Fawkes Sara-Anything He Wants Castaway #3 Read online

  More figures appeared from openings on either side of the hall, and Amyrah tugged me back into her large bedroom. Before the door could close however, it was jammed open by a large arm, then Jeremiah pulled himself into the room. He dragged the two men attached to him into the open area and managed to fling one away by sheer brute force. He took another step into the room, but was taken down as more guards streamed through the doorway.

  No. I didn't want this. Why was he even here? "Please, please don't hurt him," I moaned, moving forward, but Amyrah grabbed my arm and held me in place. Two men had firm grips on each arm, and as Jeremiah lifted his head to look at me, I saw my own pain and anguish reflected in his eyes.

  Then another bodyguard moved forward, a small black object in his hand, and I realized what was about to happen.

  "Don't hurt him!" Wrenching my arm out of Amyrah's hold, I launched myself at the guard holding the taser. Grabbing his arm, I spun him around and away from Jeremiah.

  Then, like someone flipped a switch, every muscle in my body went rigid. My fingers dug into the other man's arm as my body bowed back. A silent scream formed across my lips but nothing would come out but a guttural exhale as the diaphragm spasms pushed the last of the air from my lungs. Aftershocks continued throughout my body, my muscles no longer under any voluntary control. Then as suddenly as it appeared, it was over, and I collapsed bone-lessly to the floor.

  From somewhere nearby I heard a roar-ing sound. At first I thought it was just another aftereffect of the taser until I heard a man's pained cry. I couldn't do anything but stare at the wall in front of me, struggling to breathe. Then hands pulled at me, lifting me off the ground and back around so that I was staring up into Jeremiah's face.

  A tear slid out of my eye at the tortured look on his face, but I couldn't move my arms to touch him yet. His eyes darted up, a hard glare for someone across from us. I lolled my head sideways to see the guards standing back a few feet, as if afraid to move forward.

  It took every ounce of willpower and strength I had at that moment, but I finally managed to move my hand onto his arm, then up to his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I tried to say, but my lips could only form the words.

  The words weren't enough—they would never be enough—and yet they were all I had.

  "But why?"

  I heard the plea in that one word, and what little emotion I had left tore at the rem-nants of my heart. It was the same question I'd asked him before, back on the ship. I'd deserved an answer then, and hadn't gotten one. He deserved an answer now...and I had nothing. "I thought you'd rejected me," I murmured, the words a whisper. It wasn't everything I wanted to say, but it was all there was.

  He swallowed. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" he murmured, pushing back the hair that was plastered to my face.

  Lifting my shoulder slightly off the ground, I finally levered my hand up to touch his face. "You'll never be able to forgive me."

  My eyes closed as my hand fell back to my chest. "I'll never be able to forgive me."

  "No." But I saw the truth in his eyes. My actions lay like an abyss between us, and I doubted either of us would ever be able, or willing to bridge it.

  Foreign chatter surrounded me, and Jeremiah's grip on my body tightened. I looked up to see his gaze darting at several points, but I didn't take my eyes off him.

  "You deserve better," I murmured, and saw his stricken gaze fall back to me.

  My strength had returned enough to push away from him, but I couldn't make myself do it. In his arms, I was safe for the first time in what felt like forever. My brain told me I needed to let go, leave and get on with my life, but my heart wasn’t ready.

  I wasn't sure if it would ever be ready.

  The guards surrounded us again, pulling on Jeremiah. I rolled away, and as he released me I saw the fight finally leave his face. This time he didn't protest as the guards dragged him backwards and to his feet, but his gaze remained on me. I felt like there was something I should say, a final word before we parted forever, but my chest hurt too much to speak.

  "Lucy..."

  I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

  "Just go." I was tired, so very tired. Amyrah stepped forward and helped me up and into a nearby chair as Jeremiah was dragged out of the room. The front door slamming was like the final nail in my coffin. "I want to go home," I murmured, staring blankly at the ground.

  There was a moment of silence, then Amyrah’s arm went around my shoulders. "I can at least do that for you."

  Chapter 11

  The Dubai Airport was an eclectic mixture of Arab and western culture, but I was too interested in leaving to really pay much attention.

  Amyrah and her bodyguards dropped me off, and the Muslim girl seemed reluctant to see me leave. "Please keep in touch, yes?" she said as we hugged goodbye outside the main entrance of the airport. "Perhaps someday I can come and see you."

  I smiled and hugged her back but made no promises. As much as I was grateful for her help and support, I had a feeling I would never see Amyrah again. We came from and moved within very different circles. If not for Jeremiah, I would never have thought to visit Dubai, nor would I have likely been introduced to Rashid.

  While parts of this experience had been magical, I didn't anticipate such things would ever happen to me again.

  The airport was a decent size, but I'd been through far larger. Finding the gate was easy enough, and I sat down in the chairs to wait it out. Amyrah had offered to fly me home on her family's private jet, but I'd had enough of that lifestyle and opted for a com-mercial flight.

  I sat watching the different people filing around the airport concourse. I think, had this been any other time, I would have enjoyed people watching. There was such a di-verse and eclectic mix of inhabitants within the airport. I was watching an Arab family go past, the woman in a heavy black abaya and the children in decidedly Western garb, when an older gentleman sat down next to me. I ignored him, not really in the mood for chat. Dark thoughts still swirled around in my mind, but for the most part I was numb.

  Experience told me it wouldn’t last long, but for now I was grateful for the dull flatness I felt.

  “Pardon me, miss, do you have the time?”

  The older man’s had a very upper crust British accent. I just shook my head, not looking at him. I knew it was rude, but right then I wasn’t up for any interactions with strangers.

  “I thought you kids these days always had the latest gadgets.”

  Despite a need for peace, my mouth twitched in one corner. “Not all of us,” I mumbled, turning over the passport in my hands. Amyrah had managed to retrieve that much for me, but I’d left everything else.

  Even this wasn’t really my passport, just a fake Lucas had made so we could fly to the Emirate city.

  I supposed as long as it got me home, I couldn’t complain.

  “Now where did I put that pocket watch of mine? Blast!”

  Something about his voice made me blink. Frowning slightly, I tilted my head sideways to watch the man pat his pockets.

  Everything about him was bushy, from his beard to his eyebrows. He was partially turned away so all I could see was a profile, and while part of my brain protested, something about him seemed familiar.

  “Ah, here we go!” He clicked open an an-tique pocket watch. “Half past three. Later than I thought.”

  Abandoning any sense of propriety, I openly stared at the man beside me. His thick mustache stretched in what I assumed was a smile, except I couldn’t see his mouth.

  He looked old, but something about the blue-green eyes staring out at me didn’t seem...

  I blinked again, and then looked away toward the concourse. It felt like I should be laughing at the absurdity, but all I could manage was a tired sigh. “What are you doing here, Lucas?”

  He opened a newspaper casually on his lap and began flipping through the pages.

  “Accompanying you home, of course.”

  His words set off a small spark
of indignation. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

  “Oh, I definitely know that. I saw what you did to Alexei on the ship. I just thought you might like some company.”

  The memory made me wince. I turned away, not wanting to make a scene.

  Everything that had happened over the last several days was still a raw wound that I didn’t want to touch.

  “So,” Lucas asked a few minutes later after a long and protracted silence, “where are we going?”

  I sighed. “I’m going home.”

  “And where is that exactly?”

  “I don’t know.” It was a question I knew I’d have to answer soon. When I’d signed that contract and Jeremiah had whisked me away, I’d lost contact with everything about my previous life. I’d even lost my phone, and hadn’t memorized my roommate’s number.

  That wasn’t going to be a fun visit, but hopefully she would let me get my stuff and, if I was really lucky, maybe let me keep staying there.

  “Well, I forbid you to go.”

  The sudden arrogant tone fired me up. I’d had enough of such things from his brother and shot Lucas an annoyed look, only to see him waggle those bushy eyebrows at me.

  “I’m a big strong silent type that likes to order people around,” he continued dramatic-ally, dropping the accent in favor of mimicry.

  “I tell you what to do and you lick my boots in thanks. Oh yes, and watch me be broody.

  My jutting Neanderthal brow line should have its own zip code.”

  I gawked at him, and then covered my mouth. Dammit, I didn’t want to laugh. Part of me wanted to hold on to my pain, wallow in my misery, but his impression of Jeremiah was perfect. Somehow, hearing Lucas speak made the whole situation seem ridiculous.

  The bushy eyebrows and beard with a pitch-perfect Jeremiah voice only added to the absurdity.

  Shaking my head, I looked away at the crowd hurrying past to their respective planes. Where once upon a time I’d enjoyed people watching, now it gave me little joy.

  Right now I was in a foreign land, surrounded by the unfamiliar and exotic, and all I could think about was getting home. Perhaps in hindsight I would regret not taking advantage of my situation, but for now all I wanted was to escape.

  “My brother doesn’t deserve you.”

  Lucas had completely ditched the British accent and false joviality. He sounded angry, and I glanced at him briefly. In my heart, I didn’t believe his words. Beneath the fake beard I saw the bruising and puffiness from his fight with Jeremiah. It hurt me to know I’d been the cause of more pain, and I looked back down at my hands.

  “I’m sorry I caused this.”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t your fault. I made some of the decisions that got me here.” I lifted one shoulder in a tired shrug.

  The sadness was creeping back, making me long for the numbness I’d felt before.

  “No.” My response seemed to fire him up because he squirmed in his seat before looking at me again. His eyes darkened as he leaned into me. “You deserve so much better than this, better than anything our fucked-up family can give you.”

  “Oh, Lucas.” The self-recrimination in his words touched off something inside me. I brought my hands up to his face and turned his head so we were eye to eye. I stroked the bruised sliver of exposed skin on his cheek, the false beard prickly against my thumb.

  “Somebody once told me we all have choices, even if they aren’t good ones. You’re worth so much more than this life you lead right now.”

  The muscles beneath my palm clenched, and the sudden yearning in his eyes nearly undid me. “Let me stay with you,” he rasped, covering my hand with his own. “I’m a better man around you. I need...”

  He trailed off as I shook my head sadly.

  “You’re already a better man, Lucas.”

  A woman’s voice echoed over the PA sys-tem, announcing my boarding for my flight.

  His fingers dug into the back of my hands as if to hold me in place, prevent me from leaving, then finally then slid down my arms and to his lap. I leaned forward and kiss his whiskered

  cheek.

  “I

  can’t

  be

  your

  absolution,” I whispered against his skin, wishing that there were some way to change that.

  But I was done with the Hamilton family.

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that, not now, but it was the truth. There was too much pain and history now to ever allow for a normal life if I chose to stay with either brother.

  And I had only ever really wanted one.

  “Goodbye, Lucas.”

  I stared at the bartender poured colorful drinks on the countertop, trying to decide if it was worth it to get wasted or if that would make things worse.

  Winter storms had extended my layover in London’s Heathrow, so I’d retreated to a nearby bar. The British airport was very different than the one in Dubai, but its inhabitants were no less varied. It felt much more normal to me, more western, but I missed the exoticness of the Arabian airport. Dubai was an experience I’d never thought I’d have and, while not every part was perfect, it was a memory I’d treasure.

  But mostly, I missed Jeremiah. He was the one I wanted to forget, as well as the choices that had damned me to a dreary life.

  It was tempting to try to forget but, some-how, I doubted alcohol would help there.

  “Can I buy you something?”

  I looked beside me as a man around my age sat down in the seat beside me. He was handsome in a normal way, wearing a light suit that complimented his dark hair. His expression was placid and friendly, but I gave him a wan smile and shook my head. “No, I’m good.”

  “You sure? Look like you could use a drink.”

  Great. Now strangers were commenting on my melancholy. I must look like a wreck, I thought, and shrugged. “I don’t even know what to order.”

  He flagged down the bartender. “Two Midori sours,” he said, and then turned to me. “So, where are you headed?”

  “New York City.”

  “Ah, an east coast girl.” He cocked his head sideways. “You have a faint accent though, French Canadian?”

  My eyebrows shot up. Most people didn’t notice; even Jeremiah, as astute as he was, had never mentioned it. “I was born in Que-bec,” I replied, more than a little impressed.

  “Moved to New York when I was ten.” It had been the year my grandfather died, leaving us the house where my mother had been raised.

  “That must have been tough for you.”

  I shrugged. “No little kid likes to move, I guess.” He seemed nice enough, not as over-bearing as Jeremiah or as wily as Lucas. He looked like any businessman, clean cut and well dressed, but I could tell from my brief time with Jeremiah that the man before me wasn’t rich. His shoes weren’t high-dollar, the suit not an expensive cut. He seemed normal, the kind of man I should end up with.

  Once upon a time, I might have been attracted to someone like this. Now, they seemed so drab in comparison.

  I took a deep breath, fighting against my own disappointment. Would I always com-pare other men to Jeremiah? “What about you?” I asked, forcing a friendly smile, “where are you heading?”

  “Oh, I’m travelling to see family,” he answered as the bartender arrived with our drinks. I sniffed the green liquid then took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste. “So is anyone special waiting for you at home?”

  His innocuous question destroyed my mood. I set the drink on the countertop, the syrupy liquor turning to ash in my mouth. It was difficult to tell if he was hitting on me or just making conversation. “I just got over a bad breakup,” I answered, hoping he would get the hint.

  “Ah yes, how is Jeremiah doing these days?”

  At first, his response didn’t register. I blinked, then looked back at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve had quite a rough time lately,” he continued blithely, waving around his drink for emphasis befo
re taking a sip. “Of course, that probably started more with when your parents were killed by that hit-and-run driver than when you were seduced in an elevator.”

  It was like someone had reached inside my chest and had a stranglehold on my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move. In my hand, the plastic cup rattled against the wood bar, but no one around us seemed to notice my distress.

  “I took a little visit to your family home in upstate New York,” he continued, stirring the green drink with the little straw. “Very pretty, more so in person. The family inside it now hasn’t kept up the place however, which is a shame.”

  “Who are you?” I whispered, the words squeezed out of me.

  “But I suppose the sins of the parents are passed down to the next generation,” he continued, seeming to ignore my question.

  “Your parents couldn’t see past the moment, mismanaging their finances so that when they were killed in a silly accident, they ruined your life...”

  Throwing my drink in his face wasn’t a conscious decision. The sound of the ice cubes hitting the linoleum below shocked me, but the other man’s expression didn’t change. A few people looked over at us, but nobody seemed interested in joining our discussion.

  He paused, then picked up a napkin from the counter and wiped his face. “I probably deserved that.”

  “Who are you?” I repeated, my voice shaky but louder this time. Inside I was a mess; that he knew so much about my life had me in a panic, but I had nowhere to go.

  I’d abandoned the only people who could help me, believing myself not involved in their problems. Now I was sitting alone, thousands of miles away, being told that I was now as big a part in this story as any Hamilton.

  For a brief moment the stranger didn’t respond, just stared at me. “What do we know about the Hamilton family tree?” he said finally, tilting his head sideway in thought. “Certainly a noble heritage going back several generations. Their money was made on the backs of others, trampling lesser men to achieve their ends. The current generation boasts an arms smuggler who’s taken an untold number of lives, and a commando who is no better than his father with his own militia.”