Billionaire lumberjacks.., p.21
Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride, page 21
SILAS
I wish I could believe her.
I wish I felt like what she said was remotely true.
But standing here in a suit for the first time in fifteen years, I don’t feel strong.
I feel weak, exposed.
Even though every scar and almost every tattoo is covered, I still feel naked. Like I’m going to walk into that board meeting and every single person in that room is going to see straight through me, is going to pity me when they hear what was done, is going to think that I have no business stepping up in Bolton Steel.
There’s every chance this is going to backfire because I’m not strong enough to make it happen. Because I fucked up by running all those years ago when I should have stayed and fought for what I knew was right, even if it would have been a losing battle.
Fuck…
I scrub my hands over my beard and squeeze my eyes closed, wishing I was back on the mountain with Lyla and Whiskey, sitting in front of a fire and forgetting the world outside our tiny piece of it.
Lyla tightens her arms around my waist, hugging me until I finally get out of my own head. Whiskey finally trots over and presses against my leg. I dig my hand into his fur and rest the other over Lyla’s, threading our fingers together, Grandmother’s ring pressing into my palm.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say to them, Lyla.”
“You’re going to tell them the truth.” She squeezes me again, almost like she’s trying to give me some of her strength through the motion. “You’re going to tell them what you told me.”
Acid churns in my stomach at the thought of having to repeat any of that, of having to go into details I couldn’t with her. “He’ll deny everything…”
“Of course, he will, but that’s why we have Ronald.”
“I’d feel a lot better if I could actually get a hold of him.”
The dozens of calls we’ve made since we regained phone service after leaving the mountain have gone unanswered. Each time his voicemail picked up, I got more and more nervous. Uncle Marty’s threat that he was going to issue the same warning to Ronald as he did me the other day repeats in my head on an endless loop.
I squeeze her hand under mine. “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t worry me that we can’t get in touch with him.”
“Do you think…” Lyla pauses for a moment, almost like she doesn’t want to say what’s on the tip of her tongue. “Do you think Marty did something to him?”
My spine stiffens at her question, even though it’s the one that’s been running through my mind, too. A dozen different scenarios have all popped into my head—some worse than others.
“Possibly. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of what he’s capable of, or Ronald might have gone to the FBI and gotten taken into custody immediately, either because they’re going to charge him or to protect him from Marty.”
Lyla nods against my back. “Let’s hope it’s one of those, right?”
“Yeah…”
Hope.
It’s always brought me nothing but disappointment in the past, but since Lyla’s arrival in my life, I’ve started to think it might not be something to fear anymore.
During my entire time on the mountain, the only memories that ever chased me were the bad ones, the ones that had me screaming out in the night and waking up in a cold sweat, the ones that had me sobbing at times and praying for them to go away. But now that I’m here, even though things have changed, seeing the familiar buildings, the park where I used to play lacrosse, my high school, the library, and all the other places I spent time when I wasn’t home, not all the memories are bad.
Laughter with friends—who had no idea what was really happening in my life. Holding hands and kissing and having sex with the few girls I got close to, even while staying mostly clothed because I couldn’t undress and have them see my wounds and scars. Escaping that house for a while to play the games kids should, instead of the sinister ones under that roof.
I learned how to hide things while living an outwardly normal life, but now it’s time to reveal what was going on behind closed doors. The thought of looking into the eyes of the men and women who have worked with Father and Uncle Marty for so long and telling them everything makes this tie feel more like a noose.
It chokes me, threatens to take my breath and my ability to speak my truth. I reach up and tug at it again, undoing the knot I tied so easily, even after all this time.
Muscle memory is such a strange thing—I wore so many ties and so many suits like this to so many functions in my eighteen years in that house that it all came flooding back to me as soon as my hands touched the silk.
Lyla slips around me, keeping her arms locked around my waist, and stares up, those gold flecks in her eyes shimmering with the same affection that was there last night.
She reaches up and runs her fingers through my beard. “I’m glad you didn’t shave this in your attempt to look more clean-cut.”
I smirk at her. “Why? You like the beard?”
A grin plays on her lips, and she nods. “I do very much.”
“Duly noted.”
“And I really do like the suit.” She pulls her head back slightly to examine the coat. “They got you sized pretty well.”
I nod and roll my shoulders—the fabric is tight and uncomfortable compared to what I normally work in. “Close enough that it’ll work. I should go take this off so it still looks good in the morning.”
“You want some help?”
The promise in her question makes my cock stir to life between us. “I would say yes, but I feel like this suit would end up in a pile on the floor and be very wrinkled tomorrow.”
She fights a grin and presses her hand over my heart. “You’re probably right.”
Her gaze darts to the window, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, like she’s biting something back.
I tug her back up against me fully. “What is it?”
Lyla returns her attention to me. “I was just wondering if there’s anywhere you want to go tonight, a favorite restaurant from when you were a kid, anything you want to see? Should we drive past Bolton Steel or the mansion?”
My spine stiffens again, and the mood instantly shifts. I release a heavy sigh, which makes Whiskey push against me tighter at my side. “You know I own that house now?”
Her brows fly up. “You do?”
I nod. “The trust left the house to me, so Uncle Marty is technically a squatter.”
The green in her eyes sharpens. “So, kick him out.”
As if it would ever be that easy with him.
Staring down at her, it’s impossible not to see her determination and want to believe we will succeed. “Tomorrow.”
“As part of the meeting, you make sure it’s clear that he’s not allowed in that house anymore. I mean, hopefully, the bastard gets taken into custody, right?”
I nod again. “That’s the plan.”
“So, as soon as that meeting’s over, we go to the mansion and we clean out all of his stuff, have a fucking bonfire with it. We eliminate any evidence he was ever there. Either he will be in jail, or he’ll have to watch all his possessions burn.”
I contemplate her suggestion.
With everything else going on, I hadn’t even thought about going by the house. That place holds the worst memories. It isn’t home and hasn’t been for a very long time, if it ever really was.
Home is that mountain.
It’s those woods.
It’s that cabin.
It’s the bed I share with Lyla and sometimes Whiskey.
“I’ll pay someone to clean it out when the time comes. I don’t think I can ever set foot in there again.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. I’m sorry I suggested it.”
For two centuries, that house held our family. It was the place everyone came for holidays and parties, where Bolton Steel was built into the most successful steel company in the world. But it was also Father’s and Uncle Marty’s playhouse, where they got away with anything they wanted, where they used and abused people.
“Don’t apologize.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “I don’t want the house. I want nothing to do with it, but I will relish seeing Uncle Marty’s face when I take it from him.”
I drop my head and bury my face in her hair, clinging to her tightly. That citrusy shampoo scent that always clings to her wafts over me, and I inhale it deeply. “Your hair smells so good.”
She laughs against my chest. “Um, thanks?”
I pull back and tilt her chin up. “Really, I love that smell.”
She stiffens slightly, and I realize I’ve said a very important word in kind of a strange context.
All the air sucks out of the room, and she searches my face as if she’s waiting for me to say something else, something more.
But I can’t.
I don’t know if I would recognize love when I never saw it myself. Saying it to her wouldn’t mean anything when I don’t understand it or know if I’m even capable of it.
All I know is that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Lyla. I would’ve stayed on the mountain, kept hiding, kept trying to forget this life that always haunted me. It’s her strength that allowed me to get this far and will get me into that board meeting tomorrow.
I capture her face in my hands, tilting her head up. “Thank you.”
Her soft brow furrows. “For what?”
“For coming with me.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do, be by your side in sickness and health, good times and bad, all that jazz?”
The playful, light way she references our vows makes my heart clench.
What was supposed to be fake has turned real so quickly, but there’s still so much I don’t know about Lyla Sinclair—like why she needed that money in the first place.
But I don’t ask her, no matter how badly I want to know.
I still have my secrets, the worst of what he did to me, that I’ll never tell a soul, and I can let her have that one.
Chapter Fifteen
SILAS
Bolton Steel hasn’t changed in fifteen years.
The same building towers over me, and the familiar suffocating sense of dread settles on my chest before I’ve even walked in the door.
As a child, this place was Father’s and Uncle Marty’s, so I avoided it whenever possible. Each time I was dragged here with them, I spent as much time as possible exploring the hallways and back offices, as far away from them as I could get for as long as possible. This building represented the men I feared, but now, I don’t have a choice because Lyla’s right. If I don’t do this now, Uncle Marty wins, and he will continue to hurt people, putting the company in jeopardy.
Something the Boltons have struggled for and built up for centuries could be gone in an instant with that man at the helm. He would destroy our family name and legacy and continue his reign of terror, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let any of this continue. I have to do what I should have done back then.
End it.
Once and for all.
Lyla loops her arm through mine and squeezes. I shift uncomfortably in the suit, tugging at the neck of the shirt, tight against my throat, for the millionth time since I put it on at the hotel this morning.
“Stop fidgeting when we’re in there. Okay?”
I glance down at her. “You make that sound easy.”
She gives me a smile that I can tell she isn’t feeling because she’s just as nervous as I am this morning. The usual confidence in her gaze wavers, but she still stands by my side, shoulders back and head held high, unwilling to let what we’re about to do faze her. “I’ll be right there with you.”
Only a few short weeks ago, it was the last thing I would have wanted, for Lyla to be by my side in there, for her to hear what I’m going to tell the board, but now, I can’t imagine going in there without her.
How the fuck did that happen?
Thinking back to when she arrived, I can’t deny there was something about her that instantly made what lies at my very core twist. A feeling that she was going to change everything. That my life would be different once we signed that contract. But I never could have dreamed she would be the one to find a way to break through the walls I built around myself and somehow reach a part of me I didn’t think lived anymore.
Now, everyone will see what she has—the scars, the trauma, what Marty did, and what Father allowed to happen. And I’m going to have to figure out a way to live with people knowing my darkest secrets and the thing I regret most in my life—running when I should have stayed and fought.
I reach into my coat pocket and glance at my phone. “Still no word from Ronald.”
“So, do we wait or go in without him?”
Scanning the lot, I don’t find any sign of him or his promised support from the FBI.
This would be the perfect time to panic, to turn, climb back into the truck, and retreat to the mountain. To bury my head in the sand once again and leave the people in this building to deal with the ramifications of Uncle Marty’s actions.
But I could never look Lyla in the eyes again if I did that.
I release a heavy breath. “We can’t wait. We have to go in. The meeting’s supposed to start now.”
She tugs my arm gently and takes a step toward the doors. “Come on, then.”
I roll out my neck and shoulders and slide my hand into hers to walk toward the main entrance of Bolton Steel. The uncomfortable dress shoes pinch my feet and feel foreign after so long in nothing but work boots.
Play the role, Silas.
All of it will be worth it in the end, if this works.
If…
The sliding glass doors open, and I step into the immaculate reception area. Though they’ve renovated a little over the years, including new Italian marble floors and updated décor, it still looks pretty much the same. So much so that I half expect Victoria, the old receptionist who was always stationed at the information desk down here, to be sitting behind it like she always was when I was a child.
But a young blonde lifts her head as we walk in.
Her eyes immediately zero in on me and drop from my head all the way down to my feet, then come back up. Even though I donned this monkey suit, I’m still out of place here.
Her gaze darts to Whiskey at my side, then to Lyla. And though Lyla is absolutely stunning in her black dress, the woman barely contains a sneer looking at her. “Can I help you?”
I force myself to give her a half-smile. “Yes. I need to confirm where the board meeting’s being held this morning.” There are any number of conference rooms they could be using, and if Uncle Marty suspects I may show up, he might go out of the way to hide their meeting space from me. “Up on ten?”
The woman’s brow furrows. “Yes. How did you know that?”
Anyone walking in off the street wouldn’t, since rarely anyone who isn’t a Bolton executive makes it up to ten, but this woman clearly has no idea who I am.
“Because I own the company.”
Her eyes widen, and she reaches for a phone in front of her. “Sorry, I don’t know who you are, but you can’t go up there. It’s a restricted floor—”
“Not for me, it isn’t. My name is Silas Bolton. You likely knew my father and my Uncle Marty.”
All the color drains from the woman’s face, and she dials a number quickly, but I tug on Lyla’s hand and drag her toward the elevators before the receptionist can try to stop us.
We’re not standing around, waiting for her to warn Uncle Marty or whoever else she might be calling who will try to intervene. Two huge security guards round the corner and block our way to the elevator bank.
Whiskey releases a low growl, sensing the threat immediately, and I hold a hand in front of him to tell him not to move.
The older man eyes me, his gaze dropping to Whiskey briefly before returning to meet mine. Familiar dark eyes narrow. “Silas?”
It takes me a few seconds to remember him, but Barry has been the head of security at this building since I was born. If anyone was going to recognize me despite how much I’ve changed, it’s him. “Hello, Barry. We’re going up to ten now.”
His jaw hardens, and for a moment, I think we’re going to have a serious issue. The man was always loyal to Father and Uncle Marty. A “lifer” who has been with Bolton Steel since his early twenties. They’ve relied on him forever to prevent unwanted people from getting anywhere in the building, but he steps to the side, motioning toward an open elevator. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”
It’s the only warning we’re going to get, and it’s clear Barry knows precisely what Uncle Marty is capable of. He’s likely cleaned up more than one mess for him here within these very walls over the decades he’s been here.
I incline my head toward him and step into the elevator with Whiskey at one side and Lyla on the other, wrapping my arm around her to keep her close.
She loops hers around my waist and squeezes as she presses the button for ten and the doors slide closed. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
I’m trying, but my chest is so tight I can barely suck in any air.
Even the smell of the elevator makes me want to run—the “fresh” scent they pipe in here triggers memories I don’t want to relive.
I shake my head to try to clear them and breathe through my mouth to stop myself from inhaling any more of the smell. “I never thought I’d be back here.”
Lyla rubs my arm. “I know. Just remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and that he can’t hurt you anymore.”
Her words are meant to be reassuring, but we both know they’re not true.
Not by a long shot.
Marty has any number of ways to hurt me—to hurt us—and we still don’t know what the hell happened with Ronald or if anyone’s even going to show up to have my back today.
The elevator dings at the tenth floor far too quickly, and the doors slide open to the executive offices where Father and Uncle Marty ran the company my entire life—their ivory tower. They could do no wrong here, their staff willing to do anything and cover up anything to get their payoffs and secure their jobs.
