by Snow, Nicole
“Followed protocol?”
“Cops are already en route after the Milah call. We should have containment soon.”
“Dallas?”
“Ran the second we showed up,” James says with a sneer.
Fucking coward. Of course he did. It doesn’t matter.
He’ll get his.
Kenna first.
Riker starts toward me. “Hey – you’re hurt. Let me take her –”
“No.” I clutch Kenna closer against my chest, even though breathing is hard and my right eye is twitching from the pain. I grit my teeth. “Just lead the way. Paramedics still here?”
“I don’t know. People scattered pretty fast with the gunfire, but they’ve gotta be close.”
“Then let’s move. She doesn’t have much time.”
Both Riker and James look at the unconscious woman in my arms with a touch of dread, before nodding and leaving the room ahead of me.
We slip out into the now quiet hallways. Bodies are everywhere. Most of them in Crown jackets. I can’t stand to see if any of the faces are familiar, and I don’t want to think about how to explain this to the police. There are cameras that will tell the story better than I could.
All I really care about is Kenna. We step over bodies, James and Riker forming a protective frontal phalanx, peering around every corner. I hover a safe distance behind. If anything happens, I need to be able to drop and guard Kenna –
Something snaps around my throat, cutting off my air, cutting off my voice, forcing me to immediate silence as I’m dragged backwards.
Blood loss makes me weak, off-balance, leaving me twisting and struggling as I’m garroted into the dark, pulled into the off-stage shadows in the wings, grappling to keep Kenna close and not drop her.
Her legs fall to the floor, her body clutched to me as I scrabble at the slick thing around my throat with my other hand, straining to find my voice, to call James and Riker back, but I barely manage a wheeze while my fingers slip off the electrical cable cutting into my windpipe and making my vision burst into oxygen-deprived stars.
“Did you think I would let you fuck this up for me so easily?” Dallas hisses in my ear.
Bitter, black rage explodes inside my chest, flooding my veins until I can’t feel the pain.
I can’t feel anything but the pure destructive power flooding through me, whispering that I can’t die here. Not like this.
Not silent in the smothering dark, while Kenna slips away in my arms because I couldn’t save her.
Instinct takes over.
I whisper a soundless apology as I let her go, sending her slipping gently to the floor.
Then I smash my head back, ramming straight into Dallas' face. There’s a deafening crack.
The cable in my throat loosens. I suck in a quick gasp of air, instantly clearing my head, and snap my elbow back before he can recover, jamming it into his ribs.
The moment his grip eases, I snare the cable, yank it away from my neck, duck out from under it, and twist to throw myself against him.
Dallas doesn’t have a chance to struggle before I’ve got him against the wall, pinning him with my body, my forearm rammed against his throat.
We’re eye to eye, almost nose to nose, two wild animals locked in a struggle for dominance, teeth bared.
He’s losing when I crush down on his windpipe with all the force of the built-up anger inside me, the years of rage and betrayal, the fresh sharp cut of fury that he dared lay a hand on my Reb, my woman, my life.
His eyes roll with fear, whites showing all around. He gasps, struggling like a beached fish.
“How does it feel?” I hiss, pressing down harder, just to see him squirm. “Not as much fun when it’s your turn, is it?”
“L-Landon, don’t,” he pleads, words coming out in choked guttural gasps. “You h-have to u-understand –”
“Understand what, shitface?” I barely growl it through my clenched teeth, adrenaline pumping through me until I feel strong enough to snap his neck in one blow...and I want to.
Murder is hot and dark and in control of me, a drug as heady as lust. “You tried to kill me, asshole. Tried to kill Kenna. You even tried to kill Milah. For what? Just to get ahead? Is money that important to you?”
“You were in the way!” he flares, voice finding strength. “You were always in the fucking way. You and your idiot father. You could never just let things be easy. Always had to fuck everything up, too stupid to know what was for your own good and ours, and –”
Enough.
I cut him off, clamping my free hand against his jaw, slamming his head back against the wall. There’s something deadly quiet in me, trembling and ready to snap. “What about my old man? Try the fuck again.”
Dallas’ eyes glitter. He lets out a wild, manic laugh, mocking. “You’ve been looking for his killer for so long. Chasing every trail I sent you down like the good puppy you are.”
A roar bursts out of me. White-hot madness takes over, and I crash my fist across his face.
Once. Twice. Three vicious times.
Blood bursts out of his mouth. “What did you do?” I snarl the question again, barely even sounding human.
That fear is back in his eyes, and I love it. That sick black part of me loves it, loves seeing him cower and squirm. He shrinks against the wall, dangling from my grip. “We...we didn’t have a choice,” he whimpers. “Your father was going to ruin Crown Security refusing to play the game. You don’t survive in this business without paying the big players, and he was...he was going to get us all killed! We did it to protect you and your mother from his damned stupidity, too!”
“You did it to protect yourselves,” I snarl. “You did it to have it easy and line your pockets. You’re disgusting. You and Reg. You sat back and let Reg murder my father, and strung me along all these years.”
There’s a moment. Cunning and dark, something flashing across Dallas’ face that tells me exactly how crazy he is, this two-faced demon born in blood, thriving on others’ misery.
“Oh, no, Landon,” he sneers, a wide, leering grin turning his face into a horrible mask. “You don’t understand. I pulled the trigger myself, darling boy. I killed Micah Strauss.”
Everything inside me breaks.
If he’d thought that revelation would make me weak enough to let him go, he misjudged. Fatally.
All it does is drive me into a pure berserker state.
Everything smells like blood.
Everything turns the color of death.
I’m dark inside, a shadow full of hate, this driving purpose inside me finally having a target. And that target flops limply from my grasp as I grip him by the front of his suit and whirl him around to smash his flesh and bones against the wall with all my strength, bouncing his head off the hard surface, and then driving him down to the ground, following him with the full force of my killing need.
Dallas is a rag doll as I pin him, straddling him, smashing my fist down into him.
His face bursts with bloody ribbons as I ram my knuckles into him again and again, knocking his head back and forth between one blow after another as he turns red, then purple, then black, his face pulped and bruised and swollen.
Every blow is a balm on the bleeding wounds inside me. Every weak, sniveling cry is a triumph.
I’m finally going to end him.
It’s what I’ve lived for all these years. This moment, finding the man who killed my father, and his life in my hands, dangling by a thread I’m only too willing to snap after everything he did to my father, to me, to Kenna.
I hate him. I hate him as much as I hate my old man, except all my hate at my old man was a lie, Kenna was right, Kenna knew...
Kenna.
Fuck.
I still mid-punch, staring blankly down at the ruin I’ve made of Dallas’ face. A few more blows and he'll be gone forever.
A numb, cloudy feeling falls over me. I did that?
I did, turning savage, becoming the monster I
always told her I am. And it turns my stomach.
Kenna believed in me. Kenna believed in me and she’s dying for it, and I think even if I killed Dallas right now she’d never say a word and still quietly accept me, and yet...and yet...
I can’t stand the idea of being someone other than the man she believes in.
I can’t stand being a man who cares more about killing Dallas than about saving her.
My heart hurts. My heart hurts in the most awful ways, and the urge to snap his neck is still trembling in my fingers, but I can’t. I fucking can’t.
Not for Kenna, and not for me.
He looks up at me, barely conscious, his eyes just tawny slits through puffed eyelids. He lets out a groan that might be a word, tongue moving limply in his battered mouth.
I curl my upper lip and spit at him. “You’re not worth it,” I mutter, lifting myself off him just as James and Riker come clattering back, reeling around the corner.
“Boss?” James gasps.
“Get him in cuffs,” I say firmly, jerking my head toward Dallas.
Then I bend to lift Kenna into my arms again. “And get me a car. If we can’t find the paramedics, I’m taking her in my fucking self.”
19
Falling With You (Kenna)
I haven’t felt this awful since the first and last time I tried tequila.
I’m not sure where I am. Everything smells like Lysol, my head is killing me, and my mouth is sticky and gross.
I hurt and feel oddly hollow, and there’s a scared quiet impulse inside me telling me to stay still as a rabbit hiding from a wolf, because the last thing I remember is danger, fear, something disgusting on my tongue, the knowledge that I was going to die.
I’m not dead, though.
Am I?
How can I be dead, when the hand in mine feels so very warm?
Carefully, warily, I crack one eye open. I can see...an IV tube stretching from my arm to a pole, pale blue walls in the off colors only hospitals ever have, and a brawny, tattooed arm next to a rib cage wrapped in layers of gauze.
I know those tattoos. I know that skin I’ve traced lovingly again and again. I know that arm that’s wrapped around me so many times, and that fear vanishes in a heartbeat when I know as long as he’s with me, I’m safe.
Landon.
It’s his hand in mine, clasped tight. A reassurance that pins me to earth and tells me I’m very much alive. As hard as it is to believe.
I open my other eye, just watching him for a moment. He’s sitting shirtless in a chair next to my hospital bed, his waist bandaged and a few bruises darkening his skin. There’s an oddly naked expression on his face, vulnerable and lost and heavy, fear etching lines around his eyes and exhaustion casting shadows in the beautiful hollows of his cheekbones.
“Come on, Reb,” he whispers, pressing his mouth against my knuckles. “Come on.”
“Why?” I manage to croak out around my dry throat. “We going somewhere?”
He jerks his head up, eyes widening. He stares at me, and I have a second or two to feel the hammer-sharp thudding shock of faint tears glimmering in his eyes before he’s on his feet, gathering me carefully to him, burying his face in my hair and kissing me over and over.
“Kenna, fuck,” he gasps raggedly. “Kenna, I was so worried.”
I manage to lift my arms, clinging to him weakly. “Landon. We're fine now.”
I can't believe I'm saying those words. We really are, aren't we?
Relief floods through me. This is real, and I’m really okay.
But urgency pushes heavy on my brain, reminding me what happened, memory rushing back in a fierce pull. I have to tell him.
“Landon, Dallas...he poisoned Milah. Slipped something in her wine. He's trying to –”
“Tried to,” he cuts in, growling the words gruffly into my hair, his hold tightening around me. “And he tried to poison you. Strychnine. Low dose so it'd kill you slowly, and wouldn't show up too obvious in your system. Asshole thinks he’s a Bond villain.”
My heart seizes. Holy hell. It's hard to believe how close I came.
I could be dead right now. I swallow something huge and bitter. “And Milah? Is she...”
“She’ll be fine, Reb. They got to her in time. Same as you.” He strokes my back soothingly. “Low dose meant there was enough time for the medics to get antidotes into your blood. You just need time. Rest.”
“And you,” I whisper. “I need you.”
Fighting back tears, I bury my face in his chest, never wanting to come up for air again. “You saved me, Landon. Saved my whole life.”
“No.” He pulls back, clasping my face in his warm, coarse palms, looking at me with those bright blue eyes open and raw and so honest. “You saved me.”
“You?”
“Dallas killed my father,” he says, words coming off his tongue hard and bitter. “He told me. Right out confessed that my old man was innocent, and he and Reg Reese got rid of him because he was fucking up their dirty work. Dallas was throwing me off the trail the entire time, pretending to work the investigation. Instead he’s been making sure I don’t get too close to the truth – and I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent that prowler around just to make himself look like a hero. Someone you could trust.”
A chill runs up my back. I burrow my face deeper into his chest. Even after a man's hand shoved poison down my throat, I'm still creeped out by Mr. Hoodie. “You're sure? I can't stand the thought that this might not be over. That we might go home and –”
Crap. I catch myself, calling his home mine. It's too soon for that. But is it?
Landon smiles, a faint smirk bending the edge of his lips. “Totally sure, Reb. A couple Crown guys survived. They're singing like canaries for the cops and the FBI. One of them confessed to trespassing on my property, not long before Dallas showed up that night.”
Thank God. I squeeze him tighter, then attack his lips with a dozen little kisses until he breaks off, laughing. I'll never stop loving that dense, baritone vibration in his chest, his bones, filtering into mine whenever Landon freaking Strauss breaks into his manly laugh.
“Hard to believe, I know,” he says. “Guess Dallas was hoping to catch me off guard and get away. He wanted us both gone, and Enguard broken, so he could sweep up the loose ends and position Crown to control the whole fucking SoCal market, still making plenty of blood money on the side.”
“Horrible,” I whisper, pushing my hands into his.
Landon cocks his head softly. “I almost killed him, Reb. I had that asshole's life in my hands and it would’ve just taken one more little ounce of pressure to crush him. Snuff him out like I wanted to all these years. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be that man. I couldn't murder. Because that man isn’t the one you believe in.”
This time I can’t choke back the tears.
I can’t even say why I’m crying. There are too many questions hitting me at once.
Relief that Landon didn’t do something so horrible?
Happiness that he really is the man I’ve loved all these years? Even if he was buried underneath his own pain?
Joy that this is over, and maybe now we can both be safe?
Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
Call it sheer, beautiful love and admiration for the beautiful soul inside this beautiful beast.
I lean my brow into his, sniffling and fighting to stop the tears streaming down my face. “You’re the man I believe in, Landon. I love you. I love you, I’m proud of you, I...”
“Shhh.” He only gathers me closer, gently kissing the tears from my cheeks. “Just rest. We can talk about everything else at home.”
“Home?”
“If you’ll come with me. If you're ready to call my home yours.”
“Do you even have to ask?” I smile through the haze of my tears. “I wish we could go now.”
“Soon, babe. Real soon. I’ll probably have to talk to a dozen police officers first, if I don’t want to walk out of here i
n handcuffs. And you need to stay here until we’re sure you’re out of the woods.”
I squint. “Why would you end up in handcuffs?”
He looks at me blandly. “My crew ended up in a firefight with the Crown team. Not to mention I beat Dallas to a bloody pulp.” At my gasp, he smiles innocently. “I said I didn’t kill him, remember? Never said I didn’t beat the ever living shit out of him.”
“Oh my God, Landon.” I shouldn’t laugh, but I do, though it trails into a wince as my body protests the shaking. Hissing, I sink back against the sheets. “Ow.”
“You okay, babe?” He’s instantly conciliatory, sweet, hovering over me and brushing my hair back. “You need the doctor?”
“No.” I shake my head with a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”
“Just promise me you won’t pass out.”
Another raspy chuckle shakes my body. “I’m not passing out.”
“You sure? I’m not.”
“I’m not going to pass out!”
He laughs. “Still don’t believe you, Reb. Look down.”
He curls his hand around mine again, drawing my attention to it.
I look down, wondering how numb and broken my body must be. Because it’s taken me this long to notice the new weight against my finger, heavy and warmed by body heat.
A ring.
Attached to the largest diamond I’ve ever seen in real life – hell, the largest I’ve ever seen on TV – princess-cut in a glittering, multifaceted gold setting. It gleams against my finger like it belongs there, and my heart does the strangest little flutter, like it’s a sparrow cupped in my palms and beating its wings.
“L-Landon? Holy shit.” I suck in a few rasping breaths. “Where –”
“Hospital gift shop, babe.” He’s flushed, grinning. “Apparently, they sell engagement rings. Who knew?”
Engagement rings.
Engagement.
Rings.
There’s no doubt left about what he means. Especially when he gets down on one knee, hunkering next to the bed with a faint wince that still doesn’t dim his boyish, hopeful grin. My head feels light, and I don’t think it’s the poison.
