She gasps but doesn’t open her eyes. A scared chuckle leaves my mouth as I tilt backward, collapsing on my ass. My hands are covered in blood, no doubt I have some on my face too, and my shirt is ruined.
The door bursts in, police officers and paramedics rush in, and people from the party linger.
“Oh, thank god, you’re here—”
They draw their guns and point. “Don’t move! Get on the ground. Lay down on the ground right now.”
“Woah, okay. Hey, I didn’t do this. I found her like this. She’s my friend. She needs help,” I say, and the cop shoves me down by placing his boot between my shoulder blades. “I didn’t do this! What the fuck?”
“Asher, don’t say a word. We will take care of this,” my dad says from the doorway.
“You have the right to remain silent…” the cop reads me my Miranda rights as he slaps the cuffs on me. This can’t be real. I can’t be getting arrested for something I didn’t do. The cuffs are tight, biting into my skin, and they shove me through the crowd. I look behind me to see the paramedic placing an oxygen mask over Grace’s face.
God, I hope she is okay.
“Grace! Is it Grace?” Heather parts through the crowd, mascara dripping down her cheeks from the tears, and when she sees me, the hate she has for me turns to daggers. “What did you do to her?” she shoves me in the chest. “What did you do!”
“Nothing. I swear, Heather. I didn’t do a thing. I found her like that. I tried to help her,” I explain as the cop pushes me forward.
I’m crushed when I hear Heather scream as they wheel Grace out of the room. My ears ring from the deafening noise and the stares I’m getting from people…
I’ve never felt so small.
This is really bad. Really fucking bad.
Looks like being rich and famous doesn’t matter at all.
One
Heaven
Present Day
In each arm, I have a newborn twin. They are brand-spanking-new. Three days old and their mom Quinn is resting, along with Jaxon, and since I’m the proud new owner of the Uncle title, I’m going to watching Shrek with them.
“Do you know the muffin man?” the gingerbread man asks the short prince on Shrek. I mouth every word since I’ve seen it a hundred times, but every time I watch it, it’s like the first.
I bounce Holland in my right arm, pretending she’s talking to Holt, her brother. “The muffin man?”
“The muffin man,” I lift Holt up next, saying the words in a lower voice that I think would be his.
I chuckle when the twins don’t move. Holy crap, they are cute. They look just like Quinn, thank god. One of Jaxon’s ugly mug is good enough.
“You realize they don’t can’t watch tv yet, right?” Owen says from behind me, crunching down on something.
“I know. It is never too early to get introduced to the classics.”
“You consider Shrek a classic?” he asks, leaving me gasping.
“I can’t cover their ears right now, but they don’t need that kind of negativity in their life.”
“They can’t understand what I’m saying. They are a second old, Heaven.”
“Owen, you never know what their tiny brains can process. We are going to have a movie marathon today. Julia is going to bake us muffins and all kinds of stuff.” I glance down at Holland as she croons, and it melts my heart. “Aw, isn’t that right, little girl? You aren’t allowed to date until you’re thirty— no— make it thirty-five. The only muffins you eat are going to be the ones cooked for you.”
“And you’re telling me to watch my mouth, really? Muffins?”
“What? You don’t know. She might be gay.”
“She’s a baby, Heaven. A baby.” Owen pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated with me.
I love making him crazy. I readjust the babies in each arm and wince when the stitches pull in my chest.
“Shit, are you okay? Do I need to take them for a second?” Owen hears me grunting in pain and kneels on the ground next to the couch. I can see the guilt written on his face as he stares at my chest.
Owen was in a blind rage, pushed me through the sliding glass door, and a shard of glass pierced through my back and chest, missing my heart by centimeters. I don’t blame him. I don’t hold any anger toward him, and I think it bothers Owen. He is holding himself accountable. He is making himself feel guilty enough. Why would I add to that? Owen is a good guy, fighting for something he loved.
I know what that is like, and I know what it is like to feel fucking horrible about something that you feel like is out of your control. Owen is a good friend. Why would I punish him more when he is punishing himself enough?
“Actually, could you take them? I need to get up and walk around. I don’t trust myself to walk with them yet.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything you need. I’m your guy. I got this,” Owen reaches for Holt, cradling him in his giant arm, then Holland and his face softens when he is holding them. He’s about to be a dad too.
For the second time.
Owen had something truly fucking awful happen to him twenty years ago. His pregnant wife got murdered, along with their little girl, and he was a frozen man ever since.
Until he met Jolie.
And now she’s pregnant, and I haven’t seen him so happy. He’s a natural father. It’s like he already knows what to do. He’s going to be great. I couldn’t be happier for him.
I’m the lone wolf, the bachelor of the house, the single man.
I hate it.
I’ve been stuffing my face with muffins and anything else I can get because I’m stress-eating. It’s hard to see everyone so damn happy and in love, and here I am, the playboy, the youngest of the group.
The chances of me finding love are like finding the smallest needle in a haystack of needles, impossible.
“They are so small,” Owen whispers, pulling Holland up as he bends his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. “She smells like a baby. I love it.”
“Well, right now she does. Give her ten minutes; she’ll smell like—”
“—Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“You’re going to ruin the baby experience. Don’t say it.”
I chuckle and lift my arms up in surrender. “You know I’m right.”
Owen sets them in their swings, turns on the timers to start them, and holds out his hand to help me up. I bat my lashes at him and hold my hand to my chest. “Oh my goodness, what a gentleman. Why, I might just fall in love with you, Mr. Carter.” I pretend to have a southern drawl and lay a hand against my chest.
“Shut up,” Owen chuckles and carefully helps me into a standing position.
“You know what I’ve noticed? I’m always the one getting hurt. I broke a leg, got stabbed through the chest; what’s next? Jesus, I hope my body gets time to heal before the next injury.”
Because there is always a next injury.
I groan when my muscles and skin pull around the wound in my chest and back. Shit it hurts. I can’t lift my arms up fully without wanting to throw up. Who knew moving in a certain way would hurt so much when it came to the sternum? I can’t bend over because I feel like my organs are going to rip out of my chest. I can’t scratch the back of my head. I can’t have sex. I can’t orgasm because the body tensing up hurts like hell.
I’m miserable.
I want muffins.
And Julia isn’t here yet.
Maybe I can try to make muffins while the twins are asleep.
“You okay?” Owen keeps a tight hold on my shoulders as I sway. A sheen of sweat blankets my body, and I wonder if I made the right decision to get up. I just want to lay down but laying down hurts.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute. It’s hot in here,” I mumble, swaying even more as the need to sit down takes over.
“Woah, you need to relax. What do you need? I’ll help you,” Owen says, helping me sit down again. “You’re sweating. You need to chill out and
stop pushing yourself. Have you taken your antibiotic?”
I recline the seat by pressing the button on the side and sigh. It’s the only place I can sleep because I have to stay elevated. It’s either here or the basement where all of the hospital beds are, and I am not sleeping down in the dark, scary basement all by my damn self.
No.
And it’s freezing down there.
Am I afraid of the dark? Negative.
Do I tend to run out the door to throw the trash away at night and run back inside like a serial killer is out to get me?
Absolutely.
I’m only human.
“No, I haven’t taken my pill,” I grumble, knowing I’m about to get in trouble by the resident doctor.
Owen scoffs, laying his hand on his hips. “Heaven, you know you have to take your medicine so you don’t get an infection.”
I yank the blanket over me when I’m suddenly cold. “I’m not going to get an infection. Gosh, leave me alone. You don’t even know.” I sound like a teenager, but I don’t care. I want to nap.
Owen huffs, strides away, and I hear the fridge door opening then closing. I notice the twist of the plastic bottle cap tearing and the cabinet slamming. His plundering footsteps pound on the floor, and they wake Holland. She begins to fuss, whimpering and frowning, but she doesn’t scream at the top of her lungs like Holt does. Quinn is about to come out here. She always does. She can’t hear Holland cry since the place is soundproof, but she just knows.
It’s mama juju, and it freaks me the fuck out.
“Here, take this,” Owen drops a pill in my hand, then hands me a bottle of water. “Down it.”
“Owen,” I pout. “I don’t wanna.”
“I don’t care.”
I narrow my eyes at him, pop the pill in my mouth, then chug half the bottle down. Wow, that water tastes good. “Done.”
“Open.”
I scoff, thinking he is joking and laugh, but when he doesn’t move, my grin fades. “You can’t be serious. I’m not a child.”
“I wouldn’t have to treat you like a child if you would do what you’re told. Open.”
I open my mouth and put a little attitude in the movement. “There. Happy?”
“No. Lift your tongue.”
“Owen!”
“Heaven… don’t make me force your mouth open.”
“So dirty,” I snicker. “There are children present.” I lift my tongue as he peers in, then make a clicking noise. “See? Happy and healthy. Now, grab Holland before she wakes—” It’s too late.
Holt cries, screaming at the top of his lungs, pissed off that he had to wake up. Holland makes these cute whimpering whining noises. They are so different as children. I can’t wait until Holt is older so I can give him a hard time about how he cried more than his sister.
“Good.” Owen turns around, leans down, and cradles Holt in his overly large arms. Hell, I almost can’t see the baby because of Owen’s bicep being in the way. “You’re okay, shhh,” Owen croons, bouncing Holt in hopes he stops crying and Quinn doesn’t have to come out here.
She had two babies.
Two.
The least we can do is watch them for her while she rests and heals.
“Hand me Holland.”
“No way, Asher. You know she will quiet down in a minute. You need to rest. It’s Holt that’s needy.”
“He’s a baby. Of course he is needy.”
“He’s just like Jaxon, is what he is,” Owen jokes, and both of us chuckle.
“Is that right?” Jaxon says sleepily from the hallway.
“Uh…” Owen struggles to explain himself. “Well…It was just a joke. I…”
“Give me my son.” Jaxon’s feet patter along the hardwood floor, and when he stops in front of Owen, Owen hesitates.
“Do I have to?” Owen asks, staring sweetly at Holt. I know he can’t wait to have his own kid. Jolie and the baby have become his world, and I don’t blame him for being excited. This was a long time coming for Owen. He deserves it.
“It’s about feeding time. Quinn sent me in here to grab them.”
“I knew she knew. Mama juju…it’s a real thing,” I say, then started to wonder if my ice-cold queen of a mother knew when I needed to be fed.
Probably not; my mom was everything except maternal.
“Can you follow me with Holland, please?” Jaxon asks Owen as he cradles his son to his chest. While he waits, Jaxon asks me, “How are you feeling Heaven? How’s the chest?”
“I’m on the mend and will be back to annoying everyone and eating everything soon.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Hey, Jaxon. How is that girl doing? The one Jolie found in that cabin. I haven’t heard anything about her. What’s going on?”
“You know as much as I do. She won’t let anyone in her room except Jolie. She won’t talk, she barely eats, she doesn’t want to go to the hospital, I’m worried,” Jaxon admits.
“That’s sad. What she and Jolie went through. Good thing Owen was there to save the day.”
Holland’s head gets swallowed by the palm of his hand as Owen holds her like a fragile piece of glass. “I hope she trusts us soon. She really needs to see a doctor after what has happened to her. I feel terrible that it was someone I knew,” Owen admits in sadness, but Holland’s coos have his lips tilting in a sad smile. He feels guilty.
“It isn’t your fault, Owen. Don’t think for one minute that you are to blame for this. You can’t control other people’s actions. Don’t look to place blame. It doesn’t help anyone, and it sure as hell doesn’t help you or Jolie. You can’t help what your first wife’s brother did. He’s a psycho. Be thankful you’re alive, Jolie is alive, and the girl you found is alive. It sucks for all those other women. It truly does, but just think about all the lives you have saved.” I start to get heated because there’s a part of me that is relating to him. I blame myself for what happened to Grace, but I didn’t commit the crime, did I? No.
But good people always get stuck paying for the dirty deeds of bad people, and it pisses me off.
“Thanks, Heaven. I appreciate that.”
“Anytime, Owen,” I say, still angry for him, for me, for everyone that gets fucked over by crazy people.
“Can you please bring my babies here! My boobs are leaking everywhere because you’re taking your damn time!” Quinn yells down the hall, words clipped and filled with annoyance.
I guess if my boobs leaked every few hours or when a baby cried, I’d be testy too. And I’m sure her nipples are raw from all of the sucking. I lift my hands up and place them over my own man nips. Thinking about it has the worthless beads rubbing against my shirt, throbbing with pseudo-pain.
“What are you doing?” Jaxon asks me.
“I’m thinking about those kids gnawing on my nipples. It hurts.” I rub them, and Jaxon slaps me on the back of the head before walking to the bedroom, where Quinn is waiting. Owen follows, chuckling at me, and all too soon, I’m left in silence.
Usually Julia is here. She and I had a few wild nights in the bedroom. She’s older, but I’m an equal opportunity lover, and she’s a wildcat, but I’m not feeling it anymore. I think she knows, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s why she isn’t around.
That’s alright. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved with her. I was an idiot.
A horny idiot, but an idiot nevertheless.
I close my eyes to get some rest, and that night when I was seventeen replays in my mind like it does every day. I wonder how the Thomas’s are doing since Grace died. She had succumbed to her injuries three days later due to brain damage. I spent six years in prison. I got sentenced as an adult, and no matter how hard my dad’s lawyers tried, they couldn’t get the assault and battery charges to drop since I was covered in her blood.
No one believed me that I said I saw a man leave the room, but that’s okay.
Like Owen, I convinced myself I deserved punishment. I did m
y time, I got out, but the guilt is still there.
I haven’t been involved with my family since that night. They wanted nothing to do with me. I was the troubled son, the fuck up, the mistake. My parents didn’t visit me. I didn’t get one letter.
Well, that’s not true.
I did get one.
From Heather.
But to this day, I haven’t opened it.
And I won’t.
That’s the past. The last thing I want to do is relive the worst days of my life. I need to let go and move on, but that’s easier said than done.
Two
Heather
The sheets are soft.
I rub my cheek against the Egyptian cotton, letting it soak up the tears. I haven’t been able to stop crying since I got here. I think it’s been a few days. I’m not really sure. I haven’t looked at a clock. I haven’t really spoken to anyone.
I just feel very…
Empty and confused.
Everything on my body hurts. I have bruises, scratches, and dark fingerprints on my thighs; I haven’t been able to look at them. It’s a reminder of what happened. Not that I need reminding. Every time I close my eyes, I see him there, hovering over me, gripping the space between my legs, scratching me with his nails, and spitting on his hand to get me nice and wet.
I can smell him too. If I think hard enough, he’s here, his soured whiskey breath huffing on my face as he grins at me, his yellow teeth rotted, and the insane gleam in his eyes as he believed I really wanted him.
No matter how many times I shower, I can’t scrub hard enough to get him off me. He’s in my skin. He has made himself at home in my bones. My soul is tainted, broken, and I’m used. I’m damaged goods now.
I’m dirty now.
I grab the pillow in my hands and shove it over my face, sobbing uncontrollably. I know I need to be strong. I know I need to get over it, but how? I don’t know how when every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Jolie’s boyfriend saved me, but saved me to what capacity? I’m just here. I’ll never know the woman I knew before I got kidnapped while visiting my sister’s grave. I wasn’t happy that day; I never am when I go to visit Grace, but life was good.
Cruel Captivation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 5) Page 2
