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Would have, could have, should have is always a dangerous mental pattern to travel, but I can’t help but do so now. If I’d forced a confrontation over her sooner, maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t be at war now, and we are at war. Maybe I was wrong about his plans. Maybe he did want to end her—end all of this once and for all—but I will never say that to Alana. I’ll stick with the story I’ve told myself—the one I won’t give my father a chance to prove wrong again. “He didn’t want to end you. That was never his plan.”
“Just torture me?” she challenges, but newfound fear darts through her eyes, and her body stiffens. “Oh God. My mother—”
“Will be on a plane to Italy later tonight,” Blake interjects, stepping into view. “I sent our man, Joey, to deliver her to a close friend up there who will protect her until this is over.”
“When is that?” Alana asks. “When will this ever be over?” She curls her fingers around the T-shirt I’m wearing and hisses at me, “And don’t say when you kill your father. Don’t go there again. There’s another answer.” She glances between Blake and Savage before repeating, “There’s another answer.”
Maybe, I think. Or maybe not.
She releases me and presses her hand to her head. “And my head is throbbing.”
“You need to eat,” I say, pulling her to her feet and successfully dodging the topic of my father’s demise, but now we’re on the topic of the elevator.
I fold her close and capture a loose strand of her hair, caressing it behind her ear. “Do you remember the elevator coming down here?”
“No.” Her brows knit. “Why?”
“It’s tight, but we’ll do it together, okay?”
“I don’t care about the elevator. I just want out of here, whatever that takes, and if I never come back to this building, it will be too soon.”
My hands settle on her waist. “I’ll be with you if you do, just like I will be on the elevator.”
“I’m not afraid of the elevator, Damion. My claustrophobia is not that bad.”
Pride fills me with the bravery behind those words after what just happened to her and the fact that her phobia is real, no matter how much she might want to deny it. I lift my chin at Blake and then Savage. “I’ll go up first in case you get sick on the ride up,” Savage offers.
“I’m not going to have an issue,” Alana objects. “I’m fine now. Really.”
“A feisty wench, for sure,” Savage replies to the scowl she shoots him and offers a wink in return before he heads toward the elevator.
“I’ll have Savage on-call tonight,” Blake says, “and we’ll have a team watching you. I’ll be by in the morning to talk through what comes next.”
I have a lot to say about what comes next, but I keep it to myself right now and focus on Alana, securing my arm around her waist and guiding her away from Blake, who I appreciate but I’m also losing patience with. Had I dealt with my father before now, this might not have happened. No one will stop me from protecting Alana ever again.
And anyone who tries will not be pleased with the results, and that includes Blake Walker.
Chapter Nineteen
Damion
I don’t have any intentions of allowing Alana the time to panic in the sardine box of an elevator.
Strategy one is to punch the “up” button before we ever enter the car and then wrap my arms around her, walk her into the tiny space, and hold her snugly against me. Strategy two is to distract her and get her talking. “You know I’m going to be overbearingly protective from this point on, right?” I ask her as the doors creep shut.
Her chin lifts, and her eyes are thoughtful as they meet mine. “I don’t need you to be protective, Damion, but I really do appreciate that you are.” Her focus is on me and only me, her soft fingers trailing my jaw. “I just need you, you know?”
Her voice cracks and her eyes glaze, while I’m one big ball of self-hatred. I let this happen. I let all of this happen. My inaction is why her father is dead. And I’m not sure how I make that up to her. “I need you, too, baby.” The car halts, and I cup her face, holding her gaze to mine. “We’re still underground,” I warn. “There’s a flight of stairs up to the top level.”
“I really am okay, Damion. I promise.”
I don’t believe her, but as we step into the tiny concrete room, it’s true that she seems calm and collected, though she doesn’t waste any time climbing the stairs to exit to the lobby. Once I’ve joined her up top, I find Savage checking on her, and he gives me a nod of approval before stepping back and offering us space. I catch her arms and pull her to me. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she assures me. “I’m mostly over my claustrophobia.”
“That’s not what Blake said.”
“Today was different. It was the darkness in that room combined with not knowing where I was, who I was with, or what was coming at me.” She presses her hands to my chest and lowers her head a moment before tilting her chin up to look at me. “I really need that food.”
