Deadly Obsession (36 page)

* * * *

"Do you love him?"

It would be smarter to say no. Say no. But she couldn’t. Never again would she bow to him, no matter what.

She licked her lips.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

She nodded. The words scratched her throat. "He’s a real man. Why wouldn’t I?"

The blade came down again, embedding to the hilt. She felt the skin on the back of her shoulder break.

Again he jerked the blade free and she felt the blood flow.

God Almighty! A wave of dizziness washed through her, and she fought not to throw up, sobbing at the pain.

"No, you are not," Richard hissed. "No one will have you but me."

Christian looked up at him as he lowered his mouth to hers. When he was almost there, she reached out, moaning at the pain in her arm, stretching for the cord.

Before he turned, she spit in his face.

There. She jerked. The iron landed with a clatter. She picked up the black end.

"You shouldn’t have done that," Richard said, wiping the spittle off.

She slammed the iron up with all her might, holding the heated metal against his forehead.

He cursed and leapt up from her.

Christian rolled and grabbed the shears, her arm hanging at her side, blood dripping off her fingers.

Richard yanked on her hair. "Stupid bitch. I would have given you everything, everything. You’re nothing, nothing now."

She turned and shoved the scissors up to his groin, but he met her move and twisted. The blades slid into the flesh by his hipbone.

Still he yelled and struck out at her. Her head hit the wall, glass bit into her palms. The world rang in her ears.

Hurry. She pulled herself up, listening as he moaned, pulling the shears free. Her blood smeared along the wall.

She jerked the door opened and stumbled through her room.

"Help! Help!" she screamed. Nothing but a strangled whisper.

God, where was everyone?

At her door, she twisted the knob. Blood slicked her hands, but she unlocked it, throwing the door open. He was coming. She could hear him.

The hallway spun and tilted. Not now. She was not giving up now.

She staggered through the doorway, just as he stumbled through after her.

His hand slammed down on her shoulder and the pain brought her to her knees, sending her into a little side table. It wobbled, tilted and sent the dainty china figurine crashing to the floor.

An arm locked around her throat and pulled her up, something stung down her arm twice as he stumbled.

The world grayed. Blood dripped from her fingers.

Someone screamed.

* * * *

Brayden heard Tori screaming. He threw his shirt aside and tore out the door.

The sight that met him halted him in his tracks.

The bastard held Christian. Blood covered an entire side of her robe, trailed from her fingers.

Mother of God.

He saw men racing up the staircase.

"Shut her up. Shut her up!" Richard yelled.

Brayden picked Tori up and shushed her. "It’s okay, sweetie. It’ll be fine." Someone came up behind him and he turned.

Emma Laurence. "Take your daughter out of here."

"Not a chance." He shoved Tori into the woman’s arms.

"Congressman, calm down. No one needs to get hurt," Morris tried, his gun held at his side.

Brayden edged closer, chills raced over him at the sight of Christian bleeding. Richard spun from the men in front of him on the staircase, to Brayden standing behind him.

When Richard stopped and looked at him, he could see the intent in the man’s eyes. Evil as the devil’s heart, and cold as a grave.

"We had a little disagreement."

He heard Christian wheezing.

"Want to know what it was over?" Richard asked.

Brayden looked at Christian’s ashen complexion. How much blood had she lost? He noticed blood stained the front of Richard’s pants.

"Do you!" Richard yelled.

Brayden licked his lips. "If you want to tell me."

The bastard leaned over and nuzzled Christian’s ear. "Do you want to tell him, Josephine, or should I?"

His laugh slithered across the hallway. "Oh, I forgot. She can’t talk, not really. She’s been a naughty girl.

So, I took care of that problem."

What the fuck did that mean?

"Christian?" Brayden asked, looking at her. Her eyes were glazed.

All he could hear was her wheezing.

Hang on, baby. Just hang on.

God, help him.

"Well, since she can’t tell you, I guess I should. Our disagreement was over you." The man smiled. "I told her I didn’t share, and here she is wearing your ring." He tsked. "I almost cut her finger off for that, but that would disfigure her, so I can’t do that, now can I?"

Brayden shook his head, always sliding toward them. "No, you wouldn’t want to do that."

"I told her she couldn’t love you. She can only love me. Only me!"

What reasoning was there with a madman?

Brayden moved closer, almost to them, but the guy kept pulling Christian with him along the wall, closer to the staircase.

"I can’t let you have her. I can’t let her go."

Well, Brayden wasn’t about to let the bastard take her.

"She is," Richard continued in that silky voice, "my angel. My beautiful, lovely, angel."

The glint of a bloody switchblade hissed right before the sonofabitch pointed it at her neck.

"I don’t want to steal such beauty from the world. But dead, we would be together. Forever."

Christ.

"You-you don’t want to do that," Brayden tried, keeping his voice calm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian poised at the entrance of the other hallway just off the stairs. Everything intersected at the head of the staircase.

"Why? Because you want her?" Richard taunted.

Brayden saw the pearl of blood at the tip of the blade as it pricked her skin.

Christian wheezed again, jerking Brayden’s gaze to her. Her eyes fluttered shut and she slumped in Richard’s hold.

Two shots fired, both spinning Richard around. He lost his hold on Christian and Brayden rushed him.

Brayden growled as he flew at the monster.

He hit him, mid torso, the momentum carrying them both back toward the banister.

"Brayden, move!" Ian shouted.

He saw the blade coming and ducked, reached up and grabbed it. For a bleeding man, Richard was strong, stronger than Brayden had given him credit for.

The blade glinted as it wavered between them. "You’re a lowlife sonofabitch," Brayden bit out between his teeth. "It’s time to reap what you sowed." With a prayer and a curse, he used his strength to turn the blade toward Richard. Closer and closer.

The man’s eyes glinted and he smiled. "She will always be mine."

"She was never yours." Brayden shoved his weight against the knife, felt it slide in, nick a rib, and pop the heart. Blood flowed over his hand. "Burn in hell."

He heard the wood crack, felt it give and tried to jerk back.

Richard grinned and locked his hand around Brayden’s wrist.

The railing gave way and Brayden pitched forward.

"Stupid, hotheaded ass," someone said.

Hands jerked him back, grabbed hold of Richard, but the other man slipped and crashed to the hardwood floor below, blood spreading in a dark pool around him.

Brayden turned and looked at his brother. The disguised icy blue eyes were furious. "Don’t ever pull a dumb stunt like that again."

Brayden huffed out a breath. "Thanks."

He turned and rushed to Christian who lay crumpled on the rug, her bloodstained robe sticking to her body.

Gavin was working on her, bending over her, checking her pulse and his watch. He must have come up the back stairs.

Brayden knelt beside her. She was almost gray. Oh, God, please, no. Not after all this. He couldn’t loose her now.

The look on Gavin’s face was serious. Gavin said, "She’s been stabbed twice, has other smaller cuts, lost a lot of blood and has a bruised larynx. Ambulance is on the way and FlightStar is waiting at the local hospital. We’re going to medevac her to Georgetown Memorial."

Brayden sat down and dropped his head. Gently, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"I’m sorry, baby. So damn sorry."

Why couldn’t it have been him the bastard went after?

People shuffled and moved around them. He heard his parents, thought he heard his daughter, but none of it registered. All he saw was Christian. All he knew was that he’d failed her again.

Christian opened her eyes. The stringent smell of a hospital stung her nose. Then she realized it was the oxygen hose.

The bleep of a monitor pierced through the haze. What was she doing in a hospital?

She turned and saw Brayden sitting by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, dark stubble on his jaw.

Her arm and shoulder throbbed. Licking her lips, she realized she was thirsty.

"C-can...." Only a whisper came out.

Memories slammed back into her. The bathroom. Richard. The knife. The fight. Brayden.

He turned and hurried to her bedside. "You’re okay. Calm down. You’re safe." His hand on her forehead was feather light. She leaned into the comfort.

"You’ve been out for a good while. Scared me to death, though the doctors tell me this is all normal, considering your wounds."

Stabbings.

"Richard?"

Brayden’s face hardened. "You’ll never have to worry about him again."

What did he mean?

"He’s dead. Shot twice."

Well, that was nice to know. A smile caught her off guard. The monster in her life was banished.

"Rest, you should rest." He leaned over and kissed her cheek again. "Don’t try to talk. The doctor said it would be several days before any normal sound came out as long as you don’t push it. Are you thirsty?"

She nodded. A machine hummed beside her.

Sunlight slanted through the window and across her bed.

Water sloshed in a glass, dripped off the bottom and onto her hand as he moved it over toward her. The straw felt awkward, her mouth as dry as sawdust. But the water was wonderful.

Too quickly he took it away. "The nurse said only sips."

She rolled her eyes, or tried too. Suddenly the throbbing in her arm stopped and she felt light and floaty.

"Go back to sleep."

Christian reached out and grabbed his hand. "Don’t leave me," she rasped.

"Never. Never." He sat in the chair beside her, and held her hand.

"I love you," she tried to whisper.

"I love you, too."

Blackness swirled and swept her into a painless oblivion.

* * * *

Ian slid into the car and shut the passenger door. The police had badgered him, but his story was rock solid, even if one of his bullets was in Richard’s upper chest, the other from Morris. All the numbers they called were answered by an answering service for Banockburn Security. Of course, Sean McClean worked for them. And they were sad to hear someone died, but at least the little girl, who he was hired to protect, was all right.

The police had no choice but to buy it. He had to come back for some interviews. He told them fine.

Even went so far as to write them down in a neat black organizer. No one in that department would ever see Sean McClean again.

"Can we get the hell out of here now?" John asked him, his British accent clipped to a point as it often got when he was tired.

"What, didn’t you enjoy your vacation?" Ian asked, looking over at the only man he’d trust his back to.

Well, besides his brothers. But he needed someone in the business to help with this operation, and John was it.

"Oh, definitely." John continued, "Nothing I like more than stings. What, after all, does a beach, a tanned woman, and lots of fruity drinks, have to compare with excitement like this. Blood, lies and bullets. My kind of fun."

They pulled away from the curb.

"All things considered," John continued. "I think that all went rather well. We even managed to cover our arses."

"Went well?" Ian asked him.

"Everyone lived, didn’t they? Too many variables to cover. We try."

"Trying is not good enough."

"Not when it’s our own, is it, boyo?"

The early morning D.C. lights whizzed passed. Silence stretched between them. They were almost to the airport when John spoke again. "Time to get back, she’s already been calling wondering what the hell is taking you so long."

"She’ll wait," Ian added. "We had to finish this. I didn’t want to have to come back later and clean up."

"You could have just ended this much earlier. You knew who the bastard was weeks ago."

He could have, yes.

"You just wanted your brother to have a go at the bloody bugger."

Damn John anyway. "Would you shut up."

"Yeah, it went damn well. God, I love job success."