Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
The glow from the Scuba she’d go sprawling across the ice if she ran.
Derek pulled out his phone, much to her relief. He cocked his head as he gave her one of his annoying chuckles. “Stop playing with me, silly girl. You know what message. You just sent it half an hour ago. You told me where you were going and that you wanted to see me. That if I showed up, we could talk. Alone.”
Frankie’s stomach dropped.
She squared her shoulders and spoke loudly in case Waylon had picked up and was listening. “I didn’t send you a text, Derek . You’re delusional. I don’t want to talk to you. And if you don’t leave me alone in the scuba parking lot right now, I’ll?—”
“Is he here somewhere? Is he listening to you? Is that why you’re acting like this?” Derek’s voice had taken on a hysterical tone.
“No, I?—”
“Get your hand out of your pocket right now, Francesca. Give me your phone. He’s listening on it, isn’t he? He’s always listening to you. Controlling you.” There was a high gleam in Derek’s eyes that terrified her. Was he strung out on something?
“That’s not true.”
“No?” He laughed—high-pitched, unhinged. “He doesn’t want us to be together. He’s got his thug friends watching me around the clock. He’s hacked my phone, too. I’m sure he’s read our texts. He knows how much you want me and he’s not going to let you go. ”
Shit . Did Waylon’s friends hack Derek’s phone? Did Watchdog?
“You’re crazy. I don’t want you.” She took a step backward.
Derek put his hand out. “Give me your phone and it’ll be all right. We’ll get rid of it. I’ll take you where they won’t find us.”
Frankie tried to run.
Derek charged. He grabbed her wrist. Her gym bag hurtled between cars.
“Derek, let go of me!” Frankie twisted, trying to yank free, but his grip was iron. “Someone help me!” she shouted. She whipped her head in all directions but she and Derek were alone in the parking lot.
“Give me your phone. You don’t have to put on this act?—”
“ Help !”
Derek’s mouth twisted into a scowl as she kept shouting. “Why are you acting so cold? I’m a nice guy. I’ve only ever been nice to you, bitch. You owe me a conversation at the very least.” He pulled her with him as he started back around the car, which beeped as he unlocked it. Frankie hadn’t realized it was his—she’d only ever seen his sports car.
He drove it so I wouldn’t recognize him. So he could make a getaway. With me .
“You don’t want to fight me right now. Just get in the car, Francesca, and we’ll go somewhere safe.” he murmured. “God, I want you so much .”
She jerked hard, but her feet slipped. Derek pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arm around her, pinning her arms. In his other hand, something gleamed in the dim light.
A syringe.
“No!” She twisted and tried to knee him in the balls but she couldn’t get enough traction on the ice.
“It’s only a mild sedative, Francesca, just enough to make you relax so we can talk.” He kissed her forehead and she winced at the touch of his cold lips.
Headlights flooded the parking lot.
Derek stiffened.
Frankie sucked in a sharp breath as a Dodge Ram roared into the lot, tires screeching as it slid to a stop between the row of cars and the building.
“Waylon!”
He was out of the truck in an instant. His expression was pure fury.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” Waylon started toward them. Frankie watched his hands flex, saw the raw anger in his stride.
“She doesn’t want you. She wants me. Tell him, Francesca.” Derek’s grip on her tightened as he brought the syringe to her neck.
Frankie turned her head and bit his hand as hard as she could.
Derek shouted in pain and surprise. His grip loosened just enough for Frankie to slip down and out of his grasp. Her knees hit the pavement with a hard crack and she knew they’d hurt like hell later. For now she just needed to crawl away from Derek as fast as she could.
She registered another set of headlights lighting up the parking lot as Elias’s truck rolled in behind Waylon’s.
Frankie barely had time to process before Derek grabbed the hood of her coat and started pulling her back up as if she were a rag doll.
And then Waylon was there, towering over Derek. His fist connected with Derek’s jaw with a sickening crack. Derek let go of Frankie’s hood and stumbled back, dazed. Frankie rolled out of the way just as he snarled and charged. Waylon was ready. Using Derek’s own momentum against him, he caught the bastard and turned on the ice, slamming Derek into the hood of the car. His breath left his body in a whoosh.
“Goddamn it,” Waylon growled, twisting Derek’s arm behind his back. “You fucking touch her again?—”
Derek bucked, throwing his weight back. He broke free, staggering upright. “She wanted me to come,” he wheezed. “You think you can keep her from me, you and your friends? You’re the problem here?— ”
Waylon drove a fist into his gut.
Derek crumpled forward with a grunt, but he still didn’t go down.
Truck doors slammed behind them.
“Hey, Ram, you need a hand?” Elias shouted.
Still on the pavement, Frankie turned her head just in time to see Elias striding forward, eyes locked onto Derek like a lion scenting blood. Behind him, Frankie could make out Wren’s silhouette, phone pressed to her ear.
“My friend’s been attacked in the parking lot,” Wren shouted. “We need the police now .”
Elias grabbed Derek by the back of his coat. “Man, you just don’t take a hint, do you?” he growled. But Derek slipped free of his coat, a knife somehow in his hand. He charged Waylon.
“She’s mine ?—”
Waylon leaned back, dodging the knife, and deflected Derek’s arm with his forearm. He grabbed Derek’s wrist and hand with both of his hands and pivoted to the side. Waylon turned his whole body, taking Derek with him. Frankie heard bones snap, then Derek was on the ground, howling. Wild-eyed, Waylon knelt over him, still gripping Derek’s knife hand. Derek dropped the knife.
“My wrist,” he blubbered. “You broke my fucking wrist.”
“You touched my woman,” Waylon snarled. He spotted the knife and Frankie knew exactly what he was about to do.
“Waylon.”
He looked at her, eyes full of fire.
“Stop. He’s down. I’m safe. Stop.”
Waylon blinked the bloodlust away as the sound of sirens filled the air.
Derek’s face twisted in pain and disbelief. “No,” he rasped. “No, this isn’t how this was supposed to happen.”
Two squad cars tore into the lot, lights flashing. Four officers rushed out, hands on their weapons, scanning the scene. Elias waved them over .
“That’s him,” Elias said flatly, jerking his chin toward Derek. “Dr. Derek Sloane. There’s already a restraining order against him.”
Derek scrambled on the ice trying to get up but Waylon held him until the first cop was on him.
“Stay down,” he snapped, grabbing Derek and forcing him onto his stomach. “You, out of the way,” he addressed Waylon, who let go of Derek and stood. A second officer yanked Derek’s arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on while Derek bawled about his broken wrist.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the first officer started.
Derek, finally grasping the reality of the situation, stopped yelling and went very silent.
Waylon turned away. His focus zeroed in on Frankie.
She hadn’t moved, still kneeling on the cold pavement, her knees beginning to sting, arms wrapped around herself.
“Aw, Pix,” he murmured.
He reached her in two long strides and crouched beside her, gently touching her shoulder. The second she felt his warmth, she felt her whole body sag, like her adrenaline had finally run dry.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Waylon pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re safe, Pix,” Waylon said, and Frankie wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her, or if he was grounding himself in the fact that she was safe.
“I had my phone in my pocket,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “I think I called you when it started.”
Waylon exhaled. “You did and I heard you. Heard him. I couldn’t get here fast enough. I’m so, so sorry.”
Frankie snuggled into his neck. “Don’t apologize. You saved me. He’s crazy. He thinks I wanted him. He was going to take me somewhere.” She stopped as her voice hitched and she sobbed once.
“Frankie!” Wren dropped down beside her and put her arm around her. “Are you okay?” She looked up at Waylon. “We gotta get her inside. ”
Frankie reached out and clasped Wren’s hand. Waylon scooped her up and started walking toward the scuba center. The door was open and a small group stood watching them.
“I so was stupid. I wore stupid shoes. Stupid, stupid,” Frankie babbled.
“Pix, stop it right now,” Waylon commanded. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. He should have never been near you. I’m the idiot, I shouldn’t have trusted a restraining order. I shoulda been here.”
Still squeezing her hand, Wren shook her head. “You couldn’t have known. The only dumbass in this parking lot is Derek.” She looked over her shoulder, red and blue light flashing across her face.
They’d reached the door and the small crowd parted, letting them through. The owner of the scuba center directed them into his office. Waylon sat down in a leather office chair and cradled Frankie in his arms.
“Did he hurt you?” Waylon asked, cold steel in his voice.
Frankie shook her head. “No. The needle didn’t get me.”
“Needle?” Wren gasped. “Holy shit.”
“He said it was a ‘mild’ sedative. I bit him before he could jab me with it.”
“Oh my God, we should have you tested for rabies,” Wren said. “The guy is seriously messed up.”
Frankie’s knees started aching now that they were warm. Her pants were stained with grit and melted ice.
“I think my knees are bruised.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before Waylon stood, turned, and set her down in the chair. He dropped to his knees and started rucking up one leg of her pants.
“I should have looked you over immediately,” he growled to himself.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise.” But Waylon was determined to check for himself. Frankie looked over his head at Wren, who had a small smile on her face. She shrugged .
“They do this when you get hurt,” Wren told her, like she was talking about a misbehaving dog. “Just let him or he’ll drive you crazy for the rest of the night, asking how you are. Actually, he’ll do that no matter what.” She waved her hand. “Voice of experience here.”
Frankie smiled and bit her lower lip against sudden, totally inappropriate laughter.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Wren said. “It’s a great release. Almost as good as an orga?—”
“Don’t.” Waylon grumbled.
“What? I’m just telling her what you probably have in store for her later. Like I said, voice of exp?—”
“ Wren .”
She rolled her eyes at Waylon, and this time, Frankie couldn’t hold back her laughter.
Wren was right. Laughter was a good release, right along with the tears streaming down her cheeks, washing her fear away.
But nowhere near as good as any of the orgasms Waylon gave her later.