Chapter 11 Victor
VICTOR
Willow’s eyebrows jerk upward as she processes that bit of information, and she chews on her bottom lip anxiously.
“Are you sure that’s going to work?” she asks. “It seems risky.”
“Oh, it’ll work,” Malice tells her. “This judge has… questionable sexual appetites at best.”
“Malice is right,” I tell her. “The ironic thing is, I don’t think Olivia knew about that part of his secret life at all.
I’m fairly certain that the flash drive she had us steal from his house was just related to some iffy financial dealings.
So if she was hoping to use that against him, her threat definitely won’t be as strong as ours. ”
“Hell no, it won’t.” Ransom grins. “This fucker will probably do just about anything to keep his wife, or the general public, from finding out about the fucked up shit he gets into when he tells her he’s working late.
These kinds of assholes will do whatever it takes to keep their reputations intact, and we’re not even asking for that much.
Just the recall of three little warrants.
We’ll make sure Olivia can’t hold the threat of prison time over our heads anymore. ”
Willow nods slowly, still looking worried. “I guess that’s the best plan we have.”
Malice and Ransom crumple up their trash from the meal and start to get up, clearly getting ready to head out. Her head snaps up to look at them as they move, and there’s something wild in her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she asks, looking tense.
“It’s okay,” Ransom assures her. “We’re just going to get moving on this plan. The faster we get shit settled, the sooner we won’t have to look over our shoulders anymore, right? We’re gonna go stake out the judge and gather some evidence.”
I watch Willow take that in. She glances at the clock on the bedside table and seems surprised that it’s already late in the afternoon. She slept late, but I’m glad she did. We all did our best not to disturb her, since she needed the rest, clearly.
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Ransom promises. He winks. “We’ve just got someone’s life to threaten to ruin.”
Willow nods again, although I can tell she’s not quite comfortable with the idea of them leaving.
But they have to, and she keeps her gaze locked on them as they pull on their jackets. Ransom comes over and snags a fry from the pile in front of Willow, popping it into his mouth before leaning a little closer so that their foreheads are almost touching.
“You just focus on relaxing, okay? Take a nap, watch some cable. Whatever you need to do. We’ve got this.”
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Come back soon.”
He chuckles, his voice warm. “As if we could stay away.”
Malice doesn’t come over or say anything, but he gives her a look that’s heavy with significance, and Willow smiles a little shakily. So clearly she gets the message.
Malice and Ransom leave, and as the door closes behind them, she lets out a breath.
She seems to deflate a little, staring down at the food on her lap like she doesn’t want to eat any more of it.
With just the two of us, things have lapsed back into quiet, and I have a feeling that all of her fears and worries are rushing in to fill the silence.
After what she just went through, it makes sense that she would be nervous to be separated from us, getting caught up in all the awful memories she has now.
But I don’t want her to get dragged back down into that. I don’t want her to lose herself to that dark place.
I’m not Ransom, good at talking these things out and putting people at ease. He has a way of bridging gaps between people that I’ve never fully understood. And I’m not even Malice, with his forceful personality that allows him to just barrel on through things and manage to help somehow.
What I do have is the memories of my brothers helping me when I’ve needed it. How they’ve always managed to tether me to them when I start slipping away into myself, pulled down by my demons and the trauma branded into me by my father.
What they always do is remind me that there are people who care. That there is life outside my own head. That they’re there for me.
So that’s what I can try to do for Willow.
I roll the desk chair over to her bed and pull the plate of food from her lap. She looks up at me, surprised, and I stab the fork through some of the veggies on the plate, offering them up to her.
“You don’t have to feed me,” she murmurs, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “I’m okay. I can…”
“I want to,” I tell her. “Please? Let me help you.”
She opens her mouth and then closes it, and when she meets my gaze, I can see she’s affected by the offer. Touched by it.
“Okay,” she whispers and lets me feed her several bites.
She eats in silence, chewing and swallowing, accepting each new bite of food I feed her.
It’s intimate and caring, and for the first time since she was taken from us in Mexico, a warmth spreads through me, banishing the cold, empty feeling in my chest. I like being able to take care of her like this.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Willow asks after a bit. “From the bullet wound, I mean. You went down so hard, and I thought—”
She shakes her head, obviously not wanting to finish that sentence.
“I’m fine. It missed anything important, so it was just some pain and some blood. I’ve had worse.”
“You guys always say that,” she mutters.
I shrug a shoulder. “It’s true. Grim as it is. But the truth is, I’m fine. I promise. The worst part of it was getting stitches in a moving vehicle.”
She makes a face, exhaling a puff of air that’s almost a laugh. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“I had more important things on my mind. We had to get moving so we could get to you.”
I don’t want her to feel guilty when I say that, or to blame herself, but it’s true.
The most important thing in that moment was getting to Willow, and I didn’t care about how uneven the stitches would be or how unsanitary the back of that car was.
It bothers me a bit, now that we have her back and I can actually focus on anything besides the search for her, but it’s manageable.
It’s the kind of thing that the old version of me probably couldn’t have ever gotten past, but the new version of me has different priorities.
It was painful and terrifying becoming this version of myself, letting the beautiful woman in front of me get under my skin and change me. But I like who I am now so much more.
“Can I… can I see it?” Willow looks almost nervous to be asking, like she expects me to say no, but I could never deny her anything. So I take my shirt off, letting her see the bandaged wound on my side.
Anguish crosses her face, and she brushes her fingertips near it.
Goosebumps erupt in the wake of her touch, and I tense, my body reacting to her the way it always does—full-force, an instant response.
It’s almost overwhelming, having her touch me again after what feels like so long without it. I’ve gotten used to her touch, more comfortable with it than I ever was before, but there’s still an element of sensory overload to it.
I don’t know if it’s because of how much I feel for her or if it’s just because I’m still getting used to casual touches, but it’s like every nerve in my body is attuned to her touch.
To distract myself, I focus on her. I look her over, noticing the shadows under her eyes, the way she seems worn down and thinner than she was the last time I saw her.
Just a bit of her blonde roots are starting to show beneath the dark color she dyed her hair, barely noticeable, but present.
She has bruises on her skin, and there’s also a graze on her shoulder where the collar of the shirt she’s wearing slips down.
It looks fresh and painful, probably something she got in the last day or two—maybe even last night.
“You’re hurt,” I murmur, nodding at it.
She looks and grimaces, swallowing hard. I don’t ask her how she got it. I can picture it pretty well.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Ransom got a chance to look me over in the shower last night. I don’t have any injuries that are too bad. Nothing as bad as what you have, by a long shot. It’s raw, and it hurts a bit, but it should heal up okay.”
She’s right. It should heal up okay, but okay isn’t good enough when it comes to my butterfly. I hate that she’s hurting at all, and I want to do everything I can to help her heal up faster, and to heal well.
Without another word, I get up and go to the first aid kit we assembled out of stolen products from the vet’s office in Mexico.
I grab some antibiotic ointment before striding back over to her.
It’s second nature to dab some of the medicinal smelling ointment onto my fingers and reach out to her, but I pause before I touch her, waiting.
“May I?”
Willow bites her lip and then nods.
I dip my chin in acknowledgment and then start smoothing the ointment over her skin. She tenses up, just like I did when she touched me a moment ago. My fingers go still on her shoulder, and I can feel her practically vibrating beneath them.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.” She exhales a shaky breath, and some of the tension bleeds out of her, but not enough.
I hesitate for another moment, not moving at all until she relaxes a bit more. Then I finish putting the ointment on her and replace the cap on the little tube.
“I hate this.” Willow sighs, drawing my attention back up to her immediately. “I hate how I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
Her words strike a chord with me. I know exactly how she feels, even though I wish I didn’t.
I can vividly remember having that thought almost verbatim after one of my father’s worst ‘training’ sessions.
My fingers tap against my thigh as I work to shove down my own demons, determined to battle them back so that I can help the sweet, perfect woman before me conquer her own.
“You’re still you,” I assure her, my voice low. “It might be a new version of you, and things might never be quite the same as they were before, but you’re still Willow. Still beautiful, still so strong. Still my butterfly. Still the most amazing woman I know.”
Her chest rises as she drags in a long, shaky breath, her eyes shimmering at the corners with unshed tears.
It’s clear she can’t quite believe everything I’m saying, and I can relate to that too.
Reassurances and kind words can’t always penetrate the clamor of other, worse voices in our heads.
But I mean everything I just said, and I’ll tell it to her every day if that’s what it takes, until she can see all of those things in herself again.
Emotions build inside me as I gaze at her. I’ve always felt a bit closed off from my feelings, locked inside myself by my old trauma. But I can feel new words bubbling up, straining to escape my mouth as if they have a mind of their own and demand to be said.
“You’re the best person I know, butterfly,” I murmur. “And I lo—”
Willow’s eyes widen as she registers what I’m about to say.
“Don’t,” she blurts quickly, cutting me off.
I close my mouth, my heart hammering. There are more tears swimming in her eyes, threatening to fall as she shakes her head.
“Please don’t,” she whispers. “Not like this. Don’t say it now, not when I’m broken like this. When I can’t even stand to be touched. Can’t hug you or kiss you the way I want to.”
I stiffen, my jaw clenching as I take in her sad expression. I hate seeing her like this. Hate knowing she’s in so much pain. That she thinks she’s broken.
So even though this woman could tell me to walk into a burning building and I’d do it, this is the one time I can’t do what she’s asking of me.
“I love you,” I tell her, letting each word fall from my lips with clarity. Letting her hear the truth behind each syllable.
She blinks, sending tears spilling over her eyelids and down her cheeks. I want to wipe them away, but instead, I open my mouth and speak again.
“I love you,” I repeat, the words pouring out of me. “Right now, in this moment. Not later. Not after you’ve had more time to recover. I love who you are, always. Every part of you, in every way. And you will never be broken in my eyes.”
My chest tightens, my entire body overwhelmed by the rush of emotions flooding through me.
The day I saw that trucker put his hands on Willow and ended up stabbing a knife through his hand, it was like the door I was trying to keep closed on my feelings was blasted open.
But this? This is like the entire wall has been demolished, every bit of armor I’ve ever erected around myself falling away in my need to make Willow understand how deeply I care for her.
“You never treated me like I was broken for not being able to handle being touched,” I continue, my voice hoarse with feeling.
“You never stopped caring, even when I tried to push you away. So I’ll never treat you like you’re broken, butterfly.
Because you aren’t. And no matter what happens, I’ll always love you. I couldn’t stop even if I tried.”