Less than three feet away is the penthouse entrance—the place where one of us is going to meet our end—I just hope it’s not me.
There’s a small tremor in my hand as I find the card tucked in my pocket. It slows my pace some, which Lonnie obviously takes offense to.
“Open the door, Vivie. I feel like you’re trying to take your time.” His heated huff swirls down my neck. “And you’re making me angry.”
“Fucking working on it,” I mumble, more of my composure draining away. My nerves feel raw and stripped now.
The key barely finds its mark as my hands tremble. I curse when the door recognizes the card and unlocks. I'm forced to open it, then shoved inside. I bite back a squeal as he puts me in a chokehold and presses his forearm to my neck.
He’s strong, with a weighted arm, and it’s going to be hard if not impossible to break away like this. But I have to try. My blood drops in temperature as he brings the blade around and presses it to my neck—another fucking hindrance to my freedom.
Cruel reality becomes official as the door latches behind us. The click and lock sound it makes shoots a whirl of sickness through my stomach. This is it—the start of the end.
“Now,” he begins. He plants a ruthless kiss to my temple, and for the first time since this has started, I’m tempted to cry. “Show me the master bedroom so we can start our playdate.”
CLICK.
Lonnie stiffens against me, the blade tightening against my throat as the unmistakable sound of a revolver cocks behind us.
“Let her go.” The order is full of calm control.
“Oh my God,” I exclaim. I'd know the tone anywhere. The gruff voice of Grant shatters me, and my knees sway, unleashing in me a panic I’ve been holding in. “Grant!”
A shocked huff leaves Lonnie as he holds his position. “Back already?”
“Back?” Grant scoffs. “You really thought I’d leave town? Better yet, you really thought I'd leave her unprotected?” His steady voice evens out the rhythm of my heart.
“I saw you leave,” Lonnie says, not moving a muscle.
“Wrong. You saw me walk into an airport with an empty suitcase. You never saw me leave.” He scoffs. “You’re fucking insane if you think I’d leave Olivia to contend alone with the Green-eye’d Killer.”
Green-eye’d Killer?A befuddling phrase. I have no idea what Grant is referring to, but Lonnie seems to.
“Do you like the name I picked?” Lonnie cuts out. “A nice ode to my doll. Which, her name is Vivian, by the way, not Olivia.”
“Her name is Olivia,” Grant rumbles. “She's mine, and that's the only thing that matters to me. Now, let her go.”
“Sounds tempting.” Lonnie clutches me tighter. “But I have a knife to her throat, and what's to stop me from slitting it wide open to see if she bleeds?”
“Wisdom,” Brexton says. “I have a fifty caliber Smith and Wesson to the back of your head, and there's a sniper on the rooftop across, watching us. You so much as blink or breathe wrong, and my face and ceiling will have new artwork, courtesy of your brain.”
The blade begins to fall away as Lonnie lessens his hold, but Grant doesn’t take notice.
“Last chance,” Grant growls out. “Let her go before I blow your fucking brains out.”
Lonnie’s arm tightness, and I have a vision of him dragging the knife across my throat, but before he can, I lift my foot, serving him a backward kick so hard that I hear a crunch. He howls and thrusts me forward, releasing me.
I take gulps of air till it hurts, and hunch over, battling to compose myself. I’m trembling head to toe and want nothing more but to be in Grant’s arms, but he’s busy. I look over to see him slamming Lonnie’s face into the wall, not even giving Lonnie a second of freedom. His hands pinned behind his back, the gun still to his skull.
Lonnie turns his head, laying one cheek flush to the side, facing me. A dark drip of blood trickles out of his nose. My eyes trail to the scars on Lonnie's face. Old in age, but new to me. There's two. The worst being a thick, wrinkled slash across his cheek, drawing up to his ear.
Considering all the scars he's given me, I find it sweet recompense that he has two in plain sight. Serves him right.
A wince pinches Lonnie’s face as Grant squeezes him into the wall, but his spirit doesn’t break. “Why aren’t you blowing my brains out now? Afraid my blood will be too much for my doll?”
“Not hardly.” Grant looks at me, a brow lifted. “What do you think, my love?
My eyes narrow as I look at Grant, and the hatred for Lonnie erupts hot under my flesh. “Can you do it and get away with it?”
The pause Grant makes along with the quick double blink tells me that he knows I mean it. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No. If I hadn’t hired security, I could, but now … no.”
“Then don’t.” I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. “I won’t lose two men that I love to one monster.” Directing my eyes to Lonnie, my top lip snarls up. “Lucky for you, I won’t get to wear your brains on my face as a memento.”
Lonnie laughs, but it sounds demented, like he enjoys my words. “You’ve changed.”
“You’ve made me change,” I say, lowering my voice. “Thank yourself.”
Grant gives us one more moment, and when nothing further is said, he turns his head to the closed door and raises his voice. “All right. We're ready.”
The penthouse door whirls, clicks, then opens. A swarm of armed men dressed in black, holding guns, barge in, and order Lonnie down to the floor.
Chaos ensues. Shouting. Movement. People swarming the foyer. Lonnie, falling to his knees. Radio receivers clicking on and off.
It dies away when Grant finds me and wraps me in his arms. Thick tears stream from my eyes, and I sigh, hard. I’m not crying for Lonnie. I’m crying for Grant. He didn’t leave me; he didn’t fail me—he’s been by my side fighting with me this entire time. Leather, citrus, muscle, and tender lips envelop me, and I melt against him.
The kiss ends much too soon so he can stare deep into my eyes and sweep tears away from my cheeks. “Anything for you, my sweet. Rational or irrational. Anything for you.”
I gulp, lost, and awestruck “You-you never left?”
“Never. I’ve been here in Seattle the whole time, stuck in a van, watching security videos, tracking Lonnie. I snuck up here when Lonnie had you by the SUV.”
“Oh, God, Grant.” How could I have ever doubted him? I’m about to say something, when he’s called away.
He raises his finger toward the man, then looks at me. “Go wait by the elevator door. We’re going to the house on Mercer Island.”
I nod and move past, working around the men apprehending Lonnie, who’s on his stomach, pressed into the marble floor.
Once in the hallway, a new sensation takes over. Freedom. My shoulders lighten as years of fear and weight fly away. We finally did it, Grant and me.
Legally, above board, in the open.