Clayton (Bourbon & Blood Book 2) (11 page)

I
pull
into the driveway that runs alongside Bennett’s home. It’s small, but it’s a pretty enough place. Annalee would refer to it as quaint or having cottage charm. I’m shaking my head as I get out of the car. I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s as bad as it was when we first met.

Standing there in the gravel beside the porch, I hear the hum of power tools and follow the noise. Bennett is working in the converted barn behind the house. He looks up as I wander in, and finishes cutting the piece he’s working on before turning off the machine.

In the center of the work room is an old grand piano. It’s been painted dark blue with enough of the wood still showing through to make it interesting. It’s perched upright and the innards are gone, having been replaced with shelves.

“That’s a cool piece,” I say.

“You and Samuel have your showdown yet?” he asks.

Definitely to the point. “Yes. And it’s done. He signed over everything…I want to talk to you about Mia, and about a few other things.”

He nods and removes the safety goggles he’s wearing.

“You seriously wear that shit when you’re working?” I ask him.

“Ever had a splinter in your eye?” he fires back.

Fuck. I’m wincing just thinking about it. “No.”

“Well, shove a piece of wood in your eyeball and then get back to me on whether or not goggles are a good idea.”

I shudder. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve been tortured enough for one day.” I pull the deed to the house from my jacket pocket. “That’s for Mia.”

“You’re not going to see her?”

I shake my head. “Not today. You all need to talk about that, decide how you want to handle it. If I’m in there, Mia’s just going to want to talk about Samuel… and I’m kinda done with that topic for today.”

“But he’s gone?” Bennett asks. “He signed over everything and he’s gone?”

“Going. Not sure when he’ll get the hell out of Dodge, but it won’t be long,” I say. I shove my hands in my pocket and lean back against the door frame of the barn. “Do you really love her or do you just love the idea of her after all these years?”

He cocks his brow and I can tell the question pissed him off. “It’s not really your business… that’s between Mia and me.”

I walk forward until we’re nose to nose. “I’m not here to bust your balls or to talk you out of being with her… but, it’s not a stretch to think that ten years apart is a long time, Bennett. People change. People grow the hell up in that length of time. Don’t rush her, and don’t let her rush you.”

I turn to walk away but he stops me. “I do love her. Doesn’t matter if it’s been ten years or a hundred.”

“Then taking it slow for the next few months won’t matter that much, will it?”

He flips me the bird. In this fucked up, weird ass, almost family situation, I take that as a yes and get back in my car as I watch Bennett disappear inside the house. He’ll be good to Mia and he’ll be good for her, I don’t have any doubts. But after so long, they need to take their time and not rush it. Second chances work but if they require a third, all bets are off.

I put my car into reverse and back out of the driveway, just as Carter Hayes pulls up in the rust pile he calls a truck. He rolls his window down which means he wants to talk. Pushing the button to lower mine, I look up at him. And that’s why men drive trucks, I realize. I’m pissed off at having to look up at him.

“I’ve been working in your neighborhood a lot lately and I know this is the time of day your wife always goes to pick up the kid,” he says. “And it might not be anything, but your daddy’s car is parked just a block down from your house and I didn’t see your wife leave.”

It’s like my blood turned to ice in my veins. I feel cold all the way through. “Ask Mia to go get Emma Grace and bring her back here.”

Carter nods and pulls past me to turn into the driveway and I take off in a hail of flying gravel and dust. I’ve got to get to Annalee, and I can only pray I won’t be too late.

S
omeone is pounding
rocks inside my skull. Opening my eyes, everything is blurry. I’m in my kitchen, in a chair beside the island, that much I know, but I’m seeing double of everything.

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t wake up.”

It’s Samuel’s voice. The fear is instant, spiking my heart rate and my blood pressure, which in turn makes the headache worse.

“What are you doing?” I ask. My voice sounds thick, the words slurred and barely intelligible.

“I drugged you. I helped myself to some of the gas that our local vet uses to anesthetize horses,” he says, almost apologetically.

“Emmitt Hayes let you on his property?”

Samuel laughs. “Of course not. I got him preoccupied with a stray dog that someone, namely me, dumped at his gate after being run over by a car.”

He’d run over a dog to create a distraction? Fuck. I try to sit up straighter in the chair, but I can’t. I realize that my hands and feet are tied together, forcing me to slump forward.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t have to distract me or stall me… I don’t plan to kill you until Clayton shows up,” he explains, holding up the revolver and waving it like a mad man. “I know better than to trust him, especially after today. Today, I saw just how much my son was like me.”

Oh, God. It’s all starting to come together or the fog from the fucking horse tranquilizer he drugged me with is starting to lift.

“Samuel, I know you’re angry at Clayton, but you have to see that this won’t work! If you do this, you’ll go to prison!”

“I’ll wind up there anyway,” he says. “I can’t trust him not to take what he has on me to the cops. We both know that he’d love nothing better than to see me suffer.”

“Clayton keeps his word… always.” And I’m going to pay the price for it. It’s not fair to blame him. I know that. And as much as I love him, right now, he isn’t what’s on my mind. It’s Emma Grace. She’s sitting at her dance class, decked out from head to toe in her pink dance gear, staring longingly at the older girls who already get to wear toe shoes. What will this do to her? If this crazy son of a bitch actually puts a bullet in me, what on earth will happen to my baby girl?

“He’s a real Boy Scout with all his spying, stealing, bribery,” Samuel says bitterly. “The minute my back is turned, he’ll burn me… but not if I burn him first.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I am stalling, buying as much time as I can. Maybe he doesn’t plan on killing me till Clayton walks in to see it, but the son of a bitch is crazy and could change his mind at any time. Clearly, he’s cracked.

Samuel gets up from the table and starts pacing the kitchen, randomly looking in cabinets and drawers. “It means that my dear son will have a mental breakdown, shooting you, his estranged wife, and his divorce attorney, before setting the house on fire and putting a bullet in his own head.”

I can feel the tears building, trying to break through. I can’t let them. If I fall apart now, there’s no getting out of it. Hell, there’s no getting out of it anyway, but at least I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“What about Emma Grace? Do you really want to leave your only grandchild without either of her parents?” It’s a reasonable question, something that would make most people pause at least. With him, I know it’s a long shot.

“There’s always collateral damage, Annalee… just be thankful she’s not here to burn with you all,” he replies. Both his tone and his eyes are completely cold. He’s never been especially warm. Even when Samuel is being pleasant, there’s been a vague sense of unease in his presence. I thought he was simply a narcissist. I was wrong. He’s a full-blown sociopath.

There won’t be any reasoning with him. I can’t reach him because there’s nothing inside. He’s just a black hole, incapable of feeling. The only things he understands are power and destruction.

I don’t really have a plan yet, only the faintest stirrings of one. But I have to get my hands free, otherwise, I’m going to die here and so will Clayton when he shows up. And he will. Because he is the Boy Scout Samuel accused him of being. When the dance teacher can’t find me, she’ll call him and then he will worry. I feel sick just thinking about.

“Can you please untie my hands for a moment? Just enough to let me sit up straight?” I plead with him, exaggerating the slurred speech. My head is starting to clear, but he doesn’t need to know that. If he thinks I’m still loopy from the drugs, he might be a little less cautious. If I can just get my hands free, I might have a chance.

“No.”

Of course, he’s got to be a dick. Then again, I’m tied to a chair, him being a dick is kind of a given. “Please… it’s the drug. I feel like I’m going to throw up! Sitting up will help.”

He sighs. “I won’t kill you until he’s here, Annalee, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. Don’t try anything.”

“I won’t,” I lie.

He lays the gun down on the counter and walks toward me. The ropes are tied in such a way that he has to crouch beside the chair to loosen them. The second my hands are free, I grab his hair and slam his face against the island. He hits it with a satisfying thud.

I’m stronger than I look and a hell of a lot stronger than he expected me to be. Once won’t be nearly enough, but I’ve lost the element of surprise. It’s not nearly as easy the second time, still I manage to bang his head against the wood one more time. He pushes me off, the chair tipping over.

Even though it hurt like a bitch, it was just what I needed. That allows me to slide my feet, and the ropes he’d used to tie them, over the legs of the chair. I’m free. Well, other than being trapped in the house with my murderous father-in-law, but at least for the moment I have the use of all my limbs.

I’m backing away from the island, barely on my feet before he’s coming at me. Samuel is a big man, tall and broad shouldered just like Clayton. All the yoga and Pilates in the world isn’t going to make me strong enough to tangle with him. But I’ve got pretty good aim.

There’s a shelf beside me that has all of our pretty and utterly useless dishes on it. They’re finally going to get used for something, at least. One by one, I send those plates sailing at him. He manages to duck most of them, but he’s not entirely unscathed. There’s a cut over his eyebrow. It’s going to scar. It’s a little twisted just how happy that thought makes me.

The flying dinner plates have bought me enough time to get around the island. I grab the one of the knives from the block. The gun is still too far away. He’ll catch me before I can even get close to it.

“You can’t win this, Annalee. There’s no way you can stop me,” he says smugly.

I don’t have to stop him. Just slow him down. Clayton will be here. That’s the thing I keep telling myself. Somehow, someway, he will show up because I need him to.

It’s the last thought I have before Samuel charges me. I grip the knife tighter and wait for the impact.

I
ease
my car onto the driveway at the house. The garage door is closed, Annalee is nowhere in sight but Samuel’s car is still parked just down the street. I owe Carter Hayes. I owe him big.

Opening the garage door would be too loud. I have no idea what Samuel is up to but I know it can’t be good.
Please, do not let me be too late.

I move around to the side of the house. Emma Grace has a bad habit of opening the dining room doors and stepping out onto the deck without locking them back. I’m praying that I’m in luck and she’s left them unlatched this time.

As I approach the door, I hear the sounds coming from inside. Shouting, breaking dishes—I’ve got to get in there. I try the door and for once, it’s actually locked. Son of a bitch. Breaking the glass is pretty much my only option.

I take off my jacket and put it against the pane, before putting my fist through it. There are a few minor cuts, but nothing so bad that it’ll prevent me from knocking Samuel on his ass.

Once inside, I move past the table and to the kitchen door. What I see, makes my blood run cold. Annalee is on the floor, Samuel is standing above her with a knife in his hands. They’re both covered in blood but whether it’s his or hers, I have no idea.

I don’t hesitate. I can’t afford to. Without a second thought, I rush at Samuel, putting my shoulder right into his gut and taking him down. We’re sliding across the kitchen floor until we land against the cabinet with a loud thud. More dishes crash and break. There’s glass everywhere.

I feel the knife slicing at my shoulder, but it’s a total disconnect. Whatever happens, he needs to be subdued before he can hurt her any more. I manage to pin him to the ground. I draw my fist back to hit him.

The sound of it, when his nose crunches beneath my fist, is oddly satisfying, so I hit him again. And again. I don’t know how many times. All I know is that I can hear Annalee screaming behind me and my knuckles are raw and bloody by the time I’m finally coherent enough to stop.

I look down at Samuel. He’s barely conscious and his face is a bloody mess. The knife is on the floor, his hands long since slack. I get to my feet slowly. The blood is rushing still, but that first wave of adrenaline has given way to just gut clenching fear.

I kick the knife away and turn to Annalee. She’s holding her arm, and I can see the blood seeping through her fingers, but she’s got a gun in her hands.

“I called 9-1-1,” she says. “They’re sending paramedics and the sheriff. Where’s Emma Grace?”

“Mia has her. She’s safe.” Even as I’m answering her, I’m grabbing a towel from the drawer and walking toward her. “Let me see.”

“It’s not bad,” she replies stiffly.

Which means it is. “Let me see,” I tell her again.

Reluctantly, she moves her hand and I can see the deep gash in her forearm. There are others—little nicks and cuts on her hands and one on her cheek. Whether they’re from the knife or from the broken glass everywhere, I have no idea. I wrap the towel around her arm and put pressure on it. “I should have fucking killed him.”

I
’ve never seen
Clay like this. He’s not a violent man, but I truly thought he would kill Samuel. The fury that consumed him then is something I honestly didn’t know he had inside him. I know he’s scared for me, and I know how much he hates Samuel, but it’s frightening to see this side of him. “He’ll go to prison for this… We’re done with him, Clayton. This is the end of it.”

“I should have known,” he whispers. “I should have realized this morning that he gave in too easy and that he was going to try something… but I never would have imagined this. I’m so sorry he hurt you.”

There he is taking responsibility for everything again. “You can’t control him or what he does. That isn’t your job. I’m fine. Really. Just a scratch.”

He gives me a look that is clearly skeptical. “That isn’t a scratch. It’s a fucking stab wound, Annalee. Because my father is a sociopath.”

I lean against him. Oddly enough, it isn’t because I need reassurance, but because he does. “Yes, he is. He’s also nuttier than a ten pound fruitcake, but currently he’s unconscious because you beat the ever-loving shit out of him, so we’re okay right now.”

“Are we?” From his tone, I know he’s not just talking about the crazy that just went down with Samuel. He’s asking about something else altogether.

I roll my eyes at him even as I hear the approaching sirens outside. “Don’t go fishing just yet.”

The cops are coming in, the paramedics on their heels. I’m being bandaged up. Clayton’s being questioned. I’m being questioned. Samuel’s worthless carcass is loaded onto a gurney and wheeled away to the waiting ambulance.

Oh, the gossips of Fontaine or going to love this. I sense a vacation coming on. We can leave town and let them get all the talk out of their system before we come back. Except we’re broke, I remind myself. Or, rather, we’re the Darcy definition of broke, which is probably very different from mine. My childhood consisted of eating old peanut butter off the spoon because we were too poor to buy bread. There are definitely degrees of poor, and we’re nowhere near the real shit.

“You’re going to have to run that by me again, ma’am.”

I meet the sheriff’s dubious gaze. “He came here to kill me. But he didn’t want to kill me until Clayton was here to witness it. He also planned to murder Clayton and his attorney and make the whole thing look like a murder-murder-suicide… because he’s a nutball. I can’t tell you why he’s a nutball, sheriff. That’s beyond my scope of practice as a stay at home mother!”

The sheriff sighs, as if he’s the one having a shit day. “You said he drugged you with horse tranquilizers?”

He sounds like maybe he thinks that’s a good idea. “Yes. He said he stole them from Emmitt Hayes. He ran over a dog and dumped it at Emmitt’s to create a distraction and then stole some kind of sedative gas.”

“Sick bastard.”

“
Really
? The
dog
is what gets you? Not the fact that he was going to leave my child an orphan?”

The sheriff’s face flushes and he looks uncomfortable for a minute. “I think we’ve got enough, but if we have more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

I realize that rolling my eyes at local law enforcement is probably not helpful, but sometimes you just have to go with it. “Oh, I never doubted it.”

The paramedics informed me earlier that I’d need stitches, which means a trip to the ER. I’m not crazy about it. As the house empties, leaving just Clayton and me standing in the shambles of it, I can actually take in the destruction of it all.

“I think I used every wedding gift we ever received as ammunition against your father,” I say.

He smiles. “Isn’t that the first time we’ve used most of them at all?”

I look at the broken glass everywhere. “And clearly the last.”

“Let’s go,” he says. “I need to get you to the ER. And me too. I got stabbed in the shoulder apparently. Somehow, I missed that.”

“Tends to happen when you go all ‘Hulk smash’ on someone.”

He laughs and it’s such a sweet sound after the craziness of the last few hours. “You’re one to talk… You singlehandedly destroyed this kitchen and kicked Samuel’s ass, not to mention giving him a nice little stab wound. According to the paramedics, if you'd been half an inch to the right, he'd be a dead man. You are officially a badass.”

“Only a little badass,” I protest. I got in a few good licks, but I know that if Clayton hadn’t shown up when he did, the outcome would have been very different. Samuel was surprised by the fact that I fought back. If I hadn’t caught him off guard—well, I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to go get stitches in my arm and if we make it out of the ER before midnight, I’m going to Bennett’s, I’m picking up my baby girl, and I’m going to try to put this insanity behind us.

Looking around the kitchen, I shake my head. “I can’t bring Emma Grace home to this mess.”

“It’s taken care of,” he says. “I called Evelyn. She’s coming over to sweep up the mess. And once it’s done, Mia’s bringing Emma Grace back home and settling her into her own bed for the night. She’ll be here waiting for us by the time we get home.”

He just perfectly encapsulated why I love him. The planning, the innate thoughtfulness, the slight cockiness in his assumption that we would be going home together. Not that I’m going to give him shit about that. I figure heroically saving my life and arranging to have the mess cleaned up earns him enough brownie points to get off that hook, permanently. The bonus of arranging for Emma Grace to be back home with us, well that earned him more than my good graces. It might even earn him actual lingerie from me.

“I love you.”

I didn’t mean to say it. It’s not like it’s a secret or like he doesn’t know. Typically, we’re not ones for saying it. We’ve always been the people who just showed it instead. But it’s out there, and it honestly feels good.

He opens the front door and steps back to allow me to pass. “I know.”

I glare at him. “Don’t you Han Solo me, Clayton Darcy! I’m not pouring my heart out just so you can get cocky!”

“Fine. I love you,” he says, opening the car door. But as I step past him to climb in, he crowds against me, until we’re almost touching. I look up and he’s staring down at me with the kind of intensity I would have found terrifying when I met him all those years ago. “But that’s just a word… it doesn’t even come close to describing everything I feel for you. When you’re not in my life, it’s like I can’t breathe, like everything is just hollowed out and empty and all I’m doing is marking time till you come back.”

Now
I
can’t breathe. God above! How does he do that to me? How does he turn the tables and leave me just reeling from it all? “Damn you, Clayton.”

“Get in the car, Annalee. Before we both bleed to death in the driveway.”

T
he adrenaline has worn off
. It’s just gone. I’m keeping my hands clenched into fists just so she can’t see the fact that they’re shaking. I’ve never been so fucking scared in all of my life.

If Samuel were in front of me right now, I’d hit the bastard again. A part of me wishes I had killed him. I know that he’ll find some way to weasel out of this just because that’s what he does.

Climbing behind the wheel, I start the engine and ease onto the street. There are several people on their porches, a few curtains being drawn back as we drive by. Everyone in Fontaine wants to know what’s going on and if we don’t oblige them with information, they’ll just make it up. Hell, they can’t make up anything as deranged as the truth. I ought to let them.

That’s a Mia question. She’s the PR expert, so I’ll let her do her thing and spin this in the way that is least damaging for the company and for those of us who have to continue living here.

The hospital is only a few minutes from the house. Everything in Fontaine is just a few minutes away, to be honest. I’ve seen more of this place in the last month than I ever want to again.

Walking in, I go the desk and check us both in. The receptionist whose name I ought to know; hell, I think I went to high school with her mother, looks at me in absolute shock. I don’t have to think hard to figure out why. Annalee and I both look like extras from a disaster movie. We’re covered in blood, some of it our own, some of it Samuel’s.

Handing over ID’s and insurance cards, I take the forms she gives me and the two clipboards and go back to where Annalee is sitting. She chose a spot in the corner.
Like we can hide!

“You’re just going to have to brazen it out,” I tell her. “Everyone in town is going to be talking about this… for a while. It’s not going away quickly.”

“Fantastic. Thanks for the pep talk,” she sneers.

“Just keeping it real.”

“That’s my job,” she says sharply. “Do you think this is going to make it weird for Emma Grace at school? And her big dance recital is tomorrow night… I don’t want this insanity to overshadow it.”

“We’ll just make a bigger deal out of it to make sure it doesn’t,” I promise. And we will. I’d already planned on getting her flowers.