Illicit acollection, p.127
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 127
I stand up and he tugs me into him, releasing my arm. I practically moan out in pleasure at the sensation of blood returning to my hand. That pleasure doesn’t last long. Before I know what’s happening, his mouth is on mine. He tastes sour, like stale coffee and desperation. I try to pull away, but there is no give to be had. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, cinching the back of my hair in his fist by the roots. “Don’t forget who you belong to,” he growls against me. “Don’t forget you’re mine and not his.”
“Never.” I smile, bile climbing its way up the back of my throat. I quickly swallow it down. “I want to go now. I’m anxious to leave with you.”
“Your boyfriend is lucky,” he hisses under his breath as he gets off the exam table. He’s nearly the same height as me. I angle to face him, needing to see his eyes as he talks about Jonah. “I saw him first. My plan was to come for you and then find him after. Show him that you belong to me and not him. That you could never belong to him. But he left before I found you and ruined that.”
I hold onto the relieved breath desperate to escape my lungs. The thought of him hurting anyone makes me sick. The thought of him hurting Jonah fills me with a fear I have no name for.
“He doesn’t matter. We do. Let’s go.”
A sparkle of light touches his eyes, lightening them to a notch below insane. Matt tucks his freaking horror-film gun back into the pocket of his pants, takes my hand and leads me to the door. “Don’t try anything. You tip anyone off and it won’t end well for them.” He opens it and I keep my eyes to the ground without lowering my head. I need to be able to watch him without making eye contact with anyone. I’m terrified out of my mind, but the thought of him shooting someone . . . I can’t even imagine it.
We stop in my office, my eyes searching desperately for anything I can grab without him noticing. Nothing. I have absolutely nothing in this office that is helpful. Not even a syringe I can stab him with. I lift my purse and slide it onto my shoulder. He smiles at me with a warmth I knew from him in a previous life. It makes me hate him more for putting me in this position.
Matt reaches into my purse, muddles through it until he retrieves his beloved flash drive. I hate that I’ve had this the whole time. I can’t even question how that happened, because my purse is filled with lip gloss that is easily five years old, stale gum, and more crap than anyone needs. He knew that about me. He banked on it and won. Matt tucks it into his pocket with a satisfied grin and nods his head at me as if to say he’s ready.
I wordlessly turn off the light and close the door to my office, a sick knot of dread coating my stomach. Sweat slicks the back of my neck. My heart races so loud I’m shocked no one can hear it. I’m shaking. It’s a minor miracle that I’m able to stand and walk in a straight line.
We make it down the hall. We make it through the door. We make it down the stairs and to the lobby before we’re stopped.
And everything turns to chaos.
25
Halle
It starts out slow. Like a bass drum in the background. Like a bradycardic heartbeat. Bump-bump. Bump-bump. It’s like those dreams where you’re watching yourself from outside your body, or a sequence in a movie where everything is moving in slow motion.
Matt is holding onto my arm, his fingers wrapped firmly around my bicep. We’re heading to the front door, side by side. Matt is talking about the plane he has waiting for us at Logan. How we have to go someplace far and very foreign. That I can no longer be Halle Whitcomb, but that’s okay because he has a fake passport for me with a different name on it.
I’m nodding and doing everything in my power to keep him calm and nonviolent while systematically going through every possible escape scenario in his plan.
Then Jonah walks in the front door.
He spots me and his entire face lights up. Like the finale of a fireworks display on New Year’s Eve. Or a little boy on Christmas morning as he finds all the presents under the tree. Like I’m just what he’s been searching for his whole life and seeing me here, in this unexpected way and place, made his whole day. That look lasts a total of three seconds. I know, because I count. One. Two. Three. Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump. That’s when the smile spreading his gorgeous face falls. Possibly because I do not return his look of elation and adoration. Or possibly because he notices the man on my right holding onto me like I’m a flight risk.
Or clumsy because I’ve already tripped over my sneakered feet twice, but I’m going to blame that on the panic.
“Halle?” That’s Jonah, and this time, it takes less than a second for his confused expression to turn to a delightful cocktail of fury, deadly intent and fear. “What’s going on?”
Matt pauses, freezing mid-step at the sound of my name. Strangely enough, he hadn’t noticed Jonah, who is now practically in front of us. I wish he weren’t standing so close. I wish he would step back and away from me, but he’s only getting closer, as if he’s about to separate Matt from me by force.
“I’m leaving,” I tell Jonah sternly. “I don’t want to see you again.” Please leave, Jonah. Please walk away before you get hurt.
Jonah stares at me for a beat. Then at Matt. Then he shakes his head like nothing is adding up and one plus one no longer equals two, and the world is spinning on an entirely different axis. But the thing about Jonah, he’s a smart guy. A very smart guy. And I believe the record has already stated that I have a terrible poker face.
“Has he hurt you?” he asks me, his eyes scanning mine before they drop to my body and end on Matt’s hand around my arm.
Matt laughs mirthlessly, raising his chin in defiance—a vain attempt at evening his sightline with Jonah’s, though Jonah still has a good half a foot on him. “No. I haven’t hurt her.” His grip on my arm tightens as he jerks me to his side. “She’s the one who hurt me, doctor, by jumping into your bed when ours wasn’t even cold. But it doesn’t matter because Halle chose me and not you. She wants me.” He thrusts a thumb into his chest. “Not you.” A smarmy grin curls up the corners of Matt’s lips. “As she said, she doesn’t want to see you again. So back the fuck up unless you want to be the one who gets hurt.” That’s when Matt’s free hand lowers to his side. The side carrying the gun.
I have no idea if we’ve drawn a crowd or not. If someone has called the police by now. I’m hoping so. I’m hoping there are dozens of people around and that someone is savvy enough to realize there is a real threat.
I can’t look away from them. If I do, even for a split second, this could all go wrong.
Jonah glares at Matt, his flinty gaze turning to impenetrable stone. His fists ball up at his sides, his knuckles turning white. His cheeks grow rosy as his rage slowly boils up to a crescendo, ready to explode like a volcano. I’m hoping Matt is smart and thinking clearly enough to realize that if he shoots someone, his escape plan is for naught. That he still might have a way out of this that does not involve murder and suicide.
But something tells me Matt hasn’t been thinking clearly for a while. Something tells me he’s hanging on by a very loose, thin strand of reality. My eyes bounce back and forth between the two men, my vision blurring along the edges as I try to focus through the panic-laced adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. I can’t breathe, or maybe it’s that I’m breathing too much because I feel like I’m hyperventilating.
“Release her now, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you live long enough to make it to prison.”
I shake my head, begging, pleading, dying. Please don’t do this, Jonah.
Matt’s trembling uncontrollably, and I can’t determine if it’s from anger or fear.
“He won’t go to prison,” I say, wondering if Jonah understands my meaning, knowing there is no way he could. “Just go, Jonah. Leave us alone.”
Jonah, the stubborn, protective, wonderful bastard shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Leave,” I plead, my voice shrill. I don’t know what else to do. Tears breech the divide, streaming futilely down my cheeks. “Please,” I sob. “Please let us leave. You have to let us go.”
“He’ll call the police, Halle.” I shake my head. I shake it over and over again. I need to tell Matt that Jonah won’t do that, but I’m losing my ability to speak. “It’s too late now.”
“No,” I wail, my body crumpling.
Three things happen at once. Matt goes for his gun, sliding it out of his pocket in one smooth motion, gripping it like it’s high noon at the O.K. Corral. Jonah seizes my other arm, attempting to pry me away from Matt. Instead of allowing that, I step in front of Jonah, desperate to shield him from whatever Matt has planned. Matt won’t shoot me. I think.
And all that slow-motion suddenly speeds up to live action.
Matt lifts his gun, sweat rolling down his flushed face, his expression sick with menacing conviction. I don’t know this Matt. The man I lived with, loved at one point in time, would never threaten people. Would never hurt anyone. Then again, I would never have imagined he’d be stealing from them, either.
I have to get to the gun.
I lunge for it just as an arm wraps around my stomach, wrenching me back. “No!” I scream out so loud my voice cracks on the end, my arms flailing wildly, extending helplessly toward the gun. Jonah wrenches me back, lifting me into the air and pushing me aside as if I weight nothing. I fall, hard and fast, my ass slamming on the ground as my body skids back a few feet with the momentum.
Jonah wastes no time. He lunges for Matt, tackling him and taking him to the ground. The air whooshes out of Matt’s lungs, momentarily dazing him, as he’s slammed down on his back.
But the gun. The gun that always goes skittering away in movies stays firmly planted Matt’s hand. He moves to strike, recovering faster than I would have expected. I gasp, crawling to my knees, forced to watch in stunned horror. I’m terrified any wrong move I make will end in Jonah being shot. Killed. Oh, God. I can’t take this. I’m going to be sick.
The two grapple, moving this way and that. Striking back and forth like deadly snakes, rhythmically dancing. It’s as hypnotizing as it is terrifying.
Matt cracks the butt of the gun into the side of Jonah’s face. My hands fly up, covering my mouth and the resulting sob that’s pressing through my raw lips. Yet somehow, Jonah shakes it off, managing to capture the hand holding the gun. Matt’s eyes are narrowed slits of determination, as he fights back, desperately trying to shake Jonah off and regain control of the gun. Jonah’s fist collides with Matt’s face, knocking his head back against the uncompromising tile floor. He growls out, spitting blood on the floor.
But before Jonah can do anything else, Matt swings with his other arm, nailing Jonah across the chest and knocking him back. It’s enough to secure the upper hand. Matt twists around and pins Jonah to the floor. He raises his hand, twisting the gun into position to fire it. I hear sound all around me, but I can’t look away. Jonah reaches for the gun, but he’s going to be too late.
He’s going to be too late!
I scream, collapsing to the floor. Matt presses in on the trigger and my eyes close, but nothing happens. There’s no bang. No thunderous crack. My eyes fly back open to find Matt studying his gun only to realize that he had the safety engaged. Thank God. The breath I was holding flees my lungs. Matt moves to disengage the safety, but Jonah takes advantage of his momentary distraction. He grabs the arm with the gun and twists it hard, wrenching it back at an awkward angle until Matt howls out in pain. Jonah thrusts up with his elbow, cracking Matt’s nose with a sickening crunch.
Matt’s done. He has to know this is the end of the line. Crouching down on all fours, I crawl slowly toward them. If only I can grab that goddamn gun, I can stop this. But before I can even get close, Matt thrusts, swinging his arm wildly, doing everything he can to free himself and the gun. A deafening crack fills the air.
I scream again as Jonah’s body lurches, a groan of pain slipping past his lips. His face turns ashen, his eyes wide. Oh my God, Matt shot Jonah. A thin line of red slowly discolors the ripped material on the back of Jonah’s pale blue scrub top, saturating the fabric, but I can’t determine how badly he’s hurt.
Jonah rises, the wound barely registering as his elbow slams down on Matt’s stomach before his forearms swings back. He nails Matt directly across the throat, snuffing out the air from his lungs. Matt falls back, grasping his throat as he thrashes, choking for air that seems to elude him. The hand with the gun goes slack before he brings it up to his throat, like that will make his plight for air easier. The gun clatters to the floor. I scramble for it, but Jonah is already there, beating me to it.
“Jonah?” I blink, frantic to catch his eyes. He doesn’t reply, but the wound can’t be that bad if he’s able to move like this. Right?
Lifting the gun off the ground, he reengages the safety and hands it to me, far out of range for a struggling Matt to reach. I’ve never held a gun before and I hope I never have to again. Jonah’s hair is disheveled, face red and angry, clothing wrinkled and ripped, body bleeding. Despite all that, he drops back to knees, hovering over Matt’s slacken form. “Breathe, Matt.” His cadence is slow and encouraging. “You’re panicking. Try taking a slower breath.”
Matt does, greedily sucking air in past his angry trachea.
“That’s it now.”
I stare at Jonah, awed. Matt just tried to kill him. Tried to shoot him and kidnap me, yet, he’s helping him, calming him down and ensuring he breathes. I reach out and touch Jonah. I have to. I have to feel that he’s okay. That he’s still here with me. Jonah rolls his head over his shoulder, meets my eyes and gives me the smallest of perceptible smiles. It’s one that says he’s okay. It’s one that says we’re alive, and holy shit, that really just fucking happened.
I mean, hell.
“Halle,” Matt rasps, his eyes shifting every which way for me. But I can’t face him. I don’t have it in me to look into his eyes. To speak to him. He tried to take me out of the country by force. He threatened me with a gun. He freaking attacked, shot at, my . . . well, Jonah. The man I love. So, all that guilt I had before about him going to prison and becoming someone’s bitch? Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I’m over it. He deserves to rot there. He deserves for his life to be over.
In fact, I’m angry. So goddamn angry. Angry with myself for ever being with the man, for loving him once upon a time. But if I’m angry with myself, I’m furious with him. How did he let this happen? How did he become this man? Where did he lose sight of right versus wrong?
The police arrive seconds later, knocking Jonah away from Matt and slapping handcuffs on Matt’s wrists before I can blink twice. Matt stares at me, his expression saturated with devastation, his eyes brimming with tears. I have nothing left to say to him, so I watch him go, my thoughts empty and chaotic all at once.
I turn to Jonah, and I find him already there, watching me with something indiscernible in his gaze. And for the first time, in all this madness, I take in the very real possibility that he’s done with me. That he wants absolutely nothing to do with me ever again. I mean, my ex just tried to kill him. And that happened in his health center. And he said we needed to talk tonight. And he loves another woman.
I stare at him and I know how this is going to end for us. My heart is shredding to teeny, tiny bits of pulp. My insides are ugly, raw and overused. You knew this would happen. I did. I absolutely did, and I have no one to blame but myself. I don’t regret it. None of it.
Still, I wish it had lasted longer.
Jonah Hughes is inside me. Under my skin and etched into every cell I’m comprised of. I can tell myself this is rebound love. That it’s a natural reaction to a man like Jonah after everything I’ve been through, but it’s bullshit. Even I can’t digest that lie. I have no idea how I’ll get over him. It’s not a thought I’ve had before. With the others, I knew it would suck for a while, but then I’d be okay. Right now, looking into his green eyes, I wonder if I’ll ever be okay again. If everything that just transpired has irrevocably changed me.
He shifts on the ground, his fierce expression softening as more of my tears falls. I don’t even know if they’re for him or from the ebbing adrenaline.
“You okay?” he asks and all I can do is shake my head, because no. I’m not okay. Nothing about what happened is okay. I want to laugh at just how preposterous his question is. How crazy it is to be attacked like that. To have this entire situation become part of my, part of his, story, but I can’t find the humor in any of this.
“Baby,” he breathes, rising up slowly on his knees like he’s going to lunge for me. Like he’s going to grab hold of me and dissolve every single one of my doubts. But he never makes it. The police are there, surrounding him and surrounding me. The gun. Jesus, I’m still holding Matt’s gun. And people. God, there are so many people standing around us, yelling out questions. Asking if we’re all right and what happened amongst a crap ton of oh my Gods.
It’s like the world started again, only it’s nowhere I want to be. I feel like I need to run and hide under my covers until I fully grasp everything I have no understanding of. And if I wasn’t in such an odd emotional state at the moment, I might cringe at the fact that this happened in my new place of employment. I swear, I’ll never find another job as a nurse practitioner in this city again.
Someone lifts me to my feet. I blink. I come back to reality. I come back to the now. I divert my attention away from Jonah. It’s just too much to keep it there. The police are spit-firing a zillion questions my way before someone tells me that I need to go with them downtown. Been there, done that, own the fucking T-shirt, I want to tell them, but I stay silent and allow them to escort me out to a waiting cruiser.
I spot Jonah being treated in an ambulance, a paramedic tending to his back. I’m assuming it’s just a flesh wound and the words lucky break come to mind. Our eyes lock for a flicker of a second, and when he doesn’t smile or call out to me, or even look as broken as I am, my head dips into the back of the waiting car. Time to face the firing squad.
