Chapter 37
Morgan
I'm trembling more now that the Cerberus guys are in the room than I was before they arrived. Shame and guilt fill me from the soles of my feet to the top of my head even though I'm a rational person and know that I've done nothing wrong.
"You're gonna be okay," Ellis assures me as he works to remove the restraints, first at my hands before moving to my feet.
I grip the blanket I was handed to my chest the second my hands are free, hating that every man in this room has now seen me completely naked and splayed out on this fucking bed.
Tears streak down my face as my legs are untied, and I can't resist curling into myself against the headboard as I watch Bandera cuff Henry and drag him from the room.
"Your clothes," Ellis says, drawing my attention.
He's standing on the side of the bed with my belongings in his hands.
"What happens now?" I manage, keeping my eyes on the door in fear that Henry will somehow break free and come after me again despite Ellis and Whiskey being in the room with me.
"He'll go to jail," Ellis explains.
"And me?"
"Tell me what you need, and I'll make it happen," he says, and I can hear the truthfulness in his voice that he'll do anything in his power to give me what I ask for.
"He didn't hurt me," I whisper, my hands trembling as I grip the blanket under my chin.
"Morgan," Ellis whispered. "He hurt you."
His words make me sob even harder because he's right. I may not be covered in bruises or visible wounds, but I haven't made it out of this unscathed. I can only imagine what the lasting trauma from something like this is going to look like.
"Get dressed so we can get you out of here," he says with a gentle smile before placing my clothes on the end of the bed and turning his back so I can climb off the bed with some dignity.
As if choreographed, Whiskey turns as well. Their care in this situation goes a very long way in helping me start my journey of forgiving them for the interrogation yesterday.
My hands tremble as I close myself into the bathroom, and turning the lock on the door takes several tries. I eye the shower, the overwhelming feeling of being unclean, making it nearly impossible to dress, but staying here longer than I have to would be much worse.
Ellis, Whiskey, and Twisted are all standing in the room when I leave the bathroom, and thankfully, this time, it's Ellis who steps forward, his arm extended for me to step into instead of Twisted. I'm grateful to the man for his help after the Halloween party, but knowing he has feelings for me, it seems like him comforting me now would be inappropriate.
"Where are we going?" I ask as Ellis wraps his arm around my back and escorts me from the room.
Thankfully, Henry is nowhere to be seen as Ellis guides me toward the elevator, the other two guys flanking us as if they're protecting some dignitary from another country.
"Back to the villa," Ellis answers.
My first instinct is to argue with him and insist on them taking me back to my place, but my fear wins out. I know I'd be miserable there, and there's no sense in pretending I wouldn't be.
"Okay," I say, my voice a little weak and soft.
Ellis holds me tighter when I begin to tremble as the elevator makes its descension. The closer we get to the garage-level parking, the more fearful I grow, but when the doors open, there's no one there to ambush me and rip me from his arms.
We get looks from several people, because even in Vegas it's not every day that you see three commandos walking out of a hotel.
Ellis helps me into the back seat of the SUV, pulling my seatbelt around my waist before walking around and climbing in beside me. Whiskey gets in behind the wheel and Twisted takes the passenger seat.
"What about Bandera?" I ask when the SUV is cranked and immediately put into gear to carry us away.
"He's going to deal with the police," Ellis says.
The remainder of the drive is spent in complete silence. There isn't even a hint of music coming from the speakers, and by the time I'm debating whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, we're pausing at the gate outside of the villa.
"Good," Ellis says, pulling me from my own thoughts.
I look up and see Robert standing near the garage. I had wondered if he was going to stay in his office and wait to see if I was going to find him later. I didn't know how I was going to handle the whole situation.
Tears well in my eyes the second he steps forward and opens my door.
Rather than having a conversation as his eyes search mine, he simply reaches inside, unclips my seatbelt, and pulls me into his arms. He carries me inside with ease, the stairs not even winding him under my weight. I sob even harder when he bypasses the room I had been staying in and carries me into his room, gently kicking the door closed and sealing us inside alone.
"Robert," I whisper when he sets me down on my feet. "I'm—"
"Shhh," he says, brushing a kiss on my temple. "Let me check you."
I look up at the ceiling as he runs his hands over my arms and turns my head slightly as if looking for bruising on my neck before pinching my chin between his fingers and urging me to look him in the eyes.
"What happened?"
I shake my head, not wanting to make the confessions that I know will have him running for the door. I don't want him to know how easily I was duped by his brother.
"Please tell me," he says, his voice straining and full of bottled emotions.
"I thought it was you," I whisper.
"I know. Tell me what happened."
I swallow, searching his eyes, inwardly praying that he won't hate me after I make these confessions.
"I kissed him."
He nods, swallowing, his hands running up and down my arms in a predictable and comforting pattern.
"He touched me."
"Where?" he asks, pain lacing his tone.
"I thought he was you," I repeat, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"You did absolutely nothing wrong, baby. Hear me when I say that, please."
"He put his fingers inside of me," I spit on a sob that racks my entire body.
He pulls me to his chest, and I don't hesitate to bury my nose in his shirt, the scent of him familiar and healing.
"I'll fucking kill him myself."
He holds me to him, squeezing me harder when I wrap my arms around his waist and cry in his arms.
"I'm so sorry for the things he’s done to you, to us, and for the damage he’s caused. I can only imagine you wish you'd never met me."
I pull my head back, angling my chin up so I can look into his eyes, getting a little lost in his touch when he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
"I thought you'd hate me for what I let happen," I whisper.
"Hate you? Never, Morgan. He hurt you. That's on him, not on you. And to make things fucking worse," he says. "I hurt you."
I shake my head. " He hurt us . That's the only way I can look at it. I'm so sorry."
"He's my brother. I'm the one who is sorry."
"How about no more apologies for things we can't control," I offer as I lift my hand and swipe at the tears that continue to roll down my face.
"I'd like that," he says, capturing my hand and bringing it to his mouth.
"I can't believe he was able to fool me," I whisper, pressing my palm to his cheek. "The two of you couldn't be any more different."
"If we're lucky, we'll never have to worry about him again."
"He's your brother."
"He went too far. The man I want in my life doesn't exist. I've accepted that."
I go easily when he pulls me to his chest, once again burying my nose in his t-shirt. His familiar scent washes over me, giving me more comfort than I even have the strength and courage to ask for right now.
"I want to build a life with you, Morgan Spence," he whispers into my hair, making me smile against his chest.
"I want that, too," I manage, my throat threatening to clog with emotions. "I'd like to start that journey with a shower."
He takes a step back, reaching for my hand before guiding me to his en suite.
"Let me get it started for you," he offers, but I cling to his hand when he tries to take a step away.
"I don't want to let him come between us. Join me?" I ask, not knowing what his answer will be.
"I don't expect that," he says, his eyes searching mine. "If you need time, I'll wait—"
"I need you with me," I assure him.
I release his hand and begin to work open the buttons on my blouse, and much to his credit, he gives me a soft, gentle smile before turning the water on.
He doesn't stare at me as I undress. He simply begins to pull his clothes off as well.
I have his undivided attention once we step inside the shower. He runs soft, gentle hands all over my body, spreading shower gel first and then rinsing it away. He urges my head back under the spray before washing my hair. There's so much care and love in his hands and actions that it's as if what happened tonight is already beginning to fade, and I'm grateful to have found a man who will forgive the things I've done.
I have no doubt he'll never mention it again if I ask him not to, and I know he'll talk about it a million times if it's what I need from him. I have every intention of being the exact same for him.
When the shower is done, he gently dries my skin with a warm towel, even going so far as to urge me to sit on the closed lid of the toilet while he blow-dries my hair for me.
I feel cherished beyond compare when he gives me one of his t-shirts to sleep in before guiding me to his bed. He's following my cues, which means he doesn't hesitate to climb in beside me when I open my arms to him. He pulls me to his chest, arm wrapped around my back, and holds me like he was worried that he'd never see me again.
I cling to him just as tightly, tears of relief falling and wetting his chest.
We don't speak about any of it. We just let the silence swarm around us like a cocoon.
I feel like together, we could face the world and every struggle life plans to throw at us and come out the other side victorious, not that I want to be challenged for the sake of winning. I'd love an easy, laid-back life, and I know I want to spend it with this man.
My breathing slows, and sleep finds me easily, which is a surprise considering what I've gone through in the last thirty-six hours.