THE BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE (PART FOUR)

Ava Claire

Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The Billionaire’s Wife Series

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part One): November 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Two): December 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Three): January 2015

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Four): February 2015

*Note: The Billionaire’s Wife series is a spin off from the His Submissive series.*

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NINETEEN

(Jacob)

My wife was gone.

I knew it before I even entered the building---entered wasn't truly accurate. I stormed through the doors with murder roaring through me like poison. What was left of Jessica Lenoir's show parted like the Red Sea. Bleary eyed servers snapped to attention, then dodged out of the way. Cocktail dresses and stilettos skittered from my path.

The air smelled of vanilla, pretension, and a hollowing dread that clawed at my gut. It was the settling of a truth that had turned my world upside down for the past hour since I’d landed. The worry set in when the first series of pictures from the event flooded social media. I flipped through shots of the important, beautiful people who made sure they were caught in the frame. But my wife, my Leila, glowed without even trying. There was no glimpse of her soft brown curls catching the light. No demure smile that made need stir inside of me. No delicious curves that were a work of art all on their own. When I called her phone and it went to voicemail...it confirmed my fears.

Something was wrong.

I found the planner, a lanky man swaddled in a cloak and his nose in the air until we locked eyes. His shock melted into reverence.

He shuffled forward, his head bowed. "Mr. Whitmore! Having you here at my event-"

"Where is my wife?" I interrupted brusquely.

He clasped a hand to his chest, the reverence curdling into confusion. "Leila?" He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. I saw a flash of the man that ran the party scene in the city. "I'm sorry, but my job was to put on a show, not babysit a publicistand a socialite."

It only took one look to make him backpedal so hard I thought he'd crash into the wall.

"I-I touched base with her briefly when she arrived before the show, but I d-didn't see her again after that," he stammered

I turned my back to him with a grunt of dissatisfaction, scanning the room for cameras. "So the last time you saw her was before the show."

"Ye--wait!" His exclamation drew my attention and my heart rose with hope. His face brightened like a student who was called on and the right answer was on the tip of his tongue. "The last time I saw her, she was booking it to the ladies room."

I stalked in the direction of the restroom. When I opened the door an invisible hand gripped my throat and squeezed.

Something terrible happened here.

My jaw tightened as I took a sobering sweep of the bathroom, wishing I could somehow piece together the story. I searched for the moment when my Leila went from preparing for Jessica Lenoir's show, a force to be reckoned with as she moved in her element, to the devastating crescendo when she was ripped away.

Taken.

There was no tangible evidence to support my theory. No sign of a struggle, no broken mirror. No...blood. It was a feeling in my gut.

Tyler Radin was an incessant buzz behind me, offering nothing but distraction. "Mr. Whitmore, I'm sure she's all right-"

"Your assurances are unnecessary and unhelpful," I growled, keeping my back to the man to combat the urge to strangle him for not protecting her. I knew it wasn't his responsibility to protect her. That responsibility was mine, and I had failed miserably.

"There were so many people coming in and out of here," Tyler insisted taking a step toward me. "Certainly I would have seen-"

"I'd stop right there," I began darkly, throwing hellfire over my shoulder.

He was too close, too representative of her last moments before-

The shards cut and sliced as they fell into place.

Cole.

He took my wife.

And I was the reason that asshole was in our lives. Which meant I was the reason that her phone went to voicemail the countless times I'd called her. I was the reason she wasn't in the pictures for the event; the reason she wasn't at the apartment, with Megan, with her mother, or anywhere to be found.

I tore a hand through my hair. "Did you see anyone talking with her?"

"I was so busy..." Tyler trailed off when I whirled to face him, eyes widening with fear when he realized he needed to choose his words very carefully. "I'm sorry, but I just don't know why you think something nefarious occurred."

How could I make him understand that I had a sixth sense about these things? Growing up in a home where nothing was as it seemed nurtured a keen ability to see the darkness behind a seemingly normal facade.

The house was always a flurry of servants before my father returned from his 'business' trips. Everything gleamed, every plate was perfectly prepared. My mother was perfectly assembled too, the pearls at her neck glittering as brightly as her teeth. Her hair was always piled as high as her expectations that this time it would be different.

I knew she wanted my father to breeze in and realize that everything he was looking for was at home all along. But what happened was too tight smiles. Too much truth hidden behind napkins and glasses of wine. Then a buzz hung in the air, the pretending so spot on that it was almost believable. Almost tolerable.

The maddening thump from the leaky faucet pulled me back to the bathroom. Back to the unbearable. My Leila--my feisty warrior woman--she had to have given Cole hell. Was currently giving him hell. But beneath  that fire, the defiance, I knew she was afraid. In that quiet, vulnerable place, she was crying out to me. Waiting for me to find her.

"Should we call the police?" Tyler asked hesitantly. Fishing for the right question with fear etched in the worried lines of his scrunched forehead.

I locked onto him and spoke as slow and deliberately as possible to keep my hold on the fury scorching earth inside me. "That won't be necessary."

Going through the proper avenues would ensure a proper justice.

I had a different kind of justice in mind.

****

(Leila)

The world was black.

Everything was coated in darkness. The color of nightmares. Of nothingness.

My mind was like honeycomb. Holes in my memories, sticky liquid that filled my lungs and made it hard to breathe or move. Thoughts seeped into my consciousness. Before I was asleep--now I was awake. But why wouldn't my eyes open? Why couldn't I remember anything besides going to the gallery and rushing to the bathroom?

A stranger's face streaked through my mind. Pale skin. Deathly pale. Electric blue eyes that set me on fire and burned. Something inside me clutched my stomach. Somewhere in the fog and the puzzle pieces that didn't fit no matter how I twisted them, her smile came through loud and clear. I could taste the hatred that stretched her lips from ear to ear. Whatever this mess was, this dark confusion, she was behind it.

She'd...drugged me.

But not just the server.

There was another face that scattered my memories. Gathered the pieces and hurled them at me like bullets.

The striking lines. The familiar eyes. Lips parted like he was about to say the words to seal my fate.

Cole.

Panic raged through me and every pore inside screamed when I realized that my eyes were open. And when I tried to pull myself upright, to run, my wrists and ankles snapped.

The pain was swift and the discomfort brought images that didn't belong in these terrifying moments. Memories of the first time I saw Jacob's playroom in his villa. The feel of cuffs around my wrists and ankles, being spread wide open for him.

When I yanked my right wrist I yelped, my skin on fire. The slice of agony wasn't from anything designed for erotic binding. This was duct tape. The tool of choice for handymen and kidnappers.

I opened my mouth to cry out, screech for help, but there was something in my mouth, pulled tight across my cheeks. My pleas were muffled, slobber seeping down my chin as tears blurred my vision.

I shook as the picture of my current state sharpened. Cole and that server took me from the gallery. The where was still unclear, but wherever I was, I was tied up. Mental hands flew to my body and I had a fleeting moment of relief. I was clothed. And there was no...violation. No ache on the tender skin of my thighs where someone tore them apart to take something that wasn't there's.

I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. If this wasn't about that, what was going on?

The world was flooded with light and I squinted in the direction of the glow, my eyes adjusting. It was a door, the rays of daylight illuminating my surroundings. My mind had gone to worst case scenarios. I pictured some dingy room in the back of some remote warehouse, so remote that no one would hear my screams. It would reek of old blood and fear and I'd be strapped to some yellowed mattress. The last mattress I'd ever lie on. The last room I'd ever see.

But it was the opposite. It was a hotel room. A generic, wholesome place where road tripping families, vacationing couples, and thrifty businessmen hung their hat for the night. An armoire was on the main wall, a budget LCD locked in its cherry wood embrace. Drawers were beneath it for storage. A matching desk was to the left with a rolling chair and a neutral colored lamp, chain dangling, waiting to be pulled. The bathroom area was still in shadow, but I imagined a sink in the alcove, a thin door separating a basic toilet and shower.

I turned my head slightly and saw the standard nightstand and alarm clock, broadcasting a time that couldn't be right. 11AM. So many hours lost. Tears scratched my throat when I caught sight of the gunmetal gray duct tape wrapped around my wrist, then secured to the bedpost.

The hours weren't lost.

They were stolen.

"Morning, Leila!" The voice was unsettlingly chipper. Two octaves too high to be genuine, and out of place considering I was duct taped to a bed.

I whipped my head toward the voice, but the door was closed and the room was bathed in darkness again. I squinted at the figure that moved toward me, the petite frame so non threatening. She was even whistling. But I just pulled at my binds even harder, ignoring the feel of the tape tearing at my skin.

Was I in some alternate reality where it was normal to whistle like it was a beautiful day while I was kicking, grunting, and squealing like a stuck pig?

I inhaled sharply as she flicked on the lamp on the bedside table. I stopped moving, gawking at her in disbelief. She was just a kid. Last night I'd been so attuned to the event that her age took the backseat to other things, but laying here, meeting her unnerving gaze, I couldn't escape it. She still wore her makeup from the night before, mascara and eyeliner giving her a smoky eye that was less couture and closer to a little girl sneaking into her mom's cosmetic bag. The uniform she'd worn, a pressed white button down shirt and black stiletto pants, were a wrinkled mess, untucked and oversized on her. She had doll-like, dainty features from her button nose to delicate, soft cheekbones, and big, pouty lips. Lips that were curled into a bemused smile as she held out a Starbucks cup.

"Triple shot mocha." She extended it like some peace offering, then let out a high pitched giggle when I made no move to accept it. Not that I could have, considering. "My bad. I could get one of those little red straw things if you want some."

"Are you fucking insane?" My words were a garbled, mismatched shriek but from the glee that sparkled in her eyes, she got the picture.

She took a long drag from her coffee cup then plunked it down on the nightstand. When she turned back to me, the crazed gleam had calmed.

"I'm sure you have loads of questions. I'm open to answering every one."

I watched her like a hawk, alarm bells going off when she reached in her back pocket. I was right to panic, because there was no mistaking the slender thing she held out for me to see. A swipe of her thumb and the blade sprung free, making my blood run cold.

"If you scream, I'll have to use this. And I want to return you to your yummy husband in one piece."

I flinched, futilely snatching  my head away from her as she pointed the blade in my direction.

I knew the blade was mere inches from my throat and I suddenly understood how fear could make a person lose complete control over all bodily functions. An internal war raged inside me: one part wanted to fight; to yank and tug and gnash my teeth. If she was a woman, no,girl of her word, it would be a very brief fight before that blade silenced me. Permanently. The other part of me couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything except pray that this was all some nightmare and at any moment the alarm would ring and I’d open my eyes. I’d be safe and sound at home.

The two paths merged and I landed somewhere in the middle, trying to pull myself as far from the knife as possible. It wasn’t nearly far enough and she illustrated just how out of control I was.

The tip of the blade pressed into the hollow of my neck. This was no threat. I felt my skin give way and the disorienting hum of blood trickling from the incision. Begging would do me no good. The slightest movement could make the cut a fatal one.

I was going to die in this room, and I didn’t even know why.

The bitterness of fear melted into anger as I closed my eyes and saw Cole standing in the doorway before the lights went out. He said he wanted to destroy all things Whitmore. But what did that have to do with this psycho chick with a knife?

The door opened with a bang and I braced myself for my last moments, surprise making this whole song and dance irrelevant when she slit my throat.

“Brit, what thefuck?!”

My eyes sprung open and the growl that roared deep inside me hit him like a punch. It was Cole, standing in the doorway like before. He was part of this.

Brit was suddenly on her best behavior, sneaking her arm behind her back like a kid, caught in the act of something mischievous. “It’s not what it looks like.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Me and Leila were just playing around.” There was nothing playful about the warning she gave me with those eyes. “Right?”

Sure, she could end me with that switchblade, and would probably enjoy it…but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of keeping up her charade.

“Fuck you,” I grunted defiantly.

Rage twisted her porcelain features as she stepped toward me.

“No, Brit!” Cole rushed to the bed. You’d think he’d be a little more wary about approaching an armed, psychotic teen, but he didn’t even flinch when she turned the blade on him.

She kept him at arms length, blade out, chest heaving up and down. “Whose side are you on?”

Cole didn’t retreat, but he didn’t advance either. “You know the answer to that.”

“Say the words,” she demanded wildly. She raised her chin and there was a hollow, aged and weary voice that fell from her lips. “Do you care about her more than me? I just nicked her and you’re ready to swoop in to save the day.”

He took a small step forward, his low, calm tone reminding me of one of those hostage negotiators from the movies. I tried to not think about the fact that most of the time someone got hurt. Considering I was tied up and my neck was still aching from the cut, my money was on me being royally screwed.

A calm washed over his face and in that moment I saw Jacob. Jacob standing in the boardroom. Giving an interview. Jacob knowing exactly what needed to be done and said.

“There’s one person I care about in this world, and one alone. That’s you, Brittany.”

She lowered the knife instantly, letting it clatter to the floor. She rushed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably as he stroked her back and murmured something that made her clutch him for dear life. It would have been a sweet scene if not for the fact that I was duct taped to a motel bad, bleeding, with no idea what the hell was going on.

I interrupted their moment, snatching my wrists and letting out a string of expletives that I didn’t even understand.

Brit whirled back to the bed, her tear and snot drenched face colored with an instant fury that nearly made me swallow my tongue.  “Are you blind? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Cole steered her back toward him, taking her face in his hands. There was a gentleness that he had with her that I hadn’t seen when he was usually around the opposite sex. Young, old--he was a charmer and a hopeless flirt. But with Brit he was different. He was protective and affirmative. Like a father and daughter.

Or a brother and a sister.

I un-balled my fists, staring at them in awe. I recalled our conversation at Bite when I told him I was practically his sister and he spoke of an actual sister that was sixteen and back home in Seattle. The sister he spoke of sounded like a typical teen, not the sadistic, knife wielding girl in front of me.

He kissed the crown of her head and wiped away her tears. “Brit, I need you to give me some time alone with Leila.”

She took root, crossing her arms combatively. “Is this because I cut her? I can do this, Cole. It was my idea, remember?”

It was hard to believe she was the mastermind of anything, but then again, twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have believed that Jacob was right to think his brother would do me harm.

“Ido remember, which is why you need to take a step back and let me help you.” He ruffled her platinum locks. “Have I let you down yet?”

She shook her head slowly, then tossed a final, scathing look at me before she trudged to the desk and swiped a key card. “I’ll be down at the pool.” She paused at the door, an authoritative voice beyond her years filling the silence. “We need to make contact with Jacob soon.”

Cole nodded in agreement and she left, the door thudding closed behind her.

Cole turned his attention on me and I was hit with the same look I got when Natasha called him some fake name. It was a look of shame and regret.

He pawed at his shaggy, golden locks before he spoke. “I know you have questions. I’m going to tell you the truth…then I’m getting you out of here.”

TWENTY

I owed Cole Sommers nothing, but when he removed the gag and gently cleaned my wound, I decided against screaming for help.

Even he looked surprised, gray eyes on alert as he stepped back and held his breath. “You probably have so many questions-”

“No,” I interjected fiercely. The sides of my mouth ached from the gag and my neck stung but there was a different kind of pain swirling inside me. It was the pain of disappointment. From the moment I heard about Cole there was a world of promise and opportunity. A chance for a new beginning with Jacob; a shot to show him that family could be a good thing. Because for him, family was a mother who oozed contempt and a father who never really showed up because he was too busy jet setting and sticking his dick in any hole that would allow it. But Cole had played us all from the start. He knew just what to say to sneak behind the wall and burn everything to the ground. “Don’t waste your breath telling me more lies. Maybe I’ve reached the point of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ because I was drugged, brought to some hotel, and tied to a bed while some girl gleefully played a game of Just How Deep Can I Cut Leila Until She Either Bleeds Out Or Pisses Her Pants.” I glared at him and yanked my wrists pointedly. “So save your breath and cut me loose.”

He made no more moves toward me. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Before I could bite off that his exhaustion was kind of infuriating considering the circumstances, my stupid heart couldn’t help but notice that he looked worse than I felt.

His hair hung in oily clumps around his bone weary face. Those perfect, Whitmore cheekbones were pulled too tight, like at any moment he would shatter into a million pieces. His eyes were haunting, like his demons were loose and set on tormenting him until there was nothing left.

I gave myself a mental pinch.Really, Lay? This asshole kidnapped you and you’re feeling sorry for him?But talking myself out of it was futile. Pointless. Because as tough as I acted a minute ago, I did want to understand. I felt like someone shook the puzzle box and dumped all these mismatched pieces at my feet. I couldn’t make sense of it, and my need to make sense of it monsooned my need to be angry at Cole.

“What the hell is going on? Why did you do this? That crazy-” ‘Bitch’ burned a hole in my tongue. “Girl…she’s your sister?”

He kneeled down to the floor and rose slowly, the switchblade in his hand. When my eyes bulged, his dropped down to the floor. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“Are you kidding me?” I said incredulously. “Absolutely.”

“Fair enough,” he winced, realizing just how ridiculous that question was.  “You don’t know me. And all of this-” He gestured with his unarmed hand. “Doesn’t help. But I would never hurt you. I would never hurt anyone.”

“I’m sure your foster parents would beg to differ.”

The words fell from my lips like poison and he looked physically ill, then his face darkened with anger.

“It must be so easy to judge right now, huh? I’m bigger and badder than any boogeyman because you think you know my story-”

“And you kidnapped me,” I added, nostrils flaring.

He clenched his jaw and I saw something I never thought I’d see on the face of someone with the Whitmore name. A storm of emotions, ranging from anger to pain. Remorse and fear. I saw vulnerability and somehow I knew that whatever came next would be the truth.

“You met Brit. You saw how…intense she can be. And she’s always been that way. When my foster parents brought her home she would just scream her head off. Gia, that’s my foster mother-” He said ‘mother’ like she was anything but. “She tried everything. Lullabies, bouncing, food, toys, rides in the car. Then she just gave up. She’d put Brit in the bassinet and just let her wail and turn up her soaps to full blast. When I came out of my room to try and console my sister, I’d get slapped or told to go away. That she was fine.” He sawed at the duct tape at my right wrist. “I can still see her tiny face, so red and unhappy. One afternoon, I’d had enough. I marched out of my room, preparing for Gia’s hand slicing the air towards me or maybe Joe, her husband, would take off his belt. I didn’t care. I decided that one way or another, I was going to pick her up.

By some stroke of fate, Gia was passed out on the couch. I scooped Brit up and took her to my room. It wasn’t until I stepped through the door that I realized she wasn’t crying anymore.”

My hand was free but I barely noticed, completely enraptured in his story.

“They found a way to take away the moment of course.” He circled to the other bed post and went to work on my other wrist. “Tried to paint it as a punishment when they moved her crib into my bedroom. But I loved taking care of her. Protecting her.”

He turned his back to me, but I saw the tears glittering in his eyes. Saw the tremble in his back. “When she turned five, Joe said he wanted to give her a princess room. Brit was elated. He showered with all things frilly and pink. And for awhile, things seemed as close to normal that they’d ever been. Then one day we were playing and I was tickling Brit and when I started in on her tummy she went rigid, then curled into the fetal position. My little sister, my firecracker, was so quiet. And when I looked at her face, before she even said a word, I knew.”

Cole cut my ankle free with a single swipe and I gasped. Not because that blade shaved my skin, but because I knew where this story was going.

“I told one of my teachers at school and child protective services interviewed us, then her alone, then me, then my foster parents. I remember being horrified when I saw the grown-ups talking and laughing. Joe winked at me. A wink that said I’d pay for this later. I asked Brit what she told the social worker and she just wailed. Just like she used to. Inconsolable. Bu this time, there was nothing I could do to make her stop.”

He freed my other ankle, but I didn’t move a muscle. We were coming to the killings. The murders.

“After the meeting with CPS, Brit withdrew completely. She barely talked to anyone. The fire inside her dimmed to a flicker, then it was nothing but smoke. Until the last night I saw my foster parents alive.

Suddenly, Brit was back. Joking, smiling, she even made dinner. Afterwards, I remember feeling so sleepy. I was out before my head even hit the pillow. And then I heard it. A boom that rattled the walls. I felt the second in my bones. My head was still foggy and I felt like I was moving under water, but I leapt from the bed when I realized I knew that sound. Joe used to take me shooting, trying to make a man out of me.” Cole walked to the bedside table like a convict marching toward the electric chair with nothing left to lose. He put down the knife. “I stumbled down the hallway, stopping when I heard another shot. Then another. I knew what I’d find when I walked into the bedroom, but nothing, nothing can prepare you for that. The blood, the smell of gunpowder…and your little sister standing in her pink pajamas, holding the gun she just used to kill her parents.”

I snatched a hand to my mouth, horrified. I couldn’t wrap my mind around his childhood. Or Brit’s childhood. And on top of all that... “You didn’t kill your foster parents.”

His face was in shadow. “I was responsible, Leila. I didn’t protect her from him.”

I snapped upright. “You were just a kid, Cole. You were not responsible. That...monster...he was to blame.”

My words didn’t even register. He crossed his arms and got that far away, guarded look that I was intimately familiar with. The Whitmore wall. “I took the gun and kissed her on the forehead and told her to call 911. I told her that we’d say I shot them. I wouldn’t let her go down for ridding the world of two assholes. I never imagined that my actions were screwing her over anyway. That I was putting her on the same path I’d been on: foster parents that only cared about cashing a check. So when I got out of juvie at 21, I worked any job I could get my hands on and as soon as I was able to find a place in the city and she was old enough emancipate herself, she moved in.” He paused, blinking slowly. “Obviously, she has some emotional issues.”

Obviously. And mental ones. Before I knew the horror she had to endure I might have said that out loud. “I’m so sorry for all that has happened to you and your sister, but what does that have to do with Jacob? And me?”

“When I told Brit that Jacob Whitmore was my brother, she fixated on it. To her, it was our chance to really start over. I went to Alicia and just asked for some help.” He fingered a button on his shirt. “A waiter’s salary isn’t enough for college. Or to support a teenager. Alicia didn’t want to give me a dime. In fact, she laughed in my face.”

I twisted my wild curls over my shoulder, recalling Alicia’s story about her mother laughing her face. It was a sad irony that she did the same damaging thing to her son.

“I said some shit I didn’t mean about destroying Jacob but I was ready to make that the end of it. Brit wouldn’t let it go though. By the time I realized that she planned to take you and go after Jacob for ransom, she was already well into it.”

I dropped my hands back to the bed, a tremor rippling through me. “So what-you decided to just go with the flow?”

“She’s my sister,” he said simply.

Somehow I saw that little boy, reaching into the bassinet. Desperate to protect the one person he cared about most.

“And when she gets like this, I’m the only that can talk her down before she does something she’ll regret,” he finished.

As angry as I wanted to be that things had gotten this far, I shuddered to think of what could have happened if he wasn’t here. I felt Brit’s knife at my fingers, ready to hack off digits to show Jacob she meant business.

I still raised my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was grateful. Inside, I knew there was a reason I had one cut instead of several, and that reason was Cole. “If you’re expecting some sort of thank you-”

“Please,” he interrupted with a sigh. “I don’t know you well, but I know enough. And you’re not the type to say thank you, even if I did save your ass.”

“Whatever,” I scooted from the bed before he could see the gratitude swimming in my eyes. My whole body cried out when I stood upright, my muscles popping and aching from being bound. I pulled down the sides of my wrinkled skirt and hunted for my shoes. “So what now? You distract her while I make a run for it? I call the police?”

“No police,” he said quickly. “Her life would be ruined, Leila. She’s just a dumb kid who made a dumb mistake.”

I swiveled back to him. I could let just about anything fly because of her childhood, but I wouldn’t sweep this shit under the rug. “If you think I’m going to chalk this up to some sort of teenage indiscretion or ‘Kids do the Darndest Things!’, you are sadly mistaken. Something is very wrong with your sister. My heart breaks for what she went through but this was not an impulsive thing. She researched me and the event and infiltrated Tyler’s team. She drugged me. I woke up tied to a bed and she held a knife to my throat. She cut me.” A chill rushed through me, remembering how I thought this was the end. That I’d die in this room. “I’m open to your thoughts on how we get her some help, but she doesn’t get to walk away from this.”

“Oh, I’m not walking. I’m planning to strut away from this in Louboutins.”

I whirled toward that voice and stopped breathing. I thought I had something to fear with the knife. Brit was holding a gun-and it was pointed at my head.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Cole, Cole, Cole. What am I going to do with the both of you now?”

TWENTY-ONE

If I never saw duct tape ever again it would be too soon.

Joking was good I guess. Especially considering the fact that a sixteen year old psychopath had a gun on me while Cole was binding me to a chair.

I had to go somewhere else in my mind. This motel room had become a jail cell. The abstract painting on the wall held no relief with the red slashes that reminded me of cuts. The blackout drape behind Brit drifted lazily, the AC running its fingers over the dusty fabric. The grommets were metal, sparkling like bullets. So I closed my eyes and I was back on the beach, becoming Jacob’s wife. So full of love and hope and promise. The smell of the water and the taste of Jacob when he pressed his lips against my lips and made it official. Would I ever see him again? If some schmo off the street abducted me for ransom, that would have been one thing. It was in their best interest to follow through if they wanted the money. But Brit was crazy. All bets were off.

No Brit talk. There is no Brit here. She is not welcome. Cole’s not welcome…I bit my lip to combat the burn as the tape pulled on my skin. Instead of opening my eyes and glaring at Cole, I took the pain to a happier place. I was tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross in me and Jacob’s playroom. The flogger kissed my skin before it bit my flesh. Each lash pulled me away. Drew me to his arms. He took all of me, all the raw, broken pieces and he turned them into something beautiful.

“Open your eyes, Princess.”

That voice didn’t belong in my happy place. It set fire to the room. Shook the floor beneath my feet.

“I said, open your fucking eyes.”

I obeyed, and I wished I hadn’t. Brit was in front of me, her gun locked on her target–me. I was literally looking death in the eye. I tried to look past the crazy; to see that little girl holding a gun that looked so much like the one in her hands now. There was one key difference though: I wasn’t her parents. I wasn’t the enemy.

“Brittany, this isn’t you-”

She arched an eyebrow in bemusement. “Oh God. Have we reached the point where you talk me out of this? Tell me that I’m a good person? Let me save you the trouble. I’m not a good person. If a handful of therapists couldn’t fix me, some rich bitch certainly can’t.”

“Leila,” Cole muttered, trying to warn me off. “Don’t.”

“I know what your dad did to you. He’s a horr-”

The room spun and pain exploded at my jaw. I could taste the copper bitterness of blood.

She hit me with the gun. Not some pistol whip to show me she meant business. She’d turned day to night and pulled all the stars in the sky to this room. Shoved the white hot things in my eyes.

My body wanted to slump, to collapse to the ground but I was bound upright so only my head lolled to the side, crimson liquid oozing from my lips. It speckled my dress like raindrops.

“Back up Cole!” Brit shrieked. There was two of her until they merged and shimmered. I guess she was done using the gun as brass knuckles because it was back up, pointed to my right. Pointed at Cole.

I dragged my head to the side and saw him standing with both hands up. She wouldn’t shoot her brother-would she?

“I will shoot you,” she hissed at him. “You betrayed me.”

Well, that settlesthat.

I felt the fear coming off Cole in waves. I knew it well because I’d worn it like a perfume from the moment I woke up here. Fear had climbed into my pores.

Afraid or not, the voice that came out Cole’s mouth was calm and sure. “I didn’t betray you, Brittany. I tried to help you. One way or another, this is all going to end and I wanted her to understand so maybe what comes next isn’t prison.”

My head throbbed as I turned back to my assailant. She should have been Instagraming and Facebooking and Snap Chatting and telling her parents the party she was going to was just her and a few other girls instead of a rager packed with Dixie cups, jello shots and the quarter back she’s been dying to kiss. She was just a kid. She shouldn’t know about guns and ransom and monsters.

“Prison isn’t in the cards for me,” she said icily. “Private jets and private islands are what’s waiting for me after her husband pays up.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that reality nor fantasy favored that outcome.

“How could you tell her about Dad?” Her caviar dreams were a distant memory. The pain on her face was haunting. It was the look of someone that had experienced pure evil. It was look that said she knew that no amount of money could buy her way out of that pain. How do you heal when the person who helped bring you into this world does the unspeakable?

“Because I needed her to understand this isn’t your fault,” Cole explained.

“You had no right!” she shrieked.

My mouth fell open when I saw Brit’s finger inch toward the trigger. “Cole…”

“Cole?” It was like my voice shook her from some stupor. The gun returned to me and the smile on her lips was just as terrifying. “I’m not going to shoot my brother, silly. You on the other hand-”

“You know what, you’re right.” Both of us turned back to Cole, surprised. “My plans haven’t changed, Brit. I found my mother because I wanted money to start over. We can still get the money and start over.” He injected some humor in his voice. “We won’t get shit if she’s dead though.”

She giggled like it was the best joke she’d ever heard.

“I’m thrilled that my death is a laughing matter,” I sniped.

“You’re so dramatic, Leila,” Brit chuckled.

I waited for her to lower her gun since they were both seemingly back on Team Abduction and Ransom, but she still had it primed and ready to go.

That wasn’t lost on Cole either. “So, why don’t you give me the gun-”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” She said with a look that told me that she wasn’t naïve enough to believe her brother made a complete 180. “How about you grab that cell phone on the desk and call up brother dearest. I’m sure he’sdying to know how wifey’s doing.”

Hope dangled on a string and I reached for it.

“Then I want you to grab the switchblade and when he acts all macho and starts threatening to wipe us off the face of the Earth, cut her. Deep.”

The string snapped and I plummeted back to this hell. Back to the fear. Back to that knife.

“I get it Brit but I know Jacob and if we harm her-”

“Oh, we’re way past that. I already cut her neck, her jaw is definitely going to bruise-” She moved calmly to my left side, lowering the gun until it was aimed at my thigh. “And if you don’t cut her, I’ll have to shoot her.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “Not fatally. Just a little hole in the leg.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered hoarsely. To hell with trying to talk her down or convince her that I was one her side. I just started babbling. Begging. “You can’t do this. If you want money, I have money. I won’t tell anyone-”

“If I was worried about that, I’d cut out your tongue. And your fingers.” She pressed the barrel against my thigh. “So what will it be, Cole?”

I wanted to squirm, to kick the chair over. There was a panicked, irrational part of me that wanted to scream, but just before I was about to do something that would definitely earn me a bullet, Cole gave in.

“Okay, Brit. I’ll call.”

She pulled back and I practically fainted with relief. What was she doing to me? How could I be relieved that I was about to be cut?

Because a cut is better than a bullet.

I exchanged a look with Cole. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for me to see that he had a plan.

Brit still had her gun trained on me as she backed up toward the swivel chair. She lowered herself with a sigh and got her brother in her sights. “I’m sure she has him saved in her phone as Hubby or Sugar Daddy or something like that.”

I bit the inside of my jaw until I tasted blood. It was becoming a disturbingly familiar taste.

“It’s dialing,” Cole said behind me.

“Put it on speaker, and come get the knife.”

Even though Cole was playing both sides, I glared him down as he came toward me armed with pain and freedom. I wanted to sell his change of heart and rededication to his sister’s psycho mission, but there was a part of me that just wanted him to charge her, guns blazing or not, and take control of the situation. I just wanted out. I wanted to go home. Preferably in one piece.

“Leila, is that you?”

The minute I heard my husband’s voice I crumbled. It was part exhaustion, part terror, and part the worry in his voice.

“Leila, I swear I’ll find you-”

“Why don’t we make that search super easy for you, Mr. Whitmore,” Brit said with the bubbly, infectious energy of a head cheerleader. She gave me a look and I tried to gather myself. She mouthed ‘good girl’ and continued. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out, I have your wife. I really don’t want to hurt her more than I already have –“

“You touched my wife?!” he roared. “Who the hell is this? Why am I speaking with a child? Where is Cole?”

“Cole is standing beside your wife with a knife pointed at her chest.” She waited for Cole to make good on her words. I tried to breathe as he held the tip of the blade just below my collar. “Now, this is what we want-”

“You’re what, 15? 16? Too young for your brain to be developed enough to truly grasp the gravity of what you’ve done. Before you dig yourself any deeper-”

“Cut her, Cole.” Her voice was as calm and hopeless as the grave.

Cole cleared his throat and somewhere in my panic, I took it as a signal to play it up. The slice of pain hurt, but from the way I howled, you’d think he was gutting me.

“STOP!” Jacob thundered. “Leila…Jesus Christ! I’m so sorry! Damn you. It’s going to be okay, baby. I swear it’s going to be okay...”

Considering he was miles and miles from me and I was locked in a room with Charles Manson’s lost daughter and her overprotective brother, things were decidedlynot okay, but calm washed over me. Every muscle in my body went from tense and on alert to liquid and relaxed. His words pulled me into his arms where it was safe and warm.

But I knew he wasn’t in a good place. It was more than the profanity. It was something in his voice. It was an agony and helplessness that ran deep and brought tears to my eyes. It made me want to tell him that I was okay, but if I tipped off Brit that Cole had barely scraped me, she’d take over and God only knew how far she’d go.

Brit sat up tall in the seat, a smug expression coloring her face. “Now that you know I’m not some kid playing games, let’s get down to business.”

“What do you want?” Jacob snarled. “Just tell me what you want!”

“Five million dollars. Cash. Big bills are fine, since I only have a Corolla. You bring the money and you can have your wife back. I could go into the alternative, but you seem like a smart guy.”

“I’ll get you the money, just don’t hurt her,” Jacob demanded.

“Jacob-” She fixed her blonde locks in some invisible compact mirror. “Is it okay if I call you Jacob?”  She didn’t wait for confirmation. “You’re in no position to make any orders. Until I get the money, I’ll do whatever I want to do. Luckily for you, I’m sick of listening to her cry.”

“You bi-”

“Name calling just isn’t nice, Jacob,” she scolded.

She really was sick. And enjoying all of this. I stole a look up at Cole, hoping I’d see another sign of his plan, but he ignored me, watching Brit instead. In his eyes I saw the same horror I felt.

“Just tell me where to meet you,” Jacob said, his voice tense and raw.

She gave him an address. “Obviously, if you try and screw me over, or involve the police in any way, this story is going to have a very unhappy ending.” She flashed her white teeth at me. “And everyone loves a happy ending, right?”

TWENTY-TWO

I was losing my mind.

It was more than being taped to a chair and the agonizing realization that eventually, all this tape (and probably the top layer of my skin) would be removed. It was more than watching Brit channel surf with her gun balanced precariously in her lap. It was the wait. The closer the clock ticked toward the meet, the more I unraveled. One hour until I’d be back in my Jacob’s arms. But there was a part of me that wondered if it was too good to be true. If Brit would take the money and kill us all anyway.

I flicked my eyes in her direction, then rested on Cole. He was in the swivel chair, sitting awkwardly at a 90 degree angle, watching his sister too until he felt my gaze. His eyes shifted to me and he mouthed a word that told me he knew me better than I thought.

Don’t.

My nostrils flared defiantly and I turned my attention back to Brit. She was engrossed in the TV, some entertainment reporter blabbering on about celebrity spottings.

“What are you going to do with your 2.5 mil?” I asked her, trying to turn down the bitterness. Seem as non combative as possible.

Her intense blue eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Whatever I want.”

“I’m sure you have a quite a list. That’s a lot of money.”

“Not for someone like you.” She shrugged her shoulders and pointedly turned up the volume on the TV. “You probably spend that much on vacations to Bora Bora. And Europe. And wherever rich bitches go for R&R.”

It was the third time she’d used the term. I wondered if it was her way of rationalizing what she’d done. Yeah, she’d kidnapped and hurt me, but I could afford the therapy and international retreats to put myself back together.

“I’m not some celebrity, Brittany. Or a socialite.” I raised my voice over the volume of the TV. I wanted her to hear me. To understand that I was a person. “My mom was a manager at JcPenney and my dad was a mechanic. I never would have been able to attend any Ivy League school, or school period, without a scholarship.”

“I guess you hit the lotto when you landed a billionaire, huh?” She finally looked in my direction-and she looked right through me. “I know you’re trying to make me see you as a human being so I won’t shoot you in the head, but I really could care less about your life story.”

“I just want you to understand.”

“Shh!” she hissed. “I want to see if they got any pictures of me before I took care of business.”

I frowned, but I had no choice but to shut up. Cole was wide eyed and incredulous, silently asking me if I’d lost my mind. I was tempted to say that I was so far past the point of sanity that I could see Brit standing at the end of the tunnel.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Brit squealed, the gun bouncing on her thigh like a hacky sack.

“They’re talking about my art show!”

“Art show?” I muttered, confused. I perked, realizing that she was talking about Jessica’s show.

The flash of normalcy, the reminder of life outside of this room was too much to bear and frustration drowned my eyes. It was cruel stroke of fate that my back was to the TV and I couldn’t even see how the event that I’d helped put together turned out. Brit stole that night away from me and now she was rubbing my nose in it.

Cole rose from the bed and moved toward me soundlessly. I sent my own silent message, telling him to fuck off. I didn’t need his help. At this stage, he could sabotage everything. But he just lifted my chair and turned me toward the TV. I half expected Brit to tell him to put me back or else, but she must have been feeling generous because she didn’t say a word.

I was back in the gallery, shots of the transformed space flashing on the screen. Before all hell broke loose, I’d seen the beginning stages of the event. The final touches that would take the room from ‘nice’ to ‘breathtaking’. The recap was filled with a live feed of the event in full swing, attendees packed in the space in their hipster’s best. There was a shot of Tyler, grinning at the camera before he dashed off to probably yell at one of his staff. My breath caught in my throat when I saw Jessica. She wore a crimson colored dress that hugged her frame. It was a shift dress that said she could be whatever she wanted to be: a vixen, a CEO, a creative. She was all of those things and was stronger than anyone gave her credit for. The smile she gave the camera said ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet.’

The host raved that everyone in attendance was enraptured and stunned by Jessica’s talent. One woman in chunky cat eye glasses admitted she was skeptical because Jessica’s party girl reputation preceded her, but she was  clearly an artist and woman to watch.

Tears bolted down my cheeks. “You did it.” I whispered, pretending that I was talking to Jessica face to face. “I knew you could do it.” And she did all of this after it probably seemed like I bailed on her. If she’d melted down, I wouldn’t have blamed her. But she stepped up and proved that she was a force to be reckoned with.

The pride melted into frustration. I didn’t want to hear about the event second hand, through the lens of some producer at the TV station. I wanted to be in the thick of it. Ground zero so I could see Jessica’s metamorphosis with my own eyes.

I’d tried fear on for size while I was tied up. Cut up. I’d felt sympathy when Cole told me their story. There had even been a flash of hope and relief when I heard Jacob’s voice. Now, I was pissed.

“How dare you,” I seethed, craning my neck toward the bed. I couldn’t lock eyes with her but I hurled my anger in her direction. “Do you have any idea what you took from me?”

Cole leapt into action, all charm and the voice of reason. “We’re in the home stretch now. I think everyone should just relax.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, unwilling to be derailed. I knew I was playing with fire, and my anger could do more harm than good, but it raged inside me. I couldn’t sit here while she watched the event that I worked so hard to pull off, so oblivious that she couldn’t grasp what she’d done. If she was a sociopath, my words would be wasted. That was the risk I took. I didn’t dwell on that because this was all pointless anyway if she was a sociopath. But I had to believe that there was some part of her that was capable of understanding and feeling human emotion. “Do you have any idea what you took from me last night?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she groaned. “You just saw that your little party was a hit. Heck, they didn’t even need you.” She made a long, drawn out sound like it all made sense to her. “Maybe that’s what this is. You’re discovering just how insignificant you really are.”

Her tongue was like barbed wire. Sharper than a knife. But if this experience had taught me anything, it was that I could handle the pain. The helplessness. “That would be too easy, twisting this into something that was my fault. When I first found out about Cole, I wanted to fix it. I saw a broken family…two brothers that had so much stolen from them. Time, memories, love. So I went to work to bring them together, with no other intention than they deserved a fresh start.”

“So, you’re like, a hero?” she said sarcastically.

I ignored her. “This has nothing to do with heroism. That’s not the point I’m trying to make. I didn’t think about myself. I made myself insignificant. And then there’s Jessica-”

“The rich b-“

“Yes, she’s rich. And difficult. And challenging.” I paused, tears filling my eyes when I remembered seeing her art for the first time. “But she’s so much more. Talented. Driven. A survivor.”

“Are you kidding me?” The TV was powered down and I heard the covers rustle, the floor groaning as she scrambled from the bed. She stood before me, the gun in her hand but pointed at the floor. Her chest heaved up and down as she burned holes in me.  “What does she know about surviving? She wakes up in the morning and her only worry is whether she should go shopping before or after breakfast. She wonders if she can survive traffic while the paparazzi stalks her or the comments about whatever skanky dress she was wearing when the pictures hit the blogs.” Brit narrowed her eyes to tiny blue razors. “Surviving is laying in bed at night, wishing you could lock your door to keep your dad from ‘tucking you in’. It’s the hollowness inside your chest when you realize the lock won’t stop him. Begging won’t stop him. No one can save you. So you leave your body. You have to go to some place far away because your reality is a nightmare. And you know tomorrow night, it starts all over again.” Her voice trembled, her eyes glassy with tears. “That’ssurviving. Reaching the point when you know it won’t get better, won’t stop until you do something. Not caring about the consequences because anything,anything would be better than living that way.” She angrily wiped her face as tears sprung free. “But that’s not the worst part. When you’re finally free of him, free of a mother who knew just how sick her husband was but ignored it because she didn’t want to be alone, you realize that it wasn’t that simple. Death was a gift. It’s living that’s the punishment.”

She raised her arm and pressed the gun to her temple and I gasped. Cole rushed toward her, then thought better of it and started pleading with her. She ignored him completely. I was horrified, unable to find the words.

“Every day I don’t end it, I lose. I’m a survivor, but every day I tell myself that this will be the day I throw in the towel. Because I don’t want to be a survivor. I don’t want to be anything at all.”

“Brittany…” I head the tears in Cole’s voice.

I felt the tears coursing down my face. I closed my eyes and said what was in my heart. “I am so sorry, Brit. I know that doesn’t change anything, and you don’t need or want my sympathy, but there it is. And that powerlessness, hopelessness you felt--you’ve dished it out to me. A complete stranger who meant you no harm. Still doesn’t, even after all you’ve done. Who wants to help you. Not because that’s the right thing to say and maybe if I say it you won’t hurt me anymore. I have this need to help people. To fix things.”

She raised her gun. Whatever vulnerability she’d shown was a distant memory. “You can’t fix this. You can’t fix me.” She sniffed, glancing over at Cole. “Cut her free and we’ll go give her back to her husband.” Her eyes twinkled gleefully when I shook my head as he advanced on me with a knife. “Oh! She doesn’t want you to cut her loose. Unwrap her piece by piece then. Slowly.”

Cole stood beside me, his volume low and melancholy. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

I didn’t want his reassurances. I didn’t want anything at all from him. “Just get it over with.”

He pulled the first strip of tape from my skin and I used every ounce of willpower and strength to muffle my cries. My pain was like fuel to Brit. She was hurt, so now she’d hurt me. And I refused to give her any more satisfaction.

The tears wouldn’t stop. My internal faucet was turned all the way up, but I didn’t scream. Even when it felt like he was pulling off my skin. 

I went to a faraway place myself. A place where there was no pain. Where I didn’t have to be strong or fight or fix things.

The last piece was removed and I sat shuddering, a ball of nerve endings. I wasn’t Leila. I was just a thing in a chair. It was easier this way.

“Let’s get this party started!” Brit gestured at the door with her gun.

Cole gently helped me up. “I’m so sorry, Leila.”

His apology went right through me. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was sorry too. Sorry that I couldn’t fix this. Sorry that Brit had changed me.

Because I’d never hated anyone in my whole life.

Until now.

TWENTY-THREE

I was going home.

In my darkest moments, any sort of happy ending was too far away to see. I’d picture Jacob, or glance down at my ring…there were even a few moments when I heard my mother’s voice, trying to give me tips on makingPR better or hounding me about grandchildren. There was comfort in picturing me rolling my eyes and kissing her cheek and changing the subject. But every time I convinced myself it would be okay, I’d look at Brit and she’d smile and the safe place I’d built would come crashing down. Even now, with the car pointed toward the light at the end of the tunnel my stomach twisted and knotted. I couldn’t make myself believe that this nightmare was really over.

Jacob will protect you.

But not even that thought could erase the dread. He was on another continent when I was taken. I was alone in the bathroom with a psycho, then alone in the motel with a psycho and her unwilling accomplice, and now I was supposed to believe that somehow, some way, everything would be all right?

I stroked my cheek, tears wet on my fingertips. I held out my hand, inspecting the circular grooves for any indication that there was pain. And sadness. And frustration. And fear. But there wasn’t a trace. It was there one second, gone the next. I wondered if that was what death was like.

“Are you okay?” Cole was in the backseat beside me. He hadn’t said a word since he tore the tape from my skin. What could he say? Sorry my little sister has physically and mentally tortured you? Sorry I don’t have the balls to just roll the dice and take charge of this situation? Sorry I ever inserted myself into your life? His sorry was meaningless. Almost as meaningless as ‘Are you okay?’.

I rolled my eyes and turned my head to the window. I let that be his answer. It was more of an answer that he deserved.

“Maybe you didn’t hear my brother, but he asked if you a question,” Brit chirped from behind the wheel.

“It’s okay.” Cole assured her. “We’re good.”

“No it isn’t.” Brit dug in her heels, the very sound of her voice rubbing salt in my wounds. “You’ve been so nice to her throughout this whole process-”

“Nice?” I said indignantly, whipping back to the front. I had nothing to lose at this point, so I didn’t shy away when she gave me a death glare in the rear view mirror. “You want to know what would have been nice? If he would have seen me in a heap on the floor at the gallery and called for help. I would have woke up in a hospital with a headache instead of tied up in some musty motel.”

“Getting feisty now that your white knight is charging in to save the day, huh?” Brit chuckled bitterly. “We’re still fifteen minutes out. More than enough time to-”

“Cut me? Shoot me? Go ahead,” I shrugged. “I don’t care anymore.”

She exchanged a look with me and for the briefest moment, we understood each other. I’d officially reached the point of being numb and not caring what happened to me. That was her reality for years. Maybe it still was.

She tore her eyes away and punched the power button on the radio, flooding the car with some pop song about clubbing and shots and dancing the night away.

I rolled down my window and let the wind pound my face and whistle in my ears.

Fifteen more minutes.

Jacob.

Safety.

I had to make myself believe it.

“I’m going home.” I mouthed the words and let my mind work its magic. I pictured Jacob, wrinkled and red eyed from lack of sleep, standing beside the Navigator. He’d pop the trunk and show Brit her money, then yank me into his arms. But it wouldn’t be all right or safe or over until we climbed in the car and put as many miles between us and this hell as possible.

The air changed, tainted with the smell of hogs and manure and the distinct country aroma that made me breathe through my mouth. We were getting close.

When Brit started singing along to the radio, gyrating and drumming the steering wheel, I felt like I was going to be sick. Not a disgusted kind of a sick, a ‘We better pull over the car or it’s going to reek of vomit for a week’ kind of sick.

“Here.” A paper bag entered my view and I snatched it and started breathing. It took a few minutes but the feeling subsided.

“Aww you’re so excited about going home that you can’t catch your breath!”

I wanted to tell her that she made me physically ill but she’d only chuckle. She’d take joy out of my pain. Silence was the best revenge.

I handed Cole back the bag. “Thank you,” I said reluctantly.

He accepted it with a nod. “Somehow, some way it’s going to work out.”

I peered at him thoughtfully. I didn’t feel incredulous. Or upset that he, of all people, was trying to offer me relief. I felt grateful. He made mistakes, some pretty glaring ones that landed us where we were now, but he wasn’t a bad person. He was human, just like the rest of us.

“We’re here.”

Brit pulled onto a dirt road and I swear she purposefully hit every pot hole she could find. Every thud jostled my insides. One part of me was woozy. Apprehensive. The other part wanted to ride this roller coaster with my hands in the air because when the dust settled, Jacob would be there. So I went with option B. I took the dread and let it flow out the window and fade into the horizon. I let myself smile. I let myself hope.

Our car shuddered to a stop at a clearing, surrounded by lush, green trees and knee high, swaying grass. Just like I’d imagined, there was a Navigator waiting and I saw him. He jumped from behind the driver’s side like a linebacker in a suit, ready to take down anyone in his way.

I was crying again, this time tears of joy as I reached for the door handle.

“Not so fast,” Brit barked. She spoke to Cole, her tone straight business. “Once I get the money, I’ll wave and you let her go…and not a moment before.”

She pulled down the visor and admired her reflection for a few seconds, then stepped out of the car and strode toward Jacob.

I leaned forward, watching her like a hawk. Searching for a twitch or for her to reach for the gun tucked into her pants. But she moved with the grace and authority of a model on the runway. When she hit the end and had her moment, she’d give the cameras a killer shot.

She walked right past Jacob and he paused, looking at the car, looking for me before he joined her at the trunk. I couldn’t see either of them and it made me nervous.

“Cole, she can’t hurt him,” I said weakly. Pleading.

“She won’t,” he said firmly.

He reached for me and I shrinked away, trembling. I couldn’t help it. It was too soon and I was too raw.

He pulled back, pain flickering in his stormy eyes. Worry. I knew I didn’t have to offer him any form of comfort, but I wasn’t too stubborn to admit that without Cole, I’d be rocking back and forth, drooling, probably missing some fingers and toes. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you.”

He glanced at me, his lips curling into a sad smile. “That’s nice of you. Nicer than I deserve.” He turned back to the windshield. “I blame myself. I blame myself for everything.”

My heart clenched in my chest. Even though he played a pivotal role in all of this, I knew his heart was in the right place. He just wanted to protect his sister.

I shifted back to the exchange, just in time to see Brit wave her arm.

Even though I wanted to leap from the car and run into Jacob’s arms, I waited for his confirmation.

“Go to your husband,” Cole said softly. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

My fingers shook as I gripped the handle and pulled. Sunshine flooded my eyes and I paused when my feet hit the ground.

I was free.

Laughter oozed from my lips and tears drenched my face as I ran to him. The sun was in my eyes but I didn’t care. There was only this moment. There was only Jacob.

I jumped and he caught me, clutched me to his body like he never wanted to let me go again. I felt his heart beat like a drum, the warmth and safety in his arms all that mattered as the rest of the world waited. Even if Brit shot us both dead, she couldn’t have this moment. It was ours.

I touched the ground, staring up at him like he was a mirage. The shadow of stubble on his jaw. The tremor of his lips as he fought to contain his emotions. And his eyes–his eyes told the truth. Every second I was gone, my location unknown, was torture.

He brushed my curls from my eyes and rage darkened his face when he saw my cheek. “Baby…they hurt you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should have protected you.”

I pressed my fingers against his lips. The past day had shown me what I could take; just how much I could bear. Jacob blaming himself? I couldn’t stand it. “This wasn’t your fault. You’re here now.” I smiled through the tears. “You found me.”

He cradled my face in his hands the love radiating from him was as warm and as bright as the sun in the sky. “I swear to you: no one will ever hurt you again. Ever.”

A tiny voice scratched the back of my mind, pulling me back to that hotel room. It said there was no way for him to promise that. The whisper didn’t compare to the shout of being able to touch and feel him again.

“How sweet,” Brit cooed.

I refused to even look at her, steeling myself and focusing on Jacob. “Can we go home?”

He pressed a kiss against my lips, letting his love linger in the air when he pulled back, brushing his nose against mine. “Let’s go.”

He helped me into the car and I bit back a cry of pain as I lifted my body into the passenger seat. He closed the door and quickly stalked after Brittany. I fumbled to unbuckle my seatbelt but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He didn’t know she had a gun.

She could take everything away from me in a blink of eye.

“Jacob!”

But Brit didn’t toss aside the money cart and blow him away. She pivoted back to him and listened intently, then smiled after him as he strode back to our car.

As soon as he slid behind the wheel, safe, I lost it.

“How could you?!” I sobbed, hyperventilating, the car spinning, body shaking. “She had a gun. She could have shot you!”

“Lay-”

“SHUT UP!” I hollered, slamming my fists on the dashboard. “You don’t know what she’s capable of! If it wasn’t for Cole, you’d be getting me back in pieces. Pieces! I looked into her eyes and all I saw was hate and darkness. And the pleasure she got out of giving me pain…” I couldn’t go on. I just dropped my head in my hands and wailed.

“I couldn’t let her leave without knowing that if I ever saw her face again. I’d kill her,” he said darkly.

“No,” I eked out between my fingers. “I went to that place; sunk down to her level. Hate is easy. After what she did…hating her is effortless.” I pulled my hands from my face. “But then she wins, Jacob. And I refuse to let her win.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between us. He reached for my hand and I let him hold it. I let him believe it comforted me. Deep down, I knew that no amount of love could erase what happened to me. He couldn’t save me from the nightmares that awaited me.

He gave my hand a final squeeze and started the engine. “Let’s get you home.”

“Wait,” I said softly. “I need to see.”

I watched them load the containers into the sedan. Watched Brit slide back behind the wheel with a wave. Watched their headlights until there was nothing.

I re-buckled my seatbelt and didn’t allow one more tear to fall. “Now I’m ready.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Home is where the heart is.

After I moved into Jacob’s apartment, it took months before I stopped referring to it as ‘Jacob’s apartment’. My clothes and the odds and ends I’d brought from my old place didn’t seem to belong in a multi-million dollar home. He used an interior designer for crissakes. The only interior designer I could afford was Pinterest.

Then one day we were snuggling on the couch, halfheartedly watching some action flick when he started looking around like he’d lost something important.

“Where’s the blanket?”

I frowned, pulling myself up. “The blanket?”

“The black one with the purple and blue stripes.”

I waved a hand, blushing when I thought of the worn out thing I tried to put away when he was home. “It’s stuffed in the closet somewhere. I should get a new one. Something fancy with a high thread count that doesn’t look like it’s from the olden days.”

He swept my curls over my shoulder and planted his lips at the base of my neck. “I don’t want you to be anything or anyone that you’re not, Lay. The blanket has history and it smells like you and when I see it draped across the couch, I smile. This was just an apartment before. A place I ate and slept and-”

“I don’t need the dirty details,” I winked

His lips curled into a smile that made me want to kiss him until I had no air left in my lungs. “It’s not just an apartment anymore. With you here, it finally feels like a home.”

And it was our home. Pieces of him. Pieces of me. Pieces of us. From appliances to pictures to furniture and knick knacks we bought on trips. It even smelled like home; like vanilla and lavender, fresh laundry.

I walked to the bar where his suitcase was propped against the stool. I pictured him coming home and dropping it, dashing upstairs to give me an earful about answering my phone. How long was it until he started to worry?

Stop it, Lay, I thought firmly.You will not bring that here. You’re home now. You’re safe.

Jacob glided past me to the wine cabinet and pulled out my favorite Merlot. When he reached for glasses, I almost joked that I’d like my alcohol straight from the tap, but considering he’d been tiptoeing around me since the event I was refusing to think about, I doubted he’d fine any humor in it. So I let him pour me a glass of wine, raised it in a toast and guzzled it down like water in the desert. I wiped my chin and just as I was about to start suckling my fingers, I realized he was staring at me. Not with amusement. With worry.

I put the glass down and went to him. I roped my arms around his waist and looked deep into his eyes. “I’m fine, babe. Really.”

His eyes found the bruise on my cheek and hardened to stone. “You were taken. And hurt. And terrified. I’d much rather you tell me the truth instead of what you think I want to hear.”

He wanted some sort of recap. He wanted to see how she broke me. I couldn’t do that. I refused to go back to that place.

I tightened my grip and put my head against his chest. “I’m here. I’m home and I’m safe.”

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered. “How can I help you get through this?”

Never ask me to talk about this again. I didn’t stay that because I knew it was a one way ticket to us doing nothingbut talking about it. The only thing that felt right was his arms around me. His body pressed against mine. The heat was instant, clutching that warm place between my thighs. The escape that his touch would give me.

I met his eyes, clear as the perfect summer day until he realized I was giving him the look…and the clouds rushed in.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I traced my fingertips along the front of his shirt, eyes locked on his. “You asked how you can help me get through this.” My body hummed with the nearness of him, the feel of his muscles, the desire that contradicted his words. I knew my husband. I could tell when he was fighting the urge to rip my clothes off and have his way with me, even if he was the picture of calm, cool, and collected. Because our bodies were made for each other. Even the slightest touch could set us on fire.

My fingers were at his belt and he groaned. The sound made me bite my lip, imagining all the octaves I could inspire with my mouth.

“Leila-”

“Just fuck me, Jacob.” I pulled his belt loose and went after his fly, melting when I saw how hard he was--and I was just getting started. “I need you to bend me over the bar and take me.” I licked my lips. “Hard. Rough-”

“No.” He gripped my wrists and brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. “I’m your Dom. And as your Dom, I know you. I know what you need…and it’s not to be bent over and used.” He released me and I expected him to button up and say he was making an appointment for me to see a therapist. But he unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way. His pants were next and he stood before me in all his naked, hardened glory.

I drank in his muscles, the toned V cut. The tangle of dark curls that led the way to his thick, veiny cock.

I pouted. If he wasn’t going to fuck me, what was he doing? Teasing me? “I don’t understand.”

He moved toward me with an authority that took my breath away. There was nothing sexier than Jacob in Dom mode. He gently combed his fingers through my hair and pulled me to my toes, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to take you upstairs, lay you down in our bed, and I’m going to make love to you. You don’t need to be my submissive tonight. You need to be loved. You need me to show you just how deep my love for you is.”

My skin was a sea of goose bumps as I nuzzled him, smiling. “I’m dying for you to show me just how deep your love goes.” To prove my point, I gripped him tight, his bulge pulsing in my hand.

“Nice try,” he said thickly, reluctantly stepping backward. “There will be plenty of nights where I use you. Push your limits. Tonight, I’m just a husband taking care of his wife.”

Tears pricked my eyes like needles but I kept them at bay. There was nothing sexy about crying. I was overwhelmed. His love filled me to the brim and shone a light that cleared away all the dark. I took his hand and followed him up the stairs to our bedroom.

The lights of the city flickered like candles as he led me to the bed. His fingers ran up and down my arms like gentle kisses. He found the zipper at the side of my dress and pulled it downward. I wanted to tear it off, push him back onto the bed and climb on top of him, but there was a sensual beauty in surrendering. The anticipation had me aching, desire pooling at the heart of me.

I started to shimmy out of my dress, but he stopped me. He took charge, peeling the material from me like I was some ripe, delicious fruit and he couldn’t wait to taste me. He paused at my hips, the dress gathered just below my sex. He leaned in and inhaled deep. When he exhaled, his breath stroked my skin and I moaned. I thrust myself closer to his mouth and threw my head back with elation when I felt his tongue trace the delicate lips of me. Tasting what he did to me. How I came undone.

When I ran my fingers though his hair his tongue disappeared, like my touch reminded him that he was on a mission. If that mission was to make me come without entering me, he was well on his way.

I stepped out of my dress and stood with my hands at my side. Bare and wishing I could climb into his head. I knew he wanted me. If I reached out and stroked him, my fingertips would be sticky sweet with his arousal. But his eyes were guarded. Still clouded with worry.

“I’m okay, Jacob. I pr-”

His mouth engulfed mine with abandon, like somehow he read my mind and saw that I needed to know what was going on in his head. I felt it in the way he ravaged my lips, sucking, biting, moaning into me. His tongue, hot with my juices, dueled with mine, swirling and tasting. Devouring me.

His lips set fire to my jaw and in the moment, I didn’t care that it was still tender. His kisses would fix me; heal me. Set me free. When he started in on my neck, I was putty in his hands. Powerless to any and every command.

“On the bed,” he ordered hoarsely.

I fell back onto the mattress, my body vibrating. Drawn to him. Craving him. He climbed onto the bed, gently spreading my thighs.

I held my breath, feeling him just right there. Just inside my warmth.

“Make love to me, Jacob,” I traced his jaw. His lips. Pulling him deeper with my eyes, then my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist and I bucked my hips as he rocked inside me. Rocked in. Rocked out. Filled me up. Left me starving, twitching for more of him.

He didn’t just make love to me with that throbbing, hard part of him. It was in his eyes. The way they pierced me. Stripped me down. Kissed me and told me it was okay. It was in his hands; gripping me and pulling me close. Rounding my breasts. Fingers pinching my nipples. It was in his moans; deep and powerful, flooding my ears, washing over me from head to toe. It was his mouth, possessing my lips, teeth gripping my bottom lip and tugging. Every part of him wanted every part of me.

When his thrusts became frenzied, his face contorting as he lost control inside me, I felt the wave of tingles crash into me. Every pore came alive and cried out in unison. When he erupted, his orgasm filling me, I surrendered to my pleasure. It was a writhing, powerful thing that took everything out of me then poured it back inside. It was an exclamation in the dark that exploded like some super nova with textures and colors that hadn’t even been discovered yet. This bliss was mine and Jacob’s and in that place, safe in his arms, I was free.

He dropped onto the mattress beside me, his breathing labored in the most delicious way. I curled up beside him, my arm draped across his chest.

“That was quite the welcome home, Mr. Whitmore.”

His chest stopped moving, his whole body going rigid as a stone.

I perked my head up, searching his face. “Jacob…”

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about what happened,” he interrupted his voice a fragile and broken thing. “I get it. But I can’t bear you joking about it. Not when I spent the past twenty-four hours combing this city, ready to end whoever I had to end to find you.” He clenched his jaw. “Not knowing if you were okay, not being able to comfort you, having no control whatsoever…it’s not a laughing matter, Leila.”

I drew closer to him, squeezing him tight. I knew just how hard this experience was for me, but it must have been hell for him too. “I’m sorry. I just-” The tears were back. I was so sick of tears. So sick of being weak and powerless. “I was afraid. Terrified. And you got me through.”

“Me?” he said softly, lifting my chin to meet his eyes.

I nodded. “I thought about our wedding. How beautiful that day was. How happy you make me. You’re my happy place, Jacob. If I didn’t have a happy place…” I didn’t finish. I couldn’t finish because the thought of that broken woman made me want to cry all over again. “You’re my partner, my husband, and you’re the only thing that kept me together. I don’t know what fate’s going to throw at us tomorrow, but I know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“And you’re my Leila. My everything.” The tears in his voice swam in his eyes, but this was Jacob Whitmore we’re talking about. He blinked and he was back to the fierce protector. He wrapped his arms around me and when he said he loved me, I told him it was going to be okay.

And I believed it.

****

Thank you for reading The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Four). Please consider leaving a review. xoxo, Ava

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The Billionaire’s Wife Series

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part One): November 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Two): December 2014

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Three): January 2015

The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Four): February 2015

Check out other works by Ava here.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her e-reader, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and fantasizing about her favorite book boyfriends.

Connect with Ava:

Blog: http://avaclaireromantica.blogspot.com

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Twitter: @avaclairewrites

Stay tuned to my blog for up to date information on my works in progress and release schedules!