Chapter Forty-One

Pagan and Kruze took over from there, directing the crew into the kitchen for refreshments before they headed back to the East Coast. Chance circled Suede’s shoulders with one arm, tugging her ear to his mouth. “We need to talk,” he whispered.

She gave him that quizzical look he adored. “We do?”

He nodded at the front door. “I’ll help you into your jacket. We won’t go far, just out to the porch. No need to change out of those sexy heels.” I’ve got plans for them once everyone leaves.

Gallo scrambled to his feet at that magical word. Walk.

Once outside on the porch, Chance closed the door behind him while Gallo made his appointed rounds, anointing the snowdrifts and any twig that survived the blizzard or the carnage. Suede rolled her collar up and stuck her bare fingers into her pockets, her breath a cloudy vapor in the cold, crisp Montana morning. She turned her eyes on Chance, and he wondered what secret was so bad she couldn’t share it with him.

“Come here you,” he murmured. Her hair clip had to go. With one snap he loosed that silken auburn cascade and sent it tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. The instant scent of sugar cookies and flowers hit his nostrils, calming the center of his soul. Combing his fingers through the luxurious tangles, he was convinced he held the best part of his whole world in his hands.

Chance framed her sweet face between  his hands and leaned his forehead to hers. “You froze in there. You were doing well at the start, but then you froze. Is there something I should know?”

Her head turned from side to side in denial, but her lashes came down. When a man refuses to look at you, trouble’s a breath away and you might get knocked on your ass. But when the woman you love can’t—or won’t—look you in the eye? Heartache. Plain and simple.

He took hold of her wrist. “The Sinclair family’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Suede nodded, still not looking at him. She inhaled in an extra deep breath. Swallowed hard. Shook her head. Swallowed again. Stalled. And that was okay. He tugged her flat up against his chest, his hand at the nape of her neck and his nose in her hair. She’d had enough stress for the day. Whatever was bothering her could wait. She’d tell him eventually. “Know that I will always have your six, baby. Maybe someday—”

“He raped me,” she whispered into his jacket.

Chance’s heart stalled. “Who?”

The erotic plans for Suede’s fancy heels against his ears evaporated. Doesn’t matter who, I’ll kill whoever hurt you like that.

She nuzzled in deeper, her face sandwiched between his breastbone and her lush auburn locks. “Mitchell Franks. He raped me, and I was afraid to tell you and... That’s my last terrible secret.”

Chance could barely speak. He eased his fingers under her thick tangles, needing to connect with her, then settled for the bare skin at the nape of her neck, holding her gently but firmly. “Your mother’s assistant?”

She nodded.

“Tell me about it?” he asked as calmly as he could. I’ll find his sorry ass if I have to drag the ocean, then I’ll strangle the shit out of his worthless dead body. I’ll cut what’s left of him to ribbons!

A sad whimper lifted between them. “He came to my room one night. I was fifteen and I thought Mom needed to talk with me, but it was just him, and he... and he...”

Strangulation’s too fucking good! I’ll stake that rat bastard over an anthill and use him for target practice. With my knife!

“He tied me to my bed and he…”

Forget the ants. A bed of hot coals works better, then I’ll dance on his shittin’ body till he burns!

“He told me if I told anyone, the next time would be worse. That he knew what girls like me liked. That he’d bring a belt and a collar and a…”

Chance could barely hear over the angry buzz in his head. Christ, I hope that bastard’s still alive, so I can kill him!

“I told Mom, but…” Suede stopped as if the words caught in her throat.

Chance couldn’t take the hopelessness pouring off her. He didn’t need any more details. He already knew what the high and mighty, self-serving Vera Tennyson did. Absolutely nothing! “She didn’t believe you, did she?”

The truth poured out of Suede in a sad whisper. “She never believed me. I asked her not to tell him, but…”

Goddamn it to hell! “Your mother betrayed you,” Chance said, his voice flat because if he let his anger loose…

“She told my dad, umm, the Governor.”

“What’d he do?” The prick!

“He held a meeting. With Mitch and me. I had to face Mitch and repeat what I said to Mom, and then…” She swallowed hard, trembling. “And then…”

The universe ground to a deadly stop. Chance had never been so enraged. Very carefully, he set Suede back a foot where she wouldn’t get hurt. Then…

“Fucking assholes!” lashed out of him like a whip of lightning.

The sturdy log rail caught the first one-two punch as image after image of an older man hunched over a frightened fifteen-year-old Suede Tennyson rolled through Chance’s head like porn he couldn’t shut off. He pummeled that son-of-a-bitchin’ rail because he couldn’t hit Franks. The lies! The rape! Where were her goddamned parents when this was happening to their only kid? Campaigning? Preening for the media? Fucking the world?!

The solid pine uprights caught his wrath next. Then the log wall. Kick after well-aimed kick shook the timbers as Chance battered every prick in Suede’s life, and there’d been plenty. Mick and Vera Tennyson weren’t parents. They were fucking trolls!

“Stop it, Chance, stop!” Suede cried, her poor head shaking. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

He turned aside long enough to see the tears streaming down her reddened cheeks and dripping off her jaw. Her fingertips fluttered at her lips. Instant remorse stole his need to kill. Shit, what have I done?

She was right. He needed to tone it back instead of acting like the monster he knew he could be. Chance stilled, flexed fingers that were no doubt bloody, possibly broken. He sucked in belly deep breaths that still left him oxygen deprived. The need to end the allegedly dead Mitchell Franks in the most painful way possible was a hard beast to rein in.

Rage still held a tight grip as Chance forced himself back to reality. His vertebrae cracked. His jaw ached. He’d cracked a tooth. Both hands were bleeding, not that he cared that he’d hurt himself. It was the image of Suede—a fifteen year old, for fuck’s sake!—living through what she’d survived. Her whole life had been one nightmare after another. Fifteen!

Well, no son-of-a-bitchin’ more. Mick Tennyson had a rude surprise coming tomorrow. Vera Tennyson had already died at sea, a fitting punishment for the bitch who’d neglected her only offspring every day of her life. York—damn him to hell!—lay moldering in a shallow grave where wolves, bears, and wolverines could snack on him until spring as far as Chance cared. Franks was missing at sea, presumably dead.

DAMN! How does anyone treat a little girl like that? A child!

He flicked his wrist, sending red drops flying into the pristine white snow capping the rails, and—damn it—he winced at the pain radiating up his forearms. After another measured breath, the world settled back into focus. The red haze that had blinded his sight with temper faded.

He’d only lost his mind like this once before, that after he’d learned of his mother’s death. But her death by cancer was a result of natural selection, whereas this young woman’s spirit had been eroded her entire life by an acidic home environment. It was no wonder she’d ended up running with a wild crowd. That was what survivors did. They adapted, and sometimes, they ended up fighting the world when they didn’t have to.

DAMN! Another unrelenting wave of rage surged over him like poison he couldn’t shake. All those years... Yet there Suede stood, her spine straight, still giving life her best shot and still striving to overcome what for most people, would’ve been a crushing handicap. Still eager to be a better woman. Trying not to curse, the sweet, crazy thing.

Her persistence humbled him. Her light. Her courage. Desperate longing unfurled inside Chance as if a ray on sunshine had finally breached the hard knot in the deepest chambers of his heart, allowing her energy to cleanse his soul. Suede had become everything to him, and he wanted her more than his next breath. God, he loved her.

“Come here, you,” he growled as he pulled the woman he adored back into his arms, cupped his hand to the back of her head, needing her scent to calm the frightening beast he’d morphed into. That beast served his needs in battle and it would again one day soon, but this was Suede’s time.

Holding her calmed his tremors, and breathing in the light fragrance of her shampoo quieted the blood-rage in his heart to a slow boil.

“I’m sorry,” he said when at last he could speak. Even then, his eyes brimmed at all the innocents in the world who’d never stood a chance: the battered little girls and boys, the neglected babies and the elderly that no one knew suffered in silence. The mistreated cats, dogs, and horses. The sad-faced, over-burdened and beaten donkeys he’d seen overseas. Jarheads didn’t find them just in third world countries. There were places in America that were just as evil, but shit. This was the last thing he’d expected to happen in a governor’s mansion.

“I’m sorry,” he told her once again, still striving to be the man she needed in her life, not another bastard. She’d had plenty of them.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I get mad, too. I understand.”

“No, not that. Well, yeah. Maybe that too.” Chance eased her far enough back that he could see into her pretty eyes, if she was willing to look at him. “But I’m more sorry that I didn’t know you then. I would’ve brought you home to meet Mom and the guys. You could’ve lived with us where you’d have been loved every day. Spoiled rotten. Kruze would’ve teased the death out of you, and Pagan would’ve been jealous because Mom liked you best. I know she would have.”

“And you?” she asked, her voice a hopeful whisper. “What would you have done with me?”

“This,” he murmured, pressing a fervent kiss to the forehead that York had kicked only days before. Dixie had done a good job with the makeup, but Chance knew precisely where that bastard had left his mark. Bruises on faces healed, but hearts were a different matter.

The purest blues smiled timidly up at him. Suede’s nose wrinkled. As her arms circled his waist, her ear came to rest over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Chance wanted to talk of their future together. He needed to ask her that all-important yes-or-no question. His heart ached to tell her how much he loved her.

But there were too many wild cards still in play to talk of forever. Vicki Hex. Domingo Zapata. Not to mention the unknown mastermind behind Senator Sullivan’s staffing problem. The mysterious person who’d sabotaged York’s helicopter retreat from Old Man Mountain. The puppet master who’d had the balls to send his mercenaries into Chance’s front yard.

Could those three be one and the same?

Chance intended to find out. But holy shit, the more lowlifes he and his brothers uncovered, the more it seemed climbed out of the woodwork. This thing wasn’t over. For now, Chance did what he did best. He breathed deeply. He prayed. And he just held on…

*****

Suede inhaled the familiar scent of her hero, her lover—her kryptonite. She couldn’t lie to this guy, couldn’t hold back any of the things she’d never told York. With every detail of her assault, Chance only held her tighter. Well, until that moment when he’d gone off the deep end and pounded on his cabin, but even then, he hadn’t directed his rage at her. Not for a second. Neither had he questioned nor interrogated her, called her a liar or made her feel as if she had to prove the horrible truth she’d just dumped on him. He hadn’t defended Franks’ actions either. Not once had he intimated that she’d done anything to deserve the rape. Instead, Chance believed her. He was on her side, and how odd was that?

“You’re safe,” he whispered at the top of her head, his body still thrumming from his outburst. “With me, you’ll always be safe.”

“I know.” There was a certain luxury in knowing Chance would fight for her. That he’d die for her. No man had ever held her as gently or been as outraged at her pain. She’d always been the throwaway daughter and lover. Never the treasure. Until now.

Tears she couldn’t hold back streamed into his shirt, wetting him to the skin, yet he didn’t push her off. Instead, his big palms held her flat to his chest like he’d never let her go.

His heart throbbed beneath her ear with a rapid yet steady beat. Her nose sought his clean masculine scent, needing his brand of courage. She nuzzled into his shirt while she reached under his jacket, her fingers craving the feel of power in those massive muscles that even now, flexed protectively around her. Suede couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so sheltered or had so much to live for. She’d gone from pauper to princess the moment York tossed her aside, the moment she’d fallen at Chance’s feet.

He didn’t have to say the words. She knew. He loved her like she’d never been loved before.