Behind The Broken (Behind Darkness Duet #1)

1. Rhett

Rhett

W hen I thought of the last time I’d hold my fiancée’s hand, I imagined the diamond ring I’d adorned her finger with just hours ago would be clasped through mine, our skin aged and worn, not coated in the blood of our youth.

The countdown to the last time I’ll hold Sarah Carter is drowned out by the laughter and drinks of the best night of our lives. Two loves completely oblivious to our rapidly draining time together.

That’s how life is, I suppose. Unknown. Uncertain. And complete fucking hell.

“My mom is going to freak out!” Sarah gushes, hardly able to put her hand down from staring at her ring.

The relief I got it right for her lifts my heavy shoulders after six months of planning.

“My sister won’t be surprised—she’s been close to pushing you along herself.

Oh Rhett, it’s just perfect. You’re perfect. ”

Sarah stops walking, grips the folds of my coat, and pushes up on her tiptoes to kiss me. Fuck , I love this girl. It may have taken me some years to finally commit. I can’t be certain where the fear came from. It doesn’t matter now. She’ll be mine forever.

Her lips are soft but cold from the winter that dusts light snow around us. It’s her favorite season, and last Christmas I made a promise to myself that the next I’d ask her to marry me. So here we are, on Christmas Eve, and nothing about today could be more perfect.

Breaking apart, I tuck a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear before dusting the snowfall from her cheek. “Let’s go home and get warm,” I say, cupping her frozen face. “The best of our celebrations has yet to happen.”

I kiss her once, firmly. She gives a soft moan at the back of her throat that has me aching to be back at our small apartment in a quiet pocket of Philadelphia.

It’s nothing high-end or lavish. Sarah is just finishing medical school to become a doctor, and I’m about to start my second year of SWAT training to advance to FBI after another two years.

This path of fate became my only way out of a situation that would have turned me into everything I fight against now.

There’s one cloud of burden that will never leave me in our relationship, and perhaps that’s a lot of the reason I waited so long to propose.

There’s a side of my life Sarah can never know about.

My uncle, who I lived with until I turned sixteen, is the leader of a notorious crime syndicate across several states.

When I grew old enough to understand his “work” I was horrified, though I could do nothing.

It’s a helplessness I carry with me now, knowing he’s still out there, likely furious the heir to his empire escaped him and has remained out of his reach and network for eight years.

When I was young he’d use me to smuggle drugs on occasion.

I came to learn that was one of the tamest crimes he carried out. Reprehensible, unspeakable things.

I killed the name I was born with, and I didn’t mourn that boy. It was for him I became Rhett Kaiser, the man who would fight to stop the types of villainy my sick uncle endorsed.

“Are you sure we can’t take an Uber?” I murmur, wanting nothing more than to shed our thick clothing and feel her skin pressed to me instead.

She shakes her head, taking my hand again. “The night is beautiful. It’s only thirty minutes.” As Sarah admires the snow I can hardly stop myself from admiring her.

The night isn’t too chilly thanks to the buzz of alcohol coursing through both of us. The extra bottle of wine gifted for our engagement by the fancy hotel restaurant I booked went down quickly in the high of our excitement. It took many months of saving to get here, but this is worth it.

“Thirty minutes less I could be spending between those thighs,” I say, leaning down to her ear. Her body gives a delightful shiver.

“I’m sure you’ll find the time to make it up,” she says, batting long lashes up at me, and maybe I quicken our pace a little. “We can take the shorter way.” She beams, pulling me across the street toward a narrow alley.

My unease rises at the lack of streetlights and the darkness it will encase us in.

“I don’t mind the usual route,” I say warily.

“You’ve filled my head with other thoughts now, so I do.” She casts a wicked smirk over her shoulder, encouraging me along.

Well, I won’t argue against getting home sooner for that.

I grip her hand a little tighter down the eerie path.

Normally I’d flow with conversation, but I can’t explain the need to keep my senses on high alert.

As sharp as I can while the alcohol dulls them.

It’s too painfully quiet, and the regret that begins to tighten my gut will come to haunt me for the rest of my days.

I should have listened to my instinct. We’re borderline drunk. I have no gun. Not that I’m in the habit of carrying my police firearms around on a regular night, especially if we’re drinking, but my sudden urge to have one inspires a ringing in my ears.

“You’re going to cut off the circulation in my hand soon,” Sarah says with a giggle.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to relax my nerves.

There’s nothing around. No one. I’m taking my new fiancée home and we will most certainly not be getting much sleep tonight. Sarah Carter will be my wife someday.

Soon, I decide. Why wait when no tomorrow is promised?

No hour is granted . . .

No minute is gifted . . .

It takes less than one.

Less than one minute to walk straight from a dream into the scene of a waking nightmare.

They come out of nowhere. An ambush of too many hooded figures. All I can do is push Sarah behind me, but the barrier of protection my body gives is cut down in seconds.

Sarah’s cry pierces the night, driving a spear of icy terror through my chest.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” I yell.

A dark chuckle answers me, followed by a decent punch to wind me in the gut, then another across my face.

I tackle the guy in front of me, barely registering the pain of each punch I deliver to his face, losing count after four.

Someone tries to pull me off, but these thugs are amateurs.

Kneeling, I hook my arms around him from behind, throwing him over my shoulder before I stand and crack the heel of my shoe into his skull. It knocks him out.

“A pretty thing you have,” a man’s voice coos.

I spin with such fury in my bones to find Sarah pinned to the wall, whimpering softly and trying to shrink away from the finger he strokes along her wet cheeks. I see white. Lunging for him, the alcohol slows my senses. Why did they give us that bottle of wine? Why did I drink it? Why? Why? Why?

I’m so, so sorry.

I don’t reach her. She’s right there and I can’t fucking save her.

Three men drag me down, taking turns at kicking and punching, and the pain should be excruciating by now—bones are certainly broken—but my adrenaline is coursing so hot I can only focus on one thing.

Her.

“Please,” I beg, holding my hands up in pathetic surrender.

If I were sober ... if I had my gun ... I would have killed them all by now. I know no fucking morals in this moment.

My vision comes back around as I roll onto my knees, coughing and spitting, the coppery tang filling my mouth.

“Rhett,” Sarah cries softly.

My chest is about to explode. I can hardly look up with how badly I failed her. But we’re going to make it out of this, and I will spend my life making it up to her.

“We’re going home, baby,” I promise.

“You shouldn’t lie,” the same man taunts, stepping away from Sarah to stalk in his arrogance toward me.

I begin to commit every detail of him to memory. Dark, rugged hair, brown eyes, then a scar that’s an easy identifier across his left cheek, above light shadow a few days overdue a clean shave.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I snarl.

I don’t care what it takes. I will end them all if it means getting my fiancée out of here.

“No, I don’t think you will,” the man sings. Two others hold me down as this one approaches, punching me with better force than the others. “It’s too bad I won’t get to kill you ... yet. We’re to deliver a worse punishment for your desertion.”

“Please stop hurting him,” Sarah sobs. I’ve never heard her so terrified, and it’s all my fault.

“It’s okay, Sarah.” I try to console her, but they’re weak, miserable words.

My blood runs cold when the crook’s words finally register. He can’t mean what I think he does. Yet as I manage to straighten despite the pain throbbing across my face and pounding in my head, the slow, sinful smile he wears only drags me into a waking hell.

“Did you really think you could escape him, Everett Lanshall?”

I can’t believe it. After all this time I allowed myself to think I’d really done it—that my uncle couldn’t find me and had given up out of boredom.

I’m useless to him. But I should have known that isn’t what matters to him—not really.

Even after eight years he won’t let go of someone who made a mockery of him by escaping.

“What do you want?” I ask, close to begging now it’s all I have. “Whatever he’s offered you, I can do more.”

The man chuckles. So fast that all I register is the click of the safety, a gun is pointed at my head and Sarah’s cries turn frantic.

“Please!” she wails.

That sound will haunt me in the depths of the hell I’m about to meet.

“Just let her go. I’ll come with you,” I plead in defeat. That’s all that matters. Not my life, nor their plan to drag me back to my uncle for torture.

“That wasn’t my instruction,” he says with no remorse.

Something about the sinister amusement that comes over him freezes every nerve cell in my body.

It happens too suddenly.

The end of my fucking world echoes in the blast of a bullet.

My eyes fall to his aim ... to Sarah. Her wide blue eyes swim in an ocean of agony, locked on me. Her hands clutch her abdomen and crimson begins to flood her pale skin. A roar tears from my throat as I pull free from those restraining me. I scramble to Sarah’s side in time to catch her fall.

Panic seizes me. “You’re okay, baby,” I say, but it’s a lie. A dark fucking lie, and the blood that pours too fast doubles my vision.

“Rhett,” she says through tight, wheezing gasps. “I-I’m scared.”

“Shh, I’m right here. Right fucking here. Stay awake for me, Sarah.”

Her eyes flutter, fighting the pull under.

This can’t be happening. No no no, this isn’t the end, when minutes ago it only felt like the beginning.

Dipping into my pocket, I dial two numbers before the cell is ripped out of my hand and thrown against the wall. Rage shakes my whole damn body.

I’m seconds from lunging for the bastard’s throat when Sarah’s grip tightens on the arms I’m cradling around her.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispers. So weak.

“I won’t,” I promise quietly, cupping her cheek and blinking back the flood in my eyes at the ghostly fear flashing over her beautiful face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sarah’s eyes fall closed, and if hearts can cleave, mine cleaves so tangibly, the pain ripped free in a cry I barely hear. Her hold slackens on me completely, and I rock her as if this is all some sick, twisted nightmare.

“Don’t sleep, baby,” I plead. Hollow words that will never be heard. No one is coming. This is all my fault.

My breathing calms with deep gulps of her scent.

Then the next thing to detonate is my fury.

One second I’m holding Sarah’s lifeless form; the next my hands are wrapped around the throat of the nearest man.

Tighter and tighter, until my patience snaps along with his neck, to get him out of my way.

The next man pulls out a gun, but I’m so far removed from any fear—anything of humanity at all—that I grip the barrel as he pulls the trigger, bending his arm back, and the bullet flies skyward as his bone breaks.

I pull him to me, using my finger over his to fire the next bullet, which hits the last man, and all that is left is their leader.

I use the man in my arms as a shield to advance. He takes three bullets before I toss him aside, close enough to grab the gun aimed at me and push my final mark with feral force into the wall.

“Holy shit, dude. I’m sorry, I’m just the messenger. I-I can help you find him—j-join you!”

There is not a damn chance in this hell I would trust him.

“You’re on borrowed time, as I need you to do what you do best and deliver a fucking message,” I say, not recognizing the person who spoke with such sin and promise.

Ripping the gun from him, I strike it across his temple, and he cries like a child, crumpling to the ground.

I kick him. Again and again. A note of me is sickened by what I’m capable of, but I had everything taken from me this night and my vengeance knows nothing but violence.

I can’t stop. Not until he’s lying in a bloodied heap, barely able to breathe through the blood he chokes on.

I commit his voice to memory. His face. I will find him again and his death won’t be quick, certainly not painless.

“Tell Alistair Lanshall,” I seethe, dipping each word in a promise that will see us both burn in the flames my uncle ignited, “when I come for him, he’ll get the monster he wanted to create.”

The man crawls on all fours before clawing at the wall to stand.

Now my adrenaline turns cold. I plummet to frozen before I become numb. Turning around, I focus only on Sarah’s face—so peaceful and beautiful and perfect. A face that deserved so many more years than what she got. An innocent whose only mistake was falling for me.

I take her in my arms, not really feeling the air or the gravity or my broken bones, carrying her in a shuffle that begins to ache until stabbing pain from my injuries takes over my whole body.

I keep going. Walking. Shuffling. Slowing.

Until the streetlights glow again, and with the light, reality crashes my knees to the icy ground.

I might call for help through my cries, hoping someone will hear me and maybe, by some miracle, it isn’t too late.

It’s taken losing everything to turn my soul black. And it will take becoming everything I’ve tried to deny I am ... to seek my revenge.