Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Sage
Nova knows nothing about my relationships with men or friendships.
She hasn’t been aware of the world around her for so long.
However, she is right about one thing. Barrett is the first man I’ve ever relied on for anything.
I didn’t even rely on past boyfriends for orgasms. But I had relationships that lasted several months or more.
I’ve even invited them home to introduce them to my family, Nova included.
But Barrett? I rely on him. I let him drive, control my job, and control my body and my emotions. To allow my mind some true freedom, I need him to control my desire. And my love for him.
That last I haven’t admitted. I’m unsure if I can even admit it to myself. The thought is fleeting and fast across my mind, like a dry leaf pushed away in a harsh wind. It doesn’t have anything to grasp onto. Not yet. That would be giving Barrett too much of myself.
Barrett parks in my driveway next to my car. I pause next to it on the way to the door. I wonder if he’ll let me bring it. It looks out of place with all other driveways empty while the neighborhood is off to work for the day.
A rough hand lands on my shoulder and I feel his lips press against my temple, but no words or promises escape. I guess we really are stuck in this limbo until the job is done.
I pull my keys from my purse and unlock my door, curling my nose at the stale, lifeless scent.
But it doesn’t have the same comfort I’ve found in Barrett’s home.
Now isn’t the time to evaluate that thought.
I need to pack a few more things and get out of here.
Maybe a few creature comfort items this time rather than only clothes.
My favourite fuzzy pajama bottoms and my tablet.
And my pink, plaid blanket. I’ll refrain from bringing the slippers under my bed.
Barrett waits while I climb the stairs to my bedroom. I start setting things out on my bed before going to my closet for my other suitcase.
The hairs of the back of my neck stand up and the sensation sends a tingle down my spine. At the same moment, Barrett calls from downstairs.
“Sage!” It isn’t the man or the Daddy that’s calling up to me. It’s the assassin’s voice I rarely hear.
My closet door bursts open, slamming against the painting on the wall behind it, knocking the canvas to the ground.
I barely have time to turn toward the figure when he reaches out, grabbing my wrist. With a harsh pull, he has his arms wrapped around me, but I’m not making it easy on him.
He can’t get a tight hold with the way I’m squirming, but I don’t know what to do, realizing too late that I’ve wriggled down so his arm cinches around my neck, cutting off my air.
He spins us toward the door and my vision is filled with Barrett. Large with visible anger pouring off him. This isn’t only the assassin.
“Release her and I’ll grant a quick death.”
“Not a chance. I’ll die if I don’t bring her in.”
“Seems your fate is sealed no matter what you do.” Barrett steps into the room.
I’m gasping, desperate for the thin tendrils of air slipping into my lungs, but I won’t let this happen.
Even with Barrett here, I’m terrified. I start kicking, aiming backward for his shins.
He grunts, but then moves out of reach of my next kick.
I dig my nails into his arm, trying to pierce through the fabric of his shirt. I need air.
Barrett stalks closer. “What’s your plan?” He smirks, but his confidence fades quickly as I hear the click of a gun to my left.
“I still have control of my fate.” There’s a sneer in the cocky words brushing past my ear.
But Barrett is fast, charging into our space and pressing his body against mine, sandwiching me between them. My face is squished as the two struggle around me, but it only takes seconds for the assailant to loosen his hold.
“Drop, Sage.”
I instantly obey at the familiar deep command, falling from under the attacker’s arm and inching my way out from between both their legs. Barrett has his arm hooked around the man’s arm holding the gun, squeezing and pulling up so he’s cocked at the shoulder.
I scramble backward, unable to look away from the fight. Barrett has the upper hand, and clearly more skill. The assailant has panic in his eyes. He’s going to die and he knows it, but apparently not without a fight.
His other hand reaches behind him. I can’t find my voice to warn Barrett when I see a flash of metal. My throat feels as if there is something lodged in the centre. Lunging forward, I croak, “Barrett!”
He doesn’t shift his attention. I don’t know if he heard me or if his ears are ringing with adrenaline like mine are.
The assailant has a perfect angle to sink the knife deep into Barrett’s side. No. I can’t watch that happen. I can’t be …
I react without finishing my thought, not giving those words any life. It’s one thing to think about being without him because I leave him, but it’s another entirely to be without him because he’s gone.
Pushing up from the floor, I swing my arm up.
I’m no match against him, but if I can affect his aim or his reach, it’s worth a try.
Grabbing his wrist, I get his attention.
And Barrett’s. The assailant sneers, ripping his hand from my hold and twisting his arm to bring the knife toward me.
It happens so fast, yet my mind processes it all in slow motion.
The knife looks terrifying with a hooked end and tiny ridges in the blade.
From afar, it looked smooth, making any cut clean, though deadly.
This close up, I see it’s meant to cause excruciating damage.
There’s no escaping as he slices my arm, easily cutting my shirt.
The slow motion gives me an extended moment to stare at my arm and wonder where the pain is.
Barrett yells my name, deep and long, until suddenly time catches up.
Fire blooms in individual nerve endings in the cut and Barrett’s voice clears.
I fall back, crying out through my strained voice and clutching my arm to my stomach, but the blood seeps through my fingers. It’s deep.
A vicious sound comes out of Barrett as his focus narrows on the assailant.
“Big mistake, fucker.” Whatever he does with his hold forces the assailant to drop the gun that was only dangling from a frail grip at this point.
Bones crack when Barrett smashes his head against the other man’s nose.
Barrett slips the knife from out of his hand and makes a slice identical to mine on his arm.
Shoving the assailant away, Barrett glances at me. “Are you okay?”
All I can do is shake my head. I grab one of the shirts I set on the bed to pack and wrap it around my arm, although not before Barrett sees the amount of blood soaking through the cut in the fabric and covering my hand.
I’m thankful he cut the top of my forearm and not the underside.
This situation would have been a lot worse.
But it isn’t over yet.