by Scott, S. L.
“I may not have given the order, but I’m to blame, Bennett.”
“Sit down.” His tone is firm, leaving me no wiggle room.
I owe him answers. Now’s the time, so I sit on the couch. “You can ask me anything. I won’t lie to you.”
He sits back down, a line digging deep between his brows. “See? Here I thought we were already past that.”
“We are,” I start, but stammer over a few breaths. “I just thought—”
“Allies. We said allies, Winter. Being on the same side, the same team, being allies means we stick together, and we don’t lie to each other. I gave you time to yourself in the bedroom because I thought you needed it not because I thought we were over. Fuck, we’ve barely begun.”
“I didn’t doubt us. I doubted myself.” Allies with him is so different than when Kurt demanded it of me.
“Because you doubted me and my reaction to something. You don’t have to read into my expression. If you’re unsure of something when it comes to us, or me, all you have to do is ask.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No. Why would I be?” he answers solemnly.
“The situation with Singer.”
“You didn’t cause that, and it’s being handled. But I need to know your ties to Kurt McCoy.”
“I worked for him.”
It doesn’t take but a split second for him to put the pieces together. “He’s a competitor of Nobleman’s.” Scrubbing his hand over his face, he sighs. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
He leans back. “This is what you hint at but don’t say. You feel you betrayed your family by working for the competition?”
“I don’t feel it. I know I did, and they know I did.”
“Why did you go to work for the McCoys?”
“Because my father wouldn’t hire me after I spent years in school preparing for the job.”
Reaching over, he rests a hand on my leg. “They forced your hand. It’s a specialized field. You didn’t have much choice.”
“I can tell myself that all day long, but it won’t change my intentions.”
“And what were those?”
“To get insider information from McCoy.” I tap the toes of my shoes together. “Maybe in retribution as well.”
“I understand the feeling of revenge. People have hurt my family . . .” He glances in the direction of the door like he expects someone to round the corner. When his eyes return to me, he says, “The McCoys have hurt my family and others close to us.”
“I didn’t know.”
“We know you didn’t. I know you didn’t. But that he’s involved with anyone around us is a threat to all of us. Did Kurt hit you?”
“Yes,” I reply, wanting to bury my head into our happier times. As much as I hate confrontation and others being disappointed in me, it’s time to face the truth and end this nightmare.
“You worked for him to get back at your family and to steal information. I get that, but I sense there’s more to the story.”
Honesty. No matter how much it embarrasses me. “We dated,” I say, keeping my voice as low as possible.
He catches himself blankly staring at me, though I’m sure he has plenty of thoughts on the subject, and then stands. With his back to me and his arms crossed over his chest, he directs his attention out the window.
Rushing to fill the unbearable void between us, I add, “I thought he cared about me.”
He whips around, his face showing his astonishment. “Kurt McCoy? You thought a McCoy would love you how you deserve?”
“You don’t have to say it like that. I admit that I was naïve. I told you I’m a bad judge of character.”
“Winter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m mad now.” His voice is too calm to yell, his disposition not stiff or aggressive in stance.
“Are you holding it in?”
“Yes,” the word comes out on a strangled breath.
“I’m so sorry I’ve brought this awful back into your life. I would never purposely hurt you.”
Taking a deep breath and releasing a long exhale, he adds, “I’m not mad at you. What did you hope to gain when you went to work for him?”
“His operational plans,” I say, the words spilling from my mouth. “I thought I could get them and give them to my father.”
“What happened?”
“I’m betting you could answer that yourself.”
Bennett is a thoughtful man. He takes calculated risks, and maybe spontaneous ones, but it seems when it comes to business, he’s more on the analytical side. “He knew what you were doing, and you were the perfect prey.” Sitting down again, he rests his arms on his legs. “Let me guess. He blackmailed your dad with the information he got from you? Thus dividing you and your father even further.”
“And my brother. He despised me for the close relationship I had with my mother. He hates me even more now.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted. But honestly, from what you’ve said, getting that information for your father wouldn’t have changed things. As for the McCoys, they have no conscience or integrity.” Bennett walks to the edge of the hallway. He’s leaving? Just when I feel my heart start to shatter, he says, “The others need to know this information.”
“What should I do?”
“I want you to tell us everything you know, and then when it’s all said and done, we’re coming back here, and I’m going to make love to you.” His tilted smirk gives me comfort. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll start face first.”
He comes to me, lifts my chin until my mouth closes, and then with a finger remaining on my skin, he kisses me. Our lips are still pressed together when he asks, “How does that sound?”
“A deal I can’t say no to.” After he steals my breath away with another sweet kiss, I sink into the place where I’m most happy—his world and him. Bennett. Bennett. Bennett. This time when our lips part, he walks back, holding his hand out and waiting for me to join him. “Come with me, Winter.”
All I have to do is take it.
The risk.
The opportunity.
The hand of the man who’s more than I deserve.
When I reach out, he takes it and kisses it. “I’ll protect you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
24
Winter
In the hall linking the two apartments, Bennett places his hand on a black pad, and the wall shifts in and then slides to the side. Panic rises inside, and I ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“To the penthouse.” He’s not nervous at all, but his hand tightens around mine to put me at ease. “There’s a lot of security in the building. Step back.” The wall slides closed, and he punches in a code that opens the door to the elevator.
When we step inside, I ask, “Could someone hurt you and still get in?”
“There are precautions in place. When my hand is on the pad, it checks the points of fingerprints, handprint, pulse, and hormones. Through temperature, it can decipher between panic, threats, and regular sweat.”
“How?”
“I’m not a science guy, but what I got out of the training is that we produce distinct levels of hormones in each situation.” That he answers my flurry of questions shows the trust he’s given me. I want to make him feel the same.
The door closes, and after he enters another code, I ask, “Did we only go up one floor?”
“Yes. We renovated last year and moved to the apartments under his.”
The door slides open, and we enter. “Oh, wow!” I’m not sure what else to say as we walk down a gallery covered in framed black and white photos. The walls are black but lead to a bright space surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. So much of it is similar to Bennett’s, but this place takes up the entire floor. “That is the most incredible view I’ve ever seen.”
Singer comes down another corridor and smiles at me. It’s not as happy as w
hen we first met, but I’ll take it. Taking my hands in hers, she says, “I didn’t mean to react like I did. I’m so sorry for worrying you.”
“Worrying me? No, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t. There’s a lot to tell, but it’s not the time. That’s history I can’t change.” She turns to their seating area—two large, deep blue couches face each other with light brown leather designer chairs anchoring them at either end. A wood table with uneven edges and prominent grain centers everything on top of an area rug. It’s such a nice balance between masculine and feminine, formal to comfort. “Please, sit. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Wine?” I don’t even know what time it is, but it feels like a glass of white wine would treat me well about now.
“Sauvignon blanc?”
I appreciate the lack of judgment. “Perfect.”
“Bennett?”
“I’m good,” he replies.
Hutton and Ethan come in from the same hall where Singer had appeared. They stop talking when they move to sit. The brothers may tease Ethan about being the brains, but he does not lack in attractiveness. He and Singer make a stunning couple. As do Ally and Hutton.
I glance at Bennett, starting to feel a part of this family as well, wanting to be a part of them. Before I get too lost in that thought, Ethan says, “I think it’s obvious that there’s history when it comes to the McCoys and Everests.” I nod as if he asked me a direct question. He didn’t, but his green eyes focus on me. “The men chasing Bennett and you work for Kurt McCoy. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You currently don’t work for him in any capacity, correct?” Hutton asks.
“The word work is subjective.”
Ethan says, “Please explain.”
Singer hands me a wineglass and sits on the sofa next to her husband with a glass of sparkling water in hand. When his hand covers her thigh, the motion is one made of love and reacting to her without thought—on instinct. I’ve always found the small gestures of love more convincing than the grander acts. Those feel like they’re made for everyone else.
I take a quick sip, and then say, “I used to work for McCoy Industries, a smaller division of McCoy Properties. A bad decision to spite my family in many ways and because of them in other ways.” I continue to vomit my entire story, hoping to find relief afterward. “That bad decision was made worse by dating him. I know I shouldn’t have, but I’ll blame my age and how I thought I was smarter than my father at the time.”
Hutton says, “We’re all guilty of doing things we regret. What about after? You didn’t cut ties?”
“In business, yes, but personally, he dragged me along for another six months.”
Singer’s voice is soft when she asks, “What do you mean he dragged you?”
The cut gets deeper and I can’t stop the words from bleeding. “He had something on me—information about my father’s company—and I thought that was what drove him. But then it was as if he lost sight of his initial goal.”
“Which was?” Bennett asks.
“Me. He got engaged, but he became obsessed with me. He claimed to love her, but still pursued me. It was as if he wanted a fiancée but believed he had no reason to let go of me. I wanted nothing to do with him, and with every rejection, he came on stronger until he had what he needed to reel me back in.” I take a gulp of my wine and then another, needing to numb some of these harsher truths. “I did everything to make my dad proud of me, to see me not as his daughter but as an equal to my brother. Kurt diminished all hope of that when he blackmailed me into being his whore.” I finish my wine and cross my legs, defiant in their unreadable stares.
Bennett gets up and leans toward me. The sun rises and sets in his warm sunshine eyes. “Don’t close down. You’re not on the stand,” he whispers.
I accept his words, though it’s hard not to react the way I’ve trained myself to. He leans back but continues to rub my knee. “How long did that go on?”
“Six months. He lauded the information on my family’s company over my head the entire time. He became physically abusive as if the emotional abuse wasn’t damaging enough. When I stood up to him, I should have known he’d never let me walk away that easily.” I’d been terrified, having no clue what he was capable of. Now it’s too late.
“What happened?” Singer asks.
“He made his first move—a hostile takeover of my family’s company. It was all my father had left. My brother invested his trust fund. Kurt was going to take it from them because of me. If I had never worked for him, Kurt wouldn’t have the ammo. I basically handed him the keys to my family’s legacy.”
Bennett turns to his brothers, and says, “She worked in dock rights, shipping, and cargo holds,” as if that says everything.
Ethan sighs heavily and rubs his temple. “I see. Same as Nobleman.”
“What is it?” I ask, missing the connection.
Bennett replies for him. “Kurt McCoy’s cousin tried to kill Singer and Ethan.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Singer snaps. No wonder she reacted the way she did at Bennett’s. How can they even look at me? His cousin tried to murder them? Oh God.
Her husband wraps his arm around her. “We knew Kurt was running the company, but we didn’t know the extent that he was following in his cousin’s footsteps. We should have.”
Hutton says, “I don’t understand how you ended up working for him again. Do you mind explaining?”
“Kurt had been calling me for months. I finally took the call and begged him to show my family mercy. He told me to meet him for dinner. I saw it as an opportunity to plead in person.” Worried to look Bennett in the eyes, I stare at the empty wineglass instead. “We had dinner and drinks, but by the time dessert was served, I wasn’t feeling well.”
Bennett stands, distressed—hands flexing, jaw clenching, and anxiety coursing through his muscles as he begins to pace, unable to stay still. “He drugged you.”
I vaguely notice Hutton and Ethan, their reactions lost as I look at Bennett. He’s so angry on my behalf, but I can’t have him set out on a mission of revenge. “And then I woke up in Paris,” I say, leaving out the in between.
“Drugged and kidnapped.” His hands are fisted, his brown eyes burning, with anger. He mutters under his breath, “Motherfucker.”
I stand and go to him. “I’m okay.” I run the tips of my fingers down his arms until I meet his tight hands. I keep his eyes on me as I gently wedge my fingertips into his palms until he releases and weaves his fingers with mine. He looks away, redirecting his anger toward a painting on the wall. “Look at me,” I say so softly, carefully. “Please, Bennett.”
When he does, he says, “I want to kill him.”
25
Winter
Fury fuels the fire in his eyes. “They’re evil. The McCoys sold their souls to the devil a long time ago.”
“There’s more I need to tell you,” I say, leaning my head against him.
Tilting back up, I rest my chin on his chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’m fine. Nothing’s going to happen.” He takes a step back, calmer for the time being. When he sits, I do, too.
“Ben?” Hutton asks.
Turning toward his brother, he’s annoyed. “I’m fine.”
They hold each other’s hard stare until Hutton seems appeased. “All right.” Hutton redirects to me. “I’m not surprised that happened to you since we’re dealing with a McCoy, but I’m sorry about it. Are you okay?”
I managed to bring these horrible people back into their lives, and they’re checking on my well-being. Their kindness knows has no limits. “I’m, uh. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“That’s good,” he replies. “Do you know why he kidnapped you?”
My hands start shaking from the memory, Kurt’s bloodthirsty gaze coming back as if I can see him before me now. I sit on my hands, but m
y voice trembles still giving me away. “When I woke up in Paris, he told me he was collecting the debt I owed him.”
“What’s the debt?” Bennett asks.
“My life. He said he owned me, and I had to do what he told me to earn back my freedom. It wasn’t threatening my life that scared me. Ultimately, I’m the one to blame for walking into his office in the first place, so my dirty deeds were always meant to catch up with me.” My gaze pivots around the room at each of them as shame flourishes inside me. “I was used as bait.”
Her voice wobbles on fear, but Singer still asks, “What were you supposed to catch?” She knows the answer, the tears welling in her eyes gives her away.
“I didn’t know until it was too late. I swear I didn’t.” I shift uncomfortably in their spotlight. “I was told not to do anything out of the ordinary and live a regular life.”
Ethan asks, “Why wouldn’t he take your passport?”
“He took everything else of mine but gave me a copy. Until I tried to make a purchase and was denied for not having the original ID on me. Suddenly, my passport appeared on my vanity.”
Singer says, “He trusted you?”
“I tried to escape once, but a threat and a gun was all it took to convince me otherwise. I was set up with an apartment, a phone, a credit card, anything I needed, except the freedom to leave Paris.”
The first week is still stuck under my skin—the quiet, the anger, the fear, the daily reminders of my incarceration—like a virus I can’t cure.
Singer looks at her husband. “How would that bait someone?”
Bennett sighs. “I fell right for it.” I take a breath when the attention is off me. “Her father is the key,” he repeats from before. “He’s the one who got me to find her, claiming he was worried.”
“He wasn’t worried,” I say. I can’t seem to force myself to say the obvious.
Bennett does instead. “Your father is working for or with McCoy and set us up.”
Although we were leading to this conclusion before, hearing it makes me feel sick again. As if I didn’t hurt enough, my father and brother land another punch to my heart. Bennett kneels in front of me. With his hands on my knees, he whispers, “There are worse outcomes than finding someone you care about. It doesn’t make things better, but we win, Winter, because we have each other.”
