by Jaymin Eve
Like he felt my eyes on him, his gaze snapped in my direction. Then he saw Ben right at my side, and at the look on his face, I knew I was about to be reassigned a new partner.
"Ben!" Dylan bit out, waving him over. "You're needed with another group."
"Fuck," Ben muttered under his breath, forcing a smile. "Looks like we'll need a raincheck, princess. Don't die on me out there."
I wrinkled my nose at him. "Seriously, dude? Not cool. You don't just put my death out in the universe. It needs no challenge, trust me."
He patted me on the head. "You'll be fine. Looks like you've drawn the attention of the big bad, and trust me, he's the best fucking guy to have at your back. Never seen anyone as good at this survival stuff as Dylan, and I've been in the game for most of my life."
He shot a worried look the big bad's way before he said a quick "bye" and hurried off to his new assignment. I didn't bother to rush, because what was the point? I was going to be yelled at either way.
Hauling the backpack up, I groaned at the weight. What the fuck was in here? Bricks?
"Come on, Brooklyn," Dylan said, his face somewhat amused now that Ben was nowhere near me. "You have some surviving to do."
I snarled at him, in no mood for his bullshit. "You better sleep with one eye open, dude. You're starting to piss me off."
He chuckled and swept an arm around me to get me moving along the path, straight into the wilderness. "No plans for sleeping when I get you into bed," he said softly, right near my ear, and just like that, my anger turned into horniness. One point to Dylan.
No time for anything fun though. Today, I apparently had to learn how to hunt and survive.
16
Turned out it wasn't entirely hunting; the first thing we learned was plants—which ones were dangerous, which ones held liquid we could drink, and which ones were edible and could keep you alive if you were lost in the great outdoors.
“Clovers are completely edible,” Dylan explained to me. “But they’re perennial, so they’ll die off in winter and return in the spring. In winter your options will be limited, but there are cattails, rose hips, and chickweed. Pine can be boiled into a tea, and the inner bark is edible.”
He showed me exactly what he meant with each plant, and I had to sketch each and every one as we uncovered them. Ben hadn't been kidding about Dylan. Once he stopped being a pretentious prick, he was so fucking smart, and his knowledge of survival was second to none.
"How does a billionaire know shit like this?" I asked after he stopped me from breaking my ankle in a hole hidden in the rocky ground.
He let out a long exhalation, looking one hundred percent a mountain man as he tilted his head back and took a good look around the landscape. "I wasn't brought up the way you might expect,” he finally said. “My family... they were pretty fucked up. I just had my friends, and we had to learn to survive, or the life we lived would have killed us."
We’d never discussed our lives or families before. I knew a little about his through news articles, but I enjoyed having him confide in me. It felt like I was finally getting to know the real Dylan behind the strong, silent sex-machine facade he'd always presented to me on our nights together.
"So... this camp was different when you guys came here?" I’d already heard this from someone else, but I wanted his take on it.
He shot me a somewhat amused look. "About as different as Club Med versus Guantanamo Bay. It really was the torture-level camp that saw some kids go home in body bags. But I guess, for those of us who survived, it taught us all the skills we needed to conquer the shit we went through in life, so it wasn't all bad."
I chewed my lip, thinking on that. I felt so sorry for preteen Dylan and his friends being thrown into life-threatening situations, forced to make the kinds of decisions no adult should ever have to make. But he was right. Without that horrific training at such a young age, maybe he wouldn't be here today. If they didn't know how to survive in the wild, would he and the other Delta heirs have died in that plane crash a few years ago?
"So, you're trying to teach us the same things without the trauma?" I gave him a soft smile to show I really was trying to understand because I was interested in what his goals were, here at camp and in a broader sense.
He gave a soft, somewhat bitter laugh. "Not even close. But something is better than nothing for most of these spoiled brats." He pushed back to his feet and brushed the dirt from his pants before holding his hand out to me. "Come on; there's loads to be done today. Let's keep going."
I took his hand without hesitation, letting him pull me to my feet. But he didn't immediately release my fingers, and I felt a panicked blush creeping up my neck. Had people guessed that we were more than...? Ugh, we weren't even friends.
Fucking hell, of course they had. Dylan hadn’t exactly been circumspect about his interest in me so far. Maybe he didn't care if people found out. Did I want that?
Well... if I really was pregnant, it was sure as fuck going to push the issue.
The rest of the day was surprisingly enjoyable. It was exhausting, no question of that, but when Dylan and I walked back to camp at the end of the day, we had settled into a weirdly comfortable relationship, like we were actually dating and had just been out to dinner and drinks to get to know each other better... except with hunting and tracking. Go figure.
We’d barely made it halfway to the dining hall, though, when everything went sideways.
A convoy of black SUV's came tearing up a driveway I'd never even realized existed—seeing as they'd made us hike our asses in when we arrived—and some serious-shit kind of guys piled out onto the grass.
"What the fuck?" Dylan muttered under his breath, his brow creasing deeply as he glared at the new arrivals. He marched over to them with authority radiating from every step, and I nervously followed behind—mostly because I had no idea what else I should do.
One of the guys—the one I assumed to be in charge due to his solid eye contact with Dylan—jerked his head in a small nod. He wore a sharp black suit with a black shirt and tie underneath, but it was still obvious he wore several handguns as well.
"Sir," the man greeted Dylan, "we apologize for just showing up. Your email auto-reply advised us that you were in the woods for the day."
Dylan gave a short nod. "We were. Forest survival and hunting." His words were clipped and cold. "What can I do for you?"
The man shifted his gaze past Dylan to me, then back to Dylan. "Is this Brooklyn Lawson?"
My eyes widened. They were here for me? Why? What for? What had I done?
My stomach clenched, and I instantly thought of Blake. It couldn't be a coincidence that he’d gone missing and now these scary-ass dudes were here for me. No way. This had Blake written all over it... somehow.
"What can I do for you, Kingston?" Dylan repeated his question with a harder edge to his voice and without answering the other man’s question.
Kingston's jaw tightened, and I got the feeling he didn't appreciate Dylan ignoring him. But then... if he worked for Delta, then Dylan was his superior. Who was he going to complain to?
"Sir, we've been asked to bring Brooklyn Lawson into Delta headquarters. Immediately." His gaze shot to me again, flicking over me like he was confused how, exactly, I could be important enough to be taken into HQ. But fuck, I was more in the dark on the subject than he was; he'd get no answers from me.
Dylan took my elbow in his grip and jerked me closer to him. "I think we should speak in my office."
Kingston didn't like that answer. Not even close. "Sir, I have orders—"
"And I'm overriding them," Dylan snapped. "My office. Now."
There was no room for negotiation in his tone, and Kingston reluctantly moved in the direction of Dylan's little office cabin. I hadn't even been inside myself, but the way Dylan gripped my arm made it pretty damn clear I was going wherever he was going, no arguments.
One of the other armed men followed along with Kingston, but at a glare from Dyla
n, he stationed himself outside the cabin door rather than joining the three of us inside.
Dylan marched me around his desk and pushed me into his chair, then indicated for Kingston to take one of the guest chairs. I was so damn nervous my whole body was quaking, and I struggled to choke back another wave of nausea. What would these guys do if I projectile vomited everywhere?
"Why don't you explain to me what this is all about, Kingston?" Dylan suggested, hovering over the back of my chair like some kind of... Fuck. Like a pterodactyl. In my mind, he let out a screech of challenge to Kingston, and it made me smile.
The suited guy seemed all kinds of pissed off to be challenged like this, but he was powerless to refuse the questions.
"Sir, respectfully, this is to complete a job that Miss Duboise has had me working on for a number of months." His tone was frustrated as hell and his glare toward me scathing. What the fuck had I done to him?
The mention of Riley made my heart flip, and I noticed Dylan's hand tighten on the back of the chair, just beside my face.
Dylan let an awkward silence cloak the room for a few moments before speaking again, and I was quietly impressed at his ability not to squirm under pressure.
"What job was that? I don't recall her having any business in my camp."
Kingston's eyes narrowed. "It's—"
"If you say classified, I'll have to shoot you," Dylan said in such a casual tone he might as well have just complimented the other man's tie. "Need I remind you that nothing is classified from me?"
Kingston blinked rapidly, then backtracked. "From you, no. From her?" He shot me another accusing glare, and I swallowed heavily. Fucking hell, what had Blake gotten me mixed up in?
Or was this about me, somehow?
"Humor me," Dylan drawled. "You can blame me later."
The guy didn't look mollified in the least, but once again, Dylan wasn't really offering him an option to decline.
"I've been searching out a thief," he announced after a short pause. "Someone stole secure files from our facility. Miss Duboise tasked me and my team with recovering those files."
Dylan was so fucking still he could have been a statue.
I was confused as hell, but smart enough to understand the implication here. "You think I know who stole your files?" I exclaimed, shocked as hell.
Kingston sneered at me. "I know you're the one who stole the files, Miss Lawson. Your own brother turned you in to us with evidence."
My jaw just about hit the fucking floor. "Wh-what?" My voice was a thready squeak. I tried to stand up, but Dylan's heavy hand on my shoulder pushed me back into the chair. It didn't stop me from trying to plead my innocence, though. "Dylan, that's not true. I wouldn't! I don't even know what files he's talking about!"
Dylan wasn't looking at me, though. His focus was locked on Kingston, even while his fingers bit into my shoulder.
"What evidence did her brother provide?" he asked the black-suited man, his voice giving away nothing about what he was thinking.
Meanwhile, my heart was racing so hard I felt like I was about to pass out or die or something. Sweat beaded on my spine and bile rose in my throat again. Fuck. Fuck. Now was not the time to vomit.
Or maybe it was the perfect time…
"He gave us Miss Lawson's personal laptop. It contained traces of the same hacking software that was used to transfer the files from our server and then offload them to another device." Kingston raised his chin with confidence, my guilt already clear in his eyes.
I shook my head frantically. "That's circumstantial at best. How can you even prove it's my laptop? Blake could have given you his own computer and—" Suddenly a memory rolled through my mind like a fucking semitruck with its brakes cut.
A few months ago my laptop had gone missing. It’d disappeared right out of my bedroom overnight, and I looked everywhere for it. I’d even quietly suspected some of the household staff of being thieves. But then it’d reappeared, tucked halfway under my bed. Blake had called me an idiot and beat the shit out of me for being "careless" with my possessions, but I was positive I'd checked everywhere. Fucking everywhere.
"He set me up," I breathed in horror. "Blake fucking set me up."
Finally, Dylan turned and met my eyes. His brow was drawn in a deep frown, but his clear green eyes were full of concern and confusion. He wasn't condemning me like Kingston already had. Not yet, anyway.
"Why would he do that, Brooke?" His question was soft, meant for me and me alone, but Kingston snorted a laugh.
"He wouldn't. Blake Lawson relies too heavily on his Delta-Huntley contracts to be anything but perfectly loyal to us. Besides, she's his own sister. No bastard hands his sister over unless she's one hundred percent guilty."
Except Blake didn't think of me as his sister. I was his possession, his property, and his pawn to sacrifice if the need arose. Apparently, it had.
My mouth watered and nausea rolled through me again.
"I'm going to be sick," I whispered. Dylan released my shoulder and gave me a small push in the direction of a door to the side of his desk. I didn't question him, just bolted through it and all but threw myself at the small toilet inside.
All that came up was bile and a bit of trail mix, thanks to our skipped lunch break. Even when I had nothing left, my stomach kept dry heaving.
How could Blake do this to me? What the hell was Delta going to do to me now? I didn't have their files. I couldn't return stolen property that I had no idea where to find. Holy fuck, were they going to hurt me? Torture me for answers?
I heaved again, but nothing came up. Goddamn, I needed to eat soon, or I was going to pass the hell out.
A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to meet Dylan's concerned eyes.
"Are you okay, Brooke?" he asked me in a soft, tender voice. "You're seriously starting to worry me."
I almost laughed. Almost. But there was no freaking way I was going to throw around pregnancy scares until I knew for sure. I needed some way to get a test, and soon. Until then...
"I told you," I croaked, "I think I've got the flu."
He just stared down at me for a long moment, then sighed heavily.
"Take your time; maybe wash your face. Riley has a weak stomach too; it always seemed to help her." He paused, his lips tight and his expression apologetic. "I've called her to come and sort this mess out. She's a good hour or so away, though, so I'll get you some food in the meantime."
Words failed me. On the one hand, Riley freaking Duboise was coming here to... what? Haul me away for interrogation? But then, on the other hand, Dylan was currently acting so damn caring, and I’d never had that before. Maybe not even from my mostly absent parents. He was looking after me even after I’d been accused of stealing something important from his company.
I sensed he was still reserving judgment, but at least he hadn’t already drawn and quartered me without trial. Knowing this might be my last opportunity to try and explain my side, I pushed myself up. "Dylan," I said, but... he was already gone, the door closing behind him.
With a sigh I took his advice, washing up the best I could, but my hands shook as I rested them on the sink. How could Blake do this to me? Now? Just when I actually had a good freaking thing going. Last night and today with Dylan had been the most fun I'd had in ages, and of course, that sort of experience had to be ruined by my brother. Would this actually be my life if that didn't happen?
When I returned to the main office, Kingston was gone, but I could see through the window that the cars were still outside. Dylan had clearly kicked him from the room, but he and his guys hadn't left the camp yet. No doubt they would wait for their "boss" to show up. Miss Deboise. I was finally going to meet the famous Riley, the woman who was able to steal the hearts of two Delta heirs. Two of the most eligible bachelors in the world.
I didn't even have to meet her to know she wouldn't put up with her brother beating, belittling, and starving her. Riley probably had a vagina of steel and would have put a blade b
etween her brother's shoulder blades long before it’d reached this point.
Yeah, I was no fucking Riley Deboise, but that was okay. It had to be. I could only be myself, and hopefully, when they gave me a chance to explain, I wouldn't find myself in a Delta torture chamber.
"Stop hovering in the doorway and take a seat, Brooke," Dylan said, not looking my way, but he’d clearly heard me re-enter—probably by how loudly I was overthinking. "No one will come back again until Riley gets here, outside of the food order I've put in."
He was telling me I was safe, for now, and I believed him.
Crossing the last few steps, I sank into the chair on the opposite side of the desk from him and then stared at his face like a creeper. There was a decent chance I'd never see it again after today.
He'd been doing some sort of paperwork, but the moment I sat, he stopped and looked at me. "Tell me everything about your brother, Brooke?"
My aim in life was to never talk about Blake again—talk about, see, or breathe the same air as Blake. Talking to Dylan about my life with him was especially shameful, but if I wanted him on my side when I tried to prove my innocence to the rest of Delta-Huntley, I had no other choice.
"It all started when our parents were killed," I said softly, shaking my head and laughing with humor. "Actually, it started before that. Blake was an evil little shit from birth, always hurting me when no one else was looking. Shoving me over, breaking my toys, breaking our parent’s shit and blaming me. It was like he hated me for existing, and any way he could make my life harder, he did. But once they died and there was no one to notice the bruises and the rest, he upped his game."
The pen in Dylan's hand cracked under the pressure he was applying to it, and even though his face was fairly calm, it was clear he didn't love what he was hearing. "He hurt you during the time we’ve been seeing each other?"
I nodded. "He has hurt me at least once a week for years. The sort of hurt you have to lie in bed and recover from."
Dylan slammed the pen down, and ink splattered across the white paper on his desk. "He’ll pay for that, Brooke. Don’t you fucking worry. But first... What do you know about his business ventures?"
