CHERISH (73 page)

And, fucking
Louis.

LOUIS: We need to talk

It’s the second fucking text he’s sent with that same bullshit. But, I fucking know better.

Louis doesn’t want to fucking
talk
. He wants to drop a bomb on my ass. I shoot him a two-word reply.

BECKETT: Not now

I hear nothing more. Radio silence. I’ll deal with it when there’s time. Finding Promise’s renegade ass and making sure she’s safe is the only thing that matters right now.

The rest of the world will have to fucking wait.

When Monday night finally creeps around, and I haven’t found her, I’m about to tear the fucking City of Cleveland down. I’ve blown up her damn phone with god knows how many texts and calls. I even threatened the people on the help desk at Apple to see if they would give me her damn location.

Where. The. Fuck. Are. You?

By midnight, I’m back in the car because sleeping is impossible, and now I’m fucking scared.

She doesn’t realize that for someone like me, what I feel for her can’t be undone. I’ll go without for the rest of my life rather than settle again.

“
Fuck
.” I slam the Suburban into drive, light up the tires out of the basement parking structure and head out to do my loop around her apartment and Jeremy’s house.

As soon as I round the corner toward Jeremy’s, something is different. All the lights are on. It’s damn near one o’clock in the morning, and his sorry ass has the lights out by 9:30 every night.

She’s in there. I can feel it.

Most people would try to sit here and figure out why she’s there. Get their ire up and let the green-eyed monster take over.

Not me. I don’t get jealous. Jealousy is for something you want but don’t have. I’m possessive because I know what’s mine. And, I’m here to make that crystal clear. Whether or not she is in there or in the back of damn Santa’s sleigh, she belongs to me.

She’s just a little off course, and it’s my responsibility to right her.

There’s no way she’d let him take her. Put his filth on her. I know that for a fact.

I saw the look in her eyes that day in the bedroom when Jeremy held that little gold band to the tip of her finger. Her eyes were dead.

No one will ever put a ring on that finger except me. And if they ever do, God help them.

We’ll get her brother. I don’t retreat, and I’ll take care of her until the last breath leaves my body.

I still see the image of her sitting there on her bed with that snake about to slip a ring on her finger. If he’s touched her, he’s going to end up wearing his insides as outsides.

I’m at the door in seconds, measuring every breath to keep them even. My heartbeat slows. I’m on a mission, and failure is not an option. His door is the only thing left between me and whatever is going on in there. I clench my fists, then stretch my fingers, shaking my head back and forth, trying to keep the darkness away.

It’s time to show her exactly how steadfast I’m going to be. She’s in there. I might be deceiving myself, but I can fucking smell her.

I don’t bother to knock. She’s here, and she needs to be out. Period.

The door is no match for my boot, and it flies open and smacks against the inside wall as I hear a yelp.

From him.

My heart stops mid-beat. Then, it’s in my throat and dropping to my boots and slamming around inside of me as I try to keep the darkness from taking over when I see her. She’s sitting with her arms folded over her belly, legs crossed at the ankles, and she looks like a fucking zombie. There are dark gray circles under her eyes, her hair is hanging half over her face, and it looks like a smile has never touched her lips.

“Hey! Get out!” Jeremy is squeaking and pointing toward the door, which is now hanging by one hinge.

Promise is sitting. She blinks and looks at me without any visible change in her expression.

And I’m dying.

The little shit Jeremy immediately grabs a pillow and raises it like a defensive shield. He jumps off the couch where he was sitting with his arm around my girl like she’s available for that shit.

“Get up. We’re leaving.” I say to her. I do what I can to keep my voice even, staring her down and taking another half-step inside the small living room.

He’s got what looks like his grandmother’s light blue sofa along one wall. There are matching lamps from the Brady Bunch set with orange and brown ceramic bases sitting on the side tables. The place smells like an old man, and the only light is coming from the flickering TV and one of the sad 1960’s lamps.

I need to keep this quick. I’ve completely lost my sense of humor in the last few days and the way this is going, I don’t see it coming back for a long damn time.

“
No.
I’m not leaving.” Promise digs her heels into the floor, but I can see the little eye roll she lobs at Jeremy for leaving her sitting alone while he runs for cover.

No? Oh, babe, that was the wrong answer.

I’m fucking done.

It takes me two more strides to reach her. Jeremy squawks like a damn hen in the corner when I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.

“
Put me down you ass
!”

What does it say about me that even as I take a step out the front door with her kicking the shit out of me, my dick is already whispering in my fucking ear? Damn relentless when it comes to her.

“I’ll put you down in a minute. Stop acting like you didn’t expect my ass to show up and do exactly what I’m doing. Where the fuck have you been for three fucking days?” For the twenty or so steps to the car, she’s cursing me like a fresh sailor and flinging her fists around trying to land a shot on my face.

I hate to admit, but I like the fight. I want her to fight. Just not against me.

“I’m doing what I need to do for Jordan.
Please.
”

She’s screaming up a blue mile when I buckle her kicking and screaming into the back seat of the Suburban. I sit her back there so I can put on the fucking child safety locks because she’s acting like a child. This way, she can't open the door and hurt her fool self by jumping out of a moving vehicle.

Promise lets out on me the entire ride back to the loft. I let her. One second it’s tears, the next it’s righteous indignation. She runs the spectrum of emotions and curse words until she wears her damn self out and slumps back like a rag doll.

I forgive her. I’d forgiven her before she needed forgiving. That’s how much a part of me she is.

Forgiving myself will come slower, but maybe she can help me get there someday.

I keep up the caveman routine, carrying her over my shoulder up the stairs to the loft. By the fourth step, she finally lays off trying to bash my nuts inside out with her kicks.

I keep my cool. Babygirl needs me. It’s just noise.

The moment she took me into her body, I became this other person. Someone that will never waver, who will always be there, and who will teach her what she needs to learn.

Regardless of whether or not it’s easy for either of us.

And, the last few fucking days have been a living nightmare. If something had happened to her, I would be done.

“Whatever this is with us, it’s over. It wasn’t real. Don’t you see this ring on my finger! That’s real.” She is screaming like an angel with her wings on fire, and suddenly through my rage, I can’t help but smile.

Then laugh.

Then laugh louder.

“What the hell is funny! This is not funny, this is a
felony.
You can’t just
take
people Beck. It’s called
kidnapping
.”

“You’ve got the ‘kid’ part right. Because you’re acting like one.”

“
Shut up
, Beckett. All big man,
big boss
. What do you know? Huh? Jeremy told me
all
about you. You aren’t who you say you are.”

If anyone ever told you love is easy, throat punch them.

I’m not laughing anymore. I hate his name. I hate it more when she says it.

I manage to dig the key to the loft out of my pocket while carrying my little, ivory angel; hell bent on destroying me, up the stairs. She’d resigned herself to the ride I was giving her, but she was still huffing and puffing and letting me know she wasn’t done with her little fit.

Inside the door, I spin around and re-lock the entry, even putting down the hundred-pound, inch thick, steel security bar and locking that fucker in place. She’s not getting out of here until we get her wire straightened out, and that could take a minute.

“You can’t keep me here.” She’s got her inner tween voice going on, and I stifle another smile.

I set her cranky ass on terra firma and can feel the strain on my lower back where she’d laid her little fists into me about a thousand times.

I’m good at a few things.

One of them is ignoring the noise. The bullshit people throw off to avoid the real stuff. The chatter and defensive ploys she’s been throwing in my path don’t raise my hackles or deter me from my goal.

She’s still learning. I’m a willing and patient teacher.

“Okay, first of all,” I take her right hand in mine. I’m not touching the left one until we emancipate it from the growth on her finger.

I’m dragging her toward the kitchen, and she’s pulling back and jerking her arm half out of its socket, her hair flying around her head like white-blonde flames. “You’re only going to hurt yourself doing that shit, Promise.”

I’ve got one hand latched around her wrist while I use my free hand to grab the bottle of olive oil off the counter. I wrangle my Tasmanian devil over to the sink, and she sets her eyes on me.

“What are you doing? Are you going to
cook
me? You’re not that great of a cook, either. My eggs were rubbery!”

Snap.

“Alright.” I flash my dead, killer eyes at her. “I’ve taken a lot of shit from you the last twenty-five minutes, but that is enough. You can say what you want about me, but you insult my cooking, and we’ve got a real problem.”

Maybe my sense of humor isn’t quite gone. I didn’t say it was good, just not gone.

I meet her eyes and for the first time since I threw her wailing ass over my shoulder, she doesn’t look away, and I’m drowning already.

Sure, I’m pissed. But, I’m first and foremost here for what’s best for her. And right now, I feel like we need a little breather. A little humor. It takes her a second, but I see the way her locked down eyebrows give a little.

I’ve got her by the left wrist now, and I dump the entire bottle of olive oil over her hand, aiming it at her left finger.

“What the heck are you doing?” Her voice loses a bit of its sharpness, and she takes her free hand to brush at the wild strands of blonde hair still stuck to her face from her thrashing.

“I’m purging you of a sickness. Relieving you of a shackle.” I pinch the ring for a second between my thumb and forefinger, wiggling it until it is over her middle knuckle. Then, I shake her hand until it gives the rest of the way. It clatters into the bottom of the sink, and I send it down the drain. I shake my hand and let out a disgusted groan like I’ve just touched a steaming pile of dog shit.

“Hey!
Oh, my god,
that’s a
diamond
!”

“That chip of a yellow rock is
nothing
. It means
nothing
. It never existed. Now, we need to deal with a few things.”

I towel the oil from our hands before lifting her up and setting her beautiful, grumpy ass on the counter. I shift to get my body between her legs, but the little shit sets a pout to her lips and locks her knees and ankles together with a huff.

“Open your fucking legs,” I growl and shift sideways, bumping my hip into her, finding the wedge spot. I’m a machine, and her little body is no match for what I bring.

With one more shift and a carefully aimed swat, I’ve got her legs open, and I set my hips like an anchor between her legs.

“Ouch. You’re a jerk.” She sneers at me, but I can feel her façade breaking.

“Maybe,” I answer. She’s not going to get to me. I’m too damn happy to have her back in one piece.

She can’t help but look in my face when I settle my hands on both her cheeks, forcing our eyes together, our bodies touching. It is impossible for her not to feel what I feel because my dick is already on the starting blocks.

“Now,
what the fuck,
Promise? You put that
fucking
ring
on your finger
.”

“Yes, I did.” She sets her pout again in unapologetic defiance. “I’m getting my brother back. After your little show in the apartment Friday, you didn't leave me any options, did you? Now, even that’s over. Jeremy’s not a bad guy.
He
was going to marry me, and we were almost
guaranteed
to get Jordan. Now . . .” She shrugs as her chin starts to quiver.

I feel like I’m going to double over from the clenching in my stomach as her eyes flash red-rimmed and spill over like Niagara.

“Now, I’ll never get him.” She barely gets the words out.

The sobs come. Gut wrenching sobs. The kind I never want to hear again.

Her sounds fall down onto the cement floor, flooding around my feet in a thick, dark reminder of everything I never wanted for her. Every tear is filling the room with her desperation, and I can’t hold myself together much longer, listening to her pain drown out everything else that used to matter in my life.