Chapter 30 The Fragile Flower
THE FRAGILE FLOWER
EMERY
“This is a major problem, Damon,” Quin grunts, pacing in front of the drawn-open blinds of my hospital room. “Those lunatics are still out there and you expect us to do nothing?”
Damon releases a frustrated sigh. They’ve been going in circles for almost an hour. Even I’m getting annoyed.
“I didn’t say that we should do nothing, Quinton. I said that contacting the police is useless and a waste of our time.”
“Useless?” Quin scoffs. “They kidnapped Emery, extorted us for literal billions, and magically escaped unseen. I think we’re idiots for not reaching out to law enforcement as soon as Emery was secure and safe.”
“Yeah?” Damon crosses his arms. “And which law enforcement agency would we contact, huh? Emery was taken in Switzerland, brought to Italy, and now we’re in England.
Oh, and apparently, they’re based in New York!
This is a jurisdictional nightmare and you know it.
Plus, given that we’ve still got our funds fully intact, I think we’ll have much better luck tracking these fuckers on our own.
We don’t have time for red tape and bureaucratic nonsense, Quinton.
I say we outsource to an independent contractor. ”
“And then what?” Quin asks, raising a speculative brow. “What do you propose we do after we track them down?”
Damon’s expression turns ice cold. “What do you think?”
Quin blinks. “You have got to be kidding me, Cavanaugh. That’s your bright idea? Track them down and kill them? Just like that?” He expels an incredulous scoff. “I am not going to murder two fucking women, Damon. How is that even an option to you?! You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”
Damon shrugs. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep Emery safe. Nothing is off-limits, Quinton. Nothing.”
Quin pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.
I’m rather shocked by Damon’s laissez-faire approach to murder, and I can’t say that I’m on board.
Am I afraid that Toni and Simone will come after me?
Yes. Do I think I’ve sparked something in Toni that would make her hell-bent on revenge?
Yes. But do I want her to die? No. No, I don’t.
“If we call Vivienne,” Quin begins, and I inwardly scowl.
I have no right to be upset with him. Or with Damon for that matter. It appears we’ve all done what we needed to do in order to achieve our goals in the last five days. But still… That manipulative bitch. As if you’re any better. Hush.
Quin continues, “If we call her and tell her to file a report with Interpol then at least there will be units around the world on lookout, and we can sleep a little more soundly.”
“We’ll sleep just fine in the safe house,” Damon retorts, refusing to bow down. “We’ll stay there, off the radar, until those bitches are found.”
“A safe house?” Quin asks, pursing his lips. “So, you’re suggesting we hide?”
Damon glares at him. “I’m suggesting that we take precautions. Once you agree to my plan, I’ll go ahead and procure the safe house. Only the three of us will know its location, not even the contractors will know its coordinates. We can’t risk having anyone’s phone being tapped or hacked.”
“I’m not going to—”
I’ve had enough of this.
“Do I have a say in any of this?” I ask, finally speaking up.
“No,” they say in unison, and my jaw drops.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms over my chest, the fabric of the hospital gown bunching up around my waist. Damon and Quin snap their heads in my direction, both wearing an expression of immediate regret. “Given that you’re discussing my safety, I think I’m allowed to voice an opinion.”
Quin briefly shoots Damon a hardened side-eye before he hurries to my side.
“Of course, your opinion matters, darling,” he says, plopping down on the rolling stool beside my bed.
He attempts to take my hand but I keep my muscles rigid, refusing to melt under his touch.
He clears his throat. “All we mean is that you—”
“Is that you should focus on recovering,” Damon says, strutting over to the other side of the bed. He hovers beside me, averting his gaze.
He hasn’t fully looked at me since we left Italy. Not in my eyes. My stomach sinks. He’s still hurt. I understand. But I want him to look at me. I need him to look at me. If he looks at me then he’d see. He’d see just how desperate I am for his connection.
“Recovery. That’s your main focus now, Emery,” Damon continues. “Everything else, Quinton and I will handle.”
“He’s right, darling,” Quin whispers, stroking my forearm. “Your only job is to get better.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. You were here, weren’t you? The doctor said all my wounds are superficial and will heal in a couple of weeks. I don’t need to be treated like some fragile little flower.”
“You’ve got a hematoma on your ribs, Emery,” Damon snaps.
“That’s just a fancy name for a fucking bruise, Damon,” I growl back, irritation spiking. “If I say I’m fine, then I’m fine.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Quin says, lowering his voice to a soothing whisper. “The last thing we need is to stress your nervous system.”
“Oh my God,” I whimper, about to lose my shit. “My nervous system is fine! I’m fine! You both need to back off! I don’t need—”
Before I can explode, the doctor strides into the hospital room, a prescription bottle in her hand.
“Is everything okay in here?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at Damon and Quin.
They nod, and I fight the urge to thrash around the bed in pure frustration.
The doctor gives me a warm smile, handing me the pills.
“While we don’t carry Munosol in the UK, I’ve been given the okay by Dr. Marquis to switch you to Promitosol.
It’s also available in the US. Take them as you would your other immunosuppressants. ”
“Thank you,” I say, yanking the pills away from her. When she exits the room, I snap my gaze to Quinton. “Since when are you my primary physician?”
Quin swallows. “Munosol has been shown to have negative side effects, specifically depression and suicidal thoughts. Promitosol is a far more effective medication. Trust me, Emery. You’ll see a difference.”
“Fine,” I sigh, unable to fight back on the subject.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and shit rainbows and sunshine.
“Now listen to me…” My gaze flits between Damon and Quinton.
“I think you both make valid points but this is my suggestion: I think we should inform Interpol of what happened over the past week. Maybe even the FBI. Obviously, leave out the uh…other details that would incriminate the two of you.” Quin grins triumphantly, and I turn my attention to Damon.
“I also think a safe house is a good idea. The way I left things with Toni… It wasn’t good.
I’d rather be safe than sorry. Given her expertise, I don’t doubt she could find me.
Also, I think in addition to Interpol, we should hire contractors to find Simone and Toni.
” Damon begins to smirk, but I cut him off.
“Find, Damon. Not kill.” His smirk flatlines. “Well?”
“I suppose it’s a fair compromise,” Quin says, forcing a smile.
Damon, on the other hand, merely glowers at the idea. “Fine. Whatever.”
“I’ll contact Vivienne immediately,” Quin says, reaching into his breast pocket.
He pulls out two phones, handing me one.
I frown. “Don’t worry, I’ve had a friend remotely install encryption software on all our devices.
Take it.” I warily reach for the cell phone.
“I asked her to sync this to your personal phone. Everything should be on there.”
A friend? How many ‘friends’ did these two make while I was chained up in a basement? No. Nope. Not doing this. Can’t get mad. Equally guilty.
Shaking off the twinge of anger, I cringe when the phone turns on and dozens of missed calls from my parents appear on the screen. I suppose I should send them a quick update. The last thing I told them was Merry Christmas. That was two weeks ago.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Quin says, hesitating before leaving me alone in the hospital room with Damon.
And then there were two.
The last time Damon and I were alone in a room together, I rejected his proposal and told him we couldn’t be together.
That seems like ages ago. But it wasn’t.
It was so recent that I can see the open wound I left bleeding.
It’s written all over his face. Yet, he’s here.
He hasn’t left my side. Not for a minute.
“Damon—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Emery,” Damon says, defensive and so fucking guarded. “I’m not leaving you. Not until we catch them.”
A deep frown mars my brows. “Is that what you think I want, Damon? For you to leave?”
He turns away from me, the back of his head concealing his emotions. “I haven’t forgotten our last conversation, Emery. I know how you feel. You’ve made it very clear.”
I created a mess. I truly did. This past week hasn’t changed the fact I harbor a huge secret. One that’ll hurt him if he finds out. I thought I was strong enough to keep myself away. To sever the ties and let him go freely, selflessly.
But I’m not selfless. I’m greedy. So fucking selfish.
And so I say, with unwavering conviction and honesty, “I love you, Damon. I don’t want you to leave. Not now. Not ever.”
“What,” he grunts out, his hands clenching into fists as he remains turned away from me, “did you just say?”
“I love you, Damon Cavanaugh, and I don’t want you to leave,” I repeat myself, my heart hammering against my bruised ribs.
“I want you to stay. I want you, Damon. I-I told you there was a reason that I left. And that reason hasn’t changed.
But… But if you’re okay with never asking me that reason, never prying, and never holding it against me, then I’d like for you to stay.
” I take a deep, stabilizing breath as I dare utter the next words.
“Stay with me, Damon. Stay with me…and Quin.” I swallow, my inside churning with forbidden anxiety.
“We can all be together, Damon. The three of us.”
The next several seconds feel like a goddamn millennium, and all I can do is trust Quinton’s word. Trust that they both love me. Trust that love is enough. Trust that these two men—my men—are willing to own a piece of me, and I, all of them.
“You love me?” he finally asks, wolfish and rough.
I wish he’d turn around. I wish he’d look at me.
“Yes.”
“And you,” His voice strains. “And you love him?”
“Yes.”
And then it happens. Slowly, so agonizingly slow. He turns around, and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, those dark, decadent eyes, finally lock with mine and inside them, I see the fire that I’ve so desperately craved since the moment he burned me.
“We have a problem, Miss Jones,” Damon rasps, striding forward, his steps purposeful and taunting. He stops beside me, towering over me as he cocks his head, his gaze dancing across my blanketed body. “Do you know what that problem is?”
I swallow, voice croaky and caught. “No...”
“The problem is…” He arches down, the heat from his body damn near causing me to sweat.
His lips feather against my ear, tickling me, forcing my spine to squirm as he whispers, “I don’t think you could handle both of us, Miss Jones.
” His tongue flicks against my earlobe, and I swallow a whimper, my core buzzing with want. “I’m afraid we might wreck you.”
“I guess…” The words get stuck in my throat as my skin flushes at the thought, at all the devious, delicious things we could do together. “I guess we’ll never know until we try.”
“Finally,” Quin says, and Damon pulls away from me as we both snap our heads toward the door. Quin smirks at us with a gleam of amusement. “I was worried you two might never make up.” His gaze flicks up, and there’s an unspoken understanding in the tiny nod he gives Damon. “We good, Cavanaugh?”
“We will be,” Damon says, mirroring Quin’s knowing smirk. “Once we establish the rules.”
I blink. “Rules?”
They both let out a soft laugh, and Quin tilts his head, pouting as he says, “There are always rules when we share, little Emery.” He glances at Damon. “And let’s pray that no one breaks them this time.”
Damon’s jaw ticks. “Yes, let’s pray.”