He halts the vehicle and rolls the window down. “Miss me already?” he asks dryly.
I press my hands on the window’s edge, leaning in and crowding him. “You think I won’t use that tape recording.”
“You don’t want me dead.”
“That might be true,” I say, “but I want Emily alive more than I want you alive.” I shove off of the car. “Checkmate, Derek.”
“Checkmate?” He laughs. “I’ll give you Emily, mostly because I enjoy watching you get owned by that woman, but not the company. That game isn’t over. It’s mine, and you’ll figure that out soon.” He revs his engine and pulls away.
Hands settling on my hips, I watch his car depart, confident for now that I’ve set the boundaries that protect Emily. What I didn’t do was check what could be his dangerous alignment with someone else. But I will, I think, and repeating his statement, I murmur, “Soon, brother.”
“Shane.”
At the sound of Emily’s voice, I turn to find her on the porch, her wrap and hair lifting around her body as she moves toward me in a sudden gust of wind. And damn if she doesn’t look like that butterfly Derek had called her, her delicate wings spread wide. But she’s not weak. She is many things, but never, ever weak. She is strong. Beautiful. Confident. She is passionate in all that she does and believes in. Translation: too damn good for this house and my family. My desire to get her out of here is reignited.
I take several steps, helping her close the space between us, and then she is in front of me, the sweet floral scent of her teasing my nostrils and promising an escape that includes her soft sighs and softer skin. My hands go to her waist, hers flattening on my chest. “I heard what happened with Derek just now. I’m not blood, Shane. I can’t ask you to put me before your family, and I don’t expect you to. If I need to leave, I won’t like it, but I can. I will.”
“You won’t,” I say, cupping her head. “You won’t leave and you’re already first.” It’s a declaration I seal with a kiss, my tongue licking into her mouth, a deep, dark hunger clawing at me, a need that only she can answer, and I want that answer sooner than later. I release her, lacing her fingers with mine and leading her to the Bentley parked in the driveway, opening the door for her.
She moves to climb inside, but I sense torment in her, and I pull her to me, my hand sliding around the back of her neck, our lips close. “I need you here. Don’t forget that.” I drag her mouth to mine and kiss her. “Now, let’s go home. Okay?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
We ease apart, but just as she’s about to climb inside the vehicle, the door to the house opens, and we both turn to find my mother stepping out onto the porch. She halts there, arms crossed in front of her, unmoving, in just the right spot to hide in the shadows, but I can feel the jagged edges of her emotions. I can sense she needs something from me right here and now. But I need something from her as well, and I don’t know what that is. Perhaps a confession of her betrayal of this family? Or not. I don’t know what I need, and maybe she doesn’t know what she needs from me. She starts walking, but not toward us. She crosses the driveway and walks toward the lawn, and I follow her steps, watching as she fades in and out of the shadows, her destination the swing I often favored as a child. Where she pushed me and sang to me. At a time when we were normal, or at least we did a hell of a lot better job at faking it than we do now.
Emily’s hand comes down on my arms. “You should go to her.”
A proper son would, I think, and I’ve always been that son. But maybe there’s more of my family’s blood running through my veins than I want to admit, because I don’t move, nor do I have any desire to move. I seem to be done being the “good” brother, and the last thing I need to do right now is rehumanize a family who has no humanity.
“Shane—”
“Let’s go,” I say, turning to Emily. She searches my face, her eyes narrowing in surprise at what she finds in mine.
I don’t know what that is, and I’m not sure I want to know, but whatever the case, it silences any insistence she might have that I join my mother. She slides into the car and I shut the door, rounding the rear of the Bentley, reminded of my father gifting it to me for saving the company once before. I didn’t want the gift. I didn’t want to be here. I’d wanted to save, and reunite, my family. Now my biggest fear is that reunion will be in death, which is exactly why I don’t look toward that swing again, and to the fairy tales of the past that stir emotions I can’t afford.
Opening the door, I slide onto the soft leather and inhale the sweet scent that is so naturally Emily, but when I am about to start the engine, I am slammed with her silent, forceful disapproval. Sighing, I look in her direction to find her watching me, and I don’t even have to ask what’s on her mind. “Anything my mother will say to me right now will be a lie I don’t want to hear.”
“She was shaken when I tried to talk to her. Deeply shaken.”
“Of course she’s shaken. She’s replaced her husband, and my father, in the bedroom, and most likely intends to extend that to our boardroom.”
“As confusing as this is for you,” she says, “you have to know it’s not that simple. Sometimes when people are hurt and grieving, they do things to survive.”
I start the engine. “I’m trying to make sure we do more than survive.” I face forward and reach for the gear.
Emily’s hand settles on mine. “Just know this. She loves him. I see it in her face.”
Love.
The meaning of which I wouldn’t know, if not for Emily. I damn sure didn’t learn it from this family. I put the car in drive and get us out of here before the quicksand that is my family traps us in hell with them. Pulling us around the house and down the driveway, we’re just exiting the property when I note the black sedan one block down, a light flickering in the dark window, which I believe to be a cigarette. Logically, that could be a stranger who doesn’t know us or care about us, or it’s one of Seth’s men who I know are following us, but in this case it’s not. It’s someone else, and my gut says that someone else is a Martina minion, and he’s monitoring Adrian’s investment in this family.
I turn us onto the road and glance at the rearview mirror to find the car’s lights flickering to life. It pulls away from the curb, and we’re officially being followed. Removing my phone from my pocket, I dial Seth. “Talk to me,” I order.
“About your text related to your father’s treatment or the car following you?”
“Both.”