Beyond the Thistles, page 2
Sucking up my courage, I got out and rounded the hood, ignoring the catcalls from a couple of guys leaning against their car.
I stepped into the yard, and a tall guy with a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants blocked my way.
“Who the fuck are you?” he shouted to be heard over the music.
“Relax, Kai!” My ex’s friend, Brix, clamped a hand on my interrogator’s shoulder. “She belongs to Andros.”
Nathan Andros. My ex. His family owned a Greek restaurant in Culver City. They’d disowned him a long time ago. Just like mine disowned me. But that didn’t make me his.
I belonged to no one but Callie.
Yet, I curbed my tongue, because despite the way it made my throat close with impotent anger, that imagined ownership was the only thing keeping me safe.
Brix gestured with a bottle of beer and yelled, “He know you’re coming?”
I shook my head. “It’s an emergency.”
“The kid okay?” he asked, as if he might even care a little.
“She won’t be. That’s why I need to see Nathan!”
“Shit, man, even I think the music is too fucking loud!” Kai turned on his heel and hurried into the house.
“This way!” Brix jerked his head toward the small porch.
It was like most homes in the neighborhood. Single story in the Spanish style. Bars guarded the windows and the front door.
As we entered the crowded house, the volume of the music lowered. It was still loud, but I couldn’t feel it reverberating through my chest like before. It was stifling hot with all the bodies inside. Alert, wary, I glanced around as Brix led me through the sitting room and into the kitchen. I didn’t see Stacie or anyone else I recognized from my old life. Brix turned left down a hall off the kitchen, leading to what I guessed were the bedrooms.
Crap.
“He’s down here?” I asked, attempting to sound cool.
“He’s in a meeting,” Brix called over his shoulder. Then he stopped at the third door and knocked. “Andros, it’s Brix!”
“I’m busy!”
“Sloane’s here! She said it’s an emergency!”
There was silence, then, “Let her in.”
Taking a deep breath, I prepared to face my ex.
Brix opened the door and gestured me in, and as soon as I stepped inside, the door closed behind me.
We were in the main bedroom, but it was small. Two guys sat in armchairs near French doors that led into the backyard. Behind them, the yard was dark and empty, like the guests had been told it was off-limits. My ex stood near them. And on the bed, looking a little worse for wear, was a gorgeous brunette.
A way-too-young gorgeous brunette.
Nathan gave me a hard look. “What couldn’t wait?”
I glanced at the two men, then back at him. “Can we talk in private?”
“It can’t wait?” he pressed. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
“I only need five minutes.”
One guy gently tapped the other. “Let’s give them a minute.”
“What about her?” The other stared at the brunette like she was a piece of meat.
The girl tensed but said nothing.
“We’ll talk,” Nathan answered. “I’ll be right out.”
The two men were tall. They had a few inches on Nathan and plenty of muscle. The one who had excused them eyed me with a flirtatious smirk as he approached. “Hey.” He jerked his chin as he leaned past me to open the door.
Stepping aside to let them out, I gave him a practiced friendly but platonic smile as I said hey back.
Once the door closed behind them, Nathan crossed the room to me. I tensed as he reached past me to lock the bedroom door.
Intimidation tactics.
Then he put his hands on my hips and yanked me into him. “My girl’s looking tired. You should let me take care of you.”
When I’d first met him in that club, I’d thought him the sexiest guy I’d ever met. His father was Greek, but his mother was Danish-American. That heritage had resulted in beauty for Nathan. Olive skin, dark hair, and striking light blue eyes.
He was all charm and humor, and he’d wrapped me up in affection and attention that I’d been missing at that point in my life.
I was too naive to realize that he got off on taking a good girl and dirtying her up. That I was some kind of prize to him. Something he owned, not someone he loved. Two years after Callie was born, I’d gotten the courage to leave him. He’d haunted my doorstep for a year after that, trying to cajole and threaten me. Thankfully, he’d grown bored. Now he appeared every few months to drop off cash and remind me who owned me. He’d even beaten up a guy I’d dared to date when Callie was five. I hadn’t dated since.
Nathan thought that somehow meant I agreed he owned me.
Delusional asshole.
I was just biding my time until I had enough money to get Callie and me out of his orbit.
Now looking up at him, I saw the malice behind his beauty. Trying not to let it show in my expression, I stayed still in his hold and said, “I lost my job, and they’re evicting me. I need money to get up to date on my rent and to tide us over until I get a new job.”
His fingers bit into my hips as his gaze hardened. “Well, you know the answer to that. You get your ass back in my bed, and you won’t need to worry about that shit.”
“Hey!” The brunette I’d almost forgotten was there jumped off the bed and shoved Nathan away from me. “I’m right fucking here, and you’re trying to get with another girl!”
I was surprised she sounded so lucid, considering she looked like she’d been partying for days.
Nathan’s face hardened. “Bitch, shove me again and you’ll regret it.”
Her expression turned mulish. “No one treats me like shit. And that includes offering me up to one of those miscreants who was just in here.”
Miscreants?
My eyes narrowed on her. Why was she so familiar?
“Princess, you’re in my world now. You do whatever I fucking tell you to do … and right now, I’m telling you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
I flinched at his roar while the brunette barely moved. After a second, she spit right in Nathan’s face.
My heart plummeted.
“Nathan, no––”
The crack of his hand across her face cut me off, and the girl fell back on the bed. Suddenly, Nathan was on her, straddling her, trapping her legs.
I got a flashback.
The first time I tried to leave.
Callie, a toddler, screaming in the living room from her playpen. Nathan holding me down on the bed, unzipping his pants. To prove who owned me.
His friends had thankfully interrupted us, bursting into the apartment before he could take what he wanted. I’d left him that evening while he was out.
Pulled from the memory and back into the room, I watched in horror as he held the girl down with one hand and reached for the zipper on his pants.
“Nathan!”
He snapped his head toward me. “Want to see what you’re missing?”
“Get off me!” the girl shrieked.
His shirt rode up as he hit her again, and I spotted the gun tucked into his waistband. Moron kept his loaded gun down his pants.
Fear thrummed through me as I zeroed in on it.
I couldn’t let him …
I took a step toward the bed, but my heart sank as Nathan yanked the gun out and pressed the muzzle to the brunette’s forehead.
She stopped struggling, but glared defiantly up at him.
“That’s a good girl.”
Revulsion slithered through me.
That’s what he used to say every time I capitulated to him. He’d never gotten the chance to rape me, but he had raised his fists to me and I’d pretended so many times to forgive him. To go along with whatever he wanted for a quiet life. Until that day he’d tried to take what I didn’t want to give. That was the final straw.
“Wait for me out in the hall.” Nathan shot me a look. “We’ll talk when I’m done here.”
My eyes flew to the girl. She stared at me.
Pleading.
“I’m not leaving. I need to get back to Callie. Let the girl go.”
He sneered. “If you don’t leave, we’re gonna do this, anyway.”
“It doesn’t look like she wants to, Nathan, so let her go.”
“Do you want to?” He pressed the gun harder against her head.
And even then, she hissed, “No.”
I lunged at him. It distracted him long enough for her to bite the hand holding his gun so hard, Nathan cried out.
The rest of the scuffle was a blur. Nathan punched me in the head and stomach. But I thought between me and the brunette, we’d have the upper hand.
I don’t know who had the gun, but when it went off, pain ricocheted through my upper arm, and I screamed.
“Shit!” Nathan bellowed.
The door to the bedroom rattled, but it was locked. “Andros!”
“Fuck, I’m okay!” he yelled back, and I blinked through my red haze of pain to see the girl was on her ass against the bed, staring at me tear-streaked and wide-eyed. Nathan wrenched the gun out of her hand.
Concern wrinkled his brow as he dropped to his knees beside me. I noted he laid the gun down even as I clasped my bleeding arm with my free hand and strained away from him.
“Shit, Sloane,” he hissed, reaching for my wound. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“She … she needs an ambulance,” the brunette whimpered.
“No fucking ambulance.” He glared at her. “I’ll take care of her. You know why? Because I actually give a shit about her. This is my kid’s mom you just fucking shot!” He stood up, stupidly forgetting about his gun. And he began punching her.
Over and over.
And over.
Like he wouldn’t stop until it was too late.
I pushed through the agony blazing through my arm, grabbed the gun, and aimed it at him.
One
SLOANE
Present day
Ardnoch, Scottish Highlands
The aim of housekeeping at Ardnoch Estate was to be as invisible as possible. We didn’t use the main stairwells, and we had staff elevators that took us from floor to floor. On most days, I only ever saw the grand entrance of Ardnoch Castle if I was walking past it on my way to club manager Aria Howard’s office.
The members-only club in the remote Scottish Highlands was the last place I’d ever have imagined I’d end up working. But here I was, in my housekeeper’s uniform, pushing my little cart with fresh towels and amenities down the plush carpeted hallways of the renovated castle. The coastal estate was enormous, and the elite membership was only open to film and television industry professionals who could afford it. Once the crumbling ancestral property of ex-Hollywood actor and local Lachlan Adair, he’d turned his family’s estate into a lucrative haven for famous people seeking peace and quiet from their celebrity lives. Highly trained close protection teams and state-of-the-art security meant Ardnoch was one of the safest places on earth.
As soon as I stepped into my first suite of the day, I realized pretty quickly I’d forgotten the parcel of locally made biscuits I was supposed to leave in each room after I cleaned. At night, the turndown service left members hot toddies and chocolates in their bedrooms. Smiling to myself, thinking how much I’d love someone to bring me a hot chocolate each night, I pushed my cart off to the side so it wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. The staff elevator was at the end of the hall. It would take me only a few minutes to get to the housekeepers’ storage room.
I’d just stepped into the staff elevator when I heard a familiar, deep, growly voice demand, “Hold the lift.”
I knew that voice. It did things to me. Heart racing, I turned around and held the door open as Walker Ironside strode toward me.
No name could be more perfect for a man.
The first time I saw Walker, he should have intimidated me. He towered over most everyone, standing about six feet five. He had massive shoulders and thick biceps, a tapered, strong waist, and long legs. The man was too handsome for his own good, smooth and rough all at the same time. He kept his beard trimmed, but his brown hair was styled—shaved at the sides and longer on top. The first time I saw Walker, it wasn’t intimidation I felt. I had the most visceral physical reaction I’ve ever had to a man in my life.
I wanted to strip him naked and explore every inch of his spectacular body. I wanted to climb him like a freaking tree while he murmured dirty words in my ear in that gruff Scottish accent.
Even his monosyllabic, steely-eyed manner didn’t put me off. His utter masculinity enthralled me. Back in LA, I’d been surrounded by gun-toting thugs and gangsters … but I’d never met a guy who was so truly a grown-ass man as Walker Ironside.
My physical response to him was unsettling. His lack of physical response to me was disappointing.
Correction: It was crushing.
My breath caught as I had to tilt my chin to meet his aquamarine eyes, stepping back to allow him entrance. He dwarfed the entire elevator. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“No problem.”
I let the door go and it shut. Heavy silence fell between us, and my whole body zinged with hyperawareness. Feeling all of thirteen with an infatuation, I tried to control my breathing so Walker wouldn’t see how he affected me. I was already concerned there was a telltale flush to my tan cheeks.
The elevator moved downward, and I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He wore a black tailored suit that fit to perfection. All the security guards at Ardnoch dressed like the Men in Black. It was a good look for Walker. “What brings you to our level?” I asked in a teasing voice, referring to the fact that the guards spent most of their days monitoring the security perimeter, estate entrances, and escorting any members who required private security while they toured the Highlands.
Walker’s expression was annoyingly blank. “We’re considering alarming vulnerable areas of the castle in case the estate is ever breached.”
My eyes widened. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“It’s very unlikely. As I said, it’s only a consideration.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the members want to feel like they’re in a fancy prison.” I grinned.
His intense gaze flicked to my mouth before quickly returning to my eyes. He didn’t smile. Not that I’d ever seen Walker smile. I’d never taken his gruff demeanor to heart, but lately he’d verged on cool and distant. He had come to Ardnoch with Brodan Adair, Lachlan’s younger brother. While Lachlan might have retired from Hollywood years ago, Brodan was even more globally famous. He’d returned to Ardnoch last summer with his bodyguard, Walker, in tow. Brodan had infamously retired to stay at home in Ardnoch after he and Monroe—his estranged childhood best friend—rekindled their epic love story. Walker decided to stay, too, after Lachlan offered him a job as part of the estate’s security team. Monroe shared all this with me—she was Callie’s teacher last year, and the two of us hit it off and became fast friends.
I’d spotted Walker before I met Monroe. He’s kind of hard to miss around the estate. And working in the same place meant I got to catch frequent glimpses of his gorgeous ass.
Anyway, working together and being in the same friendship circle meant I learned Walker was gruff with everyone and not to take it personally. Still, after watching the way he salivated over my baked goods (not a euphemism—we officially met at a school bake sale, and he practically devoured my table), it was disheartening to not have him acknowledge, much less reciprocate, my subtle flirting. I’d seen him weeks before the bake sale, working on the estate, and I’d hoped he’d notice me, but as a housekeeper, I was invisible. At least, that’s what I’d been counting on. That once we met for real, he’d see me.
He didn’t.
As far as Walker was aware, I was just a person with a knack for baking who was also friends with his friends.
Realizing he had no intention of saying anything else, I worried my lip with my teeth. Usually, I could talk to anyone, and I was pretty good at bringing the most reserved people out of their shell. But Walker reduced me to feeling like a teenager. He’s older than I am—according to Monroe, in his late thirties, so he’s at least a decade older. There was a worldliness about him, and he exuded a weary-eyed, seen everything, done everything attitude. But I liked that about him.
I opened my mouth to ask him how he’d been since we hadn’t seen each other in a while and he was treating me like a near stranger when the elevator jolted, metal creaking and squealing as it stopped. It threw me off-balance, and I fell against the wall.
“Are you all right?” Walker reached to steady me, concern marring his brow.
Fear slivered through me. “Are we stuck?”
He hit the ground-level button, and nothing happened. His tone was grim. “It would appear so.”
As I took in the small elevator, anxiety tightened across my chest.
Walker’s eyes narrowed on me as he pulled a walkie-talkie off a clip on his belt. Holding it to his mouth, he said, “You’ve got Walker. I’m in the east wing staff elevator with housekeeper Sloane Harrow. It’s stalled. We’re stuck.”
We’re stuck.
“Oh, God.” Black dots crawled across my vision, my cheeks tingling as my panic increased.
I was vaguely aware of the talkie crackling. “Got it. Maintenance is on their way.”
“Sloane.”
My chest rose and fell fast as I struggled to draw in sufficient breath.
“Sloane.”
A large, warm hand settled on my shoulder, and I looked up from my clenched fists to find Walker’s head bent toward mine. His eyes were like staring into the waters of the Mediterranean on a sunny day.
“Are you claustrophobic?”
I nodded rapidly.
He squeezed my shoulder. “Look at me. Keep looking at me.”
I did as he commanded.
“Breathe in.” Walker took a slow, easy breath in and then released it. “Breathe out.”
