Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)(69)

The first thing I did was text Dante though. Me: Are you okay?

It was a few minutes before he replied. Dante: I’m good, Riles. Just dealing with some business. Are you okay?

I had to think about that answer for a moment before deciding that I was as good as could be expected. Under the circumstances.

Me: I’m okay. The guys are being crazy protective, and I can’t decide if I’d rather be kidnapped or not just to get away from them.

It was in my nature to joke about the more serious shit ... made it easier to deal with.

Dante: Lay low. Please. For me. I’m gathering as much information as I can; we’ll make it safe for you. I promise.

Me: Love you, Dante. Stay safe.

Dante: Love you too, Riles.

I plugged my phone into the charger and turned my attention to the television, scrolling through the million and one choices before I settled on The Fast and the Furious. I’d seen these movies so many times that by now they were comfort food for me.

Stewart arrived some time later, and he had a tray filled with more junk food than was possible for any one person to eat. Along with a delicious boscaiola pasta.

“You spoil me,” I gushed at him, wondering if maybe I should just set my sights on a man that brought me food. If only Stewart wasn’t forty years older than me, he’d be almost perfect.

I made it through three and a half movies before sleep pressed in on me. I dragged myself into the shower, changed into the softest cotton pajamas with roses on them, and snuggled under the covers.

Then I closed my eyes, and … the pilot’s face flashed right across my mind.





18





Tears actually sprang to my eyes as they flew open. This could not be happening. I needed to sleep, it was one of my favorite things to do, and having dead people appear every single time I closed my eyes, was really going to impact my life.

There was only one other time I remembered having insomnia. When I was ten my childhood best friend, Jessie Mcglee, moved away. Outside of Dante—and now Eddy—she was the only true friend I’d ever had, and I’d missed her so much. My mom had to sleep in my room with me for three weeks before I could finally relax my brain to sleep alone. This time though, I had no mom…

My chest got tight and I tried not to break, despite the pressure in my throat and behind my eyes. Scrambling out of bed, I was sucking air in and out, trying to get myself under control.

Without thought, I was pulling on my dressing gown and Uggs again, stumbling downstairs, and throwing myself into the golf cart. The codes were memorized now and I barely even stopped at the gate before I was flying down the road between my house and Becks.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

I needed to do anything except think about my dead parents. The dead pilot. The dead assassins. Or even the alive assassins who were still trying to kill me.

What if he’s not alone?

My foot lifted from the gas, and I let the cart slowly idle forward. I wasn’t quite at the front of his house, and I slammed my hands on the wheel, hating myself for this fucking weakness.

Dropping my head forward, I let the tears finally fall, dripping down my cheeks in hot torrents of pain. Tonight I wished that I wasn’t so alone.

He appeared soundlessly, which was always his way, and wrapped me up in his arms. I didn’t fight him, letting him lift me from the cart before he jumped in to drive. He never let me go the entire drive back to his place.

I expected him to take me straight to that generic bedroom again and fuck me, use my body because that’s all it was good for. I would have even welcomed it, in my current state of mind. But when I finally lifted my head from his hard chest, I realized that we were in a completely different section of the house.

Beck dropped me gently into a large chair, one with a reclining footrest. We were in a cinema room. One which had like twenty luxury seats and the biggest screen I’d ever seen.

“What … why?” I asked, my voice husky.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, brushing a thumb across my cheek, collecting stray tears. “Pick a movie.”

He dropped a complicated looking remote in my hand, and then strode toward a bar at the back of the room. It took me a few failed attempts but I finally figured out how to get the files open, and then I scrolled straight to Fast and Furious 4. Might as well pick up where I left off.

When Beck returned, he had two heavy glasses, filled with ice and an amber liquid.

He handed me one before settling in at my side, his muscled thigh and arm pressing right down my body.

Everywhere he was touching was on fire, and I gulped down a mouthful of the alcohol, recognizing the flavor from the last time I was there. The fancy old scotch that I’d been too unrefined to appreciate. “Nice choice,” he said, and I had no idea what he was talking about, until his eyes shifted to the screen.

I laughed. “Yeah, I was half way through a marathon tonight. They’re classics.”

He didn’t ask me why I was crying. Why I was sitting in a cart in front of his house again. He didn’t ask me one thing as we sat together, watching the screen, sipping on our alcohol.

“Where are your parents?”

The question slipped out, and I expected him to do his usual evasive half-answer bullshit. The silence felt heavy, but surprisingly he answered. “My mother is in France, living with her lover. The secret everyone knows. I haven’t talked to her in five years. My father’s in New York. He basically lives in the office there, doing … business.”