by Jaymin Eve
Ben strolled closer, his eyes soft as they looked down at me. "How are you feeling, B?"
"What are you even doing here?" Riley interrupted him.
Ben snapped to attention, and here was the man who had enough killer instinct to make it as a guide at the camp. "Dylan asked me to step in for a few hours to help guard while he's off hunting Brooklyn’s asshole of a brother."
I didn't even bother to argue. I was tired, and it was nice to know that someone was here to help if Blake decided to invade the hospital.
Riley jumped to her feet, stretching her back. She'd been sitting in that shitty hospital chair for hours with me and hadn't shown any discomfort until now. "Okay, since you’re here to keep Brooke company, I'm gonna check on the guys and, hopefully, track down Dylan and Beck before they get themselves killed."
I grabbed her hand as she moved to step away. When she turned back, eyebrows raised, I smiled. "Thank you."
This afternoon actually meant a lot to me, especially her somewhat comforting words about Ruth. Her death had been sitting heavily on my chest since I woke, and to finally get some of the sadness out had actually helped.
Riley surprised me with a hug. "I can see what drew Dylan to you," she murmured as she pulled away. "You’re exactly what he needs."
Then she was gone and I was left with a melancholy ache in my chest.
"So," Ben exclaimed, dropping his large body into the too-small chair, "tell me everything about you."
I shook my head. "What, everything from birth?"
"Yep."
This took me aback, but I recovered quickly enough. "Let's see. Born to a middle-class family who managed to make it rich during a property boom. Then their company expanded into a bunch of other ventures, and we lived excessively rich people's lives until they were killed." I swallowed hard, my joking tone drying up fast. "Then I was left in the care of my brother, who is a monster."
Ben nodded, his hand shooting out to grab onto mine. It wasn't an intrusive hold, just a gentle squeeze, and he let me go again. "Dylan told me a little so I'd be prepared, and I'm kind of hoping your brother shows up here so his life can be over."
I snorted. "What, you planning on killing him?"
Ben shrugged, and there was a flash of darkness in his eyes I hadn't noticed until this moment. "It wouldn't bother me one bit, but I'd have to get in line behind Dylan. That dude would fuck me up if I stole his kill from him, and trust me, you never want to be on Dylan’s bad side."
Funny that Dylan had that rep with other people because in all the time I'd known him, I'd very rarely felt more than an ounce of fear in his presence. And never that true fear that starts low in your gut and unfurls like a bad stench, cramping your body up and filling your mind with the most horrific thoughts as your pulse pounded heavily in your body.
Nope. Dylan got my pulse racing for other reasons, but never in real terror.
"How long have you known Dylan?" I asked him.
Ben stretched back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head as he thought about my question. "You know, on and off, I've known Dylan almost my entire life. My family was nowhere close to his upper echelons of the billionaire world, of course, but we still ran in similar circles. I ended up at the camp at the same time he was one year, and we teamed up to survive a couple of the bullshit obstacles they threw our way." His expression was hard, and I was starting to see who the real Ben was under his easy smile and charm.
"Dylan said the camp used to be pretty hardcore."
His expression indicated that might have been a bit of an understatement. "I think, truthfully, the older generation of Delta members were actually trying to kill their heirs. And some of them succeeded."
Christ.
"But you survived," I reminded him.
"Because of Dylan, I did," he replied without hesitation. "The man you know now was once a child who was forced to grow up or die, and he's one of the most skilled and scary badasses I've ever known."
"He fought off so many men when we were attacked," I said softly, scenes from that night flashing back at me. "Like, on his own with barely a damn weapon."
Ben just laughed. "Not even remotely surprised."
The nurse arrived soon after that, and Ben stepped out of the room so she could do my check up, change the pad out from under me on the bed, help me to the bathroom, and all the fun stuff.
"Your bleeding has completely stopped?" she asked as she remade the bed.
I nodded. "It appears to have, at least the last few times I used the bathroom."
She smiled. "Great. I'll let your doctors know, and they'll no doubt check in on your pregnancy and make sure it's still viable."
Still viable. So cold and clinical, but I wasn't going to get mad at a poor nurse for doing her job. "Thank you."
When she left the room, Ben returned. "Dylan's lead didn't pan out," he said straight away. "He'll be back soon, so we’d better get all of our gossip about him out of the way ASAP."
I snorted out some laughter. "And what gossip could either of us have about that coldly walled up asshole? He's one of the worst communicators I've ever met."
Ben didn't laugh with me. "There's no denying that he could stand to work on his people skills a lot, but with the way his life was... it's not totally a surprise. I'd have been a total sociopath."
"What do you mean?" I tried to sound casual, but my desperation to know more about Dylan could not be contained.
"He grew up with a racist father who hated him but kept him around because he needed an heir and a stepmother that resented the child who would always be a reminder of her husband's infidelity. His biological mother, who was the family nanny, disappeared when he was a baby, and he has no idea what happened to her. I've always had the feeling he thinks his father just murdered her and dumped her ass in a river somewhere."
"Holy fuck," I whispered. I'd had no idea Dylan had lived like that. Why had I expected his family to be nicer than my own? I should have guessed. Rich people were notorious bastards, especially old-money rich.
"Oh yeah, it's fucked up, and I only know about ten percent of the shit he's been through."
If that. Dylan wasn't exactly the open-up-about-his-problems type.
"Wait." A thought occurred to me suddenly. "How was his mother the nanny if Dylan was kept around to be the heir? Who did she nanny? The pets?"
Ben shook his head. "You're clever. I like that about you." His expression sobered dramatically. "And... Dylan had an older sister. She died saving his life, and it really destroyed him."
My chest ached at the thought of him going through something like that on top of losing his mom.
"I had no idea," I whispered.
"Most people don't. But I've seen that guy change over the years, and even though he's a grumbly asshole around you, there's an energy inside of him that's been missing. I want it to stay, so... just be patient with him. He's a pretty damn loyal guy, and if he lets you into his world, he’ll never do you wrong."
I was starting to see that about Dylan already, and even though our relationship was probably going to end in a broken heart, I couldn't seem to walk away.
Ben started to say something else, but the door to my room burst open before he could. When two men stormed into the room, my blood literally went cold.
Dylan hadn't found Blake because he was right here. In my hospital room. Jonnie at his side.
25
Ben reacted in a split second, rolling off his chair into a fighting position. From what I could see, neither Blake nor Jonnie had visible weapons—no doubt they didn't want a gunshot to warn everyone in the hospital that they were here—so this was going to be an old-fashioned fight.
Ben dove right in, and he could fight. Nothing like Dylan, but more than enough to hold his own against two morons. I reached for the call button, hoping someone would get here in time to bring security in before anyone got hurt.
"She’s my sister," Blake snarled when he took a punch to the side of the he
ad, and he looked more than a little pissed about it. "She belongs to me, and I'm here to collect her."
Ben snarled. "You're the reason she's in this fucking hospital bed, and I would hazard a guess it's not the first time."
Blake smiled. The motherfucker actually smiled.
My eyes darted to the door, but there was no sign of a nurse or doctor yet. Had Blake done something to ensure they wouldn't interfere?
Ben was still fighting, and when he smashed Jonnie's head into the side of my bed, I could have cheered. Ben’s gaze met mine, and he shot me a cheeky grin as he lifted his eyebrows a few times like he was impressed with his own skills.
Just as I smiled back, Blake appeared over his shoulder. I screamed out a warning, but it was too late. The blade swung in a perfect arc to lodge right into the side of Ben's neck.
Ben's eyes widened minutely. For a split second, our eyes locked as another scream escaped from me. Blake tore the blade out. A stream of blood splattered across the white sheets and floor, and a second later, Ben dropped to the floor.
Screams tore from me, right up until Blake backhanded me, hard. "Shut the fuck up, you stupid cunt. This is all your fucking fault, and I should have drowned you when you were a kid like I’d planned."
My breaths gasped in and out, my chest heaving as the shock sent me spiraling into a dark place in my mind. Ben had just been stabbed—probably in the carotid artery, if that blood spurt was any indication—and was right now bleeding to death on the floor.
Another death because of me. No! Not me. Because of Blake.
He needed to be put down like the damn rabid animal he was.
I hit the call button again, and he laughed. "No one is coming for you, Brookie. I needed time in here to find my fucking property."
The bracelet. He was here for that, and then he’d probably make good his desire to murder me. Blake flipped over the chair as he grabbed my toiletry bag off the side table.
"It was a brilliant plan,” he said conversationally as he searched. “Hide the chip on my innocent, stupid-as-fuck sister, and then send you to a camp in the middle of nowhere while I made all my negotiations.” His tone hardened. “Only you couldn't fucking stay put, could you? I've spent days tracking you down, all the while dodging Delta and Terrence’s goons."
I snorted. "Terrence is it? I thought they captured and tortured you. Was kind of hoping you were dead."
My ability to hold my tongue around Blake was gone. One strength I would take from Ruth and the sacrifice she’d made to save my life was that no longer would I ever be a victim to a man again. Even if I died, I’d rather do that on my own two feet than cowering under their control.
Blake stepped closer, and I held his gaze, my own angry and defiant. He seemed somewhat taken aback by this attitude, and even though I knew he'd make me pay for it, I didn't regret taking a stand. "Nothing can fucking kill me, Brookie," he whispered insidiously. And now that he was so close and standing still, I could see the bruises littering his skin. Clearly he'd been through some shit, but also, clearly, he was not dead. "And once I get my hands on that bracelet, I will be exactly where I've always wanted—top of the world, rich as fuck, and answerable to no one."
I had no idea where the bracelet was—hadn’t seen it since I’d woken up in this hospital bed. Hopefully, the time it took for him to search would be enough for Dylan to arrive.
Jonnie chose that moment to groan before cursing as he dragged himself up. Blake pounded a boot into his side, snarling. "Get the fuck up and help me search."
I rolled out of bed on the opposite side of them and took off for the door. Fuck waiting around for him to realize the bracelet wasn't in the room, and this way I didn’t have to wait for Dylan.
I didn't make it far, though. Pain radiated through my skull when Jonnie grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me backward. "I don't know where the fuck you think you're going, Brookie," my brother's slimy friend sneered, throwing me back onto the hospital bed. "You're mine now."
"After I get that bracelet," Blake snarled, slamming the door of the little closet so hard it broke from the hinges. "Where is it, Brookie? Where did you hide it?"
Panic clawed at my throat, and I just shook my head. Protecting my belly as best I could, I slid further up the bed and away from Jonnie's poisonous touch.
"Where the fuck is it?" Blake screamed the words so hard I thought his head might explode.
Jonnie leered. "Maybe little sister just needs a bit of incentive to talk, boss. Want me to make her scream for you?"
He didn't need to try hard. The second he reached out for me, I let out a blood-curdling scream and kicked out. I'd be damned if I let Jonnie lay his hands on me without a fight.
To my palpable relief, the door burst open with a startling bang. I instantly recognized the tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the space and sucked in a sobbing breath.
Dylan was here. And these two bastards would finally pay.
"What the—?" Blake never got a chance to finish his exclamation as Dylan fired a shot into his knee without so much as a word of warning.
Blake howled and crumpled to the floor, landing halfway across Ben's lifeless, blood-soaked corpse.
Dylan crossed the room in three long strides to stand over Blake with his gun pointed at my brother's head.
"Brooke, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" His voice was cold and clipped, totally unemotional. But the thought was there. His priority was checking on me before finishing my brother off. That was kind of sweet, wasn't it?
I shook my head, biting back a wince of pain from where I'd been backhanded. "I'm fine," I assured him. "You got here just in time, though." Then my eyes fell to Ben's blank stare and the pool of blood coating the floor. "For me, anyway."
Fuck. Fuck. First Ruth, now Ben? Why did the good people always have to die? And would I ever not feel this raging torrent of guilt and anger over the part I’d played in it?
Beck had followed Dylan into the room, silent and lethal, and moved over to Jonnie. In one swift motion, he snapped the bastard's neck and dropped his body to the floor like a dirty raincoat.
Holy shit.
Dylan seemed less inclined to end things so quickly with Blake, though. He tossed his gun across my bed to Beck—who caught it with practiced ease—then leaned down to grab Blake by the front of his shirt.
"You sad, sorry son of a bitch," Dylan snarled at Blake, bringing his face right up close to his own and ignoring the moans of pain from my brother. "You're going to pay for what you've done to Brooke all these years. You can count on that."
His fist slammed into Blake's face with a sickening crunch, and more blood splattered the white sheets of my hospital bed. He struck again and again and again until I lost count of how many times he'd hit Blake. Certainly, Blake must have too; he seemed to be barely clinging to consciousness when Beck threw a pillow at Dylan's head and interrupted him.
"What?" Dylan barked, spinning to glare at his friend while my brother's blood dripped down his raised fist.
Beck cleared his throat, then gave me a pointed look. "Maybe take this elsewhere, D-man?"
Dylan seemed crazy confused, then followed Beck's line of sight over to me, huddled on the bed with my arms wrapped around my knees.
"Fuck." His curse was a mere breath.
"I've got your girl, D," Beck assured him. "Take your time."
Dylan ran his eyes over me again, his brow furrowed deeply. I wanted to say something, anything, to make him realize I wasn't terrified—hell, I wasn’t even mildly scared—of the violence inside him. But I couldn't get the words out. My whole body trembled as my mind flooded with memories of Blake laying into me with his fists after too many drinks—or not enough drinks. Or just because the sun was out
Yeah, I was scared as hell, but only of my own memories.
Dylan didn't know that, though. All he saw was a pathetic little girl cowering in fear.
He shook his head, disgusted, and dragged Blake out of the room like a sac
k of garbage. I knew beyond a doubt that I’d never see my older brother again, and I couldn't muster even a sliver of sadness over that fact.
"You okay, kid?" Beck asked in a low growl after Dylan was gone.
I peered around at the blood splattering every fucking visible surface and at the two dead bodies crimpled on the floor. "I'm not a kid," I told him in a hoarse voice. "And no, I'm not okay. I'm really fucking far from okay."
Dylan's best friend, one of the most powerful guys alive, just blinked at me in total confusion, and I let out a sigh.
“He wanted my bracelet,” I told him, moving the conversation away from my feelings, which were clearly making his brain short circuit. Where was Riley when I needed her?
Beck looked even more confused by my statement. "Was it expensive?"
I shook my head. "No, I think he hid the data chip in it. He gave it to me right before I left for camp and threatened that if I ever took it off, he’d punish the staff. I figured it was a tracking device, but now it seems like he hid those stolen files right on me."
Beck's brows shot up. "Where is it now?"
Shrugging, I ran a hand through my tangled hair. "I have no idea. I could have lost it in the fight back at"—my voice caught—"at Ruth's house." I'd barely known her for a day, but her death was going to be a dark mark on my soul for life, I already knew it.
"So it could still be there?" Beck asked, already pulling his phone out of his pocket to tap out a message.
I nodded, then sighed. "Yeah, that's my best guess."
"Jasper's on his way there now," Beck told me as his phone lit up in his hands. "Can you describe it?"
"It's a silver chain bracelet with a chunky lock on it," I told him with a shrug. "I don't imagine there will be multiple bracelets scattered around the floor between dead bodies and broken furniture, though, so I would think it's enough to just look for any bracelet."
Beck looked up from his phone, quirking one dark brow up. "Huh," he murmured. "You've got a bit of sass in there after all. Good for you."
I rolled my eyes, having no snappy comeback for that, but then found myself staring at Ben's dead body again.
