His Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One) (4 page)

I inhaled deep, letting the air fill my nostrils and clear out the memories of the past so I could get back to where I belonged. Watching Leila, bundled up in a peacoat the color of the sky; gray and blue. Her arms stretched wide as she stood on the rocks, like she was embracing the world. This was all the world I needed. Leila. The smile she wore when she turned back to me stole my breath away, beckoning me to join her.

I was glad that I chose to bring her to Glendalough after we landed. The rugged beauty of the valley transported us to a place far away from the concrete jungle we called home. The romantic blue of the lakes and the overwhelming, lush green that stretched as far as the eye could see… it was the otherworldly countryside one imagined when you thought of Ireland. A place filled with history and castles and the fantastic.

When I wrapped my arms around Leila, I felt the warmth of her excitement, wrapping me tighter than anything I’d ever known. It should have been a beautiful, powerful moment. I should have been humbled by how insignificant doing anything but living in the moment was, but my secrets denied me that luxury. She thought this was an ‘us’ trip, with a little business I’d arranged as a cover for the real reason we were here: Cole.

So I smiled for the pictures she snapped, played photographer while she looked out at the valley. We visited the Monastic City, the remains from yesterday aged with time but still powerful. Leila’s excitement as she explored each one in reverent silence, her eyes wide and taking it all in, just intensified my guilt. The lies I’d have to tell were like something spoiled on my tongue. Foul. Wrong. And apparently, I wasn’t fooling her at all with my twitchy grins and jittery hand holding.

She led me to a bench away from the other tourists. She sat down first, sniffling as she adjusted her beanie, the wind whipping curls across her face. She peered at me from behind the ringlets. “What’s going on?”

I joined her, rubbing my hands together and pointedly dodging her attempts to read me. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Please,” she huffed, nudging me with her shoulder. “Your mask isn’t nearly as infallible as you think. I can tell when you’re with me and when you’re a million miles away. So where are you, Jacob?”

I stroked her knee, meeting her gaze head on. “I’m right here.”

She covered my hand, calling my bluff. “This is about Cole isn’t it? About what happened.” She didn’t wait for my reply. “I know you’re meeting with clients so this isn’t a complete escape, but I came here to put some distance between us and what happened. When we get back, we can see the therapist and I’ll try harder-”

“Leila…” I brought her hands to my mouth. I kissed her knuckles, struggling to find a way to convince her of the lie. That I was here with her and not thinking of a way to get her back to Dublin so I could make good on my promise to make this right. To protect her.

She wouldn’t believe me if I told her that I wasn’t grappling with the kidnapping, even thousands of miles away from the scene of the crime. So I would give her enough of the truth to fly under the radar. “I won’t lie to you, my waking thoughts are filled with anger that I can’t let go. I love you more than anything in this world and I know you’re still healing from what happened, and in some ways, you’ll always be healing.” I cupped her cheek. Here in this place, surrounded by priceless artifacts, there was nothing more rare and powerful and priceless than my love for her. “
I
a
m
working on letting go, baby.”

Her eyes were glassy with tears as she arched into me. Her forehead kissed mine and she sighed, smiling as a tear coursed down her cheek. “Okay.”

I gave her the rest of the day. I took my plans, put them in a box and buried it, savoring the scenery, the rolling green hills and Leila’s hand in mine. When we got back to Dublin, we walked down Grafton Street. I watched Leila listen to the musicians, riveted, then something broke and she danced without inhibition, spinning and laughing. Her energy was contagious and people joined her, the musicians even cheering her on. When she skipped back to me, breathless and spent, I kissed her hard and deep. I wanted to remember the moment forever.

I took her on a private tour of The National Gallery of Ireland, completely oblivious to the beautiful art that surrounded us. She was a masterpiece all on her own. By the time we stopped in for an obligatory pint, I knew the time had come. I stood at a fork in the road. My last chance to go left instead of right. I could drain my glass, really listen to the lively lyrics that filled the bar and had my wife tapping her foot and shrugging her shoulders in time. ‘Dance with me’ was her unspoken plea. ‘Let this be a new beginning’. The look in her eyes was more than I could stand.

I downed the rest of my beer and made my choice. “I have to handle the work thing. Meet you back at the hotel later?”

She brushed her lips against mine, her eyes asking all the questions I couldn’t answer. “Don’t be too late, okay?”

The only thing that got me out of that bar and behind the wheel of the Land Rover was the address burning a hole in the glove compartment. It was a 3.5 hour drive from Dublin and I could barely enjoy the windy roads and vistas like nowhere else in the world. There was only the anger that felt as natural as a second skin. I replayed every tear that had been shed, every muffled sob, every little white lie Leila uttered. She was barely holding herself together and he got to retire to the Irish countryside?

Not as long as I was breathing.

The road pulled me closer to my brother and my conscience reared its ugly head. My childhood was far from happy, but I never approached the territory of his. The hell he must have endured, the fear he had to swallow every day before it swallowed him.

My GPS beeped, alerting me that my destination was near. I rolled down my windows, letting any reservation, any weakness spill out and fade in the distance.

The minute he touched her he ensured this would end on way.

Night was my cover when I pulled off the highway to a dirt road that snatched me back to the day that put us on this course. I’d nearly assaulted a banker for moving too slow when I made the withdrawal. I’d white knuckled my way to the meet, refusing to acknowledge the fact that it was only twenty minutes from the place I called home. If my mother knew Cole had taken Leila she’d applaud his efforts. Sure, she’d appropriately feign horror while silently thanking God for this blessing.

When I guided my SUV down the road, step by careful step, eyes searching for Leila, heart screaming in my chest, I realized that little psychopath was going to make me wait every agonizing minute, wondering what final slices of pain Leila would endure.

There was no caution as I flew down the road this time, teeth and fists clenched. I knew he waited at the end. And I wasn’t completely heartless--I also knew that his redhead worked at the same bar and was at work until 3 AM at least. That left me hours to ask my questions. Hours to make him regret being born at all.

I slowed to a crawl, then pulled off the side of the road, lush vegetation the perfect cloak. I would go the rest of the way by foot.

My boots crunched against the ground and I found myself wondering if my brother walked these same steps, filled with questions and guilt. Did he think about what he’d done? What he’d lost? What he’d taken?

The backpack pumped eagerly on my shoulder. I’d make him think about it. I’m make him apologize until I believed the words, so when I told Leila that it would be okay, that he’d never hurt her again, I could say it with certainty.

The cottage was barely visible, the moon the only source of light. It was a stone, sturdy looking thing that rose out of the grass and stood defiantly, daring time to challenge it. There was a gate that had long lost its function, the door rusted and lying on the ground several feet away. Stones were peppered about, a rustic game of hopscotch to the front door. There was no porch, just a couple of metal chairs and a table that slouched to one side. This wasn’t a place one went to escape. You came here when you were out of options. When I bore into the girl who marched over to get the ransom money, I saw the cabanas gleaming in her eyes. She was already picturing the five star hotels and shopping sprees. If you had millions to spare and needed to lay low, why would you pick some decrepit cabin instead of some beach in some country with no extradition? If it wasn’t all about the money, why did he do it?

I stepped up to the wooden door, hand sliding into my jacket and finding the grip. I pulled out the gun and disengaged the safety. I pointed it at the ground and cast a final look at the sky.

For Leila.

I knocked on the door, two solid, authoritative beats that threw open my chest and my heart nearly lunged from my body. Every pulse was punctuated, every second a hollow whisper in my head. This house had no secrets. I heard his movements, every solid footstep echoing as he approached.

The door opened and the smile on my brother’s face told me he was expecting the redhead. The beer in his hand exploded when he saw the gun.

All the color drained from his face. “Jacob-”

“Don’t waste your breath,” I snarled, letting myself in. “You’ll talk soon enough.” I smiled cruelly. “You’ll even scream.”

Chapter Six

"How was your trip?"

The question I'd been dreading since my father and I landed at home had arrived. I still wasn't prepared for the weight of it, like rocks were piled onto my chest with every second that passed and I didn't tell her the truth.

Italy with my father was like a dream I never knew I wanted. Home was the nightmare that I was dying to escape.

As soon as the wheels touched down in Venice I noticed the change in him. From the moment we piled into the water taxi, he couldn't stop smiling. When he spoke to me, it wasn't like our usual interactions. On the rare occasions he was at home, we piled around the dining room table, searching for the right words to say. My father was the first to concede, not even trying to be present. To pretend that he wanted to be with us. The silence said everything.

But in Venice he couldn't stop talking. Sharing his favorite places in the city and spots in the countryside where I'd take the woman I cared about someday. When I asked if he brought Mom here he'd chuckled and said Paris was more her style. I'd pretended I didn't see him brush Aunt Al's knee. Squeezed it like he was sending her a secret message.

And that was just the beginning of the secrets.

I'd met Allegra's family; brothers, sisters, and cousins who treated me like they’d known me since birth. But my father told me I couldn't tell Mom. That she wouldn't understand. He'd drilled that into me the entire flight home, the smile replaced by something anxious and uncomfortable.

So when Mom cordially kissed the air near my cheek, I remembered what I was supposed to say.

"Venice was great. Dad worked most of the time."

The lie fell from my lips. Her eyes widened like I'd just slurped my soup or farted in front of one of her friends. Like some involuntary reflex, they'd narrowed to the point that they were tiny slivers of gray.

My mother was a lot of things. Annoying, sure, but most of the time she didn't even notice my existence. It hurt more than I let on but I pushed it aside. How many times did she tell me I had to be the man of the house? That men never let their guard down and never show weakness? She was the queen that made the servants scatter with one glare.

For the first time ever, I wanted to scatter. I wanted to disappear.

She knew I was lying.

I braced myself for her fury, but she just sniffed, tugging at the pearls around her neck.

"How...interesting."

She left the room without another word and I stood trembling, knowing that this wasn't just a little lie.

She'd never forgive me.

I brightened when my father shuffled into the room, gripping a glass of scotch. He drank it as often as Mom drank her 'orange juice' in the wine glass.

"Everything okay?" He didn’t really care. He was asking me if I did what he asked. If I lied.

My face fell, but I covered it with a shrug, kicking at an imaginary hole in the floor. A hole I wanted to fall in. "I told her it was fun. That you worked a lot." I left off the 'just like you told me'.

He took a hesitant step toward me and I thought he was about to hug me. Put his arm around my shoulders like he did so many times in Venice when he acted like he actually liked me.

He froze, like he caught himself and remembered that he was home. No love existed here. Only secrets.

"Very good." He managed a smile and left the room.

I walked to the window, holding the tears back. I squeezed my eyes shut and I made a promise.

I wouldn't be tricked again. I’d never let anyone close enough to hurt me.

****

I didn't notice how much I looked like Cole until now. It had very little to do with our features--yes, we had the same sharp cheekbones, the same eye shape while his were a different shade of gray and blue. I saw pieces of my mother rippling through his face as he stared at the gun, then at me, then back at the gun. The similarity was in the terror. He thought he hid it behind the way his face was still but I saw the slight tremble of his chin. When he opened his mouth to reason with me, he snapped it back shut immediately. I knew the look well. It was the Book of Jacob, copyright the moment it sunk in that showing emotions meant I was giving someone a piece of myself. So I did the opposite. Even at my darkest and most vulnerable, I was a fortress. No one gained entry. No one got close enough to see in truth--I was falling apart.

My eyes were still latched on him as I lowered my backpack to the floor beside me. I held the gun with both hands and joy filled the air with its sweet and bitter scent. Even he couldn't hide the way his chin rattled, the fear getting the better of him.

"Look-"

"Find the nearest chair and sit down." I was surprised by how calmly I said the words. The fortress, my mask, caught fire when he opened the door.

He frowned, my command catching him by surprise. "Sit down?"

My nostrils flared but I kept my voice and arms steady. "We don't know each other well. You think I'm the kind of man that will let you harm my wife and walk away. I can offer you some assistance." My mouth was filled with so much righteous anger that I had to work to get the last bit out instead of shooting him in the head. "I don't like to repeat myself."

He spun around like this hadn't been his home for the past month; like there was some chair hiding in plain sight. I turned to one literally two feet away from him, one of the few pieces of furniture in the tiny room. I did a quick sweep, counting a TV tray table, a small bookcase lined with hardbacks and a rainbow of empty liquor bottles, a mattress near the window, a rusted fridge and a wood burning stove. Quaint. Strangely homey. And more than he deserved.

Cole eased himself into the seat, his face as tight and worried as someone trying to diffuse a bomb with no idea what they were doing. I expected him to try and rationalize with me, talk me out of the inevitable. He was silent.

I'd acted out this scene a million times in my head and I hadn't made a misstep yet. I didn't have to look down to unzip the backpack at my ankle. It didn't hurt that Cole was glued to my movements, his grey eyes enlarging when I pulled out the roll of duct tape.

"Hands behind your back," I said coldly, knowing it could all fall apart in these next pivotal moments.

He let out a sigh that shuddered his lean frame. I hoped he was realizing just how small he was. How insignificant.

He finally spoke, his voice a hoarse plea. He was so far from the man I'd met. The kid with bright eyes as he dropped the news that he was my brother. When he turned my world upside down.

"Jacob-"

"Hands. Behind. Your. Back."

He locked his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. I kept my gun on him and stalked to his back.

"Don't do anything stupid." I didn't give him time to figure out a way to do just that, putting the gun on the table out of his sight, yanking the tape free and binding his wrists. I tried to not think about the way he let me lead him to slaughter. Not thrashing about and fighting me. No attempted kicks to the head when I knelt and secured his ankles to the chair. I refused to dwell on the only reason someone wouldn't fight when they were staring at a hole in the ground. Was he laying his head on the chopping block because he knew he deserved it? Why was the joy that coursed through my veins abandoning me now?

I tossed the tape back in the bag, discarding that train of thought with it. I carefully unzipped the front pocket and found the switchblade, fingers throbbing when I pulled it in view. The metal blade flashed when I pressed the tiny button that made it lethal.

He flinched.

Good.

Leila never talked about what happened in that motel room but my imagination filled in the blanks. They had her tied to something, a chair, the bed. And he stood by with a knife and when that girl gave the order, he cut her.

Joy was a ghost. The only thing left was the hate in my belly.

"Did Leila flinch when you pulled the knife on her?" My rage bled onto every word. "Did she gasp?"

I was finally giving him the opportunity to speak, but he couldn't find the words.

Clearly, he needed a little motivation.

The air whistled as my right fist dived toward his jaw. Pain exploded at the point of contact, setting my hand on fire. It had been years since my fist hit anything other than a punching bag. I focused on the red on him as blood rushed to his face, his chin ducking to his chest.

When he spoke, blood spritzed the front of his t-shirt. "We both know that there's nothing I can say that's going to stop what's coming to me. Even if I said that Leila's cries haunt me-"

"Don't say another word." Fury took over and I was on him in an instant, the blade at his throat. I could open him up right now, blood escaping the opening, drenching us both. "You don't get to say her name! And if you think I give a shit about your guilty conscience, you're mistaken."

Through the haze of the red, calling to me, thrumming through me, I saw his fear up close and personal. The way his Adam's apple shivered. The sweat that exploded at his temple like tiny bullets. The tears that drowned his eyes. "That isn't...I'm not..."

I dug deeper, breaking skin and the red ran like some raging, wild animal that roared. It told me I was close to this all being over.

Justice.

Just a little more.

Just do it.

End him.

But there was a sound that sliced through my brother's last moments. It sounded like a gun shot, but I saw the gun on the table out the corner of my eye.

I blinked and felt the chill as wind gusted into the room, digging into my skin and sinking into my bones.

Not a gun shot. It was a door slamming into the wall.

Everything slowed to a crawl. I was looking down at Cole, gasping and choking as blood streamed from behind my blade. Drenching his skin like tears.

But it was the voice that splintered me. It shook me from my anger and I couldn't deny how far I'd gone.

"Jacob?"

I released the knife and whirled to face her. The only good thing I had left had come to what was to be my brother's final resting place. I brought her into this nightmare. Back to a tiny prison filled with weapons and fear.

Leila stood in the doorway, her brown eyes shooting to Cole, then flying back to me. Her gaze was wide and unbelieving. Then it melted into something even more terrifying.

Disgust.

Terror.

"What have you done, Jacob?" She covered her mouth in horror. "What have you done?!"

****

Thank you for taking the time to rea
d
His Need (The Billionaire Dom Diaries, Part One
)
. Please consider leaving a review. xoxo Ava

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