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“No,” he repeated, cutting Marx off. “Where is she?”
“Your lover is dead.”
His chest jerked with painful, violent spasms. His lungs burned. He couldn’t breathe. Bewildered, he stared back at Marx. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. It had to be a sick joke, some cruel twisted game the man was playing to pull him back under his spell. If that was his angle, it was working. He no longer cared what happened, or what he had to do, he just wanted the pain that was ripping him apart to stop. Swinging his gaze back up to Marx’s, Sebastian caved.
"Don’t say that…don’t do this. I will do anything you want. Anything…anything you ask, alright?" he asked, his voice breaking. Tears welled. They mingled with the blood and blurred his eyes. "You can blow the whole damn world up. I don't care. Whatever your plans are, whatever you need, I will do it. Just...please...God...please don't hurt her. Let me have her back."
Marx’s full lips flattened. Crossing his arms against the barreled expanse of his chest, he shook his head. “You aren’t listening to me, Sebastian. Taylor is dead. Nothing you can say or do will bring her back. That’s just the way it is.”
A low, pitiful noise broke in the back of his throat. He knew they could get him killed, but the tears still came. It felt like someone was bashing his chest in with a sledgehammer, beating and battering until everything inside him splintered.
“I need to see her.”
The commander gave another stern shake of his head. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I don’t care. I need to see her. I have to…”
“There was another explosion after you lost consciousness. She was badly burned. There is nothing left of her to see. Nothing you would want to remember at any rate. I suggest you calm yourself down and get some rest.”
The images slamming through his head were devastating. There was no way to escape them or the things Marx was saying. He had to break free. He had to be with Taylor. He needed to see her face. He had to hold her one last time and tell her he was sorry. He was so damn sorry. He needed to promise he would always love her. Marx didn’t understand. Maybe if he cried and begged hard enough she would find a way to come back to him and stay. If not, he would lay there with her until he died.
Sebastian thrashed, bucking against the restraints with all his might. “Let me go,” he choked. “I need to be with her. I have to see her. Please…you don’t understand.”
He begged and pleaded. Anger mixing with anguish as he repeated himself over and over again. The heartache was crushing and he found himself sobbing and gasping just to breathe yet he still fought, thrashing and bowing violently against the restraints. The rapid beeping of the monitors glued to his chest grew louder and more frantic until they came so fast they seemed to mingle together in one steady stream.
“That’s it!” Marx bellowed. “Knock his ass out and put him under. He’s crashing.”
He battled against the hands fighting to steady him and hold him down, but to no avail. He didn’t want their help. He wanted them to let him die. There was nothing left for him here anymore. He couldn’t face the thought of living without Taylor….he didn’t even want to try.
~*~*~*~
Pain was a constant and devastating force. It was the only companion he had left. He’d spent a week staring at the dismal, headquarter walls, willing himself to die, forcing himself not to feel. His waking hours were spent wavering between wallowing in a combination of scathing anger and despair. Sometimes, he cried. Sometimes he screamed, but it changed nothing.
Another small part of him withered and fell dead off the earth as Jackson steered the car up the winding uphill slope and into the drive. The security team was waiting there to meet him, but their presence no longer mattered. Bracing himself, he tried to still the small tremble that ran through him. He didn’t know how he was going to face walking into that house again alone. For almost a year, it had served as a haven for him and Taylor. It was where they had laughed and loved, where they’d shared their dreams, and now none of that remained.
Jackson hesitated as he unhooked his seatbelt and turned toward the backseat to gather the small box of ashes that carried Taylor’s remains.
“Do you want me to walk you in, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Worry lined the young man’s face. He’d spent hours at Sebastian’s bedside. Though most of it was spent in silence, he’d tried to offer a few quiet words of comfort. None of which worked. His grip tightened on the steering wheel ever so slightly, but Jackson didn’t argue.
“Tell me one more time,” he ordered, his voice flat.
“I overheard Marx and Brad talking about using c-4 explosives to neutralize a situation. Their plan was to use an unmarked cable van. When I saw one pull up and park in front of the restaurant, I was pretty sure that had to be it. I rushed inside to tell you, sir, but it was too late.”
“I should have had this information beforehand.”
“I agree, sir, but I honestly thought they were talking about Operation Black Out at the time. It never occurred to me that…”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, putting an abrupt end to the explanation. “Be extremely careful in how you do it, but pull the rest of the men. Vincent has the list.
“Yes, sir. In the meantime, if you need a ride or anything at all, don’t hesitate. Just call.”
Offering a curt nod, Sebastian opened the door and eased himself out of the vehicle. Rupert stepped forward, as if to assist him, but a piercing glare halted the Cajun in his tracks. The head of security eased back enough to allow Jackson to maneuver his car down the circular drive. Tension and reluctance hung between them. There was no mistaking the hurt or disappointment in the security guard’s eyes each time they shifted to the box. Jaw clenching, Sebastian cradled it closer.
“Sir…I…”
A strained swallow pushed past his throat. He couldn’t do this. Turning his back on the man, Sebastian cut him off and headed for the house with a disparaging shake of his head.
The stillness hit him first. There was a silence, a lifelessness that swept through him and settled deep into his bones. Sebastian’s fingers tightened on the box as a horrifying thought occurred to him. He didn’t know what to do with it. Where did he put her? He still hadn’t been able to decide if he wanted an urn or if she should have a burial service. It didn’t feel right to part with her, and it didn’t feel humane to put the ashes down. He supposed eventually he would need to make that decision, but right now, it was too much to bear.
Numb, he forced himself further inside their home. The crushing sensation in his chest grew fiercer and tears burned, unshed in his eyes. He saw her and felt her everywhere. His memories of Taylor were a living and breathing force. He could still hear her throaty laughter and smell her scent lingering in the air. Part of him kept expecting to see her pop her head around the corner at any second, flashing her radiant smile.
He wanted that. He wanted it more than anything.
Somehow, he managed to force himself to make the arduous journey up the stairs. It took effort to keep his gaze from drifting toward the guestroom they’d planned to turn into a nursery. It took even more to push open the doors to the bedroom they’d shared. Crossing the room, he gingerly laid the box on her side of the bed. He then reached into his pocket to retrieve the necklace he’d given her and the diamond engagement ring. Hesitation ran through him as he tied to decide if those were best placed on the nightstand or the bed.
His gaze flickered to the small table. It was a costly mistake. He swallowed seeing the exact replicas of the nursery she’d wanted, the pages she’d pulled from the home decorating magazines still there and waiting for her return. Waiting for her and the baby that would never come. Sebastian’s hands shook and, lifting the glossy papers from the nightstand, he hit his knees.
Deep, gut-wrenching sobs racked him from the inside out. His mouth opened and closed, his head shaking from side to side, but it took severa
l tries before he managed to lend voice to his tormented screams. Still clutching the magazine pages in one hand, he slammed his fists repeatedly into the table, roaring his anguish. The wood splintered and his knuckles bled. His voice grew cracked and hoarse, but the cries kept coming. Hyperventilation set in, robbing him of the last of his breath.
The pain was just too much. He couldn’t endure another day of this, much less the rest of his life. Still shaking and gasping, and blinded by tears he couldn’t stop, he fumbled for his gun. His fingers locked around the grip and he cocked the safety. Closing his eyes, he settled the wide barrel beneath his chin.
“Sir…”
Rupert’s voice sounded from the doorway. The intrusion sent him into a tailspin.
“What are you doing here?” he choked. “Get out.”
“No, sir. I can’t do that.”
