by DeRosa, Mila
“You’re not running, Bryn.” He lifted the glass to his lips. “Sit.” He ordered before taking a sip.
Too tired to argue, she did as she was told. He’d looked out for her, no doubt heard the accusations Josh flung her way. He knew who she was, and still he bestowed kindness and a secure place to be. Baxter could just as easily come after Reeves and his club, cause such a scene that no one would visit the establishment again, or at least not for a long time.
“At least I know why you’re so familiar to me.” He waited for her to sit before he spoke. “Eyes like toffee, just like your mom’s.” His tone was soft, full of respect.
Bryn tucked her legs up under her on the sofa. “She always liked you.” Bryn managed a small smile, thinking back to a time when the drug world didn’t seem so horrible as it became. When she was too young to be a part of what was really going on, but not too young to have noticed Reeves was different than the others.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for her. Truth be known, I’d either still be caught up in the mob, or dead.” There was resentment in his tone. “At least I know you’re the best personal assistant I could have because you’re as eager to make a change as I am.”
“I don’t know.” She picked at a stray thread on the hem of the dressing gown. “Nothing good will come of me staying here. I need to make sure Jodie is okay, although it might take a while for her to really be okay—the baby.” She shook her head, not able to say the words aloud. “She was pretty beat up and losing too much blood.”
“Not going to argue with you there. That bastard needs to be taught a lesson on how to treat a lady.”
“My turn not to argue.” More intense than a chill, a shudder ran through her and she leaned forward to hug her knees. “I also need to see my mother. If the two of you are close, can you help me?” Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t ask him for anything, but, no doubt, Baxter would know she was in town and Reeves was the only one she trusted to keep her safe—her, and her mother.
Reeves finished what remained of his drink and set the glass on the arm of the sofa. Closing his eyes for a moment, he rubbed them with the tips of his fingers before opening them. “When was the last time you saw Kath—you’re mother?”
“The day I left.” There was no need to colour the situation. He was a runner for Baxter at the time, so he would’ve heard the rumours, even if most weren’t true. There would’ve been plenty of stories for him to make his own assumption as to why she left.
“Far out.” He let out a deep breath. “And, you didn’t catch on to what Josh was talking about when he said that no one left Baxter?”
She frowned, struggling to recall his words. Jodie had been whimpering and Bryn was trying to reassure her, she recalled the moment, just not his exact words. She glanced up and met Reeves eyes. The expression on her face must have given him his answer, because he stood, crossed the room and sat beside her on the couch, arm draped around her shoulder.
“Your mom was the strongest and the kindest lady I ever knew. She was like a mother to me, and I loved her dearly.” He paused as he pulled her body against his chest and held her tight. “She’d had enough. But, Josh wasn’t wrong when he said no one leaves Baxter.”
The shock caught in her throat, eyes burned as tears pooled, overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, she released a moan. “No. No. No. Please no.” Turning into Reeves, her body shook. She was too late.
Chapter 16
Bryn slept late, after a night of tossing and turning and bad dreams. For too long she had wanted to return to her hometown. For too long she had lived in the shadows. For too long she would have to live with the guilt of not being there for her mother, not even at her funeral, when her mother had always been there for her—always put her first.
Reeves didn’t have to give her details; she knew her mother had died at the hands of Baxter. That he’d stolen her last breath just as he stole her freedom so many years ago. Even so young as she was, Bryn knew a part of her mother died a long time ago.
Slowly, she sat up in bed. She looked around for Reeves, but he wasn’t in the bedroom.
Dressed in nothing but an oversized white business shirt, she padded barefoot through his private quarters to the main office. Who would’ve thought the area was so large, even though she’d been in his office more than a dozen times, she hadn’t realized it was fitted out as an apartment.
Sat at his desk, he looked up when she entered and smiled. “Good morning. I hope you managed some sleep.”
“Took a while, but I got there eventually.” Her mind flashed to what she must look like, rumpled from not enough sleep was never an appealing sight. Self-conscious, she reached up to smooth her hair.
“I asked Sally to go out and buy you what you’d need—” he nodded towards the shopping bags alongside the sofa. “Hope it’s okay. I would’ve gone myself, but I didn’t want to leave you.”
“Thanks.” She wandered over to the bags and picked them up. “Can you take what I owe you from my pay? Not sure I have cash on me.
With a flip of his wrist he dismissed her. “Get ready and we’ll go, although, I’d still be happier if we waited out a few days. He’ll have guards at all the places you’re likely to turn up at. No doubt Kathleen’s grave will be one of those places.”
Nothing he said would convince her to change her mind. Too much time had passed already, the guilt consumed her. There was no way she was staying away any longer. “He’s bound to catch up with me one day, and I’m tired of running.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” He stood and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you, Bryn. I give you my word.” He folded her in his arms, pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. He held her a long time, smoothing her hair with one hand, the other pressed to the center of her back.
With her head rested against his chest she hadn’t felt so safe in anyone’s arms since the day she left her mother. Lifting her hands, she placed them shoulder width apart, palms against his torso. He was a big man. Strong, secure, and more stable than she imagined. Baxter was his complete opposite, cruel and as mad as a man could be. He wouldn’t hesitate to take Reeves out in the process of getting to Bryn. In fact, it’d make for an even more appealing hunt.
If anything went wrong whilst visiting her mother’s grave, the only regret Bryn would have is that she’d brought harm to him, and, on a personal note, that she’d not had the opportunity to explore all of him. For too long she held onto a reputation—his reputation of a single man who owed no explanation about his sex life to anyone, and yet she, along with others, thought it her business to judge.
If she got the chance, she’d learn his deepest depths as she had the surface, but for the moment she’d settle with a kiss. Sliding her hand up his chest, his neck to his cheek, and then mirrored the action with the other hand, she tilted her face to meet his gaze. Lowering his head, Reeves claimed her mouth with his. The urgency of the night in the cabin was back, but there was a tenderness about his touch.
Breaking the kiss off, he trailed his lips along her jaw to below her ear. “I think I’m in love with you, Bryn,” he whispered. “Since the moment you first brought me that drink.” Lips, featherlike, brushed her flesh until he claimed her mouth once more.
* * *
Reeves stood at a distance as Bryn paid her respects. Doug stood outside the car with orders to call the police if any trouble should arise, although, looking around, he didn’t think the extra precautions would be necessary.
Bryn didn’t stand after she set the bouquet of hot pink tulips, her mother’s favorite, on the ground. Instead, she dropped to her knees and held her head in her hands.
From a distance he could see her shoulders shake as the sobs escaped. He knew the feeling—guilt and sorrow mixed together until the boundary between the two was impossible to determine. If he could take away her pain, he would. He ached for the woman he lov
ed.
Scouting the grounds, he saw that they were alone. Midday on a Sunday the cemetery obviously wasn’t the place to be. The dead forgotten whilst all were out living life. He shook his head. It was too easy for negative thoughts to overpower when someone so truly beautiful as Kathleen was stolen from the world so crudely. And now, the daughter left behind without a chance to say goodbye was left to suffer.
The sound of an engine in the distance caught his attention. Glancing over at where Doug stood, he saw that he too had heard it and was reaching inside his jacket for his cell phone or the gun he carried. Reeves followed his lead and reached for both. He wasn’t taking any chances. Baxter was a bad bastard, and there was no way he was letting him get the upper hand.
Moments after he pulled his gun free from his shoulder holster, a black motorbike sped down the main road of the cemetery and turned toward them. The rider didn’t do anything to warrant taking a shot—no grounds for self-defense there. Reeves glanced from Bryn to rider, and back again.
She was watching him also. Still on her knees, she didn’t attempt to get up.
Stay down. Stay Low. He chanted in his head as if silently willing her to do as she was told.
He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. Insistent she may have been, but he was equally responsible the moment he agreed. She was exposed, a worm on a hook, at threat of Baxter intercepting and snagging her right from under Reeves’ nose.
She stood, body turned to the rider. She moved toward him, and then stopped when he too slowed to a stop and reached up to the strap under his neck.
Reeves moved forward a few steps, the rider turned his head toward him as if letting him know he was aware of his every move.
“Bryn, get down.” Doug shouted from behind them.
Reeves looked over his shoulder as a shot was fired and his bodyguard went down—a crumpled mass, black suit blending with black car.
From behind a tree, only meters from where Bryn now crouched, Baxter emerged. The gun he’d used to shoot Doug still poised and ready to take out the next one in his path. The motorbike rider was a clever ploy to divert their attention, and Reeves cursed himself for falling for it.
Baxter didn’t even glance in his direction, his focus set on Bryn. “Hello, Bryndel.” He tilted his head to the side and then back to the other. “Seven years—or is it eight.” He shook his head in disapproval. “It’s been a long time.”
Reeves shifted his stance, but didn’t take his eyes off Baxter as he took a few steps closer to Bryn.
“Your mom—she tried to leave, after everything I gave her. The house. The clothes. The jewelry. I gave her everything she ever wanted and that was how she planned to repay me.” He gestured to her head stone as if it was her fault that she was dead.
“You did this,” Bryn hissed. “Don’t you dare blame her for any of it. She was always too good for the life you gave.” She stood a little taller, as if empowered by her mother’s memory. Drawing the strength she needed to square up and face her fears. Reeves would’ve felt much more comfortable if her fear wasn’t pointing a gun in her face.
“I don’t know what hurts me most. The words you just spoke, or the fact that you now run with the likes of that thieving bastard.” He pointed the gun in Reeves direction, but didn’t shoot.
“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.” Bryn was shouting now. “You—you’re nothing but a coward, killing someone you claimed to love. You’re more primitive than an animal.” Her voice echoed in the silence, so did the scream that followed as she ran at him, ducking and darting like a crazed person.
The sound of gunfire coincided with Bryn being flung backward. It all happened so quickly that Reeves didn’t think before raising his gun, taking aim before squeezing the trigger. Baxter dropped just as quick as Bryn did.
The roar of the motorbike faded as it fled.
As soon as he collapsed Reeves rushed forward, although cautious as he approached Baxter’s body. From where the blood spilled, there was no doubt he was no longer a threat, but Reeves wasn’t taking any chances. He kicked the gun from reach before he ran over to Bryn, dropped down beside her and dragged her body into his lap. Running his hands over her body he searched for the dampness of blood, but her torso remained dry.
“Bryn, where does it hurt? Were you shot?” She opened her eyes and gazed up at him.
“The top of my arm, I think. Just skimmed it. Go check on Doug. I’ll be okay.” She reached up and clamped her hand over the spot where blood stained her top.
Reluctantly, Reeves settled her gently on the grass. “I’ll be quick.” He dialed emergency as he jogged the short distance to where Doug fell.
“I need an ambulance, or two, corner of Ellis and Michelson Street. Three people shot, one is dead.” He dropped down beside Doug, and felt for a pulse—faint, but definitely present. “Please hurry, my body guard is in a bad way.”
Rolling his body over, Reeves assessed the damage. Left side hit—could’ve been worse, but still, he’d lost a lot of blood. Dragging his tee shirt over his head, he balled it into a tight wad and pressed it to where the bullet penetrated. Doug responded with a groan—lifeless, but audible all the same.
“Hang in there, Doug. Ambulance is on its way.” Reeves removed the belt from his pants and secured the compress, despite it being soaked through.
When he turned, Bryn was standing behind him. On her feet and clutching her wounded arm was a good sign. Baxter was either a lousy shot, or else he was sending her a warning that he was first a Lord and never worthy of the title father. Reeves released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and gathered Bryn in his arms.
“How’s Doug?” The urgency in her tone clearly indicated she was more concerned about him than herself.
“He’s going to be okay.” At least, he hoped so. The last thing he wanted to do was inform Doug’s family that he wouldn’t be coming home from the job. “You scared me.” Reeves admitted. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I thought I was a goner for a moment there too. I still might be, my arm is throbbing.”
Reeves laughed, relieved she was going to be all right. Leaning forward, he brushed her lips with his. “I love you, Bryn,” he breathed.
“I love you, too.”
Covering her mouth, he kissed her with a passion to match his words.
Meet Mila
Mila DeRosa is the author of dark and steamy romance.
Red wine, dark chocolate, and Italian cuisine are her weaknesses.
Dancing to her own tune and having fun are her strengths.
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