Wicked Heat (Twisted Holidays #5)

Levi

ONE

Freedom.

The dictionary defines the term as being able to act, think, or speak without hindrance.

Freedom is a construct people convince themselves they have, but no one ever truly does. The world is a depressing entrapment. Everyone is bound to their country’s laws, their individual morals, and society’s rules, which determine when we work, sleep, eat, fuck.

It’s messed up. None of us do what we want, when we want. It’s why the construct of ‘free time’ is deceitful. Holidays are complete bullshit; they’re essentially the world’s way of giving permission to forget our responsibilities for a short amount of time.

The worst holiday might not even be a holiday, but rather, a time of the year. A season.

Summertime.

Since I don’t plan on completing the summer semester away at school, Dad sees it as an opportunity for me to work. ‘Practice’, he’s calling it, sending me to the resort on the coast a couple hours away to check in on management and general company bullshit.

Sometimes, I despise being a Westwood. But then, there are those instances when I love being one.

Like now.

When Summer, my best friend and the object of both my obsession and affection, grips my hands hard enough, her nails practically imbed into my skin.

Considering she owns all of me—blood, soul, and heart—a few more cuts make no difference.

If she’s bleeding me out, she isn’t harming herself, so it’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

My girl having the name Summer is ironic; a nod to the best time of year. To freedom, yet she’s always fought her own.

She’ll be free soon. After years of fighting this battle, she finally came forward. Ever since our teenage rivalry shifted into something deeper, I’ve been trying to rescue her.

She believes we’re mere friends, but that was a bonus, not the endgame, more of a way to get close to her than what I truly want.

One of my ways, anyway.

“It’s okay,” I murmur beneath my breath as my hand massages her back. “It’s nearly over.”

A few months’ worth of investigation is concluding when, if not for my family’s influence, it should have taken years. Hell, it might never have even made it to trial, because it seems like courts prefer taking the man’s side, even when his victim is his own daughter.

He can’t be allowed to walk. I didn’t have him killed because a much worse punishment awaits where he’ll be going.

Besides, his glare from across the room, aware I was who set this in motion, is rewarding.

At first, Summer resisted my family’s team of lawyers, but once they started working and got her father arrested, hope began to bloom.

As the judge slams the gavel down and reads out the charges, my grin can’t be held back. Fuck whoever is watching. It’s probably the only time anything other than rage runs through me at the sound of what her father did.

“…multiple counts of child abuse…”

“…multiple counts of physical abuse…”

“…one count of sexual abuse…”

My lawyers worked hard on that lifetime prison sentence, and a bit of family influence made it so he won’t be in a regular prison for long.

Within the month, he’ll be transferred to the harshest maximum-security prison in the country, half of it being underground.

He’ll be locked inside a tiny, barless, windowless room, deprived of most of his senses until he dies of madness.

Summer whimpers and twists in my hold. She buries her face into my chest, breath warm against the heart that beats only for her. For her and to her.

Growing up, no therapy or treatment could curb what professionals called ‘dangerous tendencies’—until Summer. She managed to control the monster within with just a bat of her eyes, because, suddenly, all the built-up anger had a place to go.

To protecting her.

Which she’s made fucking impossible until recently.

“Don’t. I’m fine,” still plays in my mind as her response for every physical or emotional bruise he beat into her.

After the judge calls things to a close, I rub the back of her hand and stare down the man—if he can be called as much—who’s pulled to his feet. Chains rattle his arms, and there’s never been a more satisfying sound. His scowl remains directed at me until the officer leads him away.

In his final moment of freedom, his attention drops to Summer, who’s still staring at her lap. His eyes soften in a way that combines wonder and longing. Disgusting fuck.

My hand slides through the dark strands of her hair as I prove to him why he’ll never touch her again. That curiosity can burn in the depths of prison, and if I learn she’s even a passing thought in his head, I’ll lock myself down there with him and rip it out.

The door in the corner of the room opens; he’s pushed through, and then it slams shut.

“It’s over,” I whisper as the audience begins clearing out. My hand rubs up and down her arm, over the numerous scars. “You did great. You’re so fucking strong.”

Breath shudders against my neck for a final time before she lifts her head. Beyond her, my lawyers are watching, probably waiting to speak to me, but until my girl feels well again, they’ll wait.

Her red-rimmed eyes are a striking difference from the black eyeliner that’s been smudged from her tears and rubbing as she exhales years of pain.

“This feels like it shouldn’t be real. How is it even possible?

Years—” She chokes on the word, swallowing.

“It’s taken years. Why didn’t I do this sooner? ”

“Hey.” I cup her face, ensuring I’m all she’s looking at so she can read my expression, which pleads for her to end the self-blame.

“Regret dims what’s happened today. Don’t let it overshadow your relief.

You came forward and put him away, which took strength.

Twenty years of silence has ended, darling. ”

Her sniffle shifts into an amused snort. “Let’s be real. You made all this possible.” She glances towards the team of suited lawyers waiting nearby.

My finger moves beneath her chin to angle her face up. Her lips are full and red; they tempt me so much, curious to see how much darker her skin will get when I bite it. It’s her eyes that ground me, though, quelling the rage that constantly clings.

I’m taking advantage of the fact she allows me to touch her at all. Her skin has always been the softest thing in the world to me, the sensation that erases everything else.

Possessiveness incites at the thought that someone dared harm this woman.

Today removed a major stressor, and a year ago, I got rid of the deadbeat who was stringing her along.

He didn’t take my first three threats seriously, conveyed when he initially revealed interest, but appearing at his work late one night to break his fingers finally did it.

He never messaged her after that, and she assumed he lost interest.

It's been like that for years. A guy shows her attention, I make them go away.

“You mean everything to me, Summer. You’re my best friend. The suffering you endured in silence horrifies me, but it’s over now. That’s why I did it.”

Her gaze flicks to my chest and back up, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip. She’s doubting my words without saying so.

“You probably saved other women too.”

That cracks a bit of a smile. “I like the sound of that.” Around us, conversations begin muting as people leave the courtroom. She straightens from my hold. “Can we go? I’d rather not stay here longer than necessary.”

The day has been trying, starting early this morning when I dragged her from my bed. My bed, because I refused to leave her alone last night, aware the dorm room she calls home isn’t a conductive environment to avoid panic attacks.

I’m quick to tuck her into my side when she follows me into the aisle.

A few people centre on the Westwood heir standing with someone not drenched in pearls and wealth—mainly because she won’t allow me to.

It took years of building her self-esteem and teaching her to not care about others’ opinions.

We’re not a couple yet, but they’ll see this girl is mine, nonetheless. Mine to protect, mine to uplift.

One of the lawyers sidesteps the group to head our way, but I stop his advance with a shake of my head. “Contact my father with further details.” With the case shut, caring for Summer is more important.

I lead her from the courthouse through the side entrance to bypass the asshole reporters who got wind of the story.

She reaches the car first. “I probably should have slept at my place last night so I could have taken a bus in this morning. Then you wouldn’t have to make this trip.”

Placing my hand on top of the door, I fence her between me and the vehicle so she doesn’t bolt. Half our friendship is Summer convinced it’s a game and me reassuring her it’s not. Her low confidence is something I build up hourly, forever fighting her doubts.

“Don’t talk like that. Besides, did I not say I’d be here every step of the way? Do you honestly feel you’d be fit to take a bus home right now?” Red blossoms on her cheeks, answering me. “Exactly. Get in, buckle up.”

After starting into the direction of my apartment, she reaches over to rest a hand on my arm. “Can you take me home? It might sound stupid, but I’d rather be alone.”

Summer alone could lead to unhealthier hobbies, but denying her is really fucking hard, because she’s too damn stubborn. If home is what she desires, there are other methods to keep her from adding to the scars on her arms.

I turn the car around and drive slower, trying to keep her with me for longer. My deep inhales are filled entirely of Summer’s perfume—of coffee and flowers—and it eases my grip around the steering wheel.

We pull up to the university’s grounds, then to Summer’s dorm.

She originally paid for a smaller room with a roommate, but after my generous donation to the school, they upgraded her to a private room.

My argument for her to move into my two-bedroom apartment is ongoing, because she refuses to ‘take advantage of my kindness’.

Owning her isn’t the kindness she assumes.

“What do you think Dad is doing right now?” she asks in a small voice as I park and switch the car off but keep the doors locked.

Hopefully getting searched with the sharpest tools possible.

“Does it matter?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Probably being processed, if I had to guess.” My fingers drum along the wheel, because the flash of sympathy in her expression makes me want to gut him. “Summer.” I wait until she looks over to add, “He deserved it. You know that.”

“I do.” She blows out a quick breath, nodding. “It’s bizarre to know he won’t be around any longer, that I never have to stress about him randomly showing up. Not that he ever did before, but still, the fear was there.”

“Never again,” I affirm. I’ll kill him before he comes near her. Literal death, not metaphorical. “By tonight, he’ll be behind bars.”

“What a damn day. I need to shower so badly.” She picks at stray strands of her hair resting over her shoulder, then the lace edging of her black dress, all of which still looks as perfect as when she got ready this morning.

“I have a shower in my apartment. You sure you want to be alone? We could order pizza, do whatever you want.”

Her head rolls against the backrest to look my way before she undoes her belt. “I’ll be alright. Better than alright after today. Being free is a nice way to start summer break.”

The mention of our upcoming break reminds me of the email Dad sent me early this morning, which sits unread on my phone. I skimmed enough of it to see he’ll be sending me away for a few months for work, except I don’t intend to leave Summer alone for that long, especially not so soon after court.

“Come with me to the west coast, to the resort. Dad is sending me there for three months to oversee a few things, but I’ll refuse if you don’t come.

You shouldn’t be alone to shoulder all this.

A free vacation, unlimited alcohol and food, pools and beaches, and I’ll even get you a private cabana.

We’ll be together whenever I’m not working.

It’s away from here, from the courts, from life in general.

Then, we’ll come back refreshed for the fall semester. ”

Sky-blue eyes glint with excitement for the first time in a long time as she takes exactly half a second to consider the offer.

In truth, I’m proud of her. Old Summer would have needed four-to-six weeks as she countered with useless points about not wanting me to pay for anything.

“That sounds really nice. It’d be a true break. I’d love to.”

“A break you deserve,” I amend, getting out of the car and rounding to her side to help her out. “He made you think you don’t deserve anything, but you do. School, a future, vacations…” Me.

He tried to hold her back when she talked about applying to university, calling it a waste of money, saying her computer science degree wasn’t meant for ‘someone like her’—meaning a woman. But she applied with minimal push from me, deciding for herself that he was wrong.

I draw her into me, my touch natural and her reception a comfort. She has no idea how in love with her I am. Actually, my feelings have gone beyond that emotion, instead reaching a level of obsession that drives my every action—both legal and illegal.

“You’re so good to me,” she whispers into my chest as my lips press into her forehead.

“You won’t let me be as good as I’d like to be, actually.”

Her shoulders move with gentle shakes of laughter. “I know, I know, I’ve heard this before. For now, we’ll end the goodness here, and I’ll say night.”

She withdraws from my hold, and my hands tingle with her absence, hating it with every fibre of my being. She waves again, turns, and heads into her building. When her room’s light on the fifth floor switches on and I trust she’s safe inside, I leave.