Page 59 of Ruthless Desires, Vol. One (Ruthless Desires Series Extended Editions #1)

Rhett

Elliot takes Wren upstairs, making sure to keep her wrapped up in blankets. She still looks miserably cold. If I knew Jordan would survive, I’d beat him until he was covered in blood and pissing himself for what he’s done to her. But if Wren wants to be the one to kill him, I won’t take that away from her—no matter how much I want to.

Oliver has already grabbed a knife from the kitchen. He’s tapping it against his palm, eyeing the men in front of us. Everyone is awake now, and all four men look terrified.

Good.

“I’ll take him.” Oliver nods to the man to the left of Jordan. “You can have the other two.”

I was going to claim two of them anyway, so I grunt in agreement.

All of them have their wrists tied to the arms of the chairs. Oliver slams his knife into his guy’s hand, smiling when he screams. If I wasn’t so pissed off at Oliver, I might smile too.

I look at the two men to the right of Jordan. One has already wet himself, and the other is crying. I’d say it’s pathetic, but considering the hell I’m about to put them through, their fear is warranted.

When I step up to the one who’s crying, he starts sobbing harder. Slowly, I slice through the front of his shirt, cutting the fabric but not touching his skin. Not yet.

“Those are some nice tattoos you have,” I say, staring at the ink stretching across his chest. “Great linework. Wonder what it’d look like if it was done in red.”

“Wh-what?” he chokes out, squirming in his seat.

“Your tattoos,” I reply, resting the tip of my blade against his skin. “Red. Instead of black.”

He shakes his head frantically, and then he whimpers when I drag my knife along a line on one of his tattoos. Blood flows from the cut, staining his skin.

“We were just following orders,” he cries.

“Complacency isn’t the great excuse you think it is.”

“You know how it is, man. I’ve got bills to pay.”

I shake my head. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

***

By the time Oliver and I are done, the floor is soaked with blood, and Jordan has passed out from a combination of injuries and fear.

It’s over. Wren’s safe. Oliver’s safe. But whenever I start to think that his plan worked, that it got us to Wren faster, I remember the way Elliot looked when he realized Oliver was gone. It broke my heart, seeing him like that again.

Oliver tosses his knife to the floor, staring at the mess we’ve made. I come up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to me. It’s the first time I’ve touched him since I pulled him away from Wren earlier.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” I say. “But I’m so goddamned angry with you. This was a stupid fucking idea, O. I don’t care that it worked. Never ever do something like this again.”

Oliver remains silent, and a hollow sensation I haven’t felt in years expands in my chest.

“Promise me,” I bark out.

When he looks at me, the determination burning in his eyes causes me to take a step backward. He follows me, crossing his arms over his chest. Oliver may be shorter than I am, but right now, it feels like he’s ten feet tall.

“I’ll do whatever I have to,” he says. “Whatever is needed to make sure the three of you stay alive. You’d do the same.”

“No. This was downright idiotic.”

“It was a calculated risk,” he snaps. “And I’m sorry for going behind your back the way I did. Truly, I am. But I will never apologize for getting to Wren sooner. If I hadn’t, we still wouldn’t know where she was. She could’ve died by now, Rhett. And you know you would’ve done the same thing if you’d thought of the idea. Stop lying to yourself.”

“I would never do that to Ell,” I shout.

It’s then that we realize Elliot and Wren are watching us from the bottom of the stairs. Wren is still wrapped up in multiple blankets, and Ell has a protective arm around her shoulders. They both look exhausted, and Wren’s eyes carry a sadness in them that I instantly feel guilty for putting there.

“Rhett, he—” she starts to say, but Oliver cuts her off.

“Don’t. If he’s going to take his anger out on someone, it’s going to be me, not you.”

“No,” Elliot says. “Right now, our first priority is getting Wren home. So Rhett, calm the fuck down. You two can continue this conversation later.”

I bite back my sharp remarks. It doesn’t matter that we rescued Oliver and Wren. Tension is still high, and Ell is right. Now isn’t the time to fight. It’s time to get the hell out of here.

Elliot leaves to grab his car, saying that there’s no sense in all of us walking that far, especially since Wren doesn’t even have shoes. She sits on the couch, turning so she can avoid the scene in the kitchen while Oliver and I wash off as much blood from our hands and arms as we can.

When Elliot gets back, he carries Wren to the car, gently setting her in the backseat where her change of clothes is waiting. He already has the heat on blast, thank fuck. Wren just got warm again. She needs to stay that way.

After throwing a gagged Jordan in the trunk, I join Wren in the back, and Oliver takes the passenger seat. As soon as everyone is settled, Elliot grabs Oliver’s hand, steering with the other. They don’t let go for the whole drive.

I pull out my phone and start typing away. First I let Finn know that we made it out safely. Then I contact one of our go-to fixers. He has a team of highly skilled people who can make it look like nothing ever happened at that house. They can do it damn fast, too.

By the time we get home, Wren has fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder. She’s still cocooned in blankets, but she found a way to work one of her hands out so she could rest it on my arm.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur once we’re parked. “We’re home.”

She stirs, snuggling into me with a moan. “Sleep here.”

I can’t help but laugh, even though it’s pathetic at best. “I don’t think so, Wren. C’mon.”

She groans, but she opens her eyes, blinking against the bright light of the garage. Elliot opens her door and helps her out, peeling the blankets off of her so she doesn’t trip.

Oliver and I drag Jordan through the house and dump him in a guest room. I tie him to the bed, and he tries to say something, but it’s incomprehensible with the gag.

Once we lock him in the room, I turn to go, but Oliver grabs my arm.

I pull out of his grasp. “I’m too tired for this right now, O.”

“Rhett, please.” His tone is worn down, maybe even a little desperate, and it sends chills down my spine. “Please.”

“Don’t beg,” I grit out. But it’s too late. Memories are already flooding into my mind. The tears, the pleading, the humiliation. The icy fire of hate taking hold of my soul, burning brighter with every incident. “You never have to beg.”

I can see it in Oliver’s eyes as he realizes what he set off in my head. He reaches for me, but at the last second he pulls back, thinking better.

There are thousands of types of torture. But as Oliver stares at me hopelessly while I try to get my memories under control, I’m reminded that the worst kind of torture is the one that’s inflicted by the people you love the most. Or the ones who’re supposed to love you but can’t find it in them to care.

That’s not me. I care. I care more than anything.

“Oliver, I lo…” I choke on the words before trying again. “I love—”

But that old voice echoes in my head. Say it back. Now, boy.

“Don’t,” Oliver whispers, shaking his head.

I wish you could get into my head so you could see. So you could understand. I don’t want to be like this.

There are words for situations like this, but I don’t know what they are. So I grab his head, angling it upward and slamming my lips to his. He fists my shirt at my sides, grunting when I push him against the wall. The kiss is the opposite of sweet and gentle. It’s pain and anger and hurt bleeding from both of us, not making anything better and probably making everything worse.

Don’t do this to him.

“Fuck.” I tear myself away from him, my chest heaving and my heart aching. “Time. I just need time. I’m sorry.” My voice breaks on the last syllable.

“Rhett—”

But I’m already out of his reach, in every possible sense of the phrase. I run, the sound of my feet pounding on the floor the only thing I can comprehend until I’m closed in my room and leaning against the door.

I don’t let myself stand still. If I stop, I’ll stay frozen for hours, replaying everything. My childhood. Almost losing Oliver. And then the absolute nightmare that the past day has been.

In the bathroom, I turn on the shower and step in fully clothed. The water is cold at first, but I barely even feel it. Barely feel anything.

I place my hands on the shower wall, bowing my head. The water falls on my back as it warms up, soaking my shirt and eventually my pants.

Slowly, the numbness fades, but it only makes me feel worse. Every thought I was trying to avoid rushes in at once. The taunting. The fear. Leaving but still feeling trapped. And then the terror of losing one of the only people I’ve ever loved—one of the only people who’s ever loved me.

My first sob is so violent that I fall to the shower floor. With my head in my hands, I let go fully, the sounds of my distress echoing loudly in the small enclosure.

How could Oliver do that to us?

And why is a part of me grateful he did it?

I can’t stop thinking about Ell and how his eyes were glued to his phone the entire time we were without Oliver. It’s like that little blue dot that represented him was the only thing keeping Elliot grounded. The only thing keeping him breathing. Elliot—the one who’s always strong and composed and ready for anything—cried because he was so scared.

Yet Oliver’s plan worked. And based on how terrified Wren was when I got to her, there may have been some truth to his point. It’s entirely possible that Jordan would’ve killed Wren out of anger or miscalculation if we hadn’t gotten there when we did.

I rub my chest, trying to soothe the ache in my heart. The truth is that we got to Oliver and Wren in time. We all made it out safely. But my body hasn’t caught up yet. It hasn’t realized the crisis is over.

Eventually, my sobs die down, but I still don’t move. I managed to keep it together for as long as I needed to. But between tonight and all of these old memories resurfacing, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Now I’m too exhausted to get up, and I don’t have any motivation to, either.

Maybe I’ll just sleep in here.

“Rhett?”

I jump at the unexpected noise. “Fuck.”

Through the foggy glass, I can just make out Wren’s form where she’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says.

“It’s fine,” I manage, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Or interrupt you. Are you… are you okay?”

I stare at the water as it flows across the tiles before washing down the drain. Okay. It’s such an arbitrary way to measure a person’s wellbeing. There are times when I’m okay—when I’m distracted, or when I’m with Oliver and Ell, or on the few days I’m able to control my thoughts. But is that okay? Or is that just barely coping? And if so, then what the fuck am I right now?

“Rhett?” She’s closer now, her hand on the shower door. “Can I come in?”

I sigh. “You need to sleep, sweetheart.”

“It doesn’t sound like you should be alone right now.”

Rubbing my face, I mutter, “Fine.”

She opens the door, and her expression goes from worried to alarmed. “You’re still in your clothes.”

I don’t have a good explanation, so I shrug.

Wren is in one of her T-shirts and a pair of shorts. It looks like she’s showered and ready for bed, but that doesn’t stop her from closing the distance between us. She doesn’t even hesitate to sit next to me under the spray of water.

On instinct, I lean away from her, so she moves a few inches away to give me space.

“Don’t,” I say tensely.

“Don’t what?”

“Move away.”

She scooches back to where she was.

I clench my fists. “But I can’t… don’t—” I let out a frustrated noise. “Jesus fuck.”

“Don’t touch you?”

I nod.

“I won’t,” she whispers.

Letting anyone other than Elliot and Oliver see me like this is deeply uncomfortable, but at the same time, I’m glad Wren is next to me. She needs to know what she’s getting herself into.

“You’re worried about Oliver,” I say. “That’s why you’re here?”

“I’m worried about you.”

I don’t know why, but that makes my heart ache even more. I stare at the water swirling down the drain, unable to look her in the eye. “I get why he did it. And there’s a part of me that’s glad he did because it means you’re safe. We were all acting a little desperate to get you back home.”

“Elliot said you were ready to go after Jordan’s girlfriend.”

I nod. “And I’m glad he stopped me. That could’ve been a disaster for you.”

“And you’re angry that Oliver didn’t give you a chance to stop him?”

“No. No, I’m angry because I was terrified.”

A small noise of surprise leaves her throat. “You thought Jordan would kill him?”

“Sort of,” I say. And then I sigh. It’s time she hears this story. “When we were nineteen, maybe twenty, we were on a job together. It was pretty simple—sneak in and plant cameras in our mark’s house for one of our first clients. Everything was going according to plan until it wasn’t. We thought the guy was out of the house when we broke in, but we were wrong. He caught Oliver in his office and had a gun pointed to his head. We were unarmed. Didn’t think we’d need to be. Last time we made that mistake.

“We were supposed to meet at a certain point in the house after we finished bugging our respective rooms. But Oliver never showed. When Elliot and I realized he was in trouble, we didn’t know where he was or what to do. Oliver was trying to save our asses and pretend he was working alone. He was about to die, and all he could think of was us.

“When we realized what was going on, it felt like someone had carved my heart out of my chest and was crushing it in their fist. Like I was breathing, but I wasn’t getting in any oxygen. And then all I could think of was Sammy and how I couldn’t save her. How it was about to happen all over again. I was so scared of losing Oliver, I genuinely thought I’d die without him.”

“How did you save him?” she whispers.

“We didn’t.” My throat aches, and new tears fall from my eyes. It takes me a second to regain my ability to speak. “The guy was about to pull the trigger, Wren, and we were absolutely helpless. Just stupid kids who hadn’t thought things through enough.”

She frowns. “Then how…”

“Our mark started having a heart attack. It was freak timing, so coincidental it felt like a dream. But it was very, very real. We left him there to die and got the hell out.”

“Oh my god,” she murmurs. “If he hadn’t had that heart attack…”

“Then Oliver would be dead right now. Would’ve died years ago. Possibly me and Ell, too.”

She presses her fingers to her lips, probably trying to think of something to say. The realization on her face tells me that she’s getting it, even if she doesn’t have the full memory of almost losing Oliver.

“I know I shouldn’t hold what Oliver did against him,” I continue. “What almost happened all those years ago easily could’ve happened to you. I just wasn’t prepared to relive the fear. Running into that basement, seeing the both of you like that, I was…” I shake my head. “I never want to see anything like that again.”

“I’m so sorry, Rhett.”

I snap my head up so I’m looking at her. “No. No, I’m not telling you this to get sympathy out of you. You needed to know. Almost losing Oliver changed us.”

“I know,” she says softly.

I run a hand over my soaked hair. “I’ll fix things with him. There’s no way I couldn’t. I just need to… process, I guess.”

“I understand that.” There’s a weight to her words that you could only miss if you wanted to. And of course there is. She’s been through hell.

I watch her carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be fine. I came in here to make sure you’re okay.” She yawns, covering her mouth with both hands.

“Hmm. You should be sleeping by now.”

“Yeah, about that…” Sheepishly, she tugs at her now-soaked shirt. “Could you… sleep with all of us?”

“All of us?”

She nods. “Me and Ell and Oliver. And you.”

With a frown, I say, “All four of us in one bed? I don’t think that makes much sense.”

“I know it’ll be a little awkward. But I feel safest when I’m with all three of you.” Wren has been avoiding my gaze, but now she finally meets it. “And I know you and Oliver are fighting, but he needs you. And you need him, too.”

The thought of cramming all four of us onto a mattress doesn’t sound like a good way to spend the night, but how can I deny her? And, dammit, I don’t want Oliver to feel abandoned either. I’m hurt, but I don’t want to put him through any more pain.

“Okay,” I say. “We can try it.”

I get up and offer a hand to Wren. After hesitating for a moment, she takes it. We stand under the water together, and I push her hair back from her face. When she looks at me, she tentatively places her hands on my chest.

“Is this okay?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I murmur. “More than okay.”

Gently, I press my lips to hers. She melts into me, her fingers curling into my shirt. There’s something about kissing her that makes everything feel a little better. Her lips moving against mine are like a soothing balm to the burning hatred that has a chokehold on my soul. It fades, becoming more bearable in the moment.

No wonder we can’t get enough of her.

When we pull away, Wren’s eyes are still closed, and a soft smile graces her lips. She looks like she’s about to collapse from exhaustion, and hell, that’s how I feel, too. So I shut off the water, still keeping an arm around her waist for support.

“Shit,” I say, looking down at us. “We’re both soaked.”

She groans. “How many shirts am I going to go through today?”

Peeling my own over my head, I say, “Hopefully only one more.”

By the time I’ve stripped down to nothing, Wren is still gripping the hem of her shirt, frozen. The same haunted look that was on her face in the basement is back.

Fuck.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. You don’t have to take your clothes off with me in here.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I wring my clothes out before tossing them over the glass wall of the shower so they can air dry. “I’ll grab you a shirt and leave it on the counter.”

“Thank you. I know it’s stupid—”

“It’s not,” I say firmly. “You’re allowed all the privacy and space you need.”

I towel off quickly before moving into the bedroom and finding her something to wear. She may have already gone through four shirts today, but I don’t care. This way she gets to wear one of mine. I like it when that happens—whether it’s her, Oliver, or Elliot.

Placing the shirt on the bathroom counter, I say, “I’m going to close the door. Come out when you’re ready.”

She only takes a minute or two, and then she leads me to Elliot’s room with her hand in mine. The lights in the hallway are off, but it’s still illuminated. After Wren’s first weekend here, we bought a bunch of night lights and put them in the halls. That way she can move through the house without getting scared until she gets more used to the light switches.

Elliot is already in bed with Oliver curled up in his arms. The sight melts away some of the anger that’s been consuming me for the past few hours. The whole time, I’ve been focusing on the pain Oliver caused me and Ell. But I can’t deny any longer that he was probably scared, too. He had no guarantee he’d make it out alive, but he did it anyway. For Wren. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that he’d do it for me and Ell, too.

We end up in bed with Oliver and Wren in the middle. She kisses him, and then she leans over him to kiss Elliot. When she settles under the covers, she turns to face me, cupping my cheeks in her palms.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

I fit my mouth to hers in a silent response. I’m too tired to figure out what to say, especially since I don’t want to accidentally make her start crying again. I’m already drawing things out with Oliver. I don’t want to ruin things between me and Wren, too.

She drifts off within minutes, and so does Oliver. Elliot raises his head to look at me, somehow reaching over Oliver and Wren to brush his hand down my hip.

“Sleep well, Rhett.”

I don’t think I will, but I nod. “You, too.”