NINETEEN
I ’m completely frozen.
My mind is racing, a million thoughts rushing through my head. I don’t have enough time to process everything and actually allow the situation to sink in. My heart threatens to burst out of my chest.
With shaky hands, I fix my dress, the reminder of what I just did leaking down my thighs. Embarrassment and shame wash over me like a wave, and all I want is for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
I stare at Hudson, disbelief on my face. His poker face is usually too good to be broken. However, as his piercing eyes meet mine, I see that Dylan’s words are true.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been worried sick, constantly calling and looking for Dylan. Hudson, this motherfucker, offered to help me find him.
A flashback speeds behind my eyes.
The noise I heard from Hudson’s basement was most likely Dylan.
I’m staring at him, waiting for an explanation, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Hudson snaps his eyes toward Dylan with a scowl on his face. He’s ready to kill him, and I can’t let that happen.
“Where the fuck is Lyla?”
My mind goes blank, and I’m trying my best to hold back the sudden burst of anger that boils in my veins.
“Oh, the girl outside? She was kindly escorted toward the exit. Rest assured, she’s unharmed.”
“Escorted?” Hudson repeats, hands fisted at his sides.
Dylan raises a brow. “There might’ve been a gun involved.”
That’s all it takes for Hudson to sprint toward Dylan. In an instant, he has him pinned against the wall with a gun pressed into his temple. Dylan doesn’t seem scared or nervous. If anything, he’s been waiting for this to happen.
Something isn’t adding up here.
Dylan isn’t this type of person. Given that his profession isn’t entirely legal, he’s no stranger to guns and gore, but he’s never been directly involved. He saw me getting shot once and passed out at the sight of blood.
That same man is staring at Hudson with a taunting grin? It’s not right. Either Dylan is putting on one hell of an act right now, or I never knew him in the first place. And I don’t know which one is worse.
“You aimed your gun at a De Santis?” Hudson snarls, his shoulders tense. I’m forced to take a step back because I know just how dangerous he is right now. I didn’t even think of the possibility of the girl being related to Hudson.
Involuntarily, a sigh of relief slips past my lips.
“That’s a death sentence waiting to happen,” Hudson continues. “I didn’t think a lowlife like yourself had the balls to pull off such a trick.”
Dylan merely grins. “Oh, come on. She’s alive, isn’t she? The same can’t be said for Noelle’s aunt, though.”
That’s when Dylan’s eyes dart to mine, and the man I’ve been engaged to resurfaces. His eyes soften, and he continues to observe me for a moment.
“Noelle.” His voice matches his face. “Can you tell your partner in crime to put down the gun?”
It takes me a moment longer to register his words. I rush toward them, trying to pry Hudson off Dylan. I can barely ignore the fire that ignites in my chest when I touch Hudson’s shoulder. He manages to relax under my fingertips, though his grip on Dylan remains just as firm.
“Hudson,” I warn. “He’ll be a Campbell soon, and, for the time being, you can’t kill him.”
Hudson chuckles. “He’s not one of you yet. And he’ll never get to be one.”
I’m more than capable of reading between the lines, yet I can’t move. My eyes glance outside, where four bodyguards are located. Each has a weapon, though they’re not aiming them at Hudson.
They’re looking for a signal from Dylan. It means Hudson will be severely wounded, and that’s the best-case scenario.
I squeeze myself in between the two men and stare at Hudson. I don’t speak for a moment and let my stance do all the talking. And right now, it speaks volumes. Neither of us is ready to back down, but it seems as though he’s finally understanding the position he’s in.
“Hudson.” My voice resembles a plea. “Lower your gun. I’ll handle this.”
He’s taken aback. He thought I wouldn’t care much about Dylan, and I see hurt flash behind his eyes. Dylan uses the moment of weakness between Hudson and me, grabs my wrist, and yanks me out of the restroom.
I’m so shocked by his actions that I silently follow him like a puppy.
He takes me toward the backdoor, and I’m hit with the cold, harsh wind. My skin crawls at the cold weather, and I start shaking. The further away from the venue we are, the rougher Dylan’s grip on me is and the quicker his movements are.
“Dylan,” I call out. “Slow down.”
He doesn’t hear me, and I don’t think my words even reached him. I catch a glimpse of his car and see him pull out his keys, unlocking the doors.
I snatch my hand back, holding my wrist with my free hand. My movements come to a stop, and Dylan turns around to look at me. I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but it doesn’t feel pleasant.
“Dylan.” I swallow. “Are you okay?”
“Would you be okay if you were in my shoes and had witnessed that?”
I wince.
“Listen.” I take a step forward. “You and I had an agreement. After the wedding, this won’t be happening again.”
It all happened too quickly.
I didn’t have the time to understand what I did a moment ago with the man I’m sworn to hate until the day I die. Anger builds inside of me, and it’s no one’s fault but my own. Taking it out on Dylan won’t change anything.
It won’t change the fact that I allowed Hudson De Santis to fuck me in the restroom of a pretty venue with both of our families a wall away from us.
Dylan takes a deep breath.
“That agreement didn’t include Hudson De Santis.”
“It didn’t exclude him, either.”
Dylan takes in a deep breath and closes the gap between us. Softly, he strokes my cheek and tries to wipe away the mascara from underneath my eyes with his thumb.
“I’m not the one to ever question you, Noah.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But he will hurt you. He isn’t one of your casual flings. He’s someone who wants you dead. And you should want him dead, too.”
“I do. What you saw was nothing but a monumental mistake. It won’t happen again.”
Something twitches in my stomach as the words leave my mouth. A part of me truly wants to run away and not have to face Hudson after what happened, whereas the other part is yearning for it to happen again.
How did it all start?
When did it all start?
When did the hatred that filled my mind, body, and soul become something much deeper than that? Something that I never should even think of.
“Does he know that?”
I tilt my head to the side. “It’s irrelevant. Now, open the door. You and I need to talk.”
Dylan shakes his head. “We’ll talk at your place. I have something to show you, too.”
I’m questioning him, but he doesn’t respond. It takes us thirty minutes to reach my home, and it’s the longest thirty minutes of my life. The air around us is tense and no matter how much I try to pry into what the fuck just happened, he’s not responding.
I’m overwhelmed, and I’m ashamed for all the wrong reasons.
Instead of feeling disgust and pure revolt, I’m more embarrassed that I was caught. Caught with the man who makes my blood boil. The man who I’d love nothing more than to see dead with a bullet between his eyes.
And I’m afraid that Dylan sees that, too.
He barely glances at me as we walk toward my door. He uses his key and unlocks it, stepping inside and turning the lights on. There’s a little note for me; it was probably slid beneath the door while I was away.
Dylan bends to pick it up, but I’m quicker.
If it’s Lucas, then things are going terribly wrong, and it’s for my eyes only. Dylan raises a brow, silently questioning me, but I only fold the piece of paper in my hands and squeeze it tightly.
Dylan loosens his tie and takes off his jacket, throwing it to the couch. He slumps, and his hands immediately start shaking. His eyes widen, lip trembling as he stares at me.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” he says through a choked whisper. “I just provoked Hudson De Santis. Oh my god.” He buries his hands in his face.
“Your act was top notch, though.”
He immediately looks up, terror on his face. “Is this a joke to you? He’ll kill me.”
“He wouldn’t kill you for provoking him, but for pointing a gun at his cousin? Yes, definitely.”
“But, but—” He stammers for a moment. “She’s unharmed.”
“Harming her would’ve gone in your favor in this scenario. Otherwise, it looks like you’re trying to say you have the power to scare a De Santis. They don’t take threats lightly.”
I walk over to him and take a seat. He’s still shaking, so I rub his shoulder, trying to soothe the paranoia. I’m not sure what Hudson will do next. If it’s killing Dylan, there’s nothing I can do. It’s justified, and I’m not currently in a position to pick Dylan over Hudson.
“Dylan,” I say, softening my voice. “What happened? Tell me everything, and don’t miss a thing.”
He takes a deep breath, stands up, and walks toward the kitchen. I hear my cabinets open, then close. After a minute, Dylan returns with two glasses of whiskey.
“I had a meeting with a business associate.” He laughs a bit. “One thing led to another, and we grabbed a drink together afterward in the bar close to the company. I had one too many, and, well, I was barely able to walk on my own. I was on my way to my car, and I just felt something hit my head. I lost consciousness and woke up in that motherfucker’s basement.”
I take a deep breath. “What did he do to you?”
“At first, it was just… some stupid questions that I didn’t even understand. He didn’t like that, so he’d starve me and try to pry information out of me.”
Blood freezes in my veins.
That’s too far, even for Hudson.
The anger slowly starts to resurface, wiping away any improper thoughts of Hudson. I swallow and bite my tongue from saying something I’d regret later on. My eyes are glued on Dylan, and I’m trying my best not to go back to the venue and strangle the shit out of him.
“What kind of information?”
Dylan gulps down the whiskey and closes his eyes.
“About you.” It’s barely above a whisper, but I can hear it perfectly. “He wanted to know every detail about you. Your hobbies and… your weakness.”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t have any weaknesses.”
The only weakness I do have is my little sister, Jane. But she’s far from my reach, let alone Hudson’s. Besides, I doubt he’d go through all the trouble of flying to Russia and trying to insert himself into the Bratva to kill a teenage girl. He’d be dead before he even reached the gate of Bogdan’s castle.
“I know.” Dylan sighs and rests his head on my shoulder while I sip on the alcohol. “But he just… wouldn’t stop asking questions. And then…”
“Then, what?”
Slowly, he stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He turns his back to me and, with shaky hands, removes his clothes.
A loud gasp slips past my lips, and the glass slips from my hands. It shatters on the hard, wooden floor, my feet covered with small pieces of glass and whiskey.
“I’ve been in there for weeks. And this is the result of my silence. For each time I didn’t want to say anything. I managed to escape three days ago. That’s why I couldn’t see you immediately.”
Dylan’s entire back is covered in whip marks. His skin is scarred in lines, deeply cutting his flesh. There’s not a little space left; all of it is covered in deep, red, painful-looking blemishes.
All I can see is red.
My lips tighten, my nostrils flaring as I stare at Dylan’s back. My eyes widen, and I’m on the brink of tears.
Slowly, I rise to my feet and walk over to him. Carefully, I trace my fingertip along his wounds and hear him hiss in pain.
Regret settles in, and a tear slides down my cheek.
I don’t love this man, but he’s my friend. He didn’t deserve this, and he definitely shouldn’t be caught in between Hudson and me. My heart is weighing heavily in my chest, nearly snapping into pieces.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. This is all my fault.”
He turns around and wraps his arms around me, holding my head closely to his chest and softly stroking my hair. I’m careful not to touch his wounds more, so I just hold his forearms, clinging onto him.
“It’s not your fault, Noelle. It’s mine for not being stronger.”
“Don’t say that,” I say through tears. “Don’t ever say that.”
Dylan is trying to console me, yet he’s the one in pain. I’m too numb, too speechless to comprehend the situation for what it truly is.
And it’s not until I have four people escort Dylan safely to his home that I frown and think about our whole conversation. I’m picking up the glass shards and looking into space, replaying the interaction on repeat.
He’s been locked up in Hudson’s basement for weeks. If he’s been interrogated frequently over the course of a few weeks and hasn’t said a word, which resulted in him getting whipped, then why did his wounds look like that?
Blood drains from my face, and a small shard of glass cuts my thumb. I don’t feel the pain and don’t realize it’s stuck under my skin until I see it bleed.
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks and I’m not sure who to call, what to say, or how to act. What am I supposed to do now?
All of Dylan’s wounds are fresh. They are all five days old at most.
There are two potential answers.
Dylan was so traumatized from the weeks he spent in hell that he didn’t provide me a clear answer—or maybe he was too anxious to tell me, knowing that at the moment, I can’t kill Hudson.
Or none of that happened in the first place, and all of the wounds were self-inflicted after he escaped the basement.
My skin crawls at the thought, and I already have a gut feeling which one is true.