Hero - The Ambush: Special Forces Romance (10 page)

It was my fault he knew she'd been out again. Leighton had wanted to ruin everything, and that included her grandfather's opinion of her. Now I wondered if I could catch him before he made any harsh decisions about his wayward granddaughter when he got back in town.

I drove to the side of the house and hesitated before getting out. Was this the right place for Leighton? Devlin would be livid when he saw the inevitable tabloid feeding frenzy. But there was nowhere else to take her, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take her back to Ricky's. I scooped her up gently and carried her into the house.

She looked so small, so fragile in my arms.

I paused at her door and held her for a moment longer. My heart throbbed and I brushed my cheek against her soft curls one last time. I had to be done with my feelings for her. She was going to need my protection even more in the coming days, and I couldn't let anything get in the way of that. Not even how I felt about her.

I didn't matter. Only she did.

Chapter 11

Leighton

My
entire body hurt.

The muscles that weren't sore from whatever the hell I'd been doing last night ached from the alcohol still coursing through my system. Soon, I knew, dehydration would bring on the worst of the pain, including the blinding headache. I squeezed my eyes shut, and wished I could disappear.

There was a sharp sting on my knee and I searched through the chaos of my memories of the prior night.

A red, flashing, neon arrow.

Black walls and black floors.

Shots of tequila.

I sat bolt upright at the memory of the drinks and swallowed hard. Once I was sure my system had settled and I didn't have to run for the bathroom, I was able to peel back the covers of my bed and look at my knee.

The long scrape still had little pebbles of asphalt in it. Shit. I'd fallen out of Haze's car when I tried to run. I looked at my hands and saw the scuff marks from where my palms had skidded on the pavement.

Fuck me.

Haze had found me and brought me back here.

He found me when I'd been drinking, dancing. But who had I been with? I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to remember. A bright flash blinded me and I ran for the bathroom. Heaving over the white porcelain toilet, I remembered the black-haired photographer. A series of possible photographs flashed through my head and I got sick again.

I'd danced on a tabletop with a writhing crowd below me. I'd smoked pot in the VIP Lounge, wrapped myself around the demon statue on the staircase and kissed its stone cold lips. And I was pretty sure I'd done body shots off the female bartender.

When I was finished heaving up what remained of my stomach, I shuffled to the shower and turned it on. I was glad to peel off my ruined dress and toss it to the floor. If only I could get rid of the rest of the night that easily. Something clanked and I looked down. My face burned as I saw a collar. I had only the dimmest memory of someone taking off the ribbon I'd tied around my neck and replacing it with that...thing.

The hot water soothed my aching body, but my mind kept whirling over and over the night. It was what I'd wanted, to see how low I could get. I had just neglected to think about the day after and how hard it would be to get back up.

The problem was it didn't matter if I picked myself up or not. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no one looking for me. Haze had found me in the club, but that was his job. If he hadn't been my bodyguard, I knew he would've walked away. Like everyone else.

I washed my hair, rinsed it, and washed it again. Then I scrubbed myself raw and stood under the pounding shower head until I was sure all traces of last night were gone. When I wiped the steamy mirror clear and looked at myself, I could still see the mindless party girl spinning through the dark night club.

It hadn't worked. Nothing had changed.

I wanted to cry, but I knew it wouldn't do any good. I'd said I didn't need anyone and I'd be damned if I let that change now. I didn't bother to brush my hair or put make-up on my puffy eyes. Instead, I tugged on sweatpants and an old tank top and went downstairs.

I entered the kitchen to find it empty. Even the cook was gone and the coffee was cold. Figured.
I
poured a mug anyway and placed it in the microwave. As I watched it turn slowly, the kitchen door opened and my grandfather came in. I would've preferred being alone to having to be with him. Instead of comfort, he'd only ever given me sharp reminders to do better.

The microwaved dinged and the hot mug burned my fingers as I pulled it out. I held on to it and turned to face him dry-eyed. “Good morning, Grandfather.”

He dropped a heavy stack of newspapers between us on the granite kitchen island, the disappointment clearly written on his face. As he spread out the tabloids, I saw a dozen pictures of me from the night before. It was worse than I remembered. The compromising positions, the drugs, the wad of cash I'd tossed around. My entire downfall was well documented and plastered with eye-catching headlines.

“I want you to walk me through your night, Leighton.” His voice was flat. “It should be easy with all the visuals right here.”

“Then you can see why I don't remember much,” I said. I took a sip of my coffee. It wasn't the best tasting thing in the world, but it was hot and caffeinated.

“What I don't see is the point,” Grandfather said. “Are you trying to tell me something, tell the world something, or are you just so thoughtless that this is your idea of fun?”

“Why do you care?” I asked, barely able to keep my tone civil.

Eyes so much like mine narrowed. “Because you are part of this family whether you like it or not. What you do affects your brother and me.”

“Oh, that's why you're upset?” I set down my mug and smirked. “You think I made you look bad?”

He grabbed the largest picture and held it up. “If that wasn't your intention, then tell me what was the point of all this?”

I was silent for a moment. How could I tell him I wanted to ruin my life? That I wanted to raze it to the ground so I could start over and try to build something real. My grandfather would never understand. He'd been so focused, so driven his entire life, he'd never made a misstep, much less such a mess that he felt the need to start over.

“You wouldn't understand,” I said, finally. It was true, but I couldn't help but wish he'd at least try.

“You're right, I don't,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't understand how someone with all your privileges and opportunities would waste their life doing foolish things like this.”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to point out that all my privileges and opportunities, as he called them, were empty because no one would let me use them to be me. He wanted me to live the life he wanted, be the person he wanted, not who I really was. Hell, I didn't even know who I really was.

“What should I be doing?” I asked.

“You think just because this is what your wastrel friends do, you should do it too?” Grandfather asked. “You see how your friend Paris lives, and you think that'll make you happy? You think Ricky spending all his parents money is the way to go through your life?”

“What else do I have?” I asked, my tone bitter. “Let me put it this way. What do you think I can do?”

“I don't know, Leighton,” he said, exasperated. “I've never seen you do anything else.” He tossed the paper back onto the table. “I'm not even sure you're capable of anything more than this.”

I looked down at the tabloids. This was what he thought of me. That the only thing I was capable of was causing more scenes like this. There was no encouragement to use my talents because I had none. No reminder of what path I could take to success, because, even with all of his lectures, he didn't believe I was going anywhere.

In the background of one was Haze's face. His blond hair lit by the overhead lights like an angel's halo, his dark eyes filled with concern. I felt queasy. He thought he'd been coming to save me, coming to bring me safely home, but I would have been better off if he'd just walked away. I was better off alone.

“I'm sorry to say this, but these photographs show me that you are nothing more than a silly, spoiled child.” Grandfather ripped the paper out of my hand and stacked them all together. “If you can't see that, if you think this is all fun, then you are worse off than I thought.”

“So now what?” I asked. I wanted to cross my arms, try to protect myself from the words cutting deep into my heart.

He studied me for a moment before speaking, “Now, as much as it pains me, if you don't grow up, I am going to cut you off. You'll lose your inheritance from me, and jeopardize your claim to the trust your parents created.”

I felt sick again, but I refused to let it show. The words fell from stiff lips. “If you want to cut me off, just do it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You don't understand what that would mean.” He shook his head. “I'm giving you another chance, but you have to do better.”

I didn’t really think he'd do it, especially since, with Ian leaving, I was all Grandfather had left, but the knot in my stomach eased as he said the words.

“What should I do?” I felt like a little kid, but I really wanted to know.

“Just do better,” he said.

Huge help. Anger twisted inside me. I truly ask him for help, and he blows me off, just like everyone else.

“Better?” I asked. “Like Ian? Do you think he's doing better now that he's re-enlisted?”

Grandfather frowned and tossed the tabloids in the garbage. “Yes, I think your brother is a good example for you.”

I balled my fingers into a fist. “I have one wild night and you lecture me, but Ian signs up to be killed and you're just fine with it?”

Grandfather's mouth tightened. “I'm not fine with the possibility that your brother might be injured or worse, but I respect the fact that he has chosen a purpose.”

“He's just using it to run away from you.” I couldn't keep the snark from my voice.

He ignored it. “Your brother has found a career path that he is excited about, and has decided he wants to pursue it outside of his trust fund money and my assistance. He's decided to make his own way in the world, and I'm proud of him.”

Tears burned my eyes. I didn't need him to say the opposite of me. “If you're so ashamed of me, then cut me off.”

I jumped off my stool and headed for the door, hoping he wouldn't see how much the conversation was hurting me.

“Leighton, I love you,” Grandfather said from behind me. “I'm giving you another chance.”

“You know what? I don't want it.” I slammed the kitchen door behind me.

Chapter 12

Haze

I
caught Leighton trying to leave her grandfather's mansion. Again. She stood in the garage and stared at the two long rows of cars, a determined look on her face.

“Go for something with good gas mileage,” I said as I approached.

Leighton jumped at the sound of my voice, but she didn't look at me. “What? Why?”

“If you're thinking of running away, then you want to make sure you choose a car with good gas mileage. Can't be stopping to fill up when you're trying to get away.” I kept my tone mild.

I walked past her so I could turn and see her face. She was pale from more than just a hangover. She hadn't bothered to put on make-up, but it was more than that too. The look in her eyes wrapped an icy hand around my heart.

“What makes you think I'm running away?” she asked, her voice cold. “Just because I didn't tell you I was coming down here?”

I stepped closer, hoping she would look me in the eye. “I don't think you accomplished what you wanted to last night, so I assumed you were going to run off and try again today.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, but didn't stay. “And just what do you think I was doing last night?”

“You kept talking about self-destruct and rock bottom,” I said, matter-of-factly. “But you're still here, and Devlin decided not to disinherit you.”

“Did you convince him to give me another chance?” she asked.

The sharp slice of her eyes made me drop the hand I'd started to extend. I cocked my head. “You wanted him to cut you off.”

She glared at me for a moment. “I'm going to the beach house; you can drive.”

There were so many things I wanted to tell her, but I knew she wasn't ready to hear any of them. She needed time. So I drove and she looked far out the window, turned so far I couldn’t see her face.

I waited until we were nearly there before I spoke, “I was coming back.”

“Forget about it,” she said, not looking at me.

I didn't think that was possible.

“You said something about Paris and Ricky being back in town,” I said, trying to find some footing with her. “Are they meeting you at the beach house?”

She didn't say a word and I stopped trying to make her talk. When we arrived at the beach house, no one else was there. She hurried around, gathering her things. A scarf, a notebook, a pair of earrings, all the belongings she had scattered around over the past couple days. I watched her jam them all into a Louis Vuitton soft-sided bag.