances were extreme, the words hurt more than I anticipated.
Marty grinned wickedly. “That’s what I thought.” He turned to me. “See, Kris? If I hadn’t done this, you would’ve never known what a liar he really is. See how I’m protecting you?”
“You think you’ve proven something?” Vincent growled, commanding Marty’s attention once again. Still on his knees, he threw his shoulders back and brought his head up, his posture like a soldier’s. “My feelings for her go beyond caring. I love her.”
Marty became furious. He socked Vincent across the face again. The force of the blow made Vincent turn his head and I could see his eyes were red from the mace.
“No you don’t. Say it again. I dare you.”
Vincent gazed at me. Both his eyes were bloodshot and one was already swelling from Marty’s blows. He looked miserable—a man on the verge of dying. “Look at me Kristen. This might be my last chance to say this.”
My breath stopped. My heart pounded in my ears.
“I’ve felt this way for a while. I knew it was just attraction at first. But after taking you to my island, I realized it was more. So much more. I love you, Kristen. I mean truly love you. Not obsession. Not lust. Not selfish possession. Not some kind of blind idealism. Not some sick, twisted version of love—but the real thing. One with eyes open. One with respect. One that never underestimates the hardships to its existence, never takes the other person for granted. The only kind of love there really is.”
“Vincent, no!” Tears streamed down my face.
Marty punched Vincent in the face harder than before. Then Marty kicked him in the stomach. “I warned you!”
“I love you, Kristen,” Vincent choked.
“Stop saying that. You’re a liar!” Marty kicked Vincent again.
“Please, don’t say it again,” I sobbed.
“I lo—”
Marty pistol-whipped Vincent on the side of the head. “Don’t try to act like you’re the hero and I’m the villain. Don’t forget you’re the one who started this.”
“No,” Vincent panted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You started it when you hurt her.” Every word was strained and seemed to require all his energy just to pronounce.
“How can you even say you love her?” Marty said, flabbergasted. “You barely even spend time with her. You’re a fucking hypocrite.”
“That’ll change . . .” Vincent was visibly struggling to hold his head up. Most of his face was swelling and bleeding now but his eyes were burning with intensity. “It’ll work.”
“You’ve only been with her for two months. I was with her for two years!”
“You took her for granted . . . You didn’t appreciate her. She’s unlike anybody . . . I cherish every moment.”
“No you don’t. You won’t settle down. All you care about is money and excitement. How can you even pretend to be serious about what you’re saying?”
“. . . We’ll settle down when the time is right. For both of us.”
Marty threw up his hands, frustrated. “You’re going to be a terrible father to Kristen’s baby. You’re too busy. You wouldn’t be there like I would.”
No. Marty didn’t just say that. He didn’t just tell Vincent about the baby. How did he even know about that? Was it from my text messages with Riley about the pregnancy?
“Baby . . .?” Vincent struggled.
“You didn’t even know Kristen was pregnant? What a piece of work you are.”
Vincent summoned the strength to turn his head in my direction. “Is it true?”
Tears streamed down my face. “It wasn’t supposed to come out like this. I wanted to tell you. That’s why I called you over.”
Vincent’s eyes locked with mine. Tears ran down his cheeks.
The sadness in his gaze hurt more than anything I could’ve imagined. The image of his dark eyes filled with tears ripped through my heart like a bullet.
Chapter Nine
Vincent
One week prior
“So, Vincent . . .”
I knew that tone.
“Tell me more about Kristen,” Giselle said as she did some preliminary tidying in the kitchen before Brady’s birthday party officially ended.
“She’s a very capable analyst recently promoted to wealth manager.” I fingered a trace of blue frosting in a nearby bowl, tasted it, then chased it down with a gulp of orange soda. It was delicious. I made a mental note to caution Brady about drinking too much of this stuff. But damn did it taste good to have some every once in a while.
“And . . .?”
“. . . And she’s funny and caring.” She’s also one hell of a minx in the sack, I thought. Just the thought of her lips wrapping around my cock made me instantly hard even in
the most awkward of situations: during business meetings, presentations, even if this conversation. I decided it was better to keep that to myself.
“This is the first time you’ve let me meet one of your girlfriends and that’s the best you can give me? I’m disappointed. Here I thought she was something special.”
You don’t know how special she is. My mind slipped back to the first time Kristen and I met. Pinching my nipple in that business meeting? I remember thinking in that moment—as her chest was pressed against mine—that she was either the stupidest girl ever or the smartest. Special, for sure. She had quite the set of balls on her. I smiled, suppressing a laugh at the thought.
It wasn’t until we started dating that I realized how brave and strong she is—especially with what she’d been through, being in an abusive relationship like Giselle had. It made my blood boil to imagine the silent suffering Kristen endured because of her ex.
“I never said she wasn’t.”
Giselle shot me a knowing look. “All right, fine. Don’t want to tell your sis too much about your love life. I know, I get it. I’m not a gossiping housewife you know. At least not yet anyway.”
“You started picking up knitting. I’m not willing to take that risk.”
She smiled. “Brady needs sweaters made from love. A boy can’t live on trains alone.”
“We can agree to disagree on that point,” I teased.
Giselle sighed. “You’re so fond of Brady. When are you going to have your own kid to spoil?”
I sputtered on my drink.
Kids were something I wanted badly, but it was too early in the relationship to discuss it. It was something I’d hoped for ever since Brady had been born. What I saw in him was what I’d been missing: something worth making money for. Something that made me think beyond the present. Long after I was done risking my life stupidly and working day and night on my company, he would be there, growing and living as I had. I wanted that.
Recovering, I responded, “When I’m with the right person. When the time is right for both of us.”
“Mmhmm. I’m not dumb, Vincent. I know you brought her over here for a reason. Maybe to evaluate her reaction around kids?”
Damn, Giselle was clever. I looked around the kitchen, making sure Kristen wasn’t within earshot. I could hear her playing with Brady and the other kids in the den. The sound of her laughing and making loud choo choo noises along with the kids made me feel warm and fuzzy.
I lowered my voice. “It’s too soon to talk about. Kristen and I have only been dating for two months.”
“I know. And yet you’ve brought her to meet me when you haven’t let me meet your other girlfriends. I know you’ve been in longer relationships than that.”
“Those weren’t serious.”
“Okay. And this one is? Despite being shorter?”
“Quality over quantity. As far as seriousness, it is on my end but we’ve had some rough patches recently.”
“I think she’s very serious about you.”
“Why do you say that? You guys only talked for a few minutes.”
“She seemed very interested in hearing about what I had to say about you.”
“Uh . . . what did you tell her?”
“Nothing scandalous.” Giselle smiled. “I told her about Mom and Dad and how you changed after that happened.”
“How did she react?”
“She seemed very interested in your story.”
“Makes sense considering we’re dating.”
“It’s more than that. I think she’s really into you, Vincent. I can’t put my finger on it but call it woman’s intuition. She’s probably already thinking about taking things further.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Chapter Ten
Kristen
Seeing the tears from Vincent’s eyes made me want to die. He wasn’t happy about hearing I was pregnant with his child; he was torn. The tears from his eyes and the pained expression on his face said as much. I thought about rushing Marty. I could try to tackle him out the window. Or wrestling the gun out of his hand. He’d probably end up shooting me but fine, let him shoot me.
Vincent broke his gaze from mine. He drooped his head and his body went limp in his restraints.
Was he dead? Oh god no.
“Stop this Marty! He needs to go to the hospital!”
Marty turned away from Vincent to face me. He started walking toward me with fists clenched. “Why didn’t you say that when he was beating me up?”
“I tried! I stopped Vincent from hitting you. Don’t you remember?” Seeing Marty approach me, broke me out of a spell. I suddenly feared for my life again. “Please don’t hurt me, Marty.”
His face softened. “Hurt you? Why do you think I’d hurt you? I told you. I love you. Do you still love me? You must since you protected me.”
“Please, don’t. We broke up. Protecting someone doesn’t mean you love them.”
“Did you love me before?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not know?” he shouted. “All those times together. Everything we shared. I loved you. I still do.”
“Marty, our relationship was very rocky. We were breaking up and getting back together constantly at the end. I’m still trying to figure out what my emotions were like at that time.”
He shook his head. “Do you love him?” he asked frantically. “Do you love Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes or no, Kristen.”
I recalled the sad look in Vincent’s eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. I thought I’d escaped Marty but he had known where I was the whole time. I lost Vincent. I was going to lose my job. I was going to lose my life. I was going to lose my baby.
“Yes! I do love Vincent.”
His features hardened into a scowl. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I said, mustering up my remaining strength. “I truly love Vincent. I don’t care what you say, Marty. Threaten me all you want. I don’t love you.”
Marty ran a hand through his hair, staining it with the blood on his fist. Vincent’s blood. “You’re so frustrating, Kristen. You know me. You know how I feel about you.”
“No I don’t. I don’t understand you at all,” I cried.
“Stop crying. Stop being afraid of me. I can’t take it when you do that.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s because you’re carrying his child. That’s the reason, isn’t it?” Marty approached me, backing me into the couch. His eyes were on my stomach.
“No, don’t come near me.” I stuck out my hands and feet, trying to shove him away.
“You can’t keep me away.” His eyes were still on my stomach.
“Don’t hurt my baby!”
“You’re making me angry, Kristen. You already know you don’t want to make me angry.”
A loud crack sounded. Where did it come from? It sounded like a wooden plank snapping. Was the couch about to break?
“Marty, no!”
Marty balled his fist.
“Somebody help!” I screamed as loudly as I could.
“Shut your mouth, Kristen. You’re out of your mind.”
Another loud crack.
Marty raised his fist. I crossed my arms to shield my body, hoping that the flesh and bones in my limbs would prove sturdier than an apartment wall. He was going to punch my stomach. He was going to punch the baby.
“Forgive me, Kristen. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to.”
In a blur, Marty vanished behind the couch. I sat up, realizing someone had tackled him.
“Vincent!” I screamed.
How had he gotten out of the handcuffs?
I leaped from the couch to see Marty and Vincent rolling into the kitchen and crashing into the oven. The force from the impact shook the stovetop and the hot water I’d been boiling in a saucepan for tea tipped and poured over Marty’s head.
Marty screamed and frantically
swiped at his face with his hands. His face was steaming.
Vincent was groaning and rubbing his head with the heel of his palm. His hands were mangled, his thumbs twisted inward. That’s when I realized what happened.
The two loud cracking sounds I heard were from Vincent breaking his own thumbs to escape his handcuffs.
I rushed over to Vincent to try to help him up. He was dazed and couldn’t stand up on his own. I hooked my arms beneath his shoulders and tried to drag him to the apartment door but it was difficult to move him. He’s so damn heavy. I thought about escaping just by myself but I knew I couldn’t leave Vincent alone with Marty. Not like this. By the time I came back with the police, Vincent would probably be dead.
Marty blindly reached in front of him, knocking over a jar of sugar and a spice rack on the kitchen counter. White dust and parsley spilled across the counter and the kitchen tile. I’d dragged Vincent a foot when Marty found a towel hanging from the oven. He wiped his face vigorously and opened his eyes.
Before I could react, Marty lunged at us, landing on top of Vincent. I fell backward and smashed into a kitchen table chair.
“You bastard!” Marty cried as he began wailing on Vincent.
Vincent snapped out of his daze and raised his arms to shield his face, shifting his head from side to side to avoid a direct blow.
Frantic, I stumbled to my feet and picked up the kitchen chair with both hands, raising it over my head. Marty leaped from Vincent and rushed me. He swatted the chair out of my hands, making it crash across the kitchen table into the corner. “Don’t fight me, Kristen!” he shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Then he shoved me away. I toppled over the coat rack and into the pile of shoes.
Sprawled over a bed of flats and heels, I spotted the a silver object lying beside the couch. The pistol. It must’ve flown out of Marty’s hand when Vincent tackled him. Crawling on my hands and knees across the sea of footwear, I neared the couch and reached for the gun.
The sound of a punch landing on flesh and the sound of a male voice groaning in pain made me realize Marty had mounted Vincent again and was attacking him.
Beautiful Surrender (The Forever Book 3) Page 9
