Dallas is a rag doll as I pin him, straddling him, smashing my fist down into him.
His face bursts with bloody ribbons as I ram my knuckles into him again and again, knocking his head back and forth between one blow after another as he turns red, then purple, then black, his face pulped and bruised and swollen.
Every blow is a balm on the bleeding wounds inside me. Every weak, sniveling cry is a triumph.
I’m finally going to end him.
It’s what I’ve lived for all these years. This moment, finding the man who killed my father, and his life in my hands, dangling by a thread I’m only too willing to snap after everything he did to my father, to me, to Kenna.
I hate him. I hate him as much as I hate my old man, except all my hate at my old man was a lie, Kenna was right, Kenna knew...
Kenna.
Fuck.
I still mid-punch, staring blankly down at the ruin I’ve made of Dallas’ face. A few more blows and he'll be gone forever.
A numb, cloudy feeling falls over me. I did that?
I did, turning savage, becoming the monster I always told her I am. And it turns my stomach.
Kenna believed in me. Kenna believed in me and she’s dying for it, and I think even if I killed Dallas right now she’d never say a word and still quietly accept me, and yet...and yet...
I can’t stand the idea of being someone other than the man she believes in.
I can’t stand being a man who cares more about killing Dallas than about saving her.
My heart hurts. My heart hurts in the most awful ways, and the urge to snap his neck is still trembling in my fingers, but I can’t. I fucking can’t.
Not for Kenna, and not for me.
He looks up at me, barely conscious, his eyes just tawny slits through puffed eyelids. He lets out a groan that might be a word, tongue moving limply in his battered mouth.
I curl my upper lip and spit at him. “You’re not worth it,” I mutter, lifting myself off him just as James and Riker come clattering back, reeling around the corner.
“Boss?” James gasps.
“Get him in cuffs,” I say firmly, jerking my head toward Dallas.
Then I bend to lift Kenna into my arms again. “And get me a car. If we can’t find the paramedics, I’m taking her in my fucking self.”
19
Falling With You (Kenna)
I haven’t felt this awful since the first and last time I tried tequila.
I’m not sure where I am. Everything smells like Lysol, my head is killing me, and my mouth is sticky and gross.
I hurt and feel oddly hollow, and there’s a scared quiet impulse inside me telling me to stay still as a rabbit hiding from a wolf, because the last thing I remember is danger, fear, something disgusting on my tongue, the knowledge that I was going to die.
I’m not dead, though.
Am I?
How can I be dead, when the hand in mine feels so very warm?
Carefully, warily, I crack one eye open. I can see...an IV tube stretching from my arm to a pole, pale blue walls in the off colors only hospitals ever have, and a brawny, tattooed arm next to a rib cage wrapped in layers of gauze.
I know those tattoos. I know that skin I’ve traced lovingly again and again. I know that arm that’s wrapped around me so many times, and that fear vanishes in a heartbeat when I know as long as he’s with me, I’m safe.
Landon.
It’s his hand in mine, clasped tight. A reassurance that pins me to earth and tells me I’m very much alive. As hard as it is to believe.
I open my other eye, just watching him for a moment. He’s sitting shirtless in a chair next to my hospital bed, his waist bandaged and a few bruises darkening his skin. There’s an oddly naked expression on his face, vulnerable and lost and heavy, fear etching lines around his eyes and exhaustion casting shadows in the beautiful hollows of his cheekbones.
“Come on, Reb,” he whispers, pressing his mouth against my knuckles. “Come on.”
“Why?” I manage to croak out around my dry throat. “We going somewhere?”
He jerks his head up, eyes widening. He stares at me, and I have a second or two to feel the hammer-sharp thudding shock of faint tears glimmering in his eyes before he’s on his feet, gathering me carefully to him, burying his face in my hair and kissing me over and over.
“Kenna, fuck,” he gasps raggedly. “Kenna, I was so worried.”
I manage to lift my arms, clinging to him weakly. “Landon. We're fine now.”
I can't believe I'm saying those words. We really are, aren't we?
Relief floods through me. This is real, and I’m really okay.
But urgency pushes heavy on my brain, reminding me what happened, memory rushing back in a fierce pull. I have to tell him.
“Landon, Dallas...he poisoned Milah. Slipped something in her wine. He's trying to –”
“Tried to,” he cuts in, growling the words gruffly into my hair, his hold tightening around me. “And he tried to poison you. Strychnine. Low dose so it'd kill you slowly, and wouldn't show up too obvious in your system. Asshole thinks he’s a Bond villain.”
My heart seizes. Holy hell. It's hard to believe how close I came.
I could be dead right now. I swallow something huge and bitter. “And Milah? Is she...”
“She’ll be fine, Reb. They got to her in time. Same as you.” He strokes my back soothingly. “Low dose meant there was enough time for the medics to get antidotes into your blood. You just need time. Rest.”
“And you,” I whisper. “I need you.”
Fighting back tears, I bury my face in his chest, never wanting to come up for air again. “You saved me, Landon. Saved my whole life.”
“No.” He pulls back, clasping my face in his warm, coarse palms, looking at me with those bright blue eyes open and raw and so honest. “You saved me.”
“You?”
“Dallas killed my father,” he says, words coming off his tongue hard and bitter. “He told me. Right out confessed that my old man was innocent, and he and Reg Reese got rid of him because he was fucking up their dirty work. Dallas was throwing me off the trail the entire time, pretending to work the investigation. Instead he’s been making sure I don’t get too close to the truth – and I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent that prowler around just to make himself look like a hero. Someone you could trust.”
A chill runs up my back. I burrow my face deeper into his chest. Even after a man's hand shoved poison down my throat, I'm still creeped out by Mr. Hoodie. “You're sure? I can't stand the thought that this might not be over. That we might go home and –”
Crap. I catch myself, calling his home mine. It's too soon for that. But is it?
Landon smiles, a faint smirk bending the edge of his lips. “Totally sure, Reb. A couple Crown guys survived. They're singing like canaries for the cops and the FBI. One of them confessed to trespassing on my property, not long before Dallas showed up that night.”
Thank God. I squeeze him tighter, then attack his lips with a dozen little kisses until he breaks off, laughing. I'll never stop loving that dense, baritone vibration in his chest, his bones, filtering into mine whenever Landon freaking Strauss breaks into his manly laugh.
“Hard to believe, I know,” he says. “Guess Dallas was hoping to catch me off guard and get away. He wanted us both gone, and Enguard broken, so he could sweep up the loose ends and position Crown to control the whole fucking SoCal market, still making plenty of blood money on the side.”
“Horrible,” I whisper, pushing my hands into his.
Landon cocks his head softly. “I almost killed him, Reb. I had that asshole's life in my hands and it would’ve just taken one more little ounce of pressure to crush him. Snuff him out like I wanted to all these years. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be that man. I couldn't murder. Because that man isn’t the one you believe in.”
This time I can’t choke back the tears.
I can’t even say why I’m crying. There are too many questions hitting me at once.
Relief that Landon didn’t do something so horrible?
Happiness that he really is the man I’ve loved all these years? Even if he was buried underneath his own pain?
Joy that this is over, and maybe now we can both be safe?