Chapter 3
KEATON
Twenty minutes ago, I was sitting in the big leather chair in the living room of my Manhattan apartment that I never visit, holding a glass of whiskey that I never drink.
I was contemplating everything.
My life. The future of my family and our business.
The decision I made all those years ago to leave and never look back.
But now, I’m in the back of one of the company’s Escalades, flying down I-495 out to Long Island.
I don’t know why. Maybe it was an accident. Or maybe it was an S.O.S. I want to call her, but I don’t know what’s going on. I am afraid to make the situation—if there is one—any worse. And I won’t be able to rest until I know which one.
Luckily, at this time of night, we’re not hitting a whole lot of traffic. And we get into the little Long Island town she sent me in under forty minutes. I’m just praying that it’s not forty minutes too late.
When we turn onto the street, I look down at the GPS on my phone.
“It’s that one,” I tell Mac, and he makes the right turn into the driveway. It’s a charming little house, but I don’t have much time to admire it. I open the door before he even puts the car in park, and when my feet touch the ground, so do his. I hold up my hand to him, and he gives me a look.
“Boss, don’t get me fired on my first solo night,” he pleads. “I’m supposed to have your six everywhere.”
“Follow me, but don’t make a sound,” I tell him. He nods.
She’s married. I saw the ring. She’s probably inside with her husband.
I sneak up the front walk toward the front door.
A light is on inside, but I can’t see anything through the blinds on the window.
I wait a beat but don’t see anything. I let out a sigh.
Maybe it was a false alarm. She probably doesn’t even realize she texted me.
And as much as I hate the fact that she’s inside with her husband, there is a part of me that’s relieved.
I turn on my heel, motioning for Mac to go back to the car, just as I hear glass shattering.
And then I hear the sound that makes my blood run cold: her scream.
I lunge for the front door, turning the handle frantically, but it’s locked. I don’t wait. I just start banging. I feel Mac next to me. I see his hand reach for his hip. But as the door bursts open, I hold my hand out to him. If I can help it, I won’t have a gun around her.
When the door opens, I see a sweaty, brooding man with dirty blond hair out of place, his shirt undone, and whiskey on his breath.
Tanner. His eyes are on fire, and when he sees me, they don’t seem to dim much.
I follow his other hand, which is wrapped tightly—too tightly—around Evie’s wrist. I grit my teeth.
You can’t kill him. You can’t kill him.
“Who the fuck are—” Tanner starts, but I push inside the house, Mac right behind me.
Now we’re chest to chest, and while we are close, I’ve got about a half inch on him.
And I’m using it. I reach around him without taking my eyes from his and unlatch his slimy fingers from her arm, tugging her gently around him to me.
I pull her behind me slightly, then I motion to Mac to step in.
He does, and I turn to her. I inspect her up and down.
I don’t see any blood or marks, with the exception of the indentations of his fingers on her arm. I rub it gently then meet her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She nods, tears in her eyes, and bites her lip.
“You came,” she whispers. And it’s taking everything inside of me not to scoop her up and run out of the house.
I squeeze her hand then look at her.
“Go pack a bag,” I tell her. Her eyes widen, and she moves them slowly from me to him.
“You’re coming with me tonight, Eve,” I say.
I don’t say it like a question, because it’s not.
There’s no fucking way I’m leaving here tonight without her.
She nods and slips out from my shadow and walks up the stairs.
I hear a scoff from behind me as he turns toward the steps.
“Your ass ain’t going anywhere, Evie,” Tanner calls up the stairs.
He starts to turn toward the steps, but Mac puts a hand to his chest. Tanner’s eyes drop to it before he shakes him off.
In a minute’s time, she’s back down the stairs with a small duffel.
Then she shakily walks toward me. Tanner turns to me as I grit my teeth.
“Don’t even think about it,” Tanner says in her direction, and I feel my fists clench at my sides.
But I let it go. I slip the bag off her shoulder and put it on mine, guiding her toward the door.
“Evie. Evie!” he screams, and I see her shoulders jump.
I can’t stand watching the reaction she has to him.
I spin on my heel so that we’re face to face again, and I feel her grip my sleeve.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but—”
“My name is Keaton Everett,” I say, and I watch his eyes turn to saucers as he puts it together.
Out of respect for me, Evie didn’t tell many people that she was best friends with an Everett.
I guess that includes her husband. “I am leaving, and she is coming with me. Unless she reaches out to you, do not contact her.”
He scoffs.
“You think you can just walk into my house and take my wife? My fuckin’ wife?”
I smile.
“I’m not taking her. She’s leaving on her own. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
He takes a wobbly step toward us, and again, I can feel her tense up.
“You sure about that?” he says. I feel Mac tense up too, but again, I hold my hand out. I step toward Keaton.
“Oh, I’m positive. Do you know why?” I ask.
I hate where I come from. I hate nepotism.
I hate the perks. I resent everything that has to do with the Everett name.
I’ve never used it—until right now. “I will buy the company you work for, and I will fire you from it. Then I’ll buy your house and your cars at auction.
I’ll sue you for whatever Everett Enterprises’ legal team comes up with.
And if you ever, ever put a hand on her again, I’ll fucking kill you.
I’ll call the police myself, and I’ll smile the whole way to the fucking cell. And I’ll sleep like a fucking baby.”
He swallows, and I should be embarrassed about how pleased I am with myself. But I’m not.
Then, I spin on my heel and guide her out the door. Mac waits for us to get to the car before he leaves the porch, and before I know it, we’re backing out of the driveway and pulling out of their neighborhood.
She is shaking in the seat next to me, and I reach out and wrap my arm around her shoulder and the other under her legs. I lift her off her seat and onto my lap, cradling her like a baby while she sobs quietly into my shirt.
Her whole world just quaked before her eyes.
Holding her like this shouldn’t feel this good.
But it does.
A little while later, Mac is pulling into the garage underneath my building.
She’s calmed down some, her eyes red and puffy.
Mac opens our door, and I let her slide out first. He helps her out, and I grab her bag.
I hike it over one shoulder then take her by the hand.
We get in the elevator, and Mac scans a key fob that brings us up to my floor.
It’s not a penthouse like my brother, but it’s nothing to laugh at.
It’s still a four-bedroom apartment with panoramic views of the city I had so much disdain for.
But it’s not flashy enough to make me stick out from the rest of the New York elite.
But as Mac opens the door to my apartment, and I see the shining lights of the city that’s still wide awake, I realize maybe I don’t hate it so much after all. It’s the city that gave me her.
We get safely inside, and after Mac does a sweep, he posts up in my study.
I take her hand and lead her down the long maze of a hallway to where my suite and the other primary suite sit.
I open the door to the guest room and lead her inside.
I put her bag down on the dresser and turn on some lights. I look around.
This room—scratch that—this entire apartment could really use some TLC. I never did much in the way of decorating. It’s more of a safe place for me to land whenever I have business here. But I never wanted to make it too inviting, because I never wanted to stay.
But seeing her here in this bleak, cold, all-white room, I wish it felt more like a second home and a little less like a mental hospital.
I turn to her, and she looks like a shell of the girl I once called my best friend.
She feels so small right now, bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt, her ponytail loose on her shoulder, her strawberry-blonde hair falling out of place.
I take a step toward her, and she lifts her big green eyes to me.
I know her mind is racing a million miles per minute. I know she’s thinking of all the things she has to take care of, decide, handle. But I’m going to put a stop to that—at least for tonight.
I take a step toward her, and I reach my hands out to her arms, tugging her gently into me. I pull her head to my chest and cradle it while my other hand rubs her back.
“Not tonight,” I whisper. Her eyes jump to mine, confused. “No more thinking tonight. Just sit here with me in this apartment. Safe. You can think again tomorrow.”
Her eyes go wide like saucers, and she nods.
“Tomorrow,” she whispers.