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And I don’t. I need to know about the man Walker captured in that basement. I need to know there is nothing else coming at us, and specifically Alana. At least, not imminently.
I scrub my jaw and settle my hands on my hips, and for now, Savage has my full attention. “Talk to me about the man you captured. Who is he?”
“A Russian national. One of our men, Kellan—you haven’t met him—spent time in Russia. He knows how to talk the right kind of trash in Russian. He’s flying in to have a ‘chat’ with him.”
“When will he be here?”
“Bastard is slow-going. Not until morning.”
“And what happens to the suspect in the meantime?”
“We gave him some coloring books to keep him busy.”
In other words, don’t ask questions. “What happens after your man talks to him?”
“A lavish trip to the Hamptons,” he says, and then in a firmer voice. “Stop asking questions. You hired us to protect you. And the Walker brothers are as ethical as they get, but they also know how not to fuck us or themselves.”
“And how ethical are you, Savage?”
“As ethical as my wife keeps me, man, and considering where I’ve been and what I have in me, that’s giving her a lot of credit.” He motions to the door. “Let her do the same thing for you. It’s the smart move. I’ll be near.” He rotates, walks toward the exit door, and disappears into the stairwell.
I don’t linger on his warnings or advice. I have Alana on my mind. I turn and enter the apartment with every intention of holding onto her until it’s not possible. Until saving her means letting her go. Ironically, it’s what she was trying to do with me, but it’s me who is supposed to save her. And I will, one way or the other, no matter what sacrifice I have to make.
Chapter Twenty
Alana
Home is as bittersweet as water that both quenches your thirst and drowns you.
This is the story of my life with Damion. Every morsel of sweetness we experience is suffocated in evil, and neither of us knows how to squash the cycle. I forbid myself from perpetuating the cycle by feeding Damion’s anger over my captivity.
Exactly why, when I enter the apartment Damion and I call home, I don’t allow myself a moment to stop and breathe, let alone soak in how good it feels to be here. Not now, not when I’m coming unglued, self-destructing from the inside out, and don’t want Damion to know. I race through the apartment and burst into the bedroom I share with Damion, but left behind with him only days before. What was I thinking? I really did have my heart and head in the right place protecting him, and I’m still there.
If I let him know just how messed up I am right now, I’ll push him over the edge, and I don’t know what he will do. The only thing that got me through the darkness was knowing he would be waiting on me in the light. I can’t lose him now. I just can’t.
I dash into the bathroom, finally relieve myself, and then turn on the shower. Once the water is heating up, I strip away my clothes, and search my body for any signs I’ve been violated, but there are none that I see or feel, thank God. It’s the not knowing that really makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I step into the water, pick up the liquid soap, and spread it over my body, searching for any sign I’ve been violated all over again, but nothing feels off. But would it? Would I know? My pants, I remind myself, as I told Savage. They’re snug enough that I don’t think they could have gotten them back on me, and why would they try?
Because they were told not to rape me, and they did it anyway?
The idea is pure torture.
Tears explode from me, like a river in the sea of the shower spray. I ball my fingers into my fists and warn myself to get a grip. Damion will be here any minute, and if he sees me like this, it will fuel the fire of rage in him, which will be too ripe and real to be stopped. He will kill his father, and I will lose him. I cannot lose him therefore, I cannot let him see me like this. And I cannot talk to him about all the things going on in my head right now. I’ll deal with my stupid emotions when I’m alone. And I don’t want to be alone right now. I want to be with him.
But the tears just won’t stop flowing, and my body is out of my control. I’m trembling, and the sensation spirals deep inside me—an internal quake I cannot control. My knees are weak, and I sink down low and settle into the corner of the shower, just letting it all out. I cry hard. I cry with all I am. I lose time and place, and I exhaust myself with emotions. I’m just finally easing out of it when the shower turns off, and my gaze jerks upward to find Damion standing above me.
“Damion,” I whisper, appalled at how horribly I have blown my plan to stay cool and collected.
He kneels in front of me, his hands on my knees, and his touch is comfort, home, and everything familiar and right I’ve ever known. “You okay?”
“Now I am. Now that you’re here.”
He stands and lifts me with him, his arm wrapping my waist, anchoring my wet, naked body to him, and soaking his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. I’m naked and in his arms, and I’ve never felt as safe in my entire life. “I hate that I let this happen to you.”
Emotion roars in me all over again, and I curl my fingers around his shirt. “This is what I’m worried about. The self-blame you claim for this, Damion. The self-blame you have always claimed over your family when it comes to me. It’s torn us apart, and you can’t do it again now.” I’ve gripped both sides of his shirt now, uncaring of my naked state, determined to ensure he listens to me. “The only thing that kept me going in that damn concrete room was knowing you’d come for me. If you end up dead or in jail, Damion, who will come for me? Who will be there for me? You are all I have. Do you understand that?”
“Easy, baby,” he says, stroking wet hair from my face. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Let’s get you a towel and a robe.” He releases me long enough to wrap a towel around me and knot it at my breasts, before he uses another smaller one to dry my hair.
I grab it and hold on, halting his actions, my hair is the last thing on my mind. The image of my father’s casket torments me—it’s a brutal, horrible memory. I cannot bury Damion, too. “I know you, Damion. You will not let this go.”
