Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Past
Midnight came and went, but Willa couldn't sleep.
The penthouse was eerily silent. Jared and Miles had left two hours after the confrontation with Victor, taking six heavily armed men with them. Only two guards remained posted outside her bedroom door.
Titan lay on the rug at the foot of her bed, his head resting on his paws, his large ears twitching at every distant rumble of thunder echoing over the Hudson River.
Willa slid out of bed, wearing a long silk robe that had been left in the closet for her. She walked over to the balcony doors, stepping out into the cool night air. The rain had started—a steady, heavy downpour that washed over the glass railing, blurring the bright yellow taxis fifty-eight floors below into streaks of gold.
She thought about her life in Brooklyn. Her tiny, drafty apartment with the squeaky floorboards. Her quiet shifts at the vet clinic. It was a miserable, lonely existence, but it was safe. It was her own.
Here, in Jared Kensington’s world, every breath felt like a gamble. And yet... there was something sickeningly magnetic about the man. He was a monster, a crime boss who ruled through fear and violence, but when he looked at Titan—and when he looked at her—there was a strange, dangerous tenderness hidden beneath the armor.
A faint clicking sound at the bedroom door made her turn around sharply.
The door didn't swing open with a guard’s key. It creaked open slowly, inch by inch.
Titan suddenly stood up, a deep, guttural growl vibrating in his chest. His lips pulled back, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth.
Willa’s heart slammed against her ribs. "Titan, stay..." she whispered, backing toward the glass wall.
A figure slipped through the narrow opening.
He was wearing a black rain jacket, his hood pulled low, but as he stepped into the dim light of the bedroom lamp, Willa’s entire world shattered into sharp, jagged pieces.
The face staring back at her wasn't one of Jared’s guards. It wasn't Victor.
It was Brendan.
His hair was wet from the rain, his narrow face thin and gaunt, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. In his right hand, he held a dark metal object—a heavy, silence-fitted pistol.
"Hello, Willa," Brendan whispered, a twisted, terrifying grin spreading across his face. "Did you really think you could run away from me?"
Willa’s voice choked in her throat. Her knees went completely weak, and she slammed her back against the glass balcony door for support. "How... how did you find me?"
"You left a paper trail, sweetie," Brendan sneered, taking a slow step forward. Titan growled louder, his body tense, preparing to spring. Brendan raised the gun, pointing it directly at the dog's head. "Tell the beast to back off, or I'll blow his brain across this nice silk rug."
"Titan, sit! Down!" Willa sobbed, her hands shaking hysterically as she commanded the dog. Titan reluctantly dropped his chest to the floor, but his eyes never left Brendan’s throat.
Brendan chuckled, a dry, manic sound. "Look at you. Living in a palace. Pushing me out, hiding in Brooklyn for two years, and then sleeping in a mob boss's bed. You always were a selfish little bitch, Willa."
"I never slept with him!" Willa cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Brendan, please... just leave. If Jared finds you here, he will kill you!"
"Jared Kensington is currently busy dealing with a burning warehouse in Queens," Brendan spat, his eyes gleefully malicious. "Victor paid me ten grand to get in here. Gave me a keycard and a security bypass. Said I could have my girl back, as long as I left a message for Kensington."
Brendan stepped closer, reaching out his dirty, calloused hand to grab her hair. "You belong to me, Willa. You always have. We're going home."
The terror that had paralyzed Willa for two years suddenly erupted into a blinding wave of survival instinct.
She didn't scream. She didn't beg.
As Brendan reached for her, Willa snatched a heavy crystal carafe of water from the nightstand and slammed it with all her strength against the side of Brendan’s head.
CRASH!
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Brendan let out a muffled roar of pain, stumbling backward as blood erupted from his temple.
"You bitch!" Brendan screamed, swinging the gun wildly.
Titan didn't wait for a command.
The 150-pound Mastiff launched himself across the room like a silver cannonball. He slammed his massive chest directly into Brendan’s torso, knocking the man backward into the hallway. The gun flew from Brendan’s hand, clattering noisily across the hardwood floor.
Titan pinned Brendan to the ground, his giant jaws snapping mere inches from Brendan’s throat, a terrifying sound of pure rage tearing from the dog's chest.
"Willa! Call him off! Call him off!" Brendan shrieked, pressing his hands against Titan’s massive neck in absolute terror.
Willa rushed into the hallway, grabbing the dropped pistol from the floor. Her hands were shaking so violently she almost dropped it, but she raised the heavy barrel, aiming it directly at Brendan’s chest.
"Don't move," she gasped, her voice raw with tears and adrenaline. "Don't you dare move."
Footsteps thundered down the grand hallway.
Jared, his dark suit jacket gone, his white shirt stained with soot and blood, rounded the corner with Miles right behind him. His storm-grey eyes swept the scene—the shattered glass, the bleeding man pinned beneath his dog, and Willa standing in her silk robe, holding a gun with deadly focus.
Jared’s face went completely blank, transformed into a mask of pure, absolute carnage.
"Miles," Jared said softly, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "Take Willa to my office."
"No!" Willa shouted, not lowering the gun. "Jared, no! Don't kill him!"
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Jared walked over to her slowly. He reached out, his big, warm hand gently wrapping around the barrel of the gun, tilting it down toward the floor. He leaned down, placing his lips close to her ear.
"He put his hands on you," Jared whispered softly, a promises of hell in his words. "He dies tonight."
