Chapter 22
Scarlett
The first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, painting the room in soft golden light. I stirred with a quiet sound, awareness returning slowly. Warm bodies surrounded me, their familiar presence both comfort and anchor after another night of restless sleep. Every inch of contact reminded me of how we’d made love last night, desperate to feel something other than helpless worry.
Graham’s arm draped protectively over my waist, his hand resting on my hip, he’d stayed in spite of the need to remain professional for the moment. Brody’s steady breathing tickled the back of my neck, his solid presence a shield at my back. Drake’s fingers splayed across my thigh, one leg tangled with mine.
For a moment, I allowed myself to sink into their warmth, to pretend this was just another morning. But reality scratched at the edges of my mind, impossible to ignore. Jenny was out there somewhere, scared and alone. Sweet Jenny, who’d dragged me into that gym in the first place, who’d shown me that being broken didn’t mean staying broken.
“Stop,” Graham murmured against my shoulder, reading my tension. “You couldn’t have known.”
I turned in their embrace, needing to see his face. His eyes were heavy with the same worry that plagued us all, but his touch remained gentle as he brushed hair from my face. Behind me, Brody’s arm tightened, pulling me closer.
“The police are handling it,” Drake reminded me softly, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. “Let them do their jobs.”
But they all knew how I felt about leaving things to the police after my own attack went unsolved. Special Agent Reeves seemed competent enough, had been working my case for months, but still...
“I just keep thinking about how scared she must be,” I whispered. “She’s so young, and after what happened to her brothers—”
“Jenny’s tough,” Brody’s voice rumbled against my back. “Tougher than most adults I know. She’ll hold on until they find her.”
I rolled to face him, studying the shadows under his eyes. He’d been at the gym late last night, checking security footage again even though the police had already been through it. They were all handling their helplessness differently - Brody with restless energy, Drake with his quiet vigilance, Graham with his increased protective instincts.
“I love you,” I said softly, touching Brody’s face. “All of you. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”
His kiss was gentle despite the tension I could feel thrumming through him. Graham pressed closer behind me, his lips finding that sensitive spot beneath my ear. Drake’s hand slid higher on my thigh, and for a moment I let myself get lost in them, in the way they loved me - each touch unique but part of a greater whole.
Drake’s mouth captured mine in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, his tongue teasing mine as his hand continued its upward journey. I gasped against his lips as his fingers found their target, circling with expert precision that made my back arch. Behind me, Graham’s hands moved to my breasts, his touch reverent yet possessive as he kneaded the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks.
“Let us take care of you,” Graham whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Let go for a little while.”
Brody shifted, moving down my body with deliberate slowness, his mouth leaving a trail of heat along my skin. When he settled between my thighs, replacing Drake’s hand with his lips, I cried out, the sensation almost too intense. Drake swallowed the sound with another kiss, his hands now tangled in my hair.
They moved together with practiced harmony, each touch building on the last until I was trembling, caught in a web of sensation too complex to process. Brody’s mouth worked magic between my legs, his fighter’s strength evident in how he held my hips as I writhed. Drake’s kisses were consuming, demanding, while Graham’s touch remained gentle yet insistent.
“That’s it,” Graham encouraged as my breathing quickened. “Let go, beautiful.”
The release crashed over me in waves, my body arching as pleasure pulsed through every nerve ending. I cried out their names – all three – as they held me through the aftershocks, their touches gentling but not retreating.
Before I could recover, Brody was moving up my body, his expression hungry as he positioned himself above me. “My turn,” he growled, entering me in one smooth thrust that had me gasping anew.
Graham and Drake watched with heated eyes as Brody began to move, his pace demanding from the start. I wrapped my legs around his waist, meeting each thrust as the pleasure built again, impossibly quick. Graham’s mouth found mine, swallowing my moans as Drake’s hands continued their explorations, ensuring every part of me received attention.
When Brody found his release, Graham was quick to take his place, his movements more measured but no less intense. Drake’s desire in my hands I urged him up so that I could take him in my mouth while Graham’s thrusts continued building my pleasure to release for all of us. By the time we lay tangled together, sweaty and sated, the morning was well advanced, golden light replaced by the brighter glow of full day.
“We should get up,” I murmured against Drake’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. “Work…”
“A few more minutes,” Graham said, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip. “The world can wait.”
I dozed, surrounded by their warmth, their scents mingling in a combination that had become home to me. But eventually, reality could no longer be denied. Today was important—my first A-List staff meeting since remembering everything, and I needed to be prepared.
The shower was a riot of hands and mouths and steam, efficiency abandoned in favor of stolen kisses and lingering touches. By the time we dressed and went downstairs, we were late, but a lighter, more manageable feeling had replaced the night’s tension.
“I’ll drive you,” Graham offered, car keys already in hand.
“While I would love that,” I said, kissing him softly. “You know we can’t do that right now. Drake will drive me, right?” I turned toward Drake who was already grabbing for his keys.
The ride to the office was quiet, companionable. Drake’s hand found mine at stoplights, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Are you sure about today?” he asked as we neared the building. “The staff meeting… after everything you’ve remembered…”
“I need to do this,” I said firmly. “I need to look them in the eye, knowing what I know now. I don’t know why, but I think it might help us find Jenny.”
He nodded, though concern still shadowed his features. “Just be careful. Play dumb, like we discussed. If they suspect you remember anything about those documents…”
“I know.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll be the picture of confused incompetence.”
The office was bustling when I arrived, the morning rush in full swing. As I moved toward the elevators, I felt a familiar flutter of anxiety in my stomach. But it was different now—not the paralyzing fear that had once consumed me, but something sharper, more focused. I was entering the lion’s den, armed with knowledge this time.
Crowds packed the elevators, bodies pressed too close together in the small space, and I immediately decided to avoid them.
The stairwell door felt cold and heavy under my palm, resistance giving way as I pushed it open. The familiar scent hit me first – industrial cleaner and stale air, exactly as I remembered. My heart rate kicked up, not in panic but in anticipation as I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me.
For a moment, I simply stood there, absorbing the space that had provided so much resolve. Concrete steps, metal railings, fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. Just a stairwell. Nothing more, nothing less, but none the less had been a crucial point in my self emergence.
I took a deep breath and began to climb, each step deliberate and measured. Three flights up, my breathing had quickened, though more from exertion than anything. I was reclaiming this space with every step. By the sixth floor, I was feeling almost triumphant, a small smile playing at my lips. I hadn’t lost it. The strength I gained in the months of using this as training in my MMA journey.
I was nearing the eleventh floor on the mid-landing between floors when the sound of a door opening above me made me freeze, old instincts kicking in despite my resolve. I pressed myself against the wall backing down two steps, heart hammering as footsteps started down toward me. Two sets, maybe three.
“I told you, it doesn’t matter now,” a familiar voice carried down the stairwell. Felicia. My blood ran cold at the sound. “The deadline has passed, and our friends are getting impatient.”
“But if she remembers…” Another voice—Aria, Felicia’s former assistant. “Matthews thinks—”
“Matthews thinks too much,” Felicia cut her off. “That’s always been his problem. We need to take matters into our own hands. Once she’s gone, there’s no one left who knows enough to connect the dots.”
I should have retreated, should have slipped back down to safety. But something kept me rooted in place. All that time under Felicia, her stealing my work and treating me like shit. Anger welled up inside me like nothing I could even remember.
They rounded the landing above me, three figures descending. Felicia in the lead, Aria close behind, and a man I didn’t recognize bringing up the rear. They spotted me immediately, Felicia’s step faltering for just a moment before a slow, predatory smile spread across her face.
“Well, well,” she drawled, continuing her descent until she stood just a few steps above me. “Look who’s finally brave enough to take the stairs again. How fitting.”
I lifted my chin, meeting her gaze steadily. “Felicia. I heard they let you out on bail. Don’t you have a trial to prepare for?”
“Cute.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “But we both know I won’t be seeing the inside of a courtroom. Not with what I know about certain people.”
Aria hung back, her expression nervous as she glanced between us. The man moved to block the stairs below me, cutting off my retreat. I was trapped.
“What do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice level despite the fear clawing at my insides.
“You know exactly what I want.” Felicia took another step down, bringing her close enough that I could smell her perfume—the same cloying scent she’d worn every day in the office. Doused in it like she’d taken a bath in the overpowering odor. “The question is what do you remember?”
I forced a confused expression. “Remember? About what?”
Her eyes narrowed, searching my face for any sign of deception, but unwilling to admit she’d just met with Matthews, she stammered going on about the article she’d stolen and the office party.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I maintained my bewildered expression.
Something flickered across her face—disappointment? Relief?—before her expression hardened again. “You’re lying. You always were a terrible liar, Scarlett. Those wide eyes might fool Mr. Clarke, but I know better.”
The man behind her shifted impatiently. “Enough talking. We don’t have much time.”
Felicia shot him an irritated glance. “I’ll decide when it’s enough.” She turned back to me, studying my face with cold calculation. “You’ve been playing us, haven’t you? All those confused looks. That stupid wig, you wanted my job all along. I can see it in your eyes now.”
My heart raced as I realized my mask had slipped revealing a strength she’d never seen. She could see the truth—that I was not that girl anymore. That I knew what was going on at the highest levels.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, abandoning the pretense. “It’s too late. The authorities are going to handle you.”
It was a bluff, but it hit its mark. Felicia’s face contorted with rage. “You stupid bitch. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? Who I’m connected to?”
“I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” I replied, my voice stronger now.
Aria made a small, distressed sound. “Felicia, maybe we should—”
“Shut up,” Felicia snapped. To the man, she jerked her head. “Get her. We need to find out exactly what she’s shared and with whom.”
Now Felicia’s mask was slipping. Matthews doesn’t believe I don’t remember and she’s his little ankle biter sent to nip away at me.
He moved toward me, meaty hands reaching. I backed up the stairs, mind racing through the self-defense moves Brody had drilled into me over months of training. As his fingers grasped for my arm, I twisted away, landing a solid kick to his knee that made him howl in pain.
“You little—” He lunged again, but I was ready, using his momentum against him as I sidestepped, sending him crashing into the railing.
Aria hung back, eyes wide with panic, but Felicia advanced, something glittering in her hand. A knife. The sight of it triggered another flash of memory of the night she attacked me.
“I should have finished this properly the first time,” she snarled, slashing the air between us. “No more mistakes.”
I backed up the stairs, maintaining distance as I searched for an opening. The stairs were narrow, limiting my movement, but also hers. The man was recovering, straightening, with a murderous expression.
“You won’t get away with this,” I said, continuing to retreat. “Graham knows where I am. Security has cameras in every stairwell now.”
“Not this one,” Felicia smirked. “We made sure of that. Another electrical malfunction, such a shame.”
The realization that we were truly alone, that no help would come, sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through my system. I was on my own, just as I had been that night. But this time, I wasn’t helpless.
When the man lunged again, I was ready. Brody had taught me how to use my smaller size to my advantage, how to redirect an opponent’s strength against them. I stepped aside at the last moment, letting his momentum carry him past me before delivering a sharp elbow to his kidney. He stumbled, cursing, and I leaned back on the wall, kicking out and catching him in the chest, sending him reeling backward down the short flight onto the landing below.
Felicia saw her opening and rushed me, knife flashing. I blocked her arm with mine, the impact jarring but keeping the blade away from my vital organs. We grappled on the landing, her rage giving her strength I hadn’t expected.
“You ruined everything,” she hissed, trying to force the knife closer to my throat. “Everything I built, everything I worked for—gone because you couldn’t mind your own business.”
I strained against her, muscles burning with the effort. “You tried to kill me,” I gasped. “Did you really think I’d just forget?”
The struggle sent us both slamming into the wall, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. The knife inched closer, Felicia’s face contorted with hatred just inches from mine.
At the eleventh floor, the stairwell door suddenly opened. Walter stood framed in the doorway, looking down at us, eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Ms. Swanson!”
The distraction was all Felicia needed. She redoubled her efforts, the knife pressing against my neck hard enough to break skin. I felt the warm trickle of blood and knew I was out of time.
With a surge of desperate strength, I twisted violently, breaking her grip and shoving her away from me. Felicia stumbled backward, off-balance, arms windmilling as she teetered at the edge of the landing. For a moment, our eyes met—hers wide with sudden fear, mine steely with determination.
Then she was falling, a scream tearing from her throat as she plummeted over the railing. The sound ended abruptly with a sickening thud from far below.
Silence fell, broken only by my ragged breathing and Walter’s shocked exclamation. The man who had accompanied Felicia backed away, hands raised, suddenly less eager for confrontation without his leader. Aria stood frozen, face ashen as she stared at the space where Felicia had been standing just moments before.
“Security!” Walter shouted, voice echoing in the stairwell as he fumbled for his phone. “We need security in the east stairwell immediately!”
I slumped against the wall, adrenaline ebbing to leave me shaky and nauseated. Blood trickled down my neck from the shallow cut, but I was alive. I’d faced my attacker and survived—again.
Footsteps thundered from below as security responded to Walter’s call. More footsteps from above—Graham, racing down from behind Walter, face pale with fear as he spotted me.
“Scarlett!” He reached me in moments, hands gentle as they cupped my face. “My God, you’re hurt. What happened?”
Before I could answer, Aria’s voice cut through the chaos. “She killed her! Pushed her right over the railing!” She was backing toward the door Walter had emerged from, panic making her voice shrill. “It was Matthews’ idea—all of it—the files, the attack, everything! He’ll kill me for telling you, but I can’t—”
She turned to flee, but Walter blocked her path. In her desperation to escape, she slammed into him, the impact sending her stumbling backward down the stairs. She fell heavily, tumbling down the flight before lying still on the landing below, leg bent at an unnatural angle.
Security officers swarmed the stairwell, taking control of the situation with professional efficiency. The man who had attacked me was quickly subdued, Aria received medical attention, and I was ushered away from the scene, Graham’s arm protective around my shoulders.
“I told you not to take the stairs,” he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “When Walter called, saying he heard fighting…”
“I needed to reclaim this space,” I replied, leaning into his strength. “I didn’t know they’d be here, but I’m not sorry I faced them.”
His arms tightened around me. “You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” I looked up at him, suddenly fierce. “I survived, Graham. Again. And this time, I fought back.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes as he studied my face. This hadn’t just been about taking stairs; it had been about facing my fears, about completing the journey from victim to survivor.
“Come on,” he said gently, leading me toward the elevators, desperate to hold me but trying to maintain a professional concern. “Let’s get that cut looked at, and then you need to give a statement to the police.”