12. Freddy Kreuger
12
Freddy Kreuger
ALICE
Freddy Kreuger brought to life would have gotten less of a jump scare out of the reporters standing sentinel outside Hart House than Grey did. Shoulders sagging while my heart still hammered like a bass drum in my ears, I locked on to irate hazel eyes. He leisurely scanned from the meaty hand that had been wrapped around my wrist a moment before to the man he appeared to be preparing to murder, based solely on the unfiltered fury in his eyes. I’d seen his version of nuclear , and it was a terrifying silence that promised the swift destruction of entire family legacies.
This was so much worse.
And I’d never felt safer in my life.
Beside him, Ollie had his phone angled at us, and a shit-eating grin on his face that made me think of Axel. Like these three idiots just fucked around and were about to find out. The men faltered, scrambling to remember why they’d accosted me in the first place and lifted their cameras. The curl on Greyson’s lip had them staggering back a step. All but the first, who snapped a photo.
Greyson charged at him. It wasn’t like a bull or like the idiots in movies. No, these were slow, calculated steps, somehow made predatory, though his hands casually slipped into his pockets. There was an ease to his movements as he prowled toward us, his smile breaking free the moment the idiot stepped past the gate. Four members of his security team were hustling down the driveway.
“You know,” he drawled, smirking now that he had the man on his property. Smart . “I keep thinking the press can’t grow less intelligent, and yet, here you are, proving me wrong.”
Attempting to regain control of the situation, the first blurted, “Greyson, what do you have to say about the recent allegations you’re stealing from your shareholders?”
“It’s Mr. Hart to you. And you’re being arrested for trespassing on private property, harassment, and assault,” he announced as that wolfish smile grew.
The man scoffed. “You can’t arrest me.”
“Citizen’s arrests are a perfectly normal occurrence,” Greysonsaid dismissively before motioning to the four looming men approaching. “These gentlemen will keep you company until the police show up. I assure you, they’re well on their way.”
“That wasn’t assault,” the man barked in disbelief. It was the first time Greyson’s gaze fell on me.
“Alice, darling, did this man touch you without consent?” Swallowing, I nodded. He didn’t change his tone as he asked, “Did you feel that this man was attempting to coerce or intimidate you by laying hands on you?”
“Yes,” I breathed. My hand absently rubbed the tension from my chest as I caught my breath. Pressure was building in my head like a thunderstorm brewing on the horizon. Greyson’s jaw visibly clenched as his gaze went razor sharp, turning to the man in question.
“This is bullshit,” the guy barked. It was about then that I noticed the police cruiser pulling up, which meant security had likely called them before Greyson even arrived.
“And did you, or did you not tell him to stop and leave you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Victory curved his mouth as he turned back to the man now frantically surveying the trap he’d unwittingly set for himself. “You’ll be grateful the police handle this their way.” With a curl of his fingers, security came down to surround the man who’d grabbed me. For a moment, I thought he might swing, but then he thought better of it—whether it was the size of Greyson’s guys or Oliver still poised with a camera, I wasn’t sure. Greyson’s livid scowl turned on the other two. “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you a heads up. This gate,” he pointed up to the beautiful Hart House entryway, “is protected by copyright. If your stalker photographs of my wife include her running by it, you’ll be sued for copyright infringement. If I were you, I’d turn over those memory cards.”
“You can’t be serious,” idiot number two blurted.
Greyshrugged as if it made no difference. “Find out for yourselves. But neither you nor your employers have a better attorney than my architect.” The gleam in his eyes told me he would be funding said attorney. He’d enjoy it, too. When he held out his hand, idiot three rushed to surrender his SD card. With a sigh, the second followed suit. “Good boys. I suggest you get off my property, but I am sending you a message for your posse of imbeciles. My wife is off-limits. Touch her again, and you won’t be pleased with the results. Understand?”
I thought they got the memo based on the speed with which they backed off the driveway. With security dealing with police and the paparazzi running off with their tails between their legs, his attention turned to me. Greyson closed the gap in an instant, crushing me against him. Shock rendered me momentarily immobile, but in the next instant, I was hugging him back.
“I’m sorry, beautiful,” he murmured against my hair. “So sorry.”
“I’m okay,” I assured, though I wasn’t sure if it was more for him or me.
He pulled me back, refusing to let go as he looked me over before lifting my hand to examine my wrist. “Are you?” He asked, a livid tremor in his tone. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Bewildered by his concern, I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.” A quick internal inventory told me all was well. “Just…startled me. They haven’t been that aggressive with me.”
“You weren’t mine before.”
“No,” I agreed, swallowing hard. Hearing that possessive edge to his voice solicited an unwelcome rush of warmth through my body. Memories of that beachside kiss assaulted my brain as my eyes traced his parted mouth. “I wasn’t.”
“What were you doing out alone?” he asked, snapping me back into the moment.
“Clearing my head,” I supplied, nowirritated. Not even Greyson Hart would be telling me I couldn’t go out alone.
“I can’t protect you if you’re off the property,” he murmured breathlessly, hands raising to cradle my face, momentarily disarming me. “Not if you run off alone. The city isn’t safe for you, baby. Never really was, but especially not now.”
“Mr. Hart, a word?” With a shaved head and a day’s worth of scruff, an officer about Grey's height dipped his chin as he approached us. Looking more concerned than accusatory—which was a relief, to say the least—he glanced between us, giving me an apologetic grimace. “Are you okay, Mrs. Hart?”
Nodding shakily, I allowed Greyson to guide me over to the man as he plucked a pen from his front pocket.
It was only once we’d given our statements and Greyson waved off the police cruisers that we finally headed inside. A wall of fatigue hit me as the unexpected adrenaline crash knocked the strength from my limbs. Swaying a bit as I steadied myself, I caught Greyson’s concerned hazels.
“You okay?” he asked, tone still gentler than usual.
“Yeah, I think I’m just…tired. My body overreacted, and the adrenaline is wearing off now.”
“Your body getting ready to get you out of a bad situation isn’t an overreaction,” Ollie pointed out as he kicked his shoes off in the entryway. “I’ll go make us some tea. What do you like?”
“That’s awfully thoughtful of you. Thanks, Ollie.”
“Yeah,” Grey said, not sounding very thankful at all. “Thanks, asshole,” he grumbled, making me laugh even as my head spun. His brother’s grin made me make a mental note to keep Axel far away from him—the two of them would only get into trouble. But…something was wrong. A familiar disconnect between my mind and body had me chewing my lip.
Blowing out a breath, I kicked off my shoes, not flinching away when Greyson reached out a hand to steady me. The concern in his eyes had me bristling as I straightened, pulling in a long breath.
My body had always been prone to flooding more anxiety into my bloodstream than was strictly warranted. As a teenager, I’d been convinced someone was breaking into the house while the guys were playing football, and I was home alone, and before Max and El got to me across our tiny town, I’d already broken out in hives.
Fear seemed to elicit weird symptoms—like I internalized the stress, which is why the familiar, slow-moving, glittering spots filling my vision had me cursing under my breath.
“Alice?” Expensive-looking checkered socks stepped into my vision, and I realized I was staring at the wide plank floors, attempting to blink away the floating shimmer in my eye. Instead of vanishing, the little spots grew like tiny worms or some kind of ameba, as they inched across my vision. When he spoke this time, Greyson’s tone had turned urgent. “ Alice ?”
“I, um—” There was a chasm between my brain and my mouth, making words suddenly impossible to form, the glimmer bacteria burning into my vision as an ache pressed against the back of my eyes. “Not today,” I whimpered, swearing as I jammed my eyes closed. It was the heat of his broad palms stroking up and down my arms that had me peeling my eyes open, reluctantly attempting to focus as more of my vision was gobbled up by the aggressive migraine rapidly consuming my world.
“What, Alice? Talk to me.”
“Do you…um…do you have coffee?” Each thought was more fragmented than the last, and I felt myself cling to his forearms like my life depended on it. I heard him snap his fingers and the shuffle of feet while I just tried to will away the blind spots blocking his face from view. I needed to get to the bathroom and quickly. Episodes that hit this hard and fast almost always came with a visit to the porcelain throne.
“Can you get her some coffee, please? Black and hot. She likes it just shy of scalding.”
“And…um,” I closed my eyes, willing my brain to function, “Ibuprofen or Excedrin or something?”
“I uh—I’m sure there’s something— did he hurt you? ” He hoisted my hand to eye level, and through my kaleidoscope of brain fuckery, it looked like he was examining my wrist. If the strobes would stop flashing at me, I could see if he was as terrified as I thought he looked. “Ollie, call Doctor Eastman.”
“No, Grey,” I protested, squeezing my deathtrap on his forearm tighter as his face came in and out of focus through what was now about half my vision. Not for the first time, I wondered if this was what going on a bad trip was like. “I’m okay, I just…I get migraines with aura.”
“ What ?”
Oh god, was that panic in his voice?
“I’m losing my vision,” I explained, trying to isolate the pain in my head and not allow it into my voice. “The faster I get down a strong painkiller, the easier this will be, okay? If I don’t get them down quickly, I can be out of commission for a day or so, and I’m more likely to vomit. If any of the staff happen to have a cold cap in their car or rooms, those are…amazing.” It was getting physically hard to speak, the pain was so searing.
“Jesus, okay. What else can I do? God, I should have killed that motherfucker,” he growled, pulling me against his chest and cradling my head into the cranny of his neck. Something between a giggle and a whimper escaped me.
He was… soothing . The ache suddenly slamming against my skull had to compete with his palm wrapped around my face like he could shield me there. I focused on the subtle stroke of what I assumed was his thumb over my cheekbone as fast footsteps approached from the direction of the kitchen.
“Preston,” Grey’s voice rumbled against my ear, “bring every painkiller we’ve got to my room so she can tell me what’s best.”
“You got it, sir; I’ll head right up with water,” a male voice said. Preston ? Had I met a Preston? Feeling entirely separated from my body, I wrapped my arms around his tight waist, turning into his torso and bowing against him. Dear God, the man’s body was solid. Reassuring.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed. For some damn reason, those three words had tears welling in my eyes as searing pain slammed against them again to the rhythm of a metronome. My heartbeat, I realized. “Can you walk?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize. I got you into this mess.”
I was too afraid to shake my head, instead asking, “Can you please guide me? I can see about half…uh—my upper left is still okay.” I held my hand up to the side where I still had a good chunk of sight. Fear rocked through my body, and I had to beat it back. I‘d had these since I hit puberty, and now was not the time to panic. Fuck that. I was better than that.
It didn’t matter that I was in Greyson’s house or that it was my boss soothing me with long strokes through my hair. Husband , my inner bitch corrected sardonically.
This wasn’t new, she reminded me.
But it never seemed to be less startling to suddenly be deprived of such a critical sense, especially as pain slammed against my eyes, around my cheekbone, jaw, and teeth.
“I’ve got you. Wrap your arms around my neck.”
“What—” my question was cut off as he scooped me into his arms, moving gently for his usually abrupt nature. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of my wife.”
“ Greyson .”
“ Alice .”
“Put me down.” Even as I said it, I leaned into him, tightening my hold and soaking up his mouthwatering scent.
“I will.”
“On the floor.”
His low chuckle warmed my bones. “Nice try, Mrs. Hart.” Someone rushed past us, and I heard a foot hit the bedroom door a breath before he was gingerly placing me on a plush comforter. “Hang on, I’ve got you,” he repeated, and I felt him rearrange the linens as I soaked up the darkness, pain easing when the light of the hallway no longer assaulted me. But it would get worse before it got better. So, so much worse.
A moment later, half of Greyson’s face was in my view, and he was trailing warm fingers down my arm to cup my hand, bringing it up to place pills in my palm. “Here, water,” he urged, pressing a cold glass into my other hand.
As I tried to adjust past the flashing lights to see the cup, his hand guided the other up to my lips. I popped the pills in my mouth—three, if my thumb was correct—and knocked them back with the water.
Mission accomplished, I eased down onto the luxurious feeling mattress and melted into the safety of something solid beneath me and the surrounding darkness. Closing my eyes, I cursed the strobes but tried to remember the breathing techniques I’d learned over time.
“You get them a lot?” he asked softly, concern thick in his voice.
“Not so much anymore. Mostly when I’m stressed.”
“Those days Leighton called in sick for you?”
“I thought she talked to Paul,” I whispered, the sound of my own voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“There are very few things Paul doesn’t tell me.” He ran a soothing hand across my forehead, and I leaned into the touch. “Now, relax, baby. You’re safe.” I nodded against his skin, unwilling to admit my grief when his touch vanished. Something about pain this acute robbed me of my logic, leaving in its place the most intense terror of being abandoned.
Being trapped in a body that spontaneously renders you helpless is a special kind of hell.
Eyes closed, still trying to unclench my jaw, my ears strained at the rustle of fabric. Stiff fabric, by the sounds of it. There was a soft thud and muffled footsteps and then the mattress dipped before those warm fingers returned to draw a sigh of relief from my lips.
More soft footsteps proceeded a less graceful landing on the bed, and I smiled when Greyson said, “She’s alright, Cap.” There was the undeniable whine of his Shepard a beat before his heavy weight landed on my legs. My fingers found fur and then the cold wetness of his snout.
“You’re both ridiculous,” I giggled weakly. “Thank you.”
“Harts take care of their own,” Greyson supplied simply. The soft kiss against my forehead had to be imagined. But he was stroking soothing lines across my face. “You confirmed that today.”
“What?” I whimpered.
He huffed a soft laugh before saying, “You were a Hart in true form today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something as sexy as you telling those reporters to get off our property.”
I nearly choked on my laugh, wincing as the pressure of it slammed into my forehead. “You’re hilarious.”
“I mean it. You’d think you grew up dispersing those assholes. You wielded our name like a blade.”
“Even a dog fights back when provoked.” Some distant part of my mind registered his use of our name.
“Well, your fight was sexy as fuck. I’m so sorry it cost you.” When his claim pushed me to argue, but the pain sent me wincing instead, he demanded, “ Rest , Alice. Preston’s bringing up coffee any minute.” I nodded softly and let his reassuring touch lull me toward the promise of sleep.
Sleep buried the pain. Sleep was the only safe space. But his soft voice caressed my senses, keeping me on this side of consciousness because his next words hung heavy, like a confession. “This is agonizing, Alice.” Somehow, I believed him and could hear pain in that familiar timbre. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Hmm,” I murmured, working to find my voice as that pound, pound, pounding assaulted my head, my eyes, my ears, and my spine. “Why didn’t you ask?”
I woke up to the dull throb of lingering migraine, relieved to find my vision restored when I opened my eyes, though they loathed the slice of light from the ensuite bathroom, like a blade directly across my brain.
Greyson’s room was at least twice the size of the guest suite he’d designated for me. The curtains were still closed, a glimmer of light cutting through.
Still in my workout clothes, I stretched, inventorying the tension in my head and neck and feeling lucky it hadn’t been a bad one. Puking once in front of Greyson Hart was one too many times, thank you very much.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Leighton’s groggy voice warbled into existence as she sat up beside me, rubbing her eyes in the gloom. “You okay?”
“What’re you doing here?” I croaked, trying not to make any sudden movements as I came to.
“Grey called, silly. Told me what happened with the paparazzi bastards and that you went into an episode after.”
“What time is it?” I asked, entirely disoriented with the sunlight still coming through, though I felt like I was peeling myself from a comatose state.
“Slept through the night.”
Wincing, I slowly sat up, rubbing at my aching face and hoping I didn’t give thanks too soon as my stomach flipped. Greyson called my sister—likely had her brought over—because I had a migraine?
I’ve got you.
Harts take care of their own.
I should have killed that motherfucker.
Damn, the man was on a roll of disarming sweetness. Evidently, a woman in crippling pain was Greyson’s weak spot.
“I’m not sure what you put in that man’s morning cereal, but he paced like a feral tiger all night.”
“What?” I stammered, thinking surely I misheard her.
“I don’t think he slept, sissy. Every time I woke up, he was checking on you, or pacing the end of the bed. You’d think you were laying on the brink of death in the ICU for how frantic he was.”
Barely blinking, I hadn’t wrapped my mind around what she’d said when a knock on the door announced Greyson as he stepped into the room. On a whoosh of breath, he said, “Alice.” Beelining to the bedside, he asked, “You alright?”
I glanced between him and Leighton. She nodded softly as if encouraging me to talk to him, before excusing herself to the bathroom.
“Thank you,” I breathed, my hand coming to settle over the cross on my clavicle. It was then that I spotted the furry, anxious Shepard slinking into the room behind his human and settling at his feet.
“For what?” he asked gruffly, tone still quiet.
“For taking care of me.”
Silence settled between us as he nodded, bending to rub Captain’s ears. “Dr. Eastman will be by this afternoon to check on you.”
“They’re just migraines, Grey. There’s not anything they can do.”
“There was nothing just about that, Alice. There’s nothing just about randomly losing your sight in crippling pain. She’s the best. If anyone can get you answers, Dr. Marnie Eastman will. You need to tell her everything when she gets here.”
Throat tight, I went to answer, but the words died on my tongue. He was…taking care of me in a very bossy, intrinsically Greyson way. “Thank you,” I breathed. He gave a curt nod, evidently satisfied that I’d cooperate if nothing else. He rose and then patted the bed to prompt his doggo to take his spot at my feet.
“Rest, my clever Belle. The beast will leave you be.”