Chapter 26 Brooks
Brooks
They say when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes.
All the things you’ve ever done or seen or said. The places you’ve been. The thoughts you’ve thought.
The people you’ve loved.
They also say that this is actually your brain going through your entire bank of knowledge and experience, trying to find a way to keep your body alive.
I’ve always thought that’s kind of terrible.
Your body is dying and your brain–still very much alive and wanting to stay that way–is searching desperately for a way to save the meat sack that happens to be its vehicle in this life.
Because without the body, the brain is done, too.
What a horrible, helpless feeling that must be.
My brain isn’t giving me my whole life right now, and it’s certainly not giving me all my experiences. For some reason, it’s only focusing on the last couple of hours. Maybe it thinks it’ll find something there that’ll get me out of this mess?
I don’t think it’ll succeed.
The long and short of it is, I realized when I was at Lucien’s house that I knew more than I’d told him.
Remember when I broke into that computer but didn’t have a pen and paper, and just counted on my brain to remember what I was seeing?
Well, it chose that moment at the table with Camille to start remembering.
And it remembered some details that I hadn’t even known I’d seen.
Like the addresses of the holding pens for the girls.
And the last stop in New Orleans before they boarded the ships.
I’d thought for about 2.5 seconds before deciding I had to take advantage of the new knowledge, and given it 2.
5 additional seconds to go through the pros and cons of contacting Lucien and letting him know.
The problem was, he was in some big meeting with people he said straight up he didn’t want me meeting–the asshole–and I wasn’t about to disturb him.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure he would answer if I called him.
There was really no point in finding out.
Instead, I packed up my favorite Glock, my new butterfly knife, and my phone, and headed for the address I’d remembered as the last place the girls stopped before they were shuffled into vans and taken to the port to ship to wherever they were going.
The plan was simple: Get in, get the girls, and get back out again. The leverage: This time I had weapons and a vehicle. The danger: There were bound to be more guards than there were good guys, and I didn’t have any backup.
I hadn’t let that last bit stop me, though, because I wanted to get those girls out of there, and wasn’t willing to wait for Lucien to get home.
I found the place quickly and went in with my one gun blazing and my soul on fire with my mission, and had the good luck to find the girls almost immediately.
They’d been on their own and I hadn’t questioned it.
I grabbed them, told them I was getting them out of there, and started running.
We made it almost all the way to the front door before the guards found us, took one look at me, and decided I’d come back to join the party.
I put up a good fight, taking two of them out before they got my gun, but in the end I hadn’t been enough—as I feared—and there were enough of them to take me down. I was handcuffed and beat up, and almost immediately found myself in the van with the other girls and on my way to the port.
Turned out I arrived just in the nick of time. If things had gone my way, I would have arrived in the nick of time, sweeping in and saving the girls right before their fates were sealed.
But things hadn’t gone my way. And once again, I was in trouble and had no way to contact Lucien. And I realized–far too late–that I should have included my plan in the note I left him, instead of that clever little comment that didn’t mean anything.
Once again, I’d walked right into trouble without a plan, and this time, Lucien didn’t even know what I’d done. It was starting to be a really, really bad habit, and I promised myself that if I got out of this—if I managed to land on my feet again—I’d start including him in everything I did.
If.
We got to the port in the dark, the night around us quiet as a mouse, and I’d stared out the window, trying to figure out how I was going to handle this.
No one was out there to save us, but they also weren’t going to get in the way.
If I could cause a big enough distraction, I might be able to get the girls out of there without costing myself any other lives.
An explosion would have been perfect, but I wasn’t sure how to pull it off. A gunfight would have been even better, but I didn’t know how the fuck I was going to pull that off without having an actual gun to hand.
Then a bunch of men appeared out of the darkness, shooting and yelling like they were actually in some sort of war, and I’d jumped to my feet.
Girls were already filing off the bus ahead of me, their hands tied in front of them, and I’d gone pushing and shoving through their bodies, desperate to get outside.
Because I’d recognized one of the voices in the melee.
Lucien. Against all the odds, he’d somehow found me.
Again.
But then things went sideways and the girl I was with was caught in the crossfire.
She went down and I went down over her, trying desperately to keep her from getting trampled.
I realized quickly that she was going to be killed by the men around us if I didn’t get her out of there, and what the fuck is the point of saving girls if you just get them killed in the end?
Someone kicked me in the head and hit a spot that some other asshole had already hit me, and that had increased my motivation.
I needed to get both of us out of there if we were going to live.
I made the quick decision to save myself and this girl and come back for the others—somehow—and started dragging her. We got out of the line and fire and around the corner, and there, I found a container standing open. Like it was waiting for us.
Shelter. Safety.
Maybe.
I got us inside and closed the door behind us, thinking only of stopping the bullets flying around out there, and then collapsed against the wall, my head spinning and the girl in my arms barely breathing.
And here we are.
I look down at her, taking in her too-young face and freckles, and my heart breaks.
I wonder if her brain is looking for a way to survive, skipping through her memories in a desperate bid for knowledge.
Trying to figure out how to heal the bullet hole in her shoulder and keep her from bleeding out.
Trying to save the meat bag that is her body.
I wonder if my brain can help.
Suddenly there’s a bang from the front of the container and it flies open.
I cringe back, holding the girl to my chest to protect her, and glare at whoever has found his way into our shelter.
My body tenses, ready to do whatever it takes to kill him.
I’m unarmed and hurt, and I don’t know if I can even get up, but if he comes for us my body will figure it out.
I’m fucking tired of being pushed around and beat up.
I’m itching to kill one of them, and I’m going to give my body a chance to do just that.
Then the intruder steps out of the night and into the glow of the light above him, and I gasp. That’s not one of the smugglers. He’s too suave, too well dressed. Far too intelligent.
And I know him. I know the man standing there like he’s being lit by the sun, his eyes furious and his hand clutching a gun as his chest heaves with effort.
He’s both glowing and dark, the light around him disappearing into the blackness of his eyes and hair.
Sharp cheekbones jut out over hollowed cheeks, and the dark bruises under his eyes tell me that he hasn’t slept in days.
And God, I love him.
“Lucien,” I breathe. “She’s dying.”
The fury melts from his face and suddenly he’s on his knees next to me, his fingers on her pulse and his eyes on her face. He pauses, counting, and then looks at me. “She’s still strong. I’ll get someone to take her.”
He makes a call on his phone, then moves the girl carefully to the side and shuffles on his knees to me. Putting a gentle hand to my forehead, he glances at what must be a bloody gash by this time, and whispers, “What happened?”
I want to make a sarcastic reply. Something funny that will push him back from me and tell him I’m okay, and that I don’t need help. I want to show him I don’t need anyone else and that I’m ready to go into battle, just like always.
But God, I’m so tired of pretending I can stand on my own.
I haven’t slept well in too long, and I’ve been running at full speed for as long as I can remember.
I started fighting my father before I turned ten, and in New York I’m the one who always has a gun and a plan.
I’m the one who always rescues my friends when they can’t rescue themselves.
And fuck, I want to lean on someone else for once.
I want to jump off a cliff and know someone is going to catch me.
I want to fly through the air, trusting that someone will be there before I hit the ground.
And Lucien is the only person I’ve ever known who could support me.
Who wanted to. So for the first time in my life, I shut the sarcastic comment down and let someone in.
“A gun, I think,” I whisper. “There was so much shouting and shooting, and I tried to get to the girls but the guards tried to stop me. One of them slammed a gun down on my head and I fell. But I got up, because I wasn’t finished.
Someone else kicked me, and then this girl got shot and I knew I had to get her to safety. And I tugged her around to–”
He stops me with a kiss, and his lips are soft and warm and wet and so comforting, and I fall into them, breathing out in relief.
He’s gentle with me, his hands roaming my body and looking for other wounds, and before I know it his fingertips are on my skin rather than over my clothes.
They tiptoe across my belly, leaving trails of fire in their path, and my body starts to wake up.
My brain turns from the past to the present.
And the world lights up.
Lucien is everywhere. He lifts me up and leans me against the wall of the container, his tongue sliding into my mouth and his body pressing against me.
He spreads his legs around mine and rises up to his full height, forcing me to tip my head back to keep kissing him.
When my hands move up his stomach, seeking a resting place, he growls in deep approval and kisses me harder.
The world disappears around us and it’s only him and his black soul and fucking need to play hero, and I’m flying, though he’s got me pinned so he can kiss me as hard as he wants.
“Woman, I’m getting really tired of finding you bruised and broken,” he says, peppering kisses along the column of my neck. “And I can’t believe how many times I’ve had to save you.”
“Then stop trying to save me,” I gasp, tipping my face up to the ceiling and reveling in the feel of his lips on my skin.
My God, I’d forgotten how good he feels.
I want his mouth on me. I want him suckling on my nipples while his fingers are busy between my legs, and then I want him to fuck me.
My entire body is aching with need for him.
He jerks my chin down so I have to meet his eyes. “I will never stop trying to save you,” he growls. “Not in a million years. I will always come for you, do you hear me? Always. I think it’s time you accept that.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, the air between us thick with the words we’ve never said to each other, and I realize that this is it. This is what people mean when they say they love someone so much they’d die for them.
He’d die for me.
And instead of accepting that and telling him I’d do the same for him, I’ve spent the last ten years running from the truth of how I feel about him.
“Lucien,” I say.
He doesn’t answer. He takes my shirt in his hands and rips it right down the center, exposing my body to him. And when he kisses me again, his hands are on my breasts, weighing and pinching.
This time when he breaks the kiss, his eyes are on fire. “I’m going to tie you up and keep you in my house for the rest of your life,” he breathes. “I’m going to brand you as mine so that no one else ever touches you.”
I thought I was already burning, but his words are like gas on an open flame, and I think this might be how I die. Heart attack from the man I’ve always loved telling me he’s going to fucking brand me.
And because I’m not completely ready to let go of the persona I’ve spent ten years building, I give him the cockiest grin I can manage and tip my head. “Brand me? That’s awfully gothic of you, Lucien Boudreaux.”
He leans forward and takes my ear lobe in his teeth. “You have no idea what I’ll do to make you mine, Brooks Landry. Try me.”
His fingers go to his belt and he begins to undo it, and I’m breathless with anticipation. Yes, we’re in the middle of a war and this place is overrun with enemies, but Lucien and I have been apart for too long. It feels like the universe has finally brought us back together.
And this has been building between us for a week.
Before he can pull his cock out or strip the rest of my clothes off, though, I hear a deep, sarcastic chuckle from the front of the container. It’s dark and evil, and colored with a horrible sort of humor.
And I know that chuckle.
I look up, already knowing what I’m going to see, and all the fire in my veins goes ice cold.
Because my father is standing there, leaning against the door of the container like this is the most casual situation in the world. And he’s smiling at me the way he used to before he hurt me.
“Christ, sweetheart, if I knew you fucked for money, I would have been able to sell you for a whole lot more.”