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“I can’t do that.” Shane lifted his head before Sebastian could protest. “I won’t do that to her. We can get to her without anyone seeing—”
“There are cameras in the bloody apartment, Shane, or didn’t you catch on to that fact?” his brother, Murphy, snapped with furious outrage. “For God’s sake, you can’t go anywhere near her. Her plane leaves tomorrow. You will stay the hell away from her. If you care for her as you claim, then you will not risk what the release of those pictures would do to her.”
“This will destroy her.” Sebastian came from his seat, denial racing through him, erupting with such force that he felt it exploding through him. “You don’t know what this will do to her!”
“And what will those pictures do to her if they’re released?” Lucien argued. “Think of that, Sebastian. What will happen then? Your belongings have already been collected. Everything. The letter has been left on the chest in the bedroom. Let her go for now. It’s the kindest thing you can do.”
“And what do you know of kindness, Sebastian?” he sneered back at the other man. “You care for nothing and no one outside those fucking horses and the wealth you and Fernando watch with such painstaking care. Do not lecture me on kindness.”
Lucien stared back at him for long moments in silence, his arms crossed over his chest, the black shirt he wore straining over his biceps as he obviously fought to restrain his own anger.
“Sebastian, you are my brother, and I do this for love of you, not that woman who is the center of this strife. I could cast her to this person who is so determined to drain this family because of your love for her. Because of you and Shane, because you are important to us, we will attempt to stop this threat. But we can do nothing without your cooperation.”
Without their cooperation. Without their willingness to stay away from her. Without their ability to stand back as they felt her pain ripping their souls apart.
“She’s eighteen years old. She has no idea the depth of the men dedicating themselves to her…,” Murphy began.
“You are fucking ignorant when it comes to that woman,” Shane informed him, the disgust and fury in his tone unmistakable. “You have no idea, Murphy, what this will do to her.” He stared back at his brother, agony racing through him. “You have no idea the pain doing this will bring her. Or how deeply we’ll feel it.”
“De Loren males do not love; they become soul bound,” Fernando said softly, heavily.
Swinging to him, Shane saw the knowledge and the incredible regret on his grandfather’s face.
Regret? Shane’s soul was fucking ripping in half and all they could do was regret it. God help him. This would destroy her. It would destroy them.
“If all my wealth would change this decision you must make, then I would give it gladly,” Fernando swore, and the truth of that statement was in his eyes. “I cannot fix this. For three days we have fought to find a way and there is none. Give me a solution, Shane,” he said kindly. “And I will do whatever it takes.”
“Shoot us now,” Sebastian whispered. “Kill us quickly, Grandfather, for that will be far preferable to the long, slow death that awaits us now.”
“Sebastian, wait,” his father protested as he threw the chair back with such force it fell to the floor.
Stalking to the open bar at one side of the library, he grabbed one of the bottles of liquor—he didn’t care what it was—then grabbed another for his cousin. Sober, there was no way they could deal with the hell they knew was about to descend upon them. No other way to numb themselves to the overwhelming pain and loneliness facing them.
All
their plans were exploding around them, destroying everything they had been, every dream they hadn’t realized they’d had until Alyssa. It was stealing their souls and they had no way of fighting it.
For the first time in their lives, they were truly and completely helpless.
*
Alyssa awoke the second time that morning, some sense of rage racing through her with swift, certain agony. It was there, then gone, leaving only the certainty that something was wrong.
Reaching for her cell phone next to the bed, she quickly hit the contact list for Shane’s or Sebastian’s number, to call and make certain they were all right. Their contact listing wasn’t there. Moving to the message icon, she pulled it up. She would just text them. But they were gone from there as well along with all the loving, sometimes silly little messages they had sent her.
It was all gone.
Jumping from the bed, she all but ran to the bathroom where she’d left the test she’d taken that morning, certain one of them would find it when they returned. There, on the counter where she’d left it, was a folded piece of paper instead, the strong scrawl of her name on it identifiable. Only Shane or Sebastian used such a defined way of writing.
She moved to it carefully, her hands shaking, her chest tightening with each breath as she picked it up and opened the letter.
The summer’s over. Hope you have a nice flight home.
Have a nice flight home?
She wasn’t aware of the cry that slipped past her lips, so filled with agony, with the explosion of pain that stole her breath, her strength.
Hope you have a nice flight home?
