Enough to set me free. He pushed me out in the world and wanted to give me space to heal and grow and whateverthehell else I needed. All the while, masking what he wanted. I’m pissed because he should have told me, but I also can’t think of a bigger act of selflessness. In short, if he wanted me as badly as I want him, then to sit there not acting on it, all so I could have time to figure things out, makes him a god in my book.
I sigh and stare at the mint green wall, grateful that with a little contortion, my ass will reach the toilet to my side so I can at least pee when I need to. I figure I have a few days of extreme dirty living before the humidity and heat in this bathroom take me out. That or Gustavo will be back with that giant hunting knife and another lecture on the virtuous path of a righteous woman.
Seriously, Gustavo? You kill people for a living, and you want to tell me how to live my life?
“Rose.” A deep voice comes from somewhere in the small bathroom.
I freeze and hold my breath. Am I dreaming? Have I finally lost it?
“Rose, are you okay?” I look to my other side, opposite the toilet and—
“Jesus!” I jump in place—obviously, because I can’t go anywhere—and spot a set of eyes, surrounded by black camo paint, staring through the air vent to my side.
“Shhh…I’m here to get you out.”
“Waylon?” I lean forward. “How the hell did you fit in there?” He’s not a small man.
“The ductwork is made of aluminum. I popped it out. Just be as quiet as possible and let me know if you hear anyone coming. I have to cut through this wall.” He flashes some weird-looking icepick tool with a long, thin spike on the end.
“Okay. Okay.” I bob my head. “Someone’s coming.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “I just heard the front door.”
“Sonofabitch,” he mutters.
I’m gathering that this is not how Waylon planned on this rescue going. “It’s okay, Waylon. You tried.” So have I. I’ve thought of nothing but Bex for the last twenty-or-whatever hours as I attempted every which way I know how to get free—begging Gustavo on the plane, trying to rationalize with him in the helicopter, and attempting to dismantle the sink from the wall in between his rants. I finally concluded that I wasn’t getting out of here alone, and if anyone would save me, it would be the man with the unrelenting hero complex. I’m stunned he didn’t come, but I’m grateful somebody did.
“Just pretend like you’re afraid,” Waylon says. “Submit to him. Agree to anything Gustavo says.”
I look at Waylon. “Why?”
“You don’t want to trigger him. Just say what he wants to hear and ask for a few more minutes to think about all of your mistakes. He needs to feel in control, like he’s saving you.”
“How do you know what to say to him?” I whisper.
“I don’t,” he whispers back. “Bex is on my earpiece.”
“Bex? Bex is here?” I’m not going to lie. My heart swells. All I asked for was one more chance to see him. I prayed and prayed and prayed. If I get that, I’m going to tell him how much I love him, how sorry I am for wasting so much precious time with games.
The door flies open and Gustavo’s standing there, sweaty, flushed face, and holding a bottle of something. He’s trashed now.
Not good.
“You!” Gustavo points at me with his bottle hand. “I wanna talkayou.”
I try to stay calm as he walks over and squats in front of me where I’m sitting on the floor. “I want to talk to you, too, Gustavo. Because I’ve been giving us a lot of thought. I have been a dishonest, dirty bitch, just like you said and—”
He slaps me hard with his free hand, and I see stars. I can’t breathe.
“You do not get to talk!” he rages. “You only lie and say things to make me want you, and I won’t fall for your fucking whore tricks.” He grabs a set of keys from his back pocket. “Now get in the tub so we can wash that filthy mouth.” Gustavo turns on the water. “I’m going to turn you into my angel.”
Christ. He’s going to drown me.
Okay. Bex and Waylon are here. They’re not going to let anything happen. And the noise of the running water is great. Gustavo won’t hear them coming. I just need to give them a little more time because I don’t know how far away Bex is, and Waylon is stuck on the other side of the wall.
Gustavo uncuffs me and pushes me forward. I kneel next to the tub like a submissive puppet. “Gustavo?” I say.
“What?”
I turn my head and look up at him. “I understand why you’re angry about how I’ve treated you. I know you think I’ve just thrown away your love.”
“You know nothing!”
“I do. I do.” I wince, expecting another smack that doesn’t come. “Because I once loved people who were using me. They wanted my money. They wanted me dead because they wished I never existed, and do you know why? Because my mother died giving birth to me. Do you know how hard it’s been to face that? I mean, knowing I’m the reason my own mother isn’t here and that because of it, the two people I thought of as parents wanted me to disappear? Yet I still loved them. I loved them and kept telling myself that if I tried a little harder, if I was good and obedient, they’d love me back. But they never did. They hated me even more, and I never understood why. Being here, with you, has given me a lot of time to think about my mistakes—love, family, and everything that’s happened since my coming-out party—and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve done nothing wrong. I loved my family. I love my mother even if she’s gone. I love the man who’s come to my rescue over and over again despite how naïve or combative I’ve been.”
“Why are you telling me this?” He wobbles and blinks rapidly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Because you keep beating yourself up over me when you didn’t do anything wrong. The truth is sometimes we love people, and no matter what we do, they’re just not going to love us back.”
“Wrong!” he screams at me. “Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!”
I blink. I know what I’m saying is risky, but it has a point. I wanted him to stop and think. Yes, to buy myself more time, but also, I know he’s unwell. To be clear, he’s a killer, and I have no pity for him. My compassion ended when he kidnapped me the first time and pointed a gun at Bex and me. So as far as I’m concerned, whatever happens after this is between him and his god or karma or his conscience. But I would feel much better seeing him suffer in prison—maximum security—for life rather than ending up dead.
Gustavo starts to laugh. “Your grandparents didn’t hire me to kill you. I wasn’t hired at all. Belinda and I decided together. She loves me, and I keep fucking it all up because of you. You’re like a sickness.”
Gustavo and Belinda are a thing?
“So my aunt put you up to this,” I mutter in disbelief as my mind does a hop, skip, and a jump. She wanted my grandparents to get free. She made it happen so it would look like they were behind it all. Mel and Gertie get out of jail; hit man escapes with someone’s aid; I go missing, never to be found again. They get the blame. I almost want to laugh. Their own daughter wants to take all the money and have them locked up.
Talk about poetic justice. My aunt learned betrayal and greed from the best of them.
“Yes,” he replies.
“What about Bex? He stands to inherit everything if I die, not my aunt.”
“We were going to ransom you—make him pay to get you back—and then kill you.”
Oh. And of course, Bex wouldn’t hesitate to pay up. The irony is that I would do the same. I would give up every dime if it meant saving his life.
Gustavo chuckles bitterly. “But now it’s all a fucking mess. Belinda told your little asshole therapist everything so she could get all the money.” His eyes go wider. “At least I still have you—”
I hear a loud crash and what happens next is a blur. The noises sound like special effects from a war movie. Grunting. Struggling. Groaning.
Bex and Gustavo tangle on the bathroom floor in front of me, and when I see Gustavo raise that knife toward Bex, it dawns on me that there is no one else to turn to. No knights in shining armor, no men with badges, no lawyers or press or anyone else to stop the violence about to happen.
I leap for Gustavo’s arm and pull straight down so the blade doesn’t go into Bex’s chest.
I hear a crunch. A grunt. A gasp. For one split second, I think they belong to Gustavo, but then I feel the searing pain shooting through my rib cage.
Well, fuck. I just stabbed myself. I drop like a bag of wet sand while a struggle erupts. I black out from the pain or something because I don’t know what happens next.
“Rose!” Bex’s blue eyes hover above me. “Try not to move.” He snatches a towel from the wall and presses it to me.
The room is all hazy and spinning. I can’t breathe. But for the first time since any of this started, I feel kind of proud.
“I did it. I was your hero for once,” I mumble.
“Yeah, Rose. You were.”
“It was Belinda,” I say.
“I know.” Bex brushes the hair back from my forehead.
“I think Mel and Gertie still hate me, but at least it wasn’t them.”
He chuckles. “Leave it to you to find the silver lining.”
“All this torment and hate over money, Bex. Why?”
He shakes his head, and those sapphire eyes gloss over. “Because they just don’t know how to love like you do.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’m going to spare you all the details of my fever, excessive bleeding, and bouts of unconscious fits as I moved from hospital to hospital and was finally flown back to the States, landing in Miami General, where my injury and infection nearly got the best of me. I’m sparing you because I don’t remember much more than what I just recounted, mostly people speaking loudly and trying to ensure I knew what was happening.
Truthfully, I didn’t care then, and the only thing I care about now is Bex. Or the lack of him. I’ve called out his name a hundred times, I’ve cried through the pain, and I can’t recall one hazy image of his handsome face.
“Rose, how are we feeling today?” In walks nurse Bob, according to his name tag. He’s a short man with dark hair and the only person I see in this sterile place when I finally wake up.
“Please, I need to see Bex,” I mutter. My chest feels like it has a hot poker inside that gets even hotter when I breathe.
“I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know who that is.”
“My husband,” I groan. “Is he okay? Where is he?”
Bob gives me the saddest look, as if I’m a pathetic creature to be pitied. “I don’t know, dear. The only person who’s been to see you is that Waylon man.”
“Waylon?”
“He should be back in a minute. Just stepped out to get a sandwich.” Bob checks my IV and leaves me lying there trying to understand how the man I love, who I thought loved me, isn’t here. Was he hurt? Are they not telling me something?
Waylon enters, wearing khaki shorts and a green T-shirt, looking like your average, unassuming college student. I’m not going to lie; his friendly face is a comfort.
“Hey, pretty lady. You’re finally awake.” He sets down the brown bag in his hand on the small table by the window and comes to my side. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. Where’s Bex?”
He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “Safe. Back in Atlanta. Nothing to worry about.”
I feel a moment of relief. Bex is all right. “But why isn’t he here?”
Waylon picks up my limp hand and presses it between his own. “Why don’t you just rest, Rose. Your body needs time and—”
“Tell me,” I do my best to growl, but it comes out a gurgle.
“Rose.”
“Waylon…”
“He, uh, well…I can’t really speak for the man, but he said something about finally being able to go back to his life.”
“What?” That doesn’t make any sense.
Waylon’s hands squeeze tighter. “Rose, I’m here for you.”
So, basically, I was stabbed—by myself—in an effort to save Bex, and I ended up getting dumped, and now Waylon’s decided I’m his to take care of? I must be dreaming.
“What happened to Gustavo?” I ask, hoping he’s not still on the loose.
“Bex killed him.”
“Killed?” When did that happen?
“He didn’t have a choice. Gustavo was trying to go for that knife in your chest, and Bex needed to stop him so he could help you.” Waylon scratches the back of his head. “I’ve never actually seen a person strangled with a towel. Very creative. I got there right after it was over.”
“I don’t remember any of it.” I only recall the pain and noise.
“It’s okay, princess. It’s over now and you won’t ever have to worry again. I’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of. I need to talk to Bex. Can I borrow your phone?”
“You need to rest, Rose. Really. Doctor’s orders.”
“Phone. Now, Waylon.” My chest is throbbing and my lungs are burning, but there is no amount of pain in this world that would stop me from finding out what the hell is happening.
“All right…” He slides the phone from his pocket and dials. I guess he’s been talking to Bex because there’s no lengthy number search.
“Hey, Bexley. Yeah, it’s me.” Pause. “She wants to talk to you.” Pause. “No, man. She just woke up.” Pause.
Waylon looks at me and holds out the phone.
“Can we have some privacy?” I ask.
“Sure.” Waylon gets up and leaves the room, but the door stays open. I have no doubt he’s listening in the hallway. Don’t care. I have nothing to hide. I just don’t want to look at his face while my heart breaks, but make no mistake, it’s already cracking.
Stop, Rose. Maybe there was a family emergency. Maybe one of his aunts is sick and he had to be there.
“Bex?”
“Rose, how are you feeling?” His tone is distant and cold, like I’m talking to his wall again.
“Not great.”
“To be expected, but I’m hearing you’ll be fully recovered in about six weeks. You know how lucky you are, don’t you?”
“Cut the crap. Why aren’t you here? What’s going on?”
The long stretch of silence tells me he’s either thinking hard or doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind.
“Bex!” I bark in my loudest voice, which is still a hoarse whisper.
“I didn’t want to have this conversation like this. You’re still injured. The trauma of Gustavo taking you and his death, there’s still a lot to sort through.”
“No shit. So once again, I ask, why aren’t you here?”
“I’m not one of them.”
“One of them what?” I ask.
“A thing you need to sort through,” he says.
Okay… Now I know something is up. This man cares for me. He loves me. I know he does.
“I filed for a divorce, Rose.”
“You did what?” I mutter.
“I’m sorry. I saw no reason to drag it out any longer. Gustavo is dead. Belinda is in jail. Your grandparents have fled the country, I’m told. The money, the estate, everything is still yours since the courts put a hold on any transfer of ownership pending review of the paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“I told Belinda she could have everything except the mansion in exchange for telling me where you were.”
“You signed over the estate to her?” I vaguely remember Gustavo mentioning this.
“Yes. She would have gotten away with everything she did to you, but Gustavo stopped her.”
Gustavo? “I’m not following.”
“You know he ended up developing feelings for you, and I think when he had moments of clarity, he genuinely feared for your life. He wanted to keep you safe and sent everything—ema
ils, texts, and receipts of money exchanges between him and Belinda—to the DA here in Atlanta.”
I have no idea what to say or make of it because Gustavo held a knife to my throat. He wanted to kill me and came close a few times. Obviously, he was insane.
Bex continues, “He knew Belinda wouldn’t stop until you were dead. He loved you, Rose. In his own twisted way, he loved you.”
I can’t even right now. Gustavo took me. He was deranged. So while I suppose I should be grateful, I just don’t know how to do that at the moment. “How about you. Do you love me?”
“I won’t deny that I held a certain attraction to you. I think you’re a beautiful woman, but you were right. I was more in love with the fantasy of rescuing you than I was with the real person.”
“You’re being serious right now?”
“I’m sorry, Rose. There’s nothing I can do to make it right, but I can be honest with you. That, and I saved your life.”
“I saved yours, too.” Gustavo was about to skewer him.
“Now we’re even, and it’s time to call a spade a spade. You were never really in love with me.”
Not true. “What you mean to say is that you were never really in love with me.”
Another long pause, and my heart sinks.
“What I felt is best described as sexual attraction. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I think I’ve proven that I do, but what I feel isn’t marriage material, Rose. You’re still so young, and I’m more suited to date a woman, not a little girl who lives in fairytales.”
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. He’s only about nine years older than me, but he knows that doesn’t matter.
“Bex, there’s only one problem with everything you’re saying. It’s all a bunch of bullshit. So if you really, truly want me to be out of your life, then just say the truth: what’s going on here?”
Another awkward, long pause.
“I’ll lose my practice if I don’t sever ties with you. And I’m sorry, but you’re not worth giving up my entire career. No woman is. The board needs to see the truth that my marriage to you was nothing more than me going to extreme lengths to save you from a very bad situation.”
The Boyfriend Collector, Two Page 13
