Only Pleasure

25

“I was just going to kill you and let him suffer.” Harold sighed, his hazel eyes wet with tears as Kia backed up, staring at the gun in terror. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how lonely Moriah must be right now. None of her family and she didn’t have many friends. She’s with people she doesn’t know. She never liked that.”

God, he was crazy. Kia stared back at him in horror. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Sweet Mr. Brockheim? He was as crazy as his daughter had been, and no one had suspected it.

“And no one will ever suspect it’s me,” he told her. “I’m very good with security and computers. A genius, actually. I reserved this room in Chase’s name, and the security cameras won’t show anything for hours yet. I’m perfectly safe.”

“Moriah wouldn’t want you to do this,” she whispered.

He stared back at her in saddened disbelief. “You know better than that, Kia. Moriah would have wanted you right by her side. That way, you can watch her steal Chase’s heart. He should have been with her from the beginning, I see that now. But I can’t let him go without hurting him. Without making him hurt first. Moriah will understand that.”

“Killing me won’t hurt Chase,” Kia whispered.

“Yes, it will.” He sat down heavily in one of the chairs, the gun still trained on her. “He thinks he loves you. For the few minutes I allow him to live, long enough to realize you’re gone forever, then he’ll know how much it hurts.”

Kia gripped the skirt of her dress in her fingers, fisting them as she sought to find a way out of this.

“How can you believe Chase would kill Moriah?” she asked. Carefully. “He cared about her, Harold. Chase would never hurt anyone he cared for.”

As though there was too much energy inside him, Harold rose to his feet once more.

“The reports were in the newspaper,” she continued. “The detective had to shoot her when she tried to kill Congressman Roberts.”

His face twisted in pain.

“No, that’s not what happened,” he yelled back at her. “Chase was there. That son of a bitch shot and killed my baby. He killed her, because she knew things, things he didn’t want known.”

“Chase wouldn’t have cared what she knew, Harold,” she argued back. “You have to listen to me. Everyone knows how much Chase cared for Moriah. Everyone. He wouldn’t have hurt her.”

His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment Kia thought she might have seen a bit of sanity there. Then his eyes glazed over again and fury flamed from them.

“I know the truth,” he spat out. “Even Annalee tried to lie to me. Tried to tell me Moriah wanted to kill them, wanted to kill that whore of Cameron’s because she couldn’t have her way. That wasn’t why.”

“Chase wouldn’t hurt her,” she whispered again, desperate now. The gun never wavered, it followed her, no matter which way she moved.

“Chase had to kill Moriah,” Brockheim cried out. “She knew the truth. I found it, in her journals. That dirty brother of his was nothing more than a gigolo when he was a boy. A filthy man-whore and Moriah knew. She was trying to protect Annalee and Richard. She wanted to protect them and Chase killed her. They all betrayed my daughter.”

His finger remained on the trigger. Kia felt her heart racing, a sob rising in her throat. She had to find a way to get away from him, a way to get past him and that gun. And the next time she saw Chase, they were going to have to have a little talk. Little things like him killing crazy Moriah Brockheim. She needed to know about that.

“Moriah was sick,” she said softly. “You know she was ill, Harold. She needed help. She tried to kill them.”

“You fucking whore. Fucking lying whore.” It wasn’t the gun or a bullet that struck her, but the back of his hand.

Stars exploded in her eyes as she fell to the floor. Pain radiated from the side of her face, along the rest of her body, and into her head.

She lay there, trying to breathe through the pain. She tasted blood in her mouth. Great. Just great.

She opened her eyes and glared up at Harold. So help me. She was getting damned sick of pissed-off men backhanding her. First Drew and now this nutcase.

“Shut up or I’ll kill you.” The gun was leveled at her head as Harold Brockheim stared down at her with malevolent fury. “Do you hear me, you little tramp? I’ll fucking kill you.”

He couldn’t find her. Chase searched the ballroom, dining room, the lobby, and sent Jaci and Courtney into the ladies’ room.

He had the phone to his ear, a three-way call between him, Cameron, and Khalid, with Khalid linking Ian in.

“She’s not here!” He stared around the lobby. He’d questioned everyone there. No one had seen her. “She wouldn’t have left the hotel.”

“I’m going to the reservation desk,” Khalid snapped. “Their security cameras are accessible by the manager’s office. Perhaps I can find something there.”

“Cameron, did you check the other ballroom?” Chase was desperate, frantic.

“We’ve checked every room, Chase,” Cameron said.

Chase hit the redial on the cell phone Courtney had handed him earlier and waited as Kia’s cell phone rang. And rang.

“Is there any way to get a GPS on her phone?” he asked.

“Detective Allen is on his way. He’ll be able to do that,” Ian stated. “Hold on, Chase.”

Hold on, my ass. He stared around the lobby, despair tearing through him, his guts cramping with it. He had promised to take care of her. Swore no one would hurt her, swore he would watch her back.

“There you are!” Drew Stanton was striding across the lobby and he was furious. “What the hell are you doing letting Kia escort Harold Brockheim upstairs for? Son of a bitch, Chase!”

Chase dropped the phone in his pocket and grabbed the lapels of Drew’s jacket. “Where the hell is she?”

“Let me go!”

“Answer me, Stanton.” Chase shook him, enraged. “Where did you see her and Brockheim? The bastard is going to kill her, and if he does, I’ll kill you.”

The color left Drew’s face. “The elevator.” His voice shook. “She got on the middle elevator with him and went up.”

Chase turned toward the elevators.

“Chase!” Khalid was moving quickly across the lobby, his black hair flying back from his face. “Did you reserve a room here?”

“Which room?”

“Twenty-seven forty-two,” Khalid answered. “Your reservation is on the books. The security monitors have been blown, and security hasn’t managed to fix them yet.”

All three men raced into an elevator. Chase punched in the floor, sweat dampening his spine as the elevator began its ascent. The elevators here were fast, but they were still too damned slow.

“What the hell is going on with Brockheim?” Drew said beside him. “Hell, he’s been on his deathbed since Moriah’s death.”

“Evidently he wants fucking company,” Chase snarled.

Brockheim couldn’t know they were on to him at this point, or that they knew the room he was in. It was only by chance that Khalid had checked room reservations. They had an advantage, a slight one, nothing more.

“Tell me what to do, Chase,” Drew said. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Brockheim is insane,” Chase snapped. “He’s taken Kia because he blames me and Cameron for Moriah’s death. He has Kia.” He whispered the words.

God, he hadn’t even told her he loved her yet. How the hell was he going to live if anything happened to her?

“Tell me what to do,” Drew rasped.

Chase slammed him against the wall, the sides of his coat gripped in his hands again. “Fuck me over and I’ll kill you,” he raged in Drew’s face. “Do you hear me? If she’s hurt because you fucked up, I’ll take your damned face off.”

Drew glared back at him. “Save the fucking threats and tell me what the hell you need me to do.”

Chase jerked his backup weapon from his ankle holster and slapped it into Drew’s hand. “Stay ready. Nothing matters but keeping Kia alive. Do you understand me?”

Drew stared at the weapon, then back to Chase, and Chase saw understanding in Drew’s eyes.

“I might not have treated her right, Chase, but I still care for her.”

“She’s mine!”

Drew’s nod was jerky. “But she used to be mine, and I still care for her. I’ll protect her.”

Chase let it go at that. Kia had never belonged to Drew and the son of a bitch should have enough sense to know it. If he’d had a lick of sense when he was married to her he wouldn’t be in the position he was in now.

And Chase could only thank God that Stanton had been a royal fuckup during his marriage. Because Chase had ached for her like hell on fire for far too many years to keep doing without her.

He liked to think he would never interfere in a marriage, that he would have abided by the rules he signed on to with the club. But a part of him knew that, eventually, he would have had to leave or make that fatal move. Because even before her divorce, the need for her ate into him like a painful disease.

The elevator doors slid open. Weapon held close to his side, Chase went out first, followed by Khalid and Drew. Exchanging silent hand signals they edged along the wall, heading to the room Brockheim had taken.

Khalid held a hand up for them to stop as he plucked his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. His eyes narrowed as he listened. Turning back to Chase he mouthed Cameron and Ian coming up the stairs. He pointed to the stairwell.

Chase nodded. They weren’t far from the door. Khalid had the coded key to it, but slipping in and gaining the advantage would be the trick.

Harold was old; he was insane. He had to mess up somewhere.

Chase had to get the advantage. Kia’s life was hanging in the balance, and God knows, he didn’t think he could live without her now.

“Get on your phone and call your lover,” Harold spat out at her as she glared at him from the floor.

That one wasn’t going to happen. She’d felt the phone vibrate and knew Chase was calling. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow him to die for her.

“Call him yourself.”

Kia cried out in pain as Harold Brockheim reached down, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet.

“Is this how you treated your daughter?” she cried out. “It’s no wonder she lost her mind.”

He threw her back, causing the corner of the dresser to dig into her hip and bringing a hard, anguished cry from her lips.

“Moriah was a good girl. I taught her to be a good girl.”

But Kia saw the guilt in his face.

“Did you hit her, too?” Her face ached to the point that talking was painful, but she refused to lift her hand to it. “Is that what made her so ill, Harold?”

“Stop it.” His hand was shaking wildly as he pointed the gun at her.

“Pull the trigger, you son of a bitch!” she screamed. “I won’t help you get Chase up here. Do you understand me? I won’t do it.”

She gripped the corner of the dresser, aware of the tears that fell from her eyes and of the pain that raced through her. She might die here with no one but this crazy son of a bitch to watch life leave her, but at least Chase would be alive. And Chase would figure it out. He would find out who killed her.

But she didn’t want to die. She sobbed. She didn’t want to leave Chase. She wanted his arms around her, she wanted him warming her, she wanted to make him love her.

She cried out again as Brockheim ripped the little purse she carried from the tiny snap that held it to the narrow strap of her dress. A device to keep from losing it while she danced.

She glared at him.

“The number isn’t on my cell,” she informed him. “He never even calls me, Brockheim.”

“Don’t worry, I know the little bastard’s number,” he growled. “Moriah had it. She knew it by heart.”

Bitch.

Kia watched as he dumped the contents of her purse on the bed and grabbed her cell phone. He smiled as he dialed the number.

“Moriah got her craziness from you,” she cried out. “Stay away from Chase!”

She was shaking. Chase would come running, and she knew it. He would come for her and he would end up dead.

She ran for Brockheim, ignoring the gun, gripping his arm as he stared at her in shock, as though he hadn’t expected it. She slapped the phone out of his hand as he struck her again.

“You stupid little bitch.” Her head bounced off the wall, and she cried out sharply as she felt the stitches tear. She felt the blood that began to run from the cut as she shook her head and tried to find her bearings.

She was sliding down the wall. Her nails scraped against it, scrambling to find a hold as her legs were going out from under her.

“Look what you made me do, you little whore. How are you supposed to talk to him like this?”

Oh fuck, that was a foot in her side. That was definitely her scream and her pain radiating through her body. But she didn’t know where that howl of rage came from.

They were standing outside the door when the first scream sounded. By the time Chase swiped the card, Kia’s scream was burning through his head. He jerked the door open and rushed into the room, tackling Harold Brockheim and throwing him away from Kia.

He’d been kicking her. Kicking her and kicking her. A red haze washed over his mind as his fist slammed into the older man’s face, knocking him across the room.

“Kia.” Chase dropped to his knees beside her.

She was huddled against the wall, blood on her face, her shoulder; her complexion was paper white, her eyes dazed and unfocused.

“No.” She coughed, a racking sound that tore through him.

“Get an ambulance!” he screamed as Cameron and Ian rushed through the door. “Get an ambulance. Ah God. Kia, baby.”

He was terrified to touch her. He’d seen Brockheim’s foot ramming into her side. God, how many times had he kicked her? How hard?

He turned and watched as Brockheim scrambled back from Khalid, the gun still in his hand. Khalid stood before him.

“I’ll kill you.” Brockheim was crying, his nose and mouth bleeding.

“Make the first shot count.” Khalid’s voice sounded demonic. “Because my shot will take off your head. And if mine doesn’t, theirs will.” He jerked his head to draw Brockheim’s attention away.

Chase, Cameron, Ian, and Drew watched him, guns drawn. And Chase wanted him dead. He wanted a piece of that bastard so fucking bad he couldn’t breathe.

But Kia. Sweet God, he moved in front of her as she reached out for him. Her face was tear-stained, sobs erupting from her chest as he gripped her hands with one of his and made certain she was shielded.

Brockheim was staring at them now in rage and panic. The gun was shaking in his hand, and Chase watched, cold, enraged, as Brockheim brought the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.

At the explosion Kia flinched and cried out.

“Chase!” She reached for him, panic filling her. “No. Chase.”

He caught her against his chest.

“Oh God, don’t be shot,” she sobbed. “Please, God, Chase, don’t be shot.”

He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m fine, baby.” He lowered his head over hers, and for the first time in too long, he felt tears fill his eyes. “I’m fine, baby. I have you.”

“Don’t be shot,” she cried hoarsely. “You can’t be.”

“No, baby. I swear.” He wanted to rock her and was too scared to. He wanted to lift her into his arms, but was terrified of the pain he might cause her.

Her hands were on his back, stroking down it. His chest. She was touching him, though he could tell it was hurting her to do so.

He could still hear the assault on Kia through that damned door, Brockheim demanding she call, and her attack. He could still feel the terror streaking through him. It was still feeding through him, growing and intensifying as she continued to sob against his chest.

Kia didn’t cry easily. And she didn’t cry like this.

“Ambulance is on its way.” Cameron hunkered down beside them, his expression somber. “So is Detective Allen.”

“She’s hurt.” Chase lifted his head to look intently at his brother. “God, Cameron. She let him hurt her, to save me.”

Just as Cameron had let their aunt hurt him to save Chase. He saw it in his brother’s eyes. Knew it in his heart.

“You killed for me,” Cameron whispered. “For me and Jaci. Because you loved us. She was watching your back, Chase, the same as you would have for her.”

Chase shook his head and looked down at her, so fragile in his arms, blood seeping from the wound on her head, her gown torn, sobs still pouring from her as she held on to him.

“I love you, Kia.” He pressed his head against hers, held her and prayed, prayed with everything inside him that he had gotten to her in time. “I love you. Ah God, baby, I love you.”