by Measha Stone
“Sam, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but Randall thought a visit would be better.” Anderson sounded like himself—at least his voice did. But he stood next to Randall, like he knew him, like he was on his side.
“I—I don’t understand.” She settled her stare on Randall. “I told you I wouldn’t go back to Indiana to stop your appeal. I don’t care about that.”
Randall closed the space between them. His aftershave wafted over her, turning her stomach.
“I know…but things have changed, baby.” He tilted his head slightly. Hearing him call her baby sent prickles over her skin.
“Samantha, in order to assure the appeal is granted, that his conviction is overturned, we’re going to need a new statement from you,” Anderson explained. He craned his neck to look down the hall. “Is your boyfriend home? I’d rather not discuss this with him, but if he’s here—”
“Boyfriend,” Randall spit out. “Does he know what a turncoat you are? How fast you run to tattle?”
“Randall, that’s not how it happened,” she said.
“No, no, you’re right,” He nodded. “The cops came to you, but still, you just spilled your guts to them.”
“You nearly killed an old woman in that robbery. They’d already caught you.”
He shrugged. “A good woman keeps her mouth shut.”
“Is he, Sam?” Anderson interjected.
“No. He’s at work,” she answered, keeping her glare on Randall. “What do you need from me?”
“You need to take back your previous statement. Make a new statement saying you lied about Randall being the mastermind of the robbery and he had nothing to do with it. Explain you were heartbroken over your breakup and looking for revenge.”
Samantha flickered her attention to Anderson.
“You’re working with Randall? Why? Why would you do that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Business isn’t great, needed some new clientele. It’s not personal, Sam. We need your statement, then you’re done.”
“I’m not doing it.” She shook her head. “I’m not lying for you. I’ll stay out of the appeals process, I won’t give new testimony, but I am not taking back my statement. I will not lie.” She folded her arms over her chest.
Anderson’s shoulders dropped.
“It’s a statement, Sam. A piece of paper I’ll file on your behalf.”
“No, she needs to do more than just sign a paper.” Randall touched her face. “You said it would be best if she’s at the appeal. If she’s in court to give her statement.”
“Well, yes, but we don’t need to bring her back. We discussed that.” Anderson’s brow wrinkled.
Sam jerked her head to the side, away from Randall’s clammy touch.
“I’m sure as fuck not going anywhere with you!”
Randall’s hand crashed across her cheek, sending stars bursting into her vision and a pain shooting through her skull.
“Fuck. Randall!” Anderson called.
“You don’t talk to me like that. Not after what you did.” Randall was on her, his finger stuffed in her face, his spittle smacking into her cheek.
“Sam, sign the statement,” Anderson pleaded. “I have it all drawn up, you just need to sign it.”
She brought her gaze to meet Randall’s. Large black eyes glared back at her, his lips thinned out in anger, and his jaw pushed out.
“This guy? You call him Daddy?” Randall asked with heat.
She took a rugged breath. Pain thumped in her jaw from his hit, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble beneath his bullying.
“Do you?” He laughed. “I remember when you called me Daddy.” He ran a finger along her jaw. “Wanted to be my good little girl, didn’t you?”
It hadn’t been the same with him. She never tried to be his good little girl. He wasn’t a Daddy. The word had slipped during sex one night. He had no idea what it meant, and she didn’t explain. Randall was never going to be anything long-term. So why the hell couldn’t she get him out of her life?
“I want you to go,” she said, pointing to the door. “Get out.”
“Sam—”
“What you want doesn’t mean shit to me.” Randall’s expression went dark again. “Let me explain how this is going to work. You’re going to sign the fucking statement, and if Anderson here calls you down to Indiana to come to court, you’re going to get your ass down there. If I have to come up here to get you, you’re going to be real fucking sorry. And so is your brother.”
He stepped toward her, walking her back until she hit the wall.
“Jerri, she’s working for you too?”
Randall laughed. “Working for me?” He laughed. “That woman has been on my dick for months.”
“You’ve been in jail,” Sam whispered.
“Like that’s gonna stop anything.” He turned to Anderson. “Get the papers out. She’s going to sign them, or she’s coming with us. Her choice.” His eyes swung back to her. “And she’s not going to want to come with us if she has any sense in her head.”
Sam reached behind her, fumbling for her phone.
Gone.
She had dropped it on the couch. It was in the living room.
“If I sign them, you’ll leave?” She couldn’t keep the waiver from her voice.
“Sure, baby girl. You sign and I’ll go. So long as you understand you’re on deck. If Anderson calls, you come running.”
Samantha stared at Randall, taking in the anger seeping from him.
“Fine,” she agreed.
“That’s a good bitch.” He grinned and stepped back. She gulped in a breath. Anderson opened his messenger bag, pulled out the papers, and produced a pen for her.
“Here you go.” He stepped in front of Randall and handed Samantha the papers. “You sign the last page.”
“Let me read it so I know what I’m signing.” She grabbed the document and scanned it. Apparently, her broken heart had made her lie to the police and jury about Randall’s involvement in the planning of the robbery.
“If I say this, I would be admitting to perjury. I could go to jail.” She flicked her gaze to Anderson. Why would he ask her to switch places with Randall behind bars?
“You won’t. I have it handled. It’s just a formality. I’ll get this into the right hands and make the case against Randall go away,” Anderson assured her. His calm demeanor sent a cold spark over her. Couldn’t he see how far away from the good side he’d gone?
“Sign it,” Randall spat at her. Patience had never been his strong suit, and she suspected it was already pretty damn thin considering he’d driven up to Chicago just to get her to scribble on the line.
She took the pen from Anderson. “Paul is going to find out, Anderson. Why would you betray him? How could you?”
Guilt played on Anderson’s expression, but he didn’t comment. What could be said about such horrific behavior?
Samantha placed the document against the wall and scribbled across the line above her typed out name.
“You did the right thing, Sam You shouldn’t have to make an appearance, but I’ll know for sure tomorrow after I file your statement.”
“Jerri needs to drop the charges against Paul.” She held the document against her chest.
Randall laughed. “Fine. Once the appeal goes through, she’ll drop it all. But you do anything to stop this from going through, and she’ll find a few more pictures to turn over.”
Samantha bit down on her lip. Pissing him off wouldn’t get him out of the apartment, and she needed him out.
“Okay.” She handed the papers back to Anderson.
“Good. We can go now, Randall,” Anderson said firmly. “We got what we needed.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Randall took on a more casual stance. His eyes narrowed slightly; she caught it when Anderson turned toward the door. Randall wasn’t there just for her signature.
He wanted his revenge.
“You know, a guy betrays me l
ike you did, he’d end up with a bullet in his head.” He stepped closer. “No. Stay the fuck out of this,” Randall snapped at Anderson when he tried to move between them.
Samantha swallowed hard and firmed her stance.
“But I promised this asshole I wouldn’t take you out.”
Words failed her. She wouldn’t apologize for doing the right thing, and she wouldn’t beg him. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
“Randall, let’s go.” Anderson opened the front door. “We got what we came for.”
She should run. She should jump away, get around him, and get to the living room. But while the thoughts were tumbling through her mind, Randall acted.
His fist struck her across the jaw, knocking her to the ground. Her stomach lurched with blinding pain when his foot connected.
“Randall!” Anderson thundered.
Another hit to her head drowned him out and sent everything into blackness.
Chapter 28
Ryder leaned against the elevator wall as he rode up to his apartment. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief. Work had been grueling, but they’d be finished ahead of schedule and under budget. Completely worth the late day. By his calculations, they should be wrapped up by the end of the week.
The elevator stopped, and two women stepped inside. He smiled briefly at them, then moved to the back to check his phone. The damn thing had drained while he had been on site, and he’d left his charger in the truck. It had enough time during the commute home to charge, but it was taking forever for the damn thing to load up.
He needed a faster phone.
A newer phone.
Maybe he could get a plan with Sam. It’d be cheaper, and she needed a new cell too. She had an old version that didn’t have as much memory or speed. He’d watched her have to wait for the calling feature to kick in. If she needed to make a call in an emergency, those wasted seconds would be precious.
The elevator stopped two floors down from his apartment, letting the women off. He blew out a long breath. Dinner and a beer—that’s all he wanted. And his bed, with Sammy wrapped around him. It wasn’t too much to ask.
His phone rang. Finally, done booting up.
“Hey, Kendrick.” Ryder glanced up at the numbers.
“Where the hell are you?” Kendrick’s voice boomed through the speaker.
“I just got home,” he said, stepping off the elevator as soon as the doors slid open. “My phone died. It’s been a shit day. What’s up?”
“It’s Samantha.”
A chill coursed straight to his heart.
“What about her?” He poised his key at the lock.
“She’s in the hospital. I’m here with her. George is too. We couldn’t get a hold of you.”
“What happened? What hospital?” he asked, running to the stairwell. The elevator would take too long. As he ran down the stairs, Kendrick told him where to go, but wouldn’t answer about what had happened to her. She was hurt.
That’s all Ryder knew.
She was hurt.
He jumped into his truck. Driving like his own ass was on fire, he peeled out of the garage into the evening traffic.
Someone had hurt his little girl. How hurt was she? Who would want to hurt her?
Randall.
Fucking Randall.
He pressed the gas harder and made the last turn into the hospital parking lot. She had to be okay. He couldn’t lose her.
How could he survive losing her?
He wouldn’t.
His heart punched his lungs as he pushed his legs to move faster through the hospital hallways until he finally came to her room. Kendrick stood outside the curtain, shielding her from the rest of the emergency department.
“Wait a second.” Kendrick pressed his hands against Ryder to keep him from barging in. “Take a few breaths. You don’t want to scare her.”
“What’s wrong? How did she get hurt?” He turned a glare on Kendrick. “Who fucking touched her?”
George stepped outside the curtain with a frown.
“Where the fuck were you?”
“Work. My damn phone died and the charger—fuck, just tell me what’s going on.” He dragged his hand through his hair.
“She’s sleeping. Finally. That girl can really put up a fight when she wants to,” George said, but no humor touched his words.
“If I have to ask—”
“Randall showed up at your apartment with Anderson.”
Ryder blinked. “I thought Anderson was her lawyer.”
“He was.” George grimaced. “He’s an old friend…was an old friend. He’s working with Randall, trying to get his conviction overturned. They came to force her to retract her statement—the one that put him away in the first place.”
Ryder’s insides squeezed together.
“From what she told us, she refused at first.”
“They hurt her to make her sign?”
“No.” Kendrick’s word dropped between them hard. “Randall hurt her after she signed. Punishment for going against him in the first place.”
Ryder’s jaw snapped shut. “She was supposed to be safe at my place.”
“If it wasn’t for Anderson, she would have been. Anderson brought Randall,” George explained. “This isn’t your fault.”
“My phone died a little after she texted me. I should have come home on time.”
“That wouldn’t have mattered,” Kendrick said. “My guys showed up to install those cameras. They found her.”
“And Anderson and Randall? Where the fuck are they?”
George lifted a shoulder. “Probably back in Indiana by now.”
Rage built inside him, boiling at the surface.
“How hurt is she?” He gripped the curtain with his hand.
“Plenty of bruised ribs, but only one broken. She’s got a large bruise on her jaw, but nothing else is broken,” George said. “The doctor gave her some pain meds that mad her sleepy. They’re waiting for the last of her bloodwork results, then they’ll let her go home.”
Ryder listened, but all he could imagine was her laying hurt on the floor in the hallway. She’d been alone. Randall could have killed her.
He yanked back the curtain and marched to her side. Subtle beeps from the machines played in the background. He picked up her hand and looked over her sleeping form. Her swollen jaw twisted his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the pain shooting through him when he lifted her gown to see the marks on her stomach and chest. The asshole had kicked her. Repeatedly.
“Oh, baby.” He leaned over the railing of the bed and kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Ryder?” Her hushed voice drifted over the beeps.
He dragged his gaze up to her face, meeting her sleepy eyes.
“Samantha,” he breathed out her name, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Are you hurting?” He lifted up a bit to keep from touching anything that would give her more pain.
“No, not really. The drugs they gave me feel good.” She smiled weakly.
He brushed the hair from her forehead. “Don’t move too much,” he said when she started to wiggle.
“I’m itchy,” she complained.
“It’s probably the gown.”
“Ryder…I signed the paper. I lied…” Tears welled in her eyes and fell easily down her cheeks.
He dashed them away. “Don’t worry about that now.”
If Randall had done this when she’d complied, Ryder couldn’t try to imagine what she would have looked like if she’d fought him.
“Ryder,” George interrupted. “Sorry, but you need to see this.” He jerked his head toward the door.
“I’ll be right back, baby. Just relax, okay? Don’t move. The doctor will be back soon, and I can take you home.”
She nodded, her eyelids dropping closed. Snuggling back into her pillows, she let loose a small yawn.
“You don’t have to. I know you don’t want me there anymore.” S
he sighed.
“What?” He leaned closer to her, but she didn’t say anything more.
“Ryder,” George called again.
He pressed his lips together. What the hell did she mean? Why wouldn’t he want her there anymore?
“What is it?” Ryder burst into the hallway. “I want to stay with her until the doctor comes back.”
“Look,” Kendrick said, nodding toward the large white board hanging behind the nurse’s station.
“So?” He didn’t have time for this. He had to stick by Samantha’s side. She could wake up and need him.
“There.” George pointed.
Ryder’s ears tingled as his eyes landed on the name. “Anderson? The same guy?”
“Randall’s name is listed at the bottom. They just changed the room number,” George said. Beside the name were the words “head trauma.”
Ryder peeked back through the curtain to check on Sam. Sound asleep. Even curled up on her side, he could make out the swelling in her jaw.
“Stay here with her.”
“Ryder, don’t.”
“Stay with her!” He pointed to George and Kendrick, then spun around to march down the hall.
Ryder charged through the double doors, taking him to the next corridor with rooms. He scanned the numbers silkscreened on the glass doors until he came to room 214B. Randall’s room. Anderson was farther down the hall, but he would wait.
Ryder shoved open the door and stepped inside. Nurses milled around their station a few rooms down, all too busy with their computer screens and patient calls to notice him.
Soft beeps and the forced air from an oxygen pump greeted Ryder as he moved deeper into the room. A curtain was drawn across the glass doors for privacy, and once Ryder got a look at Randall, he understood why. Someone or something had used Randall as a pinata. One black and blue eye was completely swollen shut. Bandages ran along his jaw and left cheekbone, and his nose was held in place with a splint. A breathing tube protruded from Randall’s neck, running to a machine beside his bed.
