Beautiful Surrender (The Surrender Series Book Three) (9 page)

“No
Lucy, we’re just wrapping up. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“I’ll
let them know.”

“Thank
you, Lucy.”

He
turned to me and the anxiety I had before the meeting returned. We needed to
have a discussion about how to handle this, but it won’t be right now. There
will be other opportunities. I had at least a few more weeks before I had to
make a final decision about the baby.

“Sorry
about that, they’re a little early. That’s Kurt and Bernie, they’re keeping
tabs on Marty, just as a precaution. You can stay if you want to sit in.”

I shook
my head. “No, it’s okay. I have to get back to work anyway.”

Vincent
watched me for a moment then shrugged. “I promise, I’ll read through those materials
tonight and we can talk about them.”

“Thank
you. Sorry we couldn’t get through everything we needed to.”

He
smiled. “I think we found a better substitute for our time, don’t you.”

I
returned the smile and continued to straighten out my hair.

He laughed
quietly as he went to his closet and found a new dress shirt. “You’re good to
go, right?”

I was
sure I looked a mess, but I could deal with it on my own time. “I’ll stop in
the ladies room before I head out.”

He
finished buttoning up. “Good as new,” he said.

He
opened the door to let me out first. He left, and I headed to the ladies room.
Just as I entered, my phone buzzed. It was Riley:

How
did the pregnancy convo with V go?

I
texted back.

Interrupted.
Will do it soon.

I
leaned against the bathroom counter and let out a long sigh. It was just a
little more time, that was all. I had weeks before I would be showing; surely I
could find a good time before then.  Missing this chance wasn’t the end of
the world.

***

That
evening, when my head was clearer, I realized my mistake. While it was true
that I didn’t need to tell Vincent right away, I hadn’t counted on the storm
cloud hanging over my head every minute I didn’t tell him.

After
an hour of trying to distract myself with TV and cleaning, I decided that the
sooner I told him the better. Vincent was too distracting in his office,
dressed in his business attire, but maybe we’d both be more focused if we had
the conversation at my place.

I
called Vincent at his office and asked him to come over, telling him that I
absolutely had to see him to talk to him about something. He sounded concerned
and told me he would swing by in a couple hours. That done, I talked to Riley
about having the apartment to myself for the evening. Good friend that she was,
she called her friend Jen and was out for the night.

As I
waited for Vincent to come by, I was determined that there would
definitely
not be a replay of what happened earlier that day in his office.

On
my way now. Be there in 10 mins.

After
reading Vincent’s text, I took a deep breath and set my phone down on the glass
coffee table.

I
started heating up water on the stove to make tea. It would help calm my nerves
along with Vincent’s during the delicate conversation. I sat on the couch
rehearsing the lines I’d prepared to say to him as I smoothed out my t-shirt
and jeans.

A few
minutes later, a knock at the door startled me. Three raps followed by the
faint sound of a man clearing his throat.

I got
up from my seat and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, I saw
Vincent standing on my doormat. He was wearing a forest-green polo with sleeves
that stretched against his arms and khaki shorts which showcased the taut
muscles in his legs. He must’ve changed after work. He was shifting his feet,
which betrayed his apprehension. Did he suspect what I was about to tell him?

I
opened the door. “Hey,” I said, pasting on the smile I’d prepared beforehand.
It was easier once I saw his breathtaking face.

His
expression brightened. “Hey,” he said, smiling back at me.

“Come
on in.” I stepped back, pulling the door wider and gesturing him inside.

“Should
I take off my shoes?”

He was
wearing a clean pair of sneakers that matched his polo. I half-suspected he was
probing me with the question. Telling him to leave his shoes on could be
interpreted as a sign that I was breaking up with him. This was going to be a
long conversation and he deserved to be comfortable.

“You
can take them off.”

He
removed his shoes and set them carefully next to the pile of flats and heels in
the corner near the coat rack.

“Would
you like something to drink? I’m in the middle of making some tea.” I studied
his body language. He was slightly tense, his movements lacking the usual
primal confidence.

“I’m
fine, thank you.”

The
formality of his response made the situation even more awkward. “Okay.” Once he
was clear of the entrance, I leaned forward to close the door. The closing of
the door would mark the beginning of a very difficult conversation.

Here
goes.

The
door made an unexpected thud as I tried to jam it shut. I glanced down and saw
a dark brown boot wedged into the door frame.

Huh?

A dull,
metallic chrome object slid through the narrow opening in the door. The shape
was small and ended in a point—aimed at Vincent’s back.

“Stay
away from her!” the voice behind the door screamed.

A force
pushed me. I staggered backward, my shoulder blades crashing against the
half-wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The door flew open and a
tall man with white bandages across his nose and cheeks entered my apartment.
He was wearing a plain white t-shirt with black athletic pants and looked very
pissed off.

Vincent
spun around, startled. “How the hell—”

“I said
stay away from her,” the man shouted, hands shaking the end of the pistol.
Sharp, blue eyes blazed behind thick spectacles with a crack on the right lens.
Strands of dark brown hair parted down the middle hung haphazardly around his
forehead.

“Marty!”
I cried. “Oh my god!” My eyes widened when I realized he had a gun in his hand.

Vincent
raised his hands in the air and began slowly backstepping further into the
living room toward the window. “Calm down. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Step
away from her now.” Bandages stretched against his grimace. “I’m not going to
let you hurt me or Kristen.”

“What
are you talking about?” Vincent said, eyes narrowed, his hands still in the
air. “You’re the one with the gun.”

Marty
hurried over to me. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and tugged me to
him, while keeping the gun trained on Vincent.

“Where are
your goons? Are they in the building?”

Vincent
paused. He looked at Marty’s hand around me then back at Marty. “They’re right
across the hall. You fire that gun, they’ll hear it and come out armed.”

Marty
closed the door behind him with his foot. “I know you’re lying—like always—but
just in case.” He released my hand, turning the deadbolt and hooking the chain,
locking us in with him. He reached into his back pocket and threw a silver
chain at Vincent’s feet. “Cuff yourself to the radiator.”

“Marty,
put down the gun! This is crazy,” I cried. My pulse was racing against my
chest. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out the thoughts screaming in my mind
to escape. I wanted to run but had nowhere to go. No, no, no. This couldn’t be
happening. I was just supposed to talk to Vincent about my pregnancy.

He
turned to me, expression softening. “I’m sorry Kristen, I didn’t want to have
to do this. But he gave me no choice. Please don’t be afraid, I’m not going to
hurt you. I’m here to protect you.”

“Protect
me?” I blurted in disbelief, my breaths coming fast and shallow.

Marty
tightened his grip on the gun aimed at Vincent’s chest then cocked it. The
audible click sent a deathly shiver through me. “I’m not going to ask again.
Cuff yourself to the radiator, asshole. Do it.”

Vincent
twisted his head, spotting the cast iron array of pipes behind him situated
below the window. “Okay. Okay.” He managed to keep his voice even but his
movements lacked their usual ease. He slowly bent down keeping both palms open
and in front of him. “I’m doing what you asked. Don’t shoot.” He brought one
hand down and picked up the handcuffs, keeping his eyes trained on Marty—and
more importantly, the gun in his hand.

I
stared. Stunned. Terrified. I was too scared to move as I watched the events
unfolding before my eyes.

There
was a click. Vincent had cuffed one of his hands to the radiator.

“This
is crazy!” I cried.

“Please,
Kristen,” Marty said calmly. “Give me a chance to explain. I promise we’ll get
through this.”

Marty directed
me to take a seat on the couch. Tears beginning to blur my vision and my legs
unsteady, I nearly stumbled into the coffee table as I silently complied.

“Stay
there.” His words were calm but they felt like a threat.

Seated,
I watched Vincent carefully as Marty approached him, gun in hand. Vincent
remained standing on firm legs. He wasn’t shaking like I was but his dark eyes
were wide and focused. A visibly beating vein along his forehead hinted at the
adrenaline pumping through his system. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,
I was just supposed to have a conversation with Vincent.

Vincent’s
free hand twitched. Marty took a step forward, aiming the weapon at Vincent’s
chest. Marty was close enough for Vincent to sock him across the face or reach for
the gun in Marty’s outstretched hand. Images of heroic scenarios raced through
my mind like scenes from an action movie. My fingers clenched against the
cushion of the couch. I was gripped by dread that Vincent would actually try
something risky—and fail.

Both
men stood facing one another, exchanging fierce stares, neither of them
blinking. The moment wouldn’t last forever. Someone was going to make a move.

Vincent’s
body tensed. He swallowed hard. His hand curled into a fist by his side. He
glanced at me.

No,
don’t Vincent!
I pleaded with my eyes,
unable to find my voice.

Vincent
returned his gaze to Marty.

Marty
raised the gun and pressed the nozzle into Vincent’s forehead. “Get on your
knees.”

“Don’t
hurt him! Please!” I pleaded desperately, cupping my hands against my face. I
was going to watch Marty shoot Vincent in the head and I was powerless to do
anything. My eyes pricked. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Please,
keep quiet Kristen,” Marty said, his tone barely concealing his anger. He kept
his eyes trained on Vincent.

Marty
reached behind his back and produced another set of handcuffs. He snapped one
end around Vincent’s free hand and the other end around a different pipe on the
radiator, ensuring Vincent wouldn’t be able to reach for something to throw or
a cell phone to call.

“If you
try to get out or if your team comes barging in, I’m going to put a bullet
through your head. Understand?”

Vincent
eyed him sternly.

Marty
grabbed his hair and yanked his head back hard. “I asked you a question, you piece
of shit. Do you understand?”

“Yes,”
Vincent groaned through clenched teeth.

“Good.”
Marty jerked Vincent’s head down, making him wince in pain, then released his
hair.

Marty
returned to the couch, taking a seat beside me. I shifted away, pressing myself
against the armrest and curling my legs into my chest.

“Don’t
hurt her,” Vincent said, lifting his head back up. “This is between you and me.
I’m the one who punched you, not her.”

“Shut
the fuck up. Sit still and be quiet. This is all about me and Kristen. There’s
no way I’d hurt her. If you want to keep talking, I’m not against hurting you
though. God knows you deserve it.”

Marty
turned to me. “Kristen, I’m so sorry it’s come to this.” He placed his hand on
my shoulder.

The
sensation made me hug myself tighter. “Please put the gun down,” I said, tears
wetting the denim covering my knees. “You’re scaring me.”

He
carefully put the gun down on the coffee table. It was out of his hand but not
out of his reach.

“Calm
down, babe. Breathe. Tell me you’re okay. Please.”

I tried
my best to calm my nerves, taking deep breaths and hugging myself tightly.
“What do you want?”

“Kristen,
you have to understand. I wouldn’t be doing this if there was any other way.”

“Marty,
you have a gun. You can’t have a good reason for this.”

“It
wouldn’t have come to this if that asshole hadn’t beaten the hell out of me.”
He pointed at Vincent. “I have to protect myself. And you. I need to talk to
you.”

“Okay,”
I muttered, lips quivering. I kept my eyes on Vincent, trying to find hope in
him. Vincent was returning my gaze, nodding slightly, silently instructing me
to stay calm. “I’m listening.”

“Please,
look at me. Don’t be scared,” Marty said.

I
reluctantly turned my gaze toward him. The bandages covering what used to be a
handsome face made him look menacing.

“That’s
better. Are you okay?”

“Yes,”
I lied, a tear running down my cheek.

“I need
you to hear me out. I’m not going to hurt you.” He studied me for a moment,
ensuring I gave him my full attention. “This isn’t easy for me to say,
Kristen.” He sighed deeply. “My life’s been complete shit since you left me.”

Not
knowing how to respond, I nodded silently.

“It was
so sudden. Why did you leave like that? I know what I did was wrong but you
didn’t even break up with me properly. After two years together, it was just
poof. Gone. How could you do that to me?”

I
swallowed hard, hoping my answer wouldn’t make him angrier. “Marty, you hurt
me. I was afraid.”

“We’ve
been off and on before. I thought this was just another hurdle for us to
overcome. I didn’t know you’d react that way. You’d always been so patient and
understanding. Do you know what it’s like to have the love of your life just
disappear from your world? I was heartbroken. When I went to your apartment in
Boston, you were gone. But most of your things were still there. I thought
you’d come back for them. I waited for you. Days. Weeks. I slept on your couch,
didn’t go to work. I called you, sent you messages. You didn’t answer any of
them.”

He
studied me for my reaction. I remained silent, sniffling.

“You
ran. It took me a while to come to terms with it but when I realized what had
happened, I felt horrible. Like I was abandoned. Do you understand how that
feels?”

“I’m
sorry you’ve gone through a rough patch.”

“I fell
apart, Kristen. You know my job as an investment banker? I got fired because I
stopped showing up. Then I couldn’t get another job. Nobody would hire me. I
was too depressed to even care. It wasn’t long before I stopped trying. Know
what I do now? Or at least what I did until a month ago.”

“What?”

“I
worked at a McDonalds. That’s what it came to after nearly two years of taking
odd jobs since you left me. I kept getting fired. My coworkers would always
make fun of me. They’d laugh at me. ‘Look at the Harvard boy. He’s no better
than us.’ It made me so angry. I was just trying to do my job like everyone
else but they thought I believed I was better than them. Which wasn’t true! It
made me lose my temper.”

“That
sounds terrible.” As much as I hated Marty for hurting me, it didn’t make me
feel good to hear about how rough his life had been the past two years.

“Yeah,
I don’t understand why people have to be such shitheads. I try so hard to be a
good person but people don’t see that. They look at me like I’m rotten when it’s
them. They’re the bad ones. Judging me. Accusing me of things that aren’t true.
I know I make mistakes but really I’m a good person. You know that, right? Can
you ever forgive me for what I did to you?”

“I
don’t know, Marty. You hurt me very badly.”

“I feel
awful about it all. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I
did to you.”

“Okay,”
I said. “Is that what this is all about? You just want my forgiveness?”

“That’s
part of it. You mean so much to me. The other part is that I love you, Kristen.
I’ve said it to you before and I meant it. I’ll never stop loving you. I need
to know how you feel. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“How
can you ask me that when you just broke into my apartment with a gun?”

“I told
you, I had no choice. It’s that fucker’s fault. Vincent.” He turned to Vincent.
“I know who you are. Billionaire, playboy, CEO of Sandworks—Vincent Sorenson.”
Marty returned his attention to me. “Can’t you see he’s just using you? He’s
going to break your heart. He doesn’t love you like I do.”

“You
don’t know anything about me,” Vincent growled. “I’d never hurt Kristen like
you did. You’re a monster.”

“Look
at my face,” Marty said to me. He unwrapped his bandages, revealing black and
blue swollen skin. “You know who did this? Tell me who’s the real monster.”

I shook
my head. “You’re upset, Marty. Even so, you’ve never gone this far before. Have
you been taking your meds or seeing the psychiatrist?”

“I want
to but I can’t afford those things. They’re too expensive.”

“Can’t
your family help you?”

“Not
really. You already know I dropped out of law school. That pissed my dad off.
When I refused to return to law school, he disowned me. My mom tried to talk
some sense into him, but she ended up killing herself last month by taking too
many sleeping pills.”

My
stomach dropped. His mom had been a person with serious issues, but any suicide
was a sad situation. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”
He paused, his eyes beginning to water. He turned his head, blinked away tears
then returned his gaze to me. “It made me realize I need you, Kristen. My
life’s a mess without you. You’re my rock. I can’t keep going on without
knowing if my only chance at happiness is still out there for me. Can’t you see
how much I care about you?”

I began
to play with my necklace as if I’d just discovered I was wearing it. “This
isn’t right, Marty.”

“Let me
see your hand.”

The
image of Marty twisting my finger flashed through my mind. “W-What are you
going to do?” I dropped my hand back down and began to hug my knees again
instinctively.

He
shifted his seat closer to me, backing me against the armrest of the couch.
Leaning over, he reached for my hand and gently pulled my arm away my knees. He
brought my pinky up to his lips and kissed it tenderly. I felt like I was going
to throw up.

Vincent
struggled against his cuffs. “Good lord man, what are you doing? Kristen, he’s
manipulating you. You have nothing to feel guilty about. He’s the one who
should feel guilty.”

“Stay
out of this,” Marty spat.

“You
make me sick,” Vincent said. “Look at yourself, using a sob story to keep
Kristen attached to you.”

Marty
picked up the gun and aimed it at Vincent. “I said stay out of this.”

“Marty
don’t! Put the gun down!”

Marty
huffed a few times then relaxed. “He’s trying to brainwash you, Kristen. Can’t
you see that? I don’t blame you for what happened, and I’m not trying to guilt
trip you. It’s not your fault. You’re just like me.”

“What
are you talking about?” I asked, frustrated and scared.

“Think
about it, Kris. You ran away from me. From us. You have to admit that’s not
normal. You should’ve talked to me. We could’ve worked things out like we
always do. That’s what couples do. They work things out together.” He kissed my
hand again. “I have a theory. And please bear with me on this. Remember how we found
out I had borderline personality disorder? Well, I did a lot of research and
even talked to Dr. Perkins about this. We think you might have an anxiety
disorder.”

My head
swirled. “What?”

“You’re
afraid of the unknown, of taking risks, of failing. Remember the anxiety you
would get before tests?” Marty chuckled brightly. “I would massage your
shoulders for half an hour before the exam then hold you after you finished
because you thought you bombed it.”

“I
don’t have an anxiety disorder.”

Marty
rubbed the back of my shoulder. His eyes were warm and his voice was
light-hearted. “Come on, Kris. Don’t be so stubborn. It’s better if you admit
it because then we can do something about it.”

I
remembered how I had suffered from test anxiety numerous times back in college.
Marty had been there to comfort me. Maybe I did have a problem. I ran away from
Marty. I ran away from Vincent at the restaurant. I basically ran away from my
parents. I was thinking about running away from having my baby. I was afraid of
taking risks, afraid of the consequences, afraid of getting hurt, of failing.
Riley had said so. Vincent had made me aware of it as well. Now Marty was
saying the same thing.

Even
with all that, he had no right to try and diagnose me. “No, Marty. Don’t tell
me I have a problem.”

“Shh,
shh. I know it’s hard to admit. I had trouble admitting I had a problem myself.
But it’s okay, Kris. I get it now. I understand why you ran away. I just want
to help you.”

“You
seem to be forgetting you invaded your her apartment with a gun,” Vincent said,
struggling against his restraints.

“You
don’t understand!” Marty cried. He turned to me. “How can you be falling for
this guy, Kristen?”