Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken (77 page)

He could kill her.

Shaking his head, Kyle immediately decided against that.

To kill her himself would mean he had to see her which, well, now that he thought about it, he really didn’t want to do. And he didn’t want to have his men just off her because, to Kyle, it just felt as if she were getting off easy. Plus … God, he didn’t know. He just didn’t want to have anything to do with her fucking death. He didn’t want to have anything to do with her at all. To him … Abrielle was not his mother; she was just a faint memory in his past that he’d rather not be forced to relive. He felt like he had no connection to her. He didn’t even hate her any more.

She was nothing to him.

Shaking his head at himself, Kyle ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he made his way back to his bedroom.

He needed to figure this out before sunrise at least, before a new day truly began, then maybe it’d be symbolic to him or some shit. Leaving the past where it fucking belonged.

Plopping down at the edge of his bed, he leaned forward, resting his elbows to his knees as he held his face in his palms.

Think, think, think, Kyle. What the fuck are you going to do?

In the close distance, Kyle heard his bedroom door close.

“Alright,” Reanna said, her arms crossing over her chest as she stared at him. “Talk.”

Sighing, Kyle’s shoulder slumped. “Reanna—”

“No,
Reanna
,” she mimicked. “I said talk.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this; he needed to think.

“Baby—”

“Talk!”
she snapped.

And yes, Kyle actually flinched, surprised by her tone.

“I said talk!” she yelled, angrily dropping her arms to her side. “Don’t call me baby, don’t tell me we’ll talk later, and don’t try to divert my attention the way you did before we went to sleep!” She closed the distance between them.

Kyle sat up as she stood between his legs.

“There is something wrong, something bothering you, and I know because I …” she let out a long breath, “I can feel it still. And I hate when you try and keep this stuff from me Kyle. I hate when you act as if I don’t know you or that you can’t talk to me about something … about anything!”

“Reanna—”

“No!” she cut him off. “Don’t handle me, Kyle. I’m not your problem; I’m going to be your
wife
, and you need to get used to the idea of sharing what’s troubling you. You need to talk to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now,” she commanded him firmly. “What the hell is going on?”

Kyle blinked, staring up at the woman. “So you knew I was attempting to fool you?” he asked, wanting to kick himself for being so stupid.

Of course she’d known. Reanna always knew.

“Yes,” she stressed, bringing her hands up to gently cup his face. “I always know when you’re keeping something from me.”

Closing his eyes, Kyle leaned into her touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then he inhaled a deep breath when he felt her lips press to his in a slow, lingering kiss.

When she pulled back, she looked into his eyes. “Talk to me, Kyle.” She gently caressed his face. “Talk to me.”

Nodding, Kyle released a long breath, silently praying that she wouldn’t be angry at him for keeping this from her.

“Abrielle is in New York.”

Silence … Too much of it for Kyle’s comfort, so he just continued to talk.

He told her what had happened with his brothers over the weekend. How Abrielle had called, looking for safety and Kyle because his parents were hunting her, and how his brothers had swiped her and brought her to the U.S. because they hadn’t known what the hell to do. She listened as she gazed into his eyes intently as he explained to her his current dilemma, his current battle with himself on how to handle it. Right now, she was in a Hotel, but the problem with that was that with her being so close to him, Kyle was having a hard time just being. He felt like he was being sucked back into the past, and that was a place where he’d never wanted to be anymore.

“Then why?” she asked, interjecting the question while he’d been trying to explain his feelings.

Frowning, Kyle shook his head, confused by the questions meaning. “Why what?”

“Why would you keep her here?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Why would you put yourself through that?”

At her pained words, Kyle straightened, but he didn’t say a word. Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because he honestly hadn’t known how to answer her question.

“Kyle,” she said his name as if she were calling to something inside of him, rather than to the man staring back at her. “Why are you torturing yourself?” She shook her head. “You don’t love her. You don’t care for her. You don’t even see her as a mother. Why are you keeping her and giving her all this shit that she doesn’t deserve from you instead of just giving her off to your parents and being done with it?”

Oh
, Kyle thought, lowering his eyes briefly. Then he lifted them back to hers, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

Her brows knitted as she dropped her crossed arms. “Yes, you do,” she whispered, then cupped his face once more. “And the sooner you admit it to yourself; the sooner you’ll know what you want to do next.”

And it was those words from his fiancé that seemed to just … give Kyle what he needed to slip into his right mind. It was as if they had dragged him out of an abyss of uncertainty, slapped sense into him, and suddenly … he knew why.

He knew why he’d hidden Abrielle; why he’d put himself through this evening of
torture
, having that sick fucking woman close to him even though just the thought of having her in this city already made him sick to the point of physical pain.

“She has to go … Honey. Okay?”

Nodding his head at her soft words, Kyle pulled Reanna onto his lap, hugging her tightly as he buried his face in her neck.

“Its time, Kyle,” she whispered, gently kissing his cheek. “Time for you to heal.”

Nodding his head at her soft words, Kyle pulled Reanna onto his lap, hugging her tightly as he buried his face in her neck.

God, his fucking heart was breaking, and it hurt. It hurt so damn bad. He was positive he’d never felt anything like it before. It was that feeling, that foreign feeling that he’d felt when his brothers had first told him Abrielle was in New York. It was a feeling of betrayal, of heartbreak so intense that it twisted Kyle’s insides in knots, threatening to leave him a pathetic, broken mess if he didn’t find the courage to finally face his demons. To finally set himself free.

Holding him close, Reanna comforted him; she held him in a way that no one ever had before her, and it nearly broke him down. He’d never felt such love before. So free, so real that he felt it physically moving throughout his body as if it were his blood. As if it were the very thing coursing through him, giving him life and strength. She
held him
, running her soft fingers through his hair, and trying her best to give him a bit of her own strength. That same strength that had gotten her through the worst moments of her life. A small portion of that unbreakable courage that kept her from falling into the darkness that life had tried so hard to push her into, so that he himself could have the courage to do what he needed to do next. So that he could
finally
have the courage to admit what he’d known the moment he’d been told that Abrielle had come back from the
dead
— Dead. That was what she had been to him since the last moment he’d laid eyes on her.

This was not his fight.

It was never his.

He’d been nothing but an object, a pawn, mercilessly used in a fight that he’d never asked for nor wanted to be a part of. And the cycle of pain was now threatening to begin itself again. To
revive
itself, and to thrust Kyle right back in the middle of the three people that this was really about.

This was
not
his fight.

It never had been.

So why was it that he— the one who hadn’t had a choice in the matter— had been the one to suffer the most?

It was the male figure in the darkness that had caused Anastacia to panic briefly, startled by his presence even though she knew, instinctively, who he was.

“Cesare!” she shook her sleeping husband as she quickly sat up into seating position on the bed. “Cesare, wake up!” She hit his back once more, this time causing him to stir out of his slumber.

“What, what, Anastacia!” he grumbled. “
Non vedi che sto dormendo, mi amore
…”

She hit him again, harder this time. “Get up!” she yelled.

“Ana!” he shot up. “What on earth—” Cesare’s words immediately cut off when he spotted the figure too. “What …”

Quickly, and clumsily, he reached over to his bedside table in search for the lamp, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. It took him a moment, but eventually, his hand gripped on to the lamps body, then slowly gliding his fingers over it, he found the switch, and flipped it on.

It was Kyle.

“Son?”

He sat in a chair in the middle of their room, at the front end, staring down at his clasped hands, his heel tapping anxiously against the carpeted floor. He was quiet, not even attempting to say a word, but the tension surrounding him, as well as the veins stressing his tensed forehead indicated that something was very wrong.

Anastacia went to move off of the bed, to run to him to see what it was, but stopped in her tracks, the moment he lifted his eyes—red, strained, and tired—and pinned her with a look that clearly said
‘don’t’
.

“Stay where you are, please,” he slowly raised a hand in her direction. “I don’t want you to get up.”

Shaking her head at his words, she moved to get up once more.

“Ana don’t,” he said again, his eyes pleading with her.

“But Kyle—”

“Just give me a moment to … do what I need to do, please.” He raised his hand once more, motioning for her to sit back down. “I won’t be long,” he gave a nod of his head, “I promise. Just … give me a second.”

Anastacia hesitated, hating that her step-son had come into their room at such an hour so obviously distressed, then denied her when she only sought to comfort him, to ask what was wrong. It wasn’t until her husband reached over, taking her hand, and giving a nod of his head, signaling that she should adhere to Kyle’s wishes, that she sat down, and waited for their son to do or say whatever it was that he’d come to.

It had taken him a few minutes. A few minutes of silently sitting in the chair, staring down at his hands as he fiddled with a black ring on his middle finger nervously, but eventually, he’d stopped. Stopped fiddling with the ring, stopped the nervous tapping of his foot, and he lifted his head, his eyes once again looking between them.

With a long sigh, and a determined look on his face, Kyle stood up from the seat, reached into his pocket, and brought out something that neither Anastacia nor Cesare could see well enough to identify.

“I just came here to give you this.”

Confusion painted on their faces, they watched intently as their son walked forward in their direction, stopped at the head of the bed, and placed a black card that resembled a room key on the top of their comforter.

Their mouths opened at the same time, most likely to ask the same question, but Kyle didn’t give them a chance. He explained. Told them exactly what the object was. And the words tore through their hearts so rapidly that, for a moment, they hadn’t even known if they’d heard him right.

“It’s a key,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s for the room … where I put Abrielle after she arrived in America earlier tonight. I know that you’ve been looking for her so here,” he motioned toward the key with a nonchalant point of his finger, “you found her—Don’t!”

It was the first time his son had ever shouted at him. The first time he’d ever used such a tone, or looked at him with such anger in his eyes.

All Cesare had done was take a step forward, desperately seeking to explain to his son why it was that he’d been so hesitant to tell him the truth.

“It’s too late.” Kyle shook his head, his voice lowering as his red eyes filled with unshed tears. “Don’t explain anything to me now, Cesare. You had your chance, now it’s too late.”

“It’s not, son,” Cesare begged, his voice cracking with emotion. “Just let me—”

“Let you what, Pop?” he asked, a humorless laugh shaking his voice. “Let you tell me that you’re sorry? That you never meant to keep me in the dark? Or perhaps you were just trying to protect me, which actually would have been a good thing had you managed to do it.”

“I did try!”

“And you failed!” He shouted, tears now falling from his eyes. “Again …”

The words rendered Cesare silent, a wave of guilt, grief, and sadness washing over him at the sight of his son’s pain.

“One promise, Cesare.” Kyle held up one finger. “One thing I asked of you after I forgave you for
abandoning
me. For forgetting about me …”