Hidden Currents (15 page)

His gaze slid over her and she shivered a little under the piercing stare, drawing the blanket she was wrapped in closer around her, as if she could hide from him—from them all.

“Elle’s going home with me.”

Sarah stepped toward her younger sister, but stopped instantly when Elle shrank away from her. A mixture of emotions crossed Sarah’s face and Elle looked as if she’d been struck.

Jackson stepped between them, his body partially blocking Elle from her older sister’s view. “I know this is difficult, Sarah. She needs medical attention, and obviously Libby’s touch to heal her psychic scarring as well, but right now she needs a little space.”

“From us?”

There was a wealth of hurt in Sarah’s voice and he felt Elle’s instant reaction, as if in her mind, she’d curled up into the fetal position and held herself tightly. “Sarah,” he lowered his voice, tried to be gentle, inwardly cursing that he wasn’t a gentle man and probably the least equipped of all of them to deal with their combined emotions. “All that matters right now is Elle and what she needs.” He turned and swept Elle into his arms before she—or anyone else—could protest. “I’ll see that she’s taken care of tonight, and tomorrow we’ll sort all this out.”

Elle shocked him by not protesting his authority—something she would have fought to her last breath before. Her sisters parted ranks for him as he took Elle away from the Drake sister estate, back to his pickup. He was gentle as he deposited her on the seat.

“Let me get your seat belt for you, baby,” he said and reached across her, careful not to bump her body. She hadn’t let anyone touch her on the ship or on the airplane, not even on the small plane that Joley had hired to take them back to the landing strip close to their hometown. She’d barely spoken, looking fragile—looking broken. He ached inside every time he looked at her.

Elle caught his hand to prevent him walking around to the driver’s side. “I’m not the same.”

His fingers curled around hers. “It doesn’t matter, Elle. I’ve been there, remember? You’re never going to be the same. It doesn’t work that way.” He caught her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, waiting until she stopped avoiding his gaze. “We’ll do this together. We’ll get through it together.”

She swallowed hard, her expression so sad it was heartbreaking when he hadn’t realized he had a heart to break. “And if I’m pregnant?”

“Then it will be our baby. I know you’d never give it up or get rid of it, so I’m with you on this one all the way. Ours, Elle, not his.”

“You’re sure? When I don’t even know what I’m like anymore?”

“I’m sure. Give me a chance, Elle.”

She shook her head. “I’m so broken, Jackson. Inside and out. I don’t know who I am anymore. You don’t have to do this.”

His mouth tightened. His jaw set and a muscle ticked there. He stared her down without blinking. “Make no mistake, Elle, I’m helping because I do have to do this. You’re mine. You were always meant for me . . .”

She put a trembling finger against his mouth. “Elle Drake was meant for you. She’s gone—dead. She’s not here anymore.”

The hands framing her face tightened. “Whoever you are, whatever you want or need is standing in front of you, Elle. I’m not asking for anything right now, only that you let me help you through this. We’ll sort the rest out later.”

“Protect my sisters, Jackson. That’s what I need from you right now. They can’t touch me until I can build my defenses. They can’t be inside my mind.”

His fingers slid reluctantly from her face, so thin now, so ravaged. Her eyes were too old, too sorrowful, dark circles under them. He shut the door and signaled to his dog to come around to the driver’s side. Aunt Carol had looked after the animals for them all while they’d been gone, and she stood, along with the Drakes, tears in their eyes, watching from the porch. Even the house seemed to be weeping. He glanced around the yard, overgrown with vines and flowers and shrubbery, an explosion of color and a wealth of herbs. Every plant seemed to be looking toward Elle, even in the dead of night. As he looked at the house, he swore it trembled, as if it already knew the legacy was fading away.

Swearing under his breath, he refused to look at the sisters, holding hands, watching him take their sister from them—from her home. He slammed his door and started the truck.

“You’re certain this is what you want, Elle? To be with me? You’ve had a hell of a time and you need someone gentle. If you put yourself into my care, I’m going to take care of you. I’ll do what I believe is right.” He stared straight ahead, not wanting to see fear—or distrust—or even acquiescence. He had wanted Elle Drake to come to him without the legacy, without her sisters, without him having to accept everything that came with her, and here she was, huddled so small and vulnerable in his truck, delivering herself into his hands and he felt the wrongness of it. If she came with him, he was going to make this right. He was going to do everything in his power to make the prophecy of the Drake family happen. “Elle?” he prompted. “Your choice, baby. Can you feel their love for you?”

“I can’t feel anything but what he did to me, what he took from me.”

“You’re not allowing yourself to feel.” He pulled down the driveway slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but when she said nothing, he turned onto the narrow highway overlooking the ocean and picked up speed.

Elle didn’t answer, burrowing deeper into the blanket instead, closing her eyes, allowing herself to drift away. Her head ached, and she could barely draw breath with every movement of the truck. She wanted to crawl into a hole like a wounded animal and hide from reality. The world seemed too big, too open, as if she didn’t know how to move in it. She could feel the house pulling at her, wanting her to come back. The wind touched her face through the open window, beckoning to her, calling with faint feminine voices, and she hated herself for causing her sisters to cry.

She could feel Stavros, hear his voice. He was inside her mind, her body, maybe even her soul and she would never be able to get him out. All the times he’d touched her—hurt her—forced her to do things . . .

“Stop it, baby,” Jackson said gently. “That doesn’t help.”

“He’s all over me. In me. How am I ever going to get away from him?” There was despair in her voice. Without being aware of it, her fingernails tore at her skin as if trying to rip Stavros off her.

Jackson reached over and laid his palm gently over her hand, stilling her. At once her mind was flooded with him. His scent. His strength. He poured into her mind in much the same way she’d poured into his so many years earlier when he’d been a prisoner of war. A victim of brutal torture, of unspeakable things, and his mind had been close to shattering. She had come to him and when there was nothing left of him, she had filled his mind with all of her, with her strength, her unique scent. Her will to survive. She had given him everything she was.

Now he gave himself to her just as completely, filling every corner of her mind, saturating every cell with his masculine presence, with every emotion, holding nothing back. Not keeping back the details of his capture and torture, not even the worst of the depraved acts committed against him. He opened himself to her, allowing even his rough, raw sensuality and his fears that even after all her experiences, he would be too much for her to handle inside her mind. He shared his life, his thoughts, letting her see the stark, painful childhood and the wild running through the bayou, as well as the violence of the biker camps his father raised him in. He hid nothing from her and Elle soaked in his strength, in his honesty with her.

He knew he had nothing else to give her but who he was. He’d shared those moments of depraved brutality when Stavros had killed a man he’d forced her to touch. He knew she was terrified Stavros would find her and drag her back—no—kill everyone she loved. And she was risking his life by being with him, trading his life for that of her sisters.

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I am. I’m not strong enough to be alone and you’re the only one I have that might be able to stand up to him. Jonas could lose Hannah or I’d go to him . . .”

“Don’t, baby,” he soothed. “We’re in this together, we always have been whether we wanted to admit it or not.”

“He’ll kill you. You know that, don’t you?” Her voice shook just thinking about Stavros and her mind felt shredded. She clung to Jackson’s strength, to the darkness in him. He was brutal and raw, with a violence that more than matched Stavros’s. Unlike the Greek, he didn’t bother to hide it—certainly not from her. It wasn’t the truth that she would have risked Jonas, and she couldn’t bear the lie between them. “I shouldn’t have implied that Jonas . . .”

“Don’t explain, Elle. I’m in your head. You’re in mine. We share the same skin right now, and your risk, being with me, is just as great. I have a threat hanging over my head as well,” he reminded her quietly. “My father crossed another gang and they killed him for it. I took several of them out before they got me. I didn’t die and they know it. They’ve been looking for me and anyone with me is in danger.”

Elle’s gaze slid over him. He was looking straight ahead, out the window, ignoring her and the ocean below them as they wound their way along the ribbon of highway toward his home. “And you’re just telling this to me now?”

“There was no need for you to know before.”

A small stirring in her mind told Jackson Elle Drake was not completely gone. She’d always had one hell of a temper to go with her bright red hair, and he felt a small spurt, like a weak firecracker going off. “There was every need. You know what I thought.”

“I know what you said you thought. You blamed me for your running off.”

Her lips tightened and she ducked deeper into the blanket, averting her face, inhaling the wind. The breeze ruffled her tangled hair. She pushed at it. “You didn’t want me enough to take me the way I was, Jackson.”

He felt the punch of her words in his gut. “Don’t fucking tell me I didn’t want you enough, Elle. Don’t ever say that to me. I may not be Jonas, all smooth and saying whatever a woman wants to hear, but I sure as hell wanted you with every cell in my body and you knew it. You wanted me to change. You wanted me to be a yes man.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not doing this with you. It doesn’t matter anymore. We had our chance and we lost it.”

“And don’t fucking say that to me either.”

“Maybe I just shouldn’t say anything.”

The scenery blurred as she stared out over the ocean. Waves pounded against great rocks, throwing geysers of water into the air and dousing the rocks with white foam. There was a semblance of peace in the familiarity of the coastline, wild and untamed, the ocean unpredictable, yet always constant. Like her family.

Jackson cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to do this right, Elle. You’re exhausted and hurt and—”

“
Damaged.
Just say it. We both know it. I need honesty from you, Jackson. I’m counting on your honesty to tell me when I’m screwing up. Because I feel so . . .” She trailed off. She rubbed her chin on the blanket. “Angry. Wanting to hurt someone. I hate myself for this but better you than them.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He pulled the truck into his drive and took them up to his home. “I knew what I was asking when I begged you to stay alive, Elle. I’ve been there, I know better than anyone what you’re feeling right now. I’m well aware you’ll do anything to protect your sisters.”

“Including putting your life in danger?” There was a note of challenge in her voice.

“I shared your mind when he shoved a gun down someone’s throat.”

Elle squeezed her eyes closed tightly, but she couldn’t stop the vision of a complete stranger towering over her, shoving his penis into her mouth, or the sight of Stavros slamming his gun into the man’s mouth and pulling the trigger. Her throat closed, as if a hand squeezed like a vise around it, taking her breath until she fought, thrashing to get air.

Jackson slammed on the brakes and reached for her, ripping her seat belt free so that he could spin her around, catching her by the shoulders. Her hands were at her neck, trying to pry unseen fingers from her throat. Behind them, in the back of the truck, Bomber was barking frantically.

“Breathe. Take a breath,” Jackson demanded, his voice calm, although his heart was stuttering. Her eyes were glazed, far away, not seeing him.

He kept her mind flooded with him and he tried again.
Elle. Take a breath. Breathe with me.
He pried her fingers loose from her neck and pressed her palms flat over his lungs as he inhaled deeply and then let out the air.
That’s it, baby, with me. Feel that. We’re together. The same skin, honey. You breathe and I’ll breathe.

She was following his instructions, huddled, sheltered inside him, fearing Stavros reaching for her from a distance. Jackson leaned down and brushed the top of her head with a kiss. “We’re okay now, Elle. You’re home. You’re safe.” He drew her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, blanket and all. “Sarah will bring some clothes over for you tomorrow. In the meantime, you can wear mine, but they’ll be a little big. We’ll make do.”

Elle clung to him for a moment, trying not to feel those fingers at her throat. A panic attack? She’d never had them before. Or had it been real? Had Stavros found her already? Sheena MacKenzie had ceased to exist. There was no way he should be able to trace her back to Elle Drake, and certainly not that fast. It had to have been a panic attack. She rubbed her throat, feeling bruised and sore. “Maybe I’m losing my mind, Jackson.”

“And maybe you’re traumatized, Elle.” He kicked open the door and swept his hand toward the interior, signaling the dog to enter and search. Even with Elle in his arms, he had one hand near his weapon, tucked into his belt. The German Shepherd poked his head out a few minutes later and gave a short bark, signaling all-clear. Jackson stepped inside and put Elle down in the center of the room. “It isn’t all that clean, honey. I didn’t expect to bring you home with me.”

Elle turned in a slow circle to take in the room. It was a man’s room. High ceilings, all gleaming wood. The front of the house was a series of cathedral-like windows rising to the high beamed ceiling in panels, framed in the same polished wood. The floor matched the ceiling and walls as if the entire long open room had been hewn from the same piece of giant redwood. She walked over to the stone fireplace, again a very impressive piece that seemed masculine.