Chapter 17
My fingers catch in her hair as I try to thread them through it, stuck in the sticky, drying blood from the small cut at her temple. She shifts slightly against me, curled up in the passenger seat with her head resting on my lap like it has been for the past several hours on the drive back to the house.
Short of taking a few minutes to check Callista over to ensure she didn’t have any broken bones or serious injuries that would necessitate us detouring to a hospital, I wasn’t going to stop for anything.
We have to get back to the mountain.
It’s the only place I have any control, the only place I can truly protect her from what I just saved her from.
God knows they’ll come for her again.
And it’s all my fault.
Guilt claws at my chest, attempting to tear me wide open with each mile we drive. Even that sweet honey scent filling the truck cab and her in my arms aren’t enough to quell the tempest building inside.
By the time we reach the house under the pale moonlight starting to filter in through the dissipating clouds, my entire body vibrates with pent-up rage, frustration, anger, and worry—all of it threatening to consume me completely.
I park the truck in front, where her car stood for so long, and dip my head to brush my lips over her cheek. “Wake up, Beauty. We’re home.”
Groaning lightly, she rolls onto her back, and her eyes flicker open, half-lidded. “We are?”
I nod, brushing her hair back from her face. “Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.”
“No—” She shakes her head and winces, gritting her teeth at the pain that must be attacking her right now.
The desire to drive back down the mountain and slaughter anyone who played any role in what happened to her burns through me so strongly I almost do it.
Anyone who is left…
But those people will be harder to reach and the consequences far greater than merely wiping out the men at the safe house.
You need to stay with her, protect her.
Only that little voice prevents me from returning to Helena tonight.
I slide out from under her and close my door as softly as I can so the noise doesn’t startle her or make her headache any worse, then make my way around the truck.
Yellow eyes watch me from the trees, Gray maintaining his vigil over the property as instructed.
A modicum of peace should come with that knowledge, but I know what’s coming for me—for us—which makes it impossible to find solace in even the most loyal of friends.
I open the passenger door and scoop her up easily, supporting her neck and head as it bobs to the side listlessly. She hums contently and snuggles against me immediately, like my touch is the only thing she’s needed this whole time.
Definitely a sentiment I share.
The moment I pulled her into my arms in that awful place, it felt like I could finally breathe again. And now, her warm breath fluttering over my neck, the steady beat of her heart pressed to my chest, hands clutching my shirt, clinging to me like a lifeline, are the only things keeping me from completely losing the tiny slice of humanity I have left.
Gray steps from the trees as I approach the house with her. He tilts his head to the side, examining Callista and me, watching, waiting for a command.
“Stay near the house. Watch for anyone who shouldn’t be here.”
He backs away into the trees, prepared to do his job if needed or called upon. That wolf may be somewhat tame when it comes to me, but if anyone he doesn’t know comes onto the mountain, they’ll regret it, just like those men who took Callista did.
I glance at my hands wrapped around her, the bloodstains a mix of hers and theirs. Bile rises in my throat, and I stagger on the steps, the memory of ending their lives as crystal clear as the ones thirty years ago.
Those ghosts haunt me well enough.
I swore I’d never do it again.
Made it crystal clear to that God I’m not sure I believe in and anyone who needed to hear it that I might have to deal with the bodies, but I’d never be the one to take another life.
But this is different.
I had to.
There was no other way to save her from that place. If I hadn’t acted, who knows what they would’ve done to her…
A shudder rolls down my spine as I reach the front door and twist it open.
Dark as a grave.
The quiet stillness of the house embraces us in the foyer, and I kick the heavy wood slab closed behind me, sealing us into the place I once thought of as a prison but this woman in my arms has somehow made a home.
She breathed life into something that was dead and not just the building.
Me, too.
Something I never thought possible.
Callista saw past my name, my reputation, my anger, and to the man underneath it all. She called him out from the grave, let him see light and love again, calmed the raging beast inside him.
But now a rage I haven’t felt in years has bubbled back to the surface and there may not be any way to rebottle it.
Trembling, tugging her closer to me, I start up the stairs to take her to the bedroom and get her clean, my eyes automatically going to the huge grandfather clock ticking on the first landing.
The cameras are off, the ability to keep tabs on me cut, but I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched. After so many years of every move being assessed and analyzed, criticized and questioned, it will take time to truly accept that power is gone.
Along with my ability to watch the property.
Not knowing what or who is out there will keep me sleepless tonight—a problem I’ll remedy tomorrow. Right now, all that matters is the woman in my arms and ensuring she doesn’t continue to suffer because of me.
I bury my face in her hair as I carry her down the hall to my bedroom.
The two days she was gone, I missed this so much, but I don’t ever want her frightened and hurt in my arms again.
Since she arrived, it’s been an endless struggle to keep Callista safe and happy—one I have failed at miserably.
And though I’d love to keep blaming her father for putting her in this situation, the reality is that this has always been about me and my failures, not his.
This curse that has lived and breathed inside me, that has consumed every waking hour since that fateful night all those years ago, finally burst to the surface to hurt someone who only ever tried to help me.
She’s paying the price because I won’t let The Beast reign.
Murmuring an apology into her hair, I take her through the bedroom to the bathroom and flip on the light. She winces at the fluorescence and covers her eyes with her hand, turning toward my chest to protect herself from the brightness after being in the dark truck and house.
“I’m sorry, Beauty, but I need to get you patched up. I need to be able to see what they did to you.”
Her bottom lip starts to quiver, and tears track down her cheeks through the dried blood on the right side. She pulls her hand away from her face, and I slide her onto the counter, her legs dangling down, bare feet nowhere near touching the tile floor.
“They didn’t…” She swallows thickly. “I don’t think they…” Another sharp breath. “I don’t know. I was unconscious. He said they gave me some sort of sleeping medication. I didn’t feel like anything happened while I was out, but he kicked me down the stairs—”
Her rambling summary of events ends on a sob and draws a growl from deep in my chest.
I clench my fists at my sides to stop myself from lashing out and smashing a hole in the drywall.
The pure terror she must have felt.
Wondering what they would do to her.
Not knowing if anyone would find her and take her from that place.
I kneel in front of her, taking her soft, tear-stained face in my palms. “No one will ever hurt you again, Callista. I promise.”
She shakes her head as the tears come faster. “You can’t make that promise.”
Her lack of confidence in me hurts more than any injury I’ve ever sustained from a fist or a weapon, more than punishments Father used against me to try to harden me, worse than any of it.
“Look what happened because I let you go.” I stare into her shimmering eyes, every tear that falls from them one more blow that only solidifies my resolve. “That was a mistake. I told you it wasn’t safe. I just never thought…”
I underestimated my opponent.
It won’t happen again.
“Who was it?”
I knew she’d ask.
It was inevitable.
And after what happened today, I have to tell her the truth.
All of it.
Just not right now…
“We’ll talk about that later, Beauty.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead, then shift over to dig in the cabinet to find the first aid kit. She watches me work, alternating between soft sobs and hiccupped breaths as I wet a washcloth and slowly clean the wound at her forehead and the other scrapes and cuts on her arms and legs.
The beautiful nightgown I bought for her now covers her more like a funeral gown, spotted with blood and dirt, part of a horrific memory I hope she can one day forget.
Though, I never will.
That look on her face when I broke into her room will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Her gaze follows me as I sterilize the worst of her injuries, my hands lingering over the already-forming bruises. “Is…”
I glance up at her, waiting for her to continue.
She must have a thousand questions, ones she hasn’t had a chance to voice since she succumbed to her exhaustion the moment we hit the road.
“Is my father all right?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to tamp down that natural reaction to lash out over her concern for the man. “He’s fine. This wasn’t about him.”
“What do you mean, this wasn’t about him?”
I’ve already said too much.
This isn’t the time nor the place to have this conversation. She can barely keep her head up, and once she knows everything, she’ll only have more questions and demand more answers.
I glance up at her. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow. I promise. But you need to sleep.”
She shakes her head and reaches out to cling to me, her nails digging into my shoulders. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what?”
“Sleep.” Her eyes clamp shut again, and she presses her lips together like she’s fighting another sob that wants to come out. “Not again. They drugged me, and I—”
“Shh.” I try to calm her rising panic, attempt to silence her with a soft brush of my lips over hers. “I’ll be here watching you every minute. I won’t let you out of my sight. I swear to you.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and nods, but the fear still fills her gaze, unlikely to go away anytime soon. No matter how many times I tell her she’s safe with me and that I’ll protect her, that trauma will lie just under the surface.
All I can do is try to give what she needs each moment—even if I fail.
I examine her one more time to ensure I have her cleaned well before I lift her into my arms and carry her into the bedroom.
For a few nights before she left, this bed became ours, shared in a way I never have with anyone else. I let her in, and she welcomed me with open arms and heart and suffered because of it.
Now, I take no pleasure as I remove the ruined dress I had dreamed of seeing her wear in the meadow with the wildflowers. Even if I could salvage the stained material, it would always serve as a reminder of what I allowed to happen, of what she suffered.
I toss it into the corner, as far away from her as I can get it, then help her change into a tank top and shorts.
Her hands tighten around my arms as I slide the waistband into place. “You’ll stay with me?”
Her question rips my chest open, and I have to swallow back the words I want to say because they’d scare the shit out of her more than what happened did.
“Of course. I’ll never leave you, Beauty.”
My own scream rending the night air jolts me from a fitful sleep, and I jerk upright in bed, heart stuttering, unable to suck in any air. “Weston?”
I manage to cry out his name and search the dark for him, reaching out across the bed to find the cold mattress beside me. Panic seizes my chest, tightening around it.
He said he wouldn’t leave.
He said—
“I’m right here, Beauty.”
His deep, gravelly voice floats to me from across the room, and I whip my head in that direction to find him sitting in the same chair he was that first night he brought me here.
Only this time, instead of a glass, he has the whole bottle in his hand.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me…”
He leans forward slightly into the light filtering out from the cracked bathroom door and gives me a hard smile. “I was only gone a minute, love. I’ve been here the rest of the time. I needed something to help me calm down; otherwise…”
A shudder rolls through his massive frame, every muscle in his body flexing and bunching as if he can’t control them.
It’s the first true sign I’ve seen of weakness in the man since I set foot on his mountain.
My heart starts to return to its normal rhythm the longer I sit, eyes locked with his gray ones. “You didn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head and runs a hand back through his silver hair. “I couldn’t, and I didn’t want to get in the bed and risk hurting you.”
Tears prick my eyes.
How can a man be so violent, so deadly, yet so gentle and caring?
A juxtaposition that has always made my head spin, and his lack of faith in himself slices like his axe head at my aching heart. “You’d never hurt me.”
He takes a long sip from the bottle. “Maybe not intentionally, Beauty, but I promise you, in the end, I will.”
The absolute confidence in his statement makes my tears finally fall.
This man rescued me. He saved me—over and over again—yet all he can see is some scenario in his head that ends with me in misery.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, Beauty.” A sigh falls from his lips before he takes another long pull and hisses at the burn of the alcohol. “Everything that happened to you has been my fault.”
I shake my head and swipe at the tears, then pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, wincing at the ache in my hip that acts as a very real reminder of the ordeal I would rather forget. “That’s not true. You weren’t even there.”
“But it was because of me. All of it. The things that have happened to you, none of them have been because of your own free choices.”
“My father—”
“No.” He shakes his head and takes a sip from the bottle. “Not your father’s decisions. Mine.”
Whether it’s the lingering effects of the drugs that were given to me, smashing my head on those steps, or the fact that I just awoke, his words just won’t make sense.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“We don’t need to get into it now, Callista. It’ll wait ‘til morning, until you’ve rested.”
Rested.
The thought of lying back down, putting my head on these pillows, closing my eyes, and letting dreams come again immediately makes me bristle.
After all these weeks of dancing around the truth, performing this magnificent waltz with the man in the chair, I’m ready to finish the performance and learn the things he’s kept locked away.
Whether they’ll hurt me or not—either way, I still need to hear them.
“What if I don’t want to rest? What if I want answers?”
He scowls at me, the move shifting his beard yet somehow making him look even more handsome in the side-cast light. “It isn’t that simple. I don’t know that I can talk about it right now while I’m so…”
He trails off.
“While you’re so what?”
For a man who can speak a dozen languages, he sure is struggling to find the words he wants to say. But watching him, I can see things I’ve noticed about Weston before.
His hand holding the bottle trembling.
His knee bouncing rapidly.
The constant twitching of his muscles, as if he’s no longer the one in control.
“I’m having a hard time sorting through my rage and my guilt to be able to see any way out of this, and I don’t want to scare you more by explaining what’s happening without knowing how I’m going to resolve it.”
More cryptic words.
Still no answers.
I fist the sheets in my hands, my frustration building along with my annoyance the longer he beats around the bush without revealing what I really need to know. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Go back to sleep, Beauty.” He motions to the bed with the bottle. “I’ll be here.”
So far away.
Though only a handful of feet separate us, it feels like miles, both because of the physical distance but also the emotional one he seems to be trying to grow.
I won’t let him do that.
Weston will not push me away or close himself off to me again, not after everything we’ve been through.
“Come get in bed with me.”
He shakes his head immediately, his eyes gleaming. “That’s not a good idea, Beauty.”
“Was any of this ever a good idea?”
He snorts and takes another swig from the bottle. “Trust me, Beauty, you don’t want me anywhere near you right now.”
“I beg to differ.”
His lips press into a firm line, and his jaw clenches as we stare each other down across the room. “Lie back down.”
“I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep. Not unless you’re in here with me.”
It’s the truth.
But I know saying it is playing dirty.
The man wants me to rest, and he will do anything to ensure I do.
“Fuck.” He releases a heavy sigh and sets the bottle down on the table next to him. “How about a nice bath then to help you relax instead?”
Shit.
That backfired.
He found a way out of it, but as crazy as it sounds, my body practically melts at the thought of slipping into scalding hot water right now. As much as I hate not to stand my ground about wanting him sleeping beside me, there are times to push The Beast, and something tells me this isn’t one of them. “Okay.”
Weston pushes up from the chair, lumbering off the side of the bed, a mountain above me with his broad shoulders and strong muscles pulling his T-shirt tight over them. “I’m going to go run you some water, then I’ll come get you.”
He leans down and presses a kiss on my forehead, and the move is so soft, so gentle, I almost don’t recognize the man doing it.
Nothing about him has ever been soft and gentle.
Even when we’ve been together in this bed and in the library, it was always raw and primal, a violent, aggressive need satiated. Never sweet and slow. Certainly not soft and gentle. And I wouldn’t have expected it to be nor wanted it that way.
Now, he’s treating me like some porcelain doll that might break at the slightest touch. I want to be angry about that, but he could be right.
Maybe I am.
It certainly feels like I’m on the verge of shattering right now, barely clinging to my grip on reality and sanity, while so many things I don’t understand seem to be spinning out of control.
He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of the water running fills the room.
I lean back against the headboard and wait, rubbing at my hip absently, where I surely have a massive bruise from the wooden step tread slamming into it.
He reappears with his brow furrowed, gaze locked on my hand. “Are you in pain?”
I bite my bottom lip.
Shit!
Do I tell him?
Weston is already dancing along the edge of losing control of his anger, by his own admission, and telling him my hip—and just about every other part on me—has ached since I woke will only push him over it.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m okay.”
He moves closer. His scowl deepens, his hands fisting at his sides. “Don’t lie to me, Callista. You won’t like the result.”
A shudder rolls through me at the promise in his gaze because it isn’t a threat of more pain. Quite the opposite. Weston will use pleasure as a weapon, and I already know how well he wields that particular one.
In all my time here, I have never lied to Weston. I’ve kept things from him, but I’ve never said anything that wasn’t true at the time I spoke it.
Guilt for even attempting it makes me release an apologetic sigh. “My hip really hurts.”
He leans over and lifts the edge of my shorts up to my ass cheek until he can see the side of my right hip, the skin already darkening.
A low snarl falls from his lips, and he pulls back and takes my chin in his firm grasp. “Where else do you hurt?”
I swallow thickly, his eyes boring into mine from only a few inches away, his mouth so close that I’m tempted to lean forward and take it.
“Focus, Callista. Tell me where else it hurts.”
I slowly shift on the bed, moving my arms and legs, rolling my neck, trying to determine where the worst of the damage might be. Each time a little jolt of pain or a dull ache comes, I try to keep my expression neutral, so he won’t know how shitty I truly feel. “My left shoulder, my right elbow, my neck a little bit.”
“Jesus Christ.” He drops my chin and steps back, anger tightening his shoulders and tensing every muscle in his body until the rage vibrates from him. “I’m going to kill them.”
To anyone else, those words would give pause.
They would make fear reign.
Because they are not an empty threat.
But I’ve seen what The Beast is capable of, and I’m not going to cower away from him when he needs me the most. When he needs a reminder that I’m safe, that he took care of the problem and ensured he could take me far away from that basement cell and whatever else might have happened there.
“Didn’t you already?”
He stiffens, never looking away from me. “Does that scare you, Beauty, knowing that I killed those men in that house?”
It should.
It absolutely should incite fear in any sane woman, but staring up at him, the last thing I am is afraid.
All I want is for him to hold me. For him to touch me. For him to tell me it’ll be okay, that he’ll protect me.
I don’t fear him.
Not even a little bit.
Because he may be The Beast, but not to me. To me, he is Weston. And somehow, in the span of less than a month, and despite a myriad of reasons not to, I’ve fallen in love with him.
I shake my head. “You don’t scare me.”
Instead of my words releasing some of his tension, they only seem to anger him more. His brow tightens, and he holds out his hands. “I should. You saw what I was capable of today. You saw the blood on these hands.”
His voice breaks with his words, and I see what’s really behind this.
He thinks I can’t see him the same way anymore, that witnessing what he did will somehow change what we created and erase what I felt for him before I left the mountain.
“You hurt those men, but they would’ve hurt me. God knows I wasn’t there as a welcomed guest. I wasn’t there so they could cook me lavish dinners and bring me bubble baths and body washes and beautiful clothing. All the things you have done.”
“I did them so you wouldn’t try to run, so you’d stay without a fight. Not because I’m a good man, Beauty.”
I shake my head again. “That’s not true. You may have had an ulterior motive, but you are a good man somewhere in there.”
He opens his mouth to fight me, but I try to shift off the bed and his focus quickly jumps to helping me get to my feet.
I groan slightly at the pain that shoots through my hip when I put pressure down, and he scowls and scoops me up.
“I can walk.”
Lips next to my ear, he nips at it. “No, you can’t.”
By now, I’ve learned not to fight Weston when he’s like this. It only ends with both of us frustrated, and tonight, we’re without an outlet.
I loop my arm around his neck, staring at his profile. “This is starting to become a thing with us.”
He snorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches with genuine amusement he tries to hide. “I hope not.”
Me too.
As much as I enjoy being in Weston’s arms, I would much rather it not be due to being saved from my own stupidity, wild animals, or unknown kidnappers.
He carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the counter, then checks the temperature of the water in the tub and pours in half a bottle of bubble bath and bath salts. “Soaking in this should help with your muscle soreness.”
“Thank you.”
His back stiffens, and he glances over his shoulder at me. “Stop thanking me, Beauty. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for me. The last thing you should do is thank me for trying to make something I caused better.”
He climbs to his feet and then starts to walk past me.
I grab his arm, just under the Barker family crest peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Where are you going?”
A muscle in his clenched jaw tics as he stares back at me, seemingly perturbed by my attempt to prevent his flight from the room. He drags his eyes away and looks to the bedroom. “To wait out there.”
I tighten my grip. “Don’t leave. Join me.”
The resignation in his gaze when it meets mine tells me I’ve won this battle, but there’s still a long war to fight.