Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The blood was everywhere. Her fingers. Her arms. Her face. She could feel the stickiness on her skin, and it absolutely horrified her. She wanted it gone, gone, gone, but she had to just sit there. He’d told her to sit there. To not move. To not make a sound.
She had to sit in the blood and not move.
But it was so sticky. It was hardening on her skin. She could feel it. Smell it. Taste it. How long had she been there, covered in blood? How long would she be there?
A scream bubbled in her throat, and Wren knew it was going to break free. When the scream erupted, she would be dead. The monster had won. There was no happy ending. There was no love. There was no hope.
He’d won. And she would die.
“Where you go, I go, Wren.” A low, deep voice. It pulled at her. Made her heart beat faster. “So where shall we go? What dreams are we gonna follow?” A strong hand gripped hers. “God, I have so many dreams that involve you. If you want the truth, every dream that I have focuses on you. I dream of us being married. Having kids with your eyes. I’d really like a daughter, one who looks just like you. Or, hell, could you imagine what it would be like if we had twins? Twin girls.” A pause. His hand tightened on hers. “I dream about dancing with you at your Uncle Milo’s bar. Being with you in front of the world and you not being scared. You not having to pretend. You being free and happy. That’s what I want most, Wren. For you to be happy. Safe and happy.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. Her lips parted.
“Baby, don’t try to talk, not yet.” Jake’s eyes were right on her. “You’re in the hospital, and I swear, you are gonna be fine. You just can’t talk. Not yet. But you will, soon.”
She blinked a few times. Frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Jake immediately leaned toward her. “Are you in pain? What’s happening?”
Her free hand reached up. Touched his cheek. It was wet. He’d been crying for her?
“Allergies,” Jake said.
She felt her frown deepen.
“I’m allergic to the idea of anything ever happening to you.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. “So you can’t get hurt again, understand? If I have to surround you with pillows and guns and a fleet of bodyguards from Wilde, you will not ever be hurt again. You will be protected. You will be safe.” Another kiss. “You will be happy.”
She wanted to ask about Makayla. About the crime scene. About a thousand things.
But a heavy fog pulled at her again. There wasn’t going to be time to ask about any of those things. Not yet. And she wasn’t supposed to talk. So she just mouthed… Love you.
“I love you, Wren. I love you. Always have. Always will.”
Three Weeks Later…
“We need to talk, Wren.”
She stood on the beach, with the wind blowing her hair. Wren had draped a loose scarf over her neck even though the wounds had healed. Scarred, but healed. Still red now, but they’d fade with time. Pain tended to fade with time.
The scarf fluttered in the wind behind her.
At the hard, familiar voice, her head turned. “Hi, Uncle Milo.”
Three weeks. Three weeks had passed since her friend had tried to kill her. Since Wren had been sent to the hospital with wounds far too similar to those inflicted by her father. The world knew all about the serial killer’s daughter now. Though, instead of being a villain, she’d been given the role of victim, thanks to Makayla. The misunderstood daughter who’d just tried to escape the nightmare of her past. Only to be betrayed by a friend she trusted.
Wren hadn’t lost clients. She’d gained them. She’d also gotten offers to do talk shows. To write tell-all books. To give interview after interview.
She’d turned down those requests. She wasn’t quite ready to face the world and talk about her father. Maybe she never would be.
Jake had been at her side through everything. Steady and strong and ever-so-watchful. She was supposed to go and meet him inside Uncle Milo’s bar that night. A big party. Uncle Milo’s idea. A celebration to push away all of the pain from the past.
She watched as Uncle Milo approached her. He wore a black tux. This celebration was going to be a very fancy affair, or so he’d declared. Wren couldn’t help but notice that Uncle Milo wasn’t wearing shoes.
It was the beach, after all. A little smile tugged at her lips.
Uncle Milo didn’t smile back. He just steadily closed the distance between them until he was right at her side. Big, towering Uncle Milo. The man who’d been her hero for so long.
I am my father’s daughter.
She remembered having that thought when Makayla was attacking her. Only Wren hadn’t been thinking about Jonathan Wales at the time. She’d been thinking about Uncle Milo and how he’d taught her to fight. To survive. How he’d told her about the legend of the clever wren and said it would be the perfect name for her.
“I’m selling the beach house,” he announced.
She blinked.
“Oh, what, girl? You think I can walk in there without shuddering in horror every single time for the rest of my days? Nope. Not doing it.”
“You love that beach house.” Their house. The house they’d shared when she’d been an uncertain and terrified high school kid.
“I’ll love a new place just as much.” His gaze drifted to the water as the waves crashed into the shore. “Sometimes, you have to let go of the past. Move to the future. Otherwise, that shit will just drag you under. You’ll be choking on the blood.”
“Yes, I’ve, uh, been there and done that.”
He swore. His head whipped toward her. “I didn’t mean?—”
“I love you.” The words just came out. Normal. Her voice sounded normal again. The damage to her throat hadn’t been too deep. She was all right. No, better than that. She was safe. She was happy. “I love you,” Wren repeated.
His mouth dropped open. Shock completely slackened his face.
“In all of our years together, I never told you those words.”
“You don’t…” He sniffed. “You don’t have to tell me. You think I didn’t know?”
She smiled at him. “I love you.”
“Dammit.” He grabbed her. Hauled her close in a bone-crushing hug. As if Uncle Milo ever gave any other kind of hug. “Dammit.”
Her face pressed to his tux. That fancy tux. He never did fancy, so this party was really special to him. Wren had a feeling she knew why.
“I love you, kid,” he said.
She was far from a kid, and they both knew it. But Wren thought that she might just always be the kid he’d saved, no matter how old she got.
“You are my daughter,” he added gruffly. “And I was proud as hell of you when you drove those scissors into that witch’s foot.”
She eased back. “I used the technique you taught me in order to get out of the duct tape.”
“Figured you did. You never forgot anything I taught you, did you?” He let her go. Only to immediately grab the scarf that wanted to blow away. Carefully, he looped it around her neck. “You don’t have to hide. Not any part of you.”
Not anymore, she didn’t. “Thought the scarf was stylish.”
He raised a bushy brow. “You’re always stylish,” he said. “That’s why we’re having a fancy party. You like fancy.” He cleared his throat. “There’s…something I need to t-tell you.”
His stutter made unease slither down her spine. Uncle Milo never stuttered.
“The reason I didn’t tell you about the discovery of the Sweetheart Slasher sooner…” A sigh. The waves crashed. Roared. Crashed again. “There wasn’t a lot left. Mostly bones. Hair. You see, he’d been dead a very long time before his remains were found.”
It wasn’t overly cold, but chill bumps suddenly covered her arms.
“We wondered how he’d just stopped, how he’d gone dormant when he was…killing so frequently before.” The wind tousled his red curls. “He was dead, Wren. All that time. You were afraid, but you didn’t have to be. He died shortly after the attack on you all those years ago.”
She shook her head.
“Self-inflicted,” he added, voice thickening even more. “And, uh, there was an old note near the remains.”
Another shake of her head.
“He thought you were dead. He bought the story we sold to the media.”
Her breath came too fast. Her heart beat too hard.
“The note said…it said, ‘I killed an angel. My angel. Margaret, forgive me.’”
Margaret. Only she wasn’t Margaret any longer.
“If he could love anything in this world, it was you.”
He hadn’t believed in love. Because his heart had been broken. No, his mind had been broken. The heartbreak had just been an excuse. He’d been twisted and damaged and bent on so much destruction. Other lives had not mattered to him. Other people had not mattered.
But in the end, he was saying he’d regretted what he’d done to her? Was that true? Or another mind game, a final one from her father?
Did it even matter?
He hadn’t believed in love, but she did. She loved Uncle Milo. She loved Honey. She loved Jake and Eb and their sister Marley…
And she was going to love the life that waited for her.
This time, she was the one to give the crushing bear hug as Wren threw her arms around Uncle Milo.
The bar’s parking lot had been bursting at the seams. Filled with every sort of vehicle imaginable—from high end, luxury rides—because, of course, Declan Flynn had showed up with Marley and the man always drove in style—to sputtering classic trucks favored by some of the locals who were old friends of Milo’s.
The interior of the place was equally packed because none of the locals wanted to miss this VIP event. They wore fancy evening clothes—tuxes would normally be way out of place in the dive bar, but this wasn’t a normal night. A band played on stage, the bar was open, and laughter filled the air.
Jake had one mission. Only one. Get to Wren. He held a champagne flute in his hand and made his way through the crowd. Not a hard task because people tended to jump out of his way. Not Wren, though. His beautiful Wren just smiled at him as he closed in on her.
She wore a black dress, one that glittered when the light hit it just right. Small straps. Plunging cleavage. Diamonds winked at her ears. Faint red lines marked her neck, and he hated those lines because they reminded him of her pain. But the doctors had promised those lines would fade.
Jake wished that she’d never been hurt. Wished that he’d been the one covered in blood.
Wished that he’d gotten to her sooner. Wished that he?—
“Stop it.” Wren took the champagne flute from him. “Your glower is extra strong tonight, and you are scaring everyone.” A soft chide. She clinked her flute against his. “If you smile, people will stop shuddering in their fancy clothes.”
“You aren’t shuddering.” She was just glowing. Just being beautiful and perfect and his living dream. “I don’t scare you.”
“Of course, you don’t. You delight me.” She winked at him. “Because you love me.”
“Yes.” Just that. Stark. Maybe guttural.
“And I love you.” Soft. Husky.
Yeah, they were getting out of that bar, STAT. He was getting her alone. He was getting her naked. He was getting in her. Jake reached for her left hand.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Milo was on stage. In typical Milo style, he’d taken command of the microphone from the lead singer. Well, it was his bar, after all, so Jake figured the man could take control of a microphone if that was what he wanted. The lead singer slunk away even as Milo leaned toward the standing pole microphone and said, “Got some announcements.”
Everyone turned toward Milo.
Honey stood on the side of the stage, looking absolutely resplendent in a bold red dress. She’d pinned her badge to her hip.
“Want to start by saying thank you.” A bob of Milo’s red head. “Thank you to Jacob and Ebenezer Jones. Boys…”
They weren’t boys. Hadn’t been in a very long time.
“Men,” Milo corrected, as if realizing what he’d said. “Hell, hard for me to say that…I keep thinking of them as the sixteen-year-old punks who kept running after my Wren every chance they got…Tripping over themselves…”
Laughter came from the crowd.
“We did not trip,” Eb groused as he appeared at Jake’s side.
Jake wasn’t so sure. He slanted a glance toward Wren. “Pretty sure I tripped a few times.”
She smiled at him. Yep, that smile. He felt its impact all the way to his racing heart. He’d definitely tripped more than once over the years. With an effort, he focused his attention back on the small stage.
“Thank you for saving my Wren.” Milo had a champagne flute in his hand. Though Jake was pretty sure that flute was filled with Irish whiskey, not champagne. “Though, I guess she isn’t mine, any longer, is she?” Milo dead-eye stared at Jake. “Love her forever,” he ordered, voice thickening.
“I will,” Jake promised. And he made sure his voice was loud and clear and carried all the way across the bar.
Milo exhaled. “Good. Good.” A deep inhale. “There’s a woman here that I’ve also, well, I’ve loved for a very long time, too. But fear—fear’s a real pain in the ass, isn’t it? It can hold you back. Make you think that you can’t ever have what you want most.”
Honey suddenly started shifting very, very nervously on the edge of the stage.
Milo turned toward her. Bent down on one knee.
“Holy shit,” Eb said.
Indeed.
“About time,” Eb added.
Yep.
Milo held his hand out toward Honey. The hand not gripping the champagne flute filled with Irish whiskey. “Honey…” Milo began.
Everyone in the bar seemed to hold their breath.
“Will you marry a man who has worshipped the ground you walk on for over twenty years?”
A wide smile split Honey’s face. She didn’t say, yes, though. She rushed to him, kicking off her heels. And then they were hugging and kissing and everyone was clapping.
“I think that means yes.” Wren sounded beyond delighted. She was even bouncing a little in her heels.
“Guess there will be a wedding in town after all.” Eb drained his champagne. “And this time, the bride won’t be homicidal. Always a bonus.”
Jake had turned his head toward Wren. “Maybe there will be more than one wedding.”
Wren stopped bouncing. She whipped to face Jake.
“Because I know how Milo feels. Fear can hold you back. It can make you think you’re not good enough for someone, that you can’t ever have what you want.” Wren was what Jake wanted most. “I’ve worshipped the ground you’ve walked on since?—”
He didn’t get to finish. Wren had thrown her arms around him and was kissing him like mad. He kissed her back the exact same way.
“Well, damn,” Eb exclaimed. Then… “ Hell, yes.”
Hell, yes. Jake held Wren even tighter.
Mission accomplished…
Protect Wren.
Love Wren.
Marry Wren…