Yield

by Sawyer Bennett

  Bending down, I give Macy a soft kiss and then unwind my arms from around her. "I won't do anything to get myself in trouble," I promise her.

  She looks relieved in one second, and then stunned the next when I turn for my car. "You're leaving?"

  "I'm going to see your uncle," I tell her as I turn back. "Mac will be here soon. You can stay here with her and I'll come back, or I'll catch up with you in the city. We still need to talk about what the prosecutor can do for you."

  "But--"

  I shake my head firmly. "No buts. You're going to have to trust me on this."

  She looks bewildered, but she gives me an accepting nod. The only way I know she's scared is by the way she wrings her hands together, and the only reason I'm leaving now is because I know Mac would have been hot on my heels after I called her. I can't imagine she'll be too much longer.

  I turn away again, this time intent on making it to my car. I'm not going to let her divert me from my goal. As I near the house, my mom steps out onto the front porch. Whatever look is on my face causes my mom's lips to draw downward and her eyes to immediately become concerned.

  "Take care of her for now," I tell my mom as I jerk a thumb back over my shoulder. "Mac will be here soon."

  My mom gives me an encouraging smile and nods.

  That's good enough for me. I know she's safe and cared for.

  I can concentrate on other things right now.

  I'm going to send Keith Marlow a big fat bonus come Monday morning. He was my first phone call as I left Warwick. After I told him what I wanted, he said he'd get back with me as soon as he could. My second call was to Matt. I told him to be on standby... that I might need bailed out of jail later. He didn't ask me any questions, so I'm assuming Mac filled him in on what was going on. All he said was, "I've got your back."

  Keith called me back within just half an hour of my original call to him. He worked his magic and gave me Luke Carrington's home address.

  Of course, it's a private luxury apartment building and there's no way I'm getting past security, so I park my car and find a spot a couple of hundred feet from the entrance where I can watch for him.

  I'm not leaving until he makes an appearance.

  I call Matt... update him. He tells me Mac is bringing Macy back to the city and she'll be at their place. This relieves me, knowing she'll be with two people that care deeply for her. I know her wounds have all been peeled open by what I found out today, but I seriously can't concentrate on that until I do this.

  I've never been so driven in my life to accomplish a single task.

  I won't be able to devote myself to Macy until this is done.

  Chapter 13

  I wait.

  And I wait.

  And I wait some more.

  I've been hanging out watching for Luke Carrington to come out of his building, or go in. In the past four hours, at least seven different car services have pulled up to let out residents or pick them up, for perhaps an evening on the town. Another black Lincoln town car parks in front of the building and puts its flashers on. The driver... a man of about forty and dressed in a black suit... gets out and comes to stand by the rear door. I know he's waiting for someone to come out, and I hope for the umpteenth time it's finally my prey.

  I narrow my gaze toward the double glass doors framed in gold plating. A grandly uniformed doorman stands there, his white gloves remaining pristine all afternoon as I watched him letting people in and out of the building. He's eyeballed me a few times, no doubt suspicious of my loitering, but there's not a damn thing he can do to me. It's a public sidewalk.

  My phone rings. I think briefly to ignore it because I want to be able to move fast, but when I see it's Matt, I go ahead and connect. I have no qualms with hanging up on him if Carrington makes an appearance.

  "How's it going?" he asks.

  "Still no sighting," I say as I keep my eyes pinned on the doorman.

  "Macy and Mac just ran down to the corner market to pick some stuff up for dinner. Think you might be joining us?"

  "Probably not," I tell him even as my stomach rumbles. I haven't eaten anything since my mom shoved a blueberry muffin in my hand as I left early this morning. "How's she doing?"

  "She's worried about you," Matt says.

  Guilt strikes at me because the last thing I ever want is to cause Macy one moment of concern for my welfare. She has enough on her plate without having to stress out over what I might do to her uncle.

  And fuck... I honestly have no idea.

  I think I've calmed down enough that murder isn't on the agenda, but who knows? I'm still vibrating with an insane need to do violence to this man, and maybe it will get out of control. I've decided not to worry about it, and I'm just going to go with my gut reaction when I see him.

  If the fucker ever decides to show up.

  Almost as if on cue, the doorman reaches for the door and pulls it open. He gives a short bow of his head to the man walking out, and as soon as he steps onto the sidewalk, I recognize Luke Carrington.

  At least, I hope it's Luke Carrington.

  I suppose it could be his brother, Travis, since they're identical twins, but I can't worry about that now. Travis Carrington is on my shit list too, so I'm going to get satisfaction out of this no matter who that man is heading toward the town car.

  I disconnect the phone and shove it in my back pocket, not giving Matt another thought.

  I stride toward Carrington, immediately recognizing I won't intercept him before he gets to the car. The driver opens the back door so I break into a jog, and as the adrenaline starts to course through me, I open up the floodgates and let vicious hatred of this man fuel me.

  Yes, for the first time in my life, I actually hate someone.

  I start barreling toward him and in just a few seconds, I'm there.

  Carrington hears me coming... turns his head toward me, eyes wide with surprise. I'm not sure what my face looks like but I imagine that brimstone and fire might be rolling off it, and his own gaze fills with fear.

  He braces himself... knows there's no stopping me.

  I slam into him, calling upon every bit of training I had in high school and rec football as a defensive linebacker, and I plow him hard down onto the concrete.

  The driver shouts, "Holy fuck."

  I hear the doorman call out, "Stop. Someone stop that man."

  Then my world goes silent as I stare down at Macy's molester.

  Her rapist.

  It's just me, him, and not a goddamn thing in between us.

  I straddle his chest, pinning him down. He's tall and lanky, but that's all he has. I have him by a good thirty pounds, I'm just as tall, and I have twenty-five years of youth on my side.

  I also have rage.

  Blind, acidic rage.

  My fist connects with the side of his jaw, rocking his head hard to the side. He cries out in pain and tries to lift his hands to ward me off. I merely use my free hand to pull them away, cock my arm back, and let my fist fly again.

  A direct connect to the bridge of his nose, and I hear his cartilage crumbling. Blood spatters both of us, and then gushes when I hit him again on his nose.

  He shrieks now, trying to buck me off his body.

  I hit him one more time, against his temple with my closed fist, and his eyes start to roll into the back of his head.

  He can't lose consciousness... not yet.

  I'm nowhere near done.

  I grip him by his jaw, and he groans in true pain. Maybe it's broken but I can only hope. I squeeze and give his head a shake. Leaning over him, I bend down close and snarl, "I'm going to end you, you motherfucker."

  Someone grabs my shoulder and tries to pull me off him. I see a flash of a black-and-red uniform with a thick, gold braid over one shoulder, and I know it's the doorman trying to stop me.

  But he's like a bothersome gnat, easy to swat away. I hold Carrington's face hard with one hand, letting my other fly in another tight fist toward his face.
It connects solidly just between his cheekbone and jaw and more blood sprays. I imagine the inside of his mouth is shredded, maybe his tongue even gashed.

  The thought almost makes me giddy with pleasure.

  "I'm going to call the cops," I hear the doorman say. I have no clue where the driver is, but he's not attempted to interfere. I expect that's just because he's a driver and not a security guard.

  "Yeah... go ahead and call the cops," I growl as I grip Carrington's jaw hard. He whimpers, and I love it. I lean down and murmur, just so he can hear, "Have him call the cops. I'm sure they'd love to know I'm beating the shit out of a child molester."

  After the last two blows to the head, I wasn't sure if Carrington was actually cognizant of what was going on, but suddenly, his eyes spring wide open. Hate and fear blaze at me in equal measures.

  "No cops," he gurgles through the blood pooling in his mouth. But it's loud enough he can be heard.

  "But Mr. Carrington," the doorman pleads. "This man needs to be arrested."

  I don't even bother to look at the doorman. I don't look at the driver, or at the people I bet have stopped to watch what's going on.

  I only have eyes for Luke Carrington.

  Squeezing his jaw harder, I revel in the pain I see in his gaze. I lean down and whisper, "I have much worse than this planned for you. I'm going to make you suffer in ways you never dreamed possible."

  "Please," he moans, and then chokes on his own blood. "I'll give you anything--"

  "I want your life," I cut him off.

  "Money," he cries... his eyes begging me. "Name your price."

  Shaking my head, I give him a sympathetic smile. My voice is patronizing. "What money? It's all been confiscated by the government."

  "I have some hidden," he blurts out.

  I lean in a little closer, my voice cracking with savagery. "I said I want your life. And I mean to have it."

  Releasing my hold on his face, I surge up from my straddling position and take a quick look around. A huge crowd has formed around us, but thank God... no cops.

  The doorman and driver swoop down to help Carrington up. The doorman shoots me an evil look and then implores again, "Please... let me call the cops."

  "No police," Luke says as he stands up and swipes the back of his hand over his bloody mouth. More blood pours out of both nostrils. He's a fucking mess.

  He shrugs off the grip of the doorman and tells the driver, "I won't need you tonight."

  Carrington stumbles toward the lobby doors of his building, hesitating just before going in and giving a quick peek over his shoulder at me. I stand stock still... glaring at him. I want him to know he needs to be looking over his shoulder every day from now on.

  He grimaces and disappears inside.

  I call Matt as I turn and head down the block to where I parked my car. "I'm heading home," I say as soon as he answers.

  "Did you get it done?"

  "Yeah... he's a bloody mess but still breathing," I say... all of a sudden feeling exhausted. Bone tired. Heartsick and in no way satisfied from that encounter. "Just tell Macy I'll come see her tomorrow."

  I end the call before he can say anything else to me.

  It takes me another hour to make it home, thanks to rush-hour traffic. I have to park in a garage two blocks away, and the trudge to my building is grueling. My right hand is throbbing, I have blood sprayed all over my light blue, button-down shirt, and luckily, no one is in the small lobby to see the horror that is Cal Carson.

  I want a shower and food, and maybe not in that order, then I just want to sleep for an eternity. The emotional and physical toll of the day is about to put me under.

  As soon as I step out of the elevator, I sense her.

  Then I see her.

  And I don't feel so tired anymore.

  She's changed into a pair of jeans and an off-the-shoulder blouse. Stylish heels, trendy bag, and hair and makeup done to perfection.

  The. Most. Beautiful. Woman. Ever.

  Her eyes rove all over me... taking in the mess that's standing before her.

  "Your hand," she says as her eyes flick down.

  I hold it up in front of me, seeing that the knuckles are shredded, swollen, and bleeding. I flex my fingers. They're stiff but not broken.

  I give her a smile as I walk up to her. She steps back from my door so I can unlock it, then I push it open and indicate for her to precede me in.

  Following in her wake, I let the smell of her shampoo fill me up, and suddenly, I'm not so starved anymore. Perhaps I can just subsist off Macy's scent. As I look at her ass swaying before me as she walks into my living room, I don't feel so tired. Maybe I can just subsist off her body as well.

  Shaking my head, I throw my keys on the kitchen counter as Macy turns on me. "Get in the shower and get cleaned up. I'll make you something to eat."

  I'm grateful.

  Grateful she's not mothering me. Or demanding answers. Or in any other way making me doubt what just went down.

  Her no-nonsense approach is exactly what I need right now.

  I'm clean but still not fed. The soup Macy heated smells delicious, but she made me sit on the couch first so she could bandage my hand.

  She nudges my knees apart so she can sit in between them, her ass perched on the edge of my coffee table as she faces me. I'm only wearing a damp towel around my hips and I'm sure she's getting a show when my legs spread, but we're both beyond modesty.

  Besides that... sex is the last thing on my mind right now.

  Even though I'm sure my wounds are clean from my shower, she insists on gently dabbing peroxide on them, leaning over my hand to concentrate on her work.

  "What do I have to do to get my apartment and trust fund back?" she asks me suddenly.

  I'm too tired to even startle over the blunt question. "She suspects you had a forced abortion. She wants you to confirm it, and then she wants to use it to bluff your father into a plea deal. If you do that, you get your trust fund back less the original investment plus the apartment."

  "I get my life back," she murmurs as she blots my knuckles dry.

  I don't respond, because she understands the gist of it. Macy uses four different Band-Aids, one on each knuckle, and I watch her silently as she works.

  It pleases me to know that she's never done this for another man. More so because I know that's not just because of circumstance, but really, because she's never cared about another man enough to do this.

  It makes me love her more.

  "I can't do it," she says as she gives my hand a squeeze and looks up at me.

  The immediate disappointment that floods through me is surprising. While I hadn't given much thought to what Macy would do, I'm surprised that my subconscious clearly wanted her to turn on her father. To tell the world what that bastard did to her.

  "Why not?" I ask her hesitantly. Neutrally.

  "I spent a lot of my life learning how to get past what my parents did to me. I don't want to revisit it. I don't want to go back and think one second about it. I don't want the scrutiny. I've moved past it."

  "Have you really?" I ask pointedly.

  Because she hasn't.

  She's relationship averse.

  Afraid of commitment.

  Devalues herself.

  I could go on and on.

  "I've moved past it as best as I could," she says simply, with more determination in her voice than I've heard. "And I'm not running from you, am I?"

  Point well taken. But I have to ask. "I guess I don't understand why you don't want a hand in bringing your father down. Granted... he'd still go away for the federal crimes, but it would be because of you. Don't you need that type of justice for closure?"

  "I don't," she says and doesn't give me any further elucidation. She just stares at me... silently demanding I accept.

  "Okay."

  Her eyes flick back and forth over my face for a moment, perhaps making sure I'm being honest in my acceptance. She'll find nothing but truth
staring back at her because I will never make Macy do something she doesn't want. It doesn't mean I won't broach it with her again, but I will totally support whatever she wants to do.

  "Now," she says as she places one of her hands on each of my knees. "I want to tell you everything... about Luke. And I want you to tell me what happened tonight. I have a feeling it will make me smile."

  I can't help but chuckle over her teasing me in the face of the most serious fucking day I've ever had in my life.

  "But before we get to that, I need you to know something."

  "What is it?"

  "I'm not broken. You've learned some things about me today that would freak a lot of men out. You might even be feeling the need to treat me extra gently... afraid I'm too vulnerable." I tilt my head, curious as to where she's going with this. Her blue eyes penetrate me deep. "You need to know I'm not broken, weak, or traumatized, especially when it comes to sex, because of what was done to me. I've taken my experience and shaped it so I have power. I feel in control. I love it now more than I ever have, and that's because of you. This cannot affect our sex life."

  "Macy," I say as I lean forward, intent on stopping her little speech. "I don't feel--"

  "I'm going to suck your cock now," she interrupts me as her hands slide up my legs, pushing the towel out of the way. "Then I'm going to feed you, and then I'm going to tell you everything that happened to me."

  "No," I immediately deny, because after everything that came raining down on Macy today, I'll be damned if I'm going to let her get on her knees in front of me. I should be the one getting down on my knees before her. "Let me--"

  "Don't," she says harshly as her fingers dig down into my thighs. "Don't treat me like that. Don't make me feel weak."

  I stare at her, warring with the need to make her feel good physically versus the need to make her feel good spiritually.

  "Don't make me ashamed of what happened to me," she says quietly. "Don't treat me differently."

  Her words rock me hard. My admiration for her grows. My adoration goes deeper. My heart becomes possessed.

  She needs to show me this.

  She needs to feel whole.

  I grip the edges of the towel and pull it apart, my cock springing free and getting harder by the millisecond. She doesn't look down at it but continues to stare at me in challenge even as she scoots off the coffee table and kneels on the floor between my legs.