Bennett (Bourbon & Blood #1) Page 2

  Bennett hadn’t fought for her because she’d never told him the truth. She’d kept all that locked up inside herself and had gone along with her father’s plan. She’d been a coward then and she was still one today, she thought bitterly.

  God, he looked good! It wasn’t fair, she thought. Somehow the beautiful boy she’d known had turned into the sexiest man alive. He was chiseled and lean, and even through the damp t-shirt he’d worn, she could see every muscle. She’d also caught the tantalizing glimpse of a tattoo, some strange tribal design that might have had some deeper meaning or might have been the result of a drunken dare from Carter. She’d been told about the tattoo but had never seen it in person. With dark, curling hair that refused to be tamed by any product and deep green eyes, Bennett was more than just handsome.

  The beard was new. He’d started sporting one recently and it worked, framing his mouth and highlighting the rugged bone structure beneath. She wondered briefly what Lacey thought of it, but then she reminded herself that it wasn’t her business. Who he dated, who he married, shouldn’t matter to her. She was the one who’d made the choice to let him go. Of course that didn’t ease the ache inside her or dissipate the anger.

  “Goddamn him,” she muttered.

  As she rounded the bend, her eyes widened in terror. In the middle of the road, parked to block both lanes, was the same black SUV that had left her in the dust a few minutes earlier. With its massive deer guard, it took up nearly the entire road.

  It was instinct more than anything else that had Mia turning the wheel. The car spun out of control, doing at least a couple of three sixties on the wet asphalt as she fought the wheel. It was no use. The car kept going, coasting sideways toward the soft shoulder. If she hit the mud there the wheels would sink and the car would roll.

  It shouldn’t have been possible in that split second for those kinds of thoughts to enter her mind but they did. Swerving hard, she managed to bring the car to a stop, the rear wheels resting in the mud, the back end of the car hanging over the ledge where there was a gap in the guardrail.

  Breathing hard, adrenaline pumping in her veins, she didn’t have to look to know that she was in a bad place. A glance at the rearview mirror showed her there was nothing behind the car but a gray, leaden sky. If she tried to push forward and the wheels were stuck, it could send her sliding backwards even further toward the precipice. Getting out was the only option.

  Needing answers about just how dire her predicament was, Mia reached for the door handle to look out. With every movement and every gust of wind, the car rocked ominously. She was closer to the edge than she’d realized. Opening the door slightly, she peered behind her and saw that the back wheels were barely resting on solid ground. Even at the thought, the mud beneath the wheels slipped a bit. Not so solid, she thought worriedly.

  The other vehicle started, the engine painfully loud. Mia closed her door and looked forward, anticipating some offer of assistance. Rather than a cautious approach and the helpful offer of a tow, the car closed in on her until the vehicles were bumper to bumper. Even with her foot on the brake, the car was pushed relentlessly backward.

  Mia didn’t scream. She was too stunned by what was happening. The dark tinted windows of the other vehicle were impenetrable. She couldn’t even see that a person was inside it, much less what they looked like. In a last ditch effort, Mia grasped the handle of the parking brake and jerked it up. It didn’t even slow them down.

  The tires slipped in the mud, sending it showering up over the car. Then they slipped beyond the ledge completely. It teetered for a moment, nothing but air beneath the rear wheels. The little sports car that she loved rolled down the bank toward the rushing creek below.

  The airbag exploded into her face with enough force to knock the wind out of her. The sunglasses that she favored, even in the rain, broke on impact, the frame slicing into her skin just above her eyebrow.

  The car flipped again, belly up this time. The windshield shattered into tiny little cubes and rained down on her, creating a dozen stinging cuts. Her right elbow slammed into the console, the pain of it exploding up her arm. Another roll, this one to the side and Mia’s left hand, which had still been on the wheel, twisted free and connected forcefully with the steering column. The car slid nose down into the creek. The water rushed in, frigid cold and moving fast as it spilled into the car.

  Mia tried to scream, but couldn’t. The seatbelt had locked so tight it was all she could do to breathe. The blood from her forehead was running down her face, spilling into her mouth. She spit it out and tried again. The sound that escaped her wasn’t even human, just a keening animalistic cry prompted by pain and fear.

  The car shifted again from the force of the water rushing around it and pouring into it. It sank fully into the swollen creek, swept by the current. Panicked, Mia reached beneath the icy surface and tugged at the seat belt. Her right hand wasn’t working. Her fingers wouldn’t move the way they were supposed to, and fumbling with the latch with her left hand was simply not working. Whether it was the water or her own numb, shaking hands, it wouldn’t give.

  She was going to die, and it wasn’t an accident.

  The water surged around her, but she didn’t feel the cold. Determined, she tried once more to free the seat belt. The button clicked as she pressed it, but it wouldn’t give. The seatbelt remained firmly locked in place.

  The water had reached her chin and she was having to keep her head tilted back to breathe. A broken sob escaped her. The car slipped deeper into the flowing creek, the waterline creeping higher and higher. Mia took one last gulping breath before it flowed over her entirely.

  She’d closed her eyes against the sting of the freezing water, but they flew open when a pair of strong hands settled on her shoulders. Even in the murky water, she could see Bennett’s face. For a split second, she wondered if she were hallucinating, or if she might already have died.

  He reached past her and tugged at the seatbelt. When it wouldn’t give, he dug into his pocket for a knife. The blade eased past her, sawing through the fabric.

  Her lungs burned. Then Bennett was gone. He wouldn’t leave her there. Even as she thought it, he reappeared, lunging into the car almost entirely. His hands cupped her face and his mouth pressed to hers. Her lips parted, the last of her breath escaping. But then his mouth was on hers, his breath stealing into her.

  A few more passes of the knife and the seat belt gave. She floated up from the seat and Bennet guided her through the broken window. When they broke the surface, she took a deep breath in and then met the hardened gaze of the man who’d saved her life. She wanted to say something to him, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Blackness closed in, the periphery of her vision narrowing to pinpoints until there was nothing.

  *~*~*

  Free-balling under the borrowed scrubs he had on, Bennett was acutely aware of just how hard the plastic chairs of the waiting room were. After fishing Mia out of the creek, he’d had to leave her on the bank while he climbed back up, slipping and sliding on the muddy hillside until he could get back to his truck and his forgotten phone. Now, with his filthy clothes in the plastic bag beside his feet, and an inch of mud covering every part of him, he wanted a shower in the worst possible way, but first, he had to know she was okay.

  Staring down at the floor, he scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to think of anything but how she’d looked. A dozen tiny little cuts, her lips bloodied, and he’d known without a doubt that her wrist was broken.

  The doctor had assured him that it was the shock and the pain of her obviously broken wrist more than anything else that had rendered her unconscious. Bennett wanted to believe that, but he was half afraid to let himself.

  A commotion at the door brought his head up and Bennett bit back a curse as he saw the Darcy brothers come barreling in. As a general rule, they were all good at simply ignoring one another, but with tensions running high, it was bound to be trouble.

  Even as the thoug
ht entered his mind, Quentin looked over at him and his mouth twisted in a sneer. “What the hell are you doing here, Hayes? Did you have something to do with this, you son of a bitch?”

  An elderly woman in the waiting room gasped and looked mightily offended at the language. Bennett rose to his feet. “If by ‘something to do with it’ you mean I saved your sister’s fool neck, then yeah.”

  Quentin started toward him, fists clenched and teeth bared. Clayton grabbed his brother’s arm and held him back.

  “We’re grateful for what you did, but it’s probably best if you go now,” Clayton said. “Samuel is on his way here, and that’s a mess none of us want.”

  Clayton had always been the voice of reason, the calm one, the eye in the center of the Darcy tornado. Bennett’s pride stung at being dismissed, at being reminded that he wasn’t permitted to be part of Mia’s world, that he didn’t belong. But at the same time, he recognized that causing a giant scene and creating more stress in her life wouldn’t be good for any of them. It sucked being an adult. As a hot headed teenager he would have just rammed his fist in Quentin’s face and told Clayton to kiss his ass. A part of him still wanted to.

  But those days were over. Bennett shoved his hands through his still wet hair. “I want to know how she is.”

  Clayton nodded. “I’ll send word to you when we know something.”

  Bennett picked up his bag and exited the hospital. He’d just climbed behind the wheel of his truck when a limo pulled up and Samuel Darcy emerged from the backseat. His white hair was combed back neatly, his tie was still crisp and perfect. It perfectly encapsulated their lives. That son of a bitch might never get his hands dirty, but he certainly reaped the rewards of everyone else’s hard work.

  Bennett hated the controlling bastard. That hate, the anger that had ridden him so hard for so long, churned in his gut. Turning the key in the ignition, he backed out of the parking space and headed home, damning the entire Darcy clan along the way.

  Every time he tangled with one of them, he felt raw. It was like they just peeled the skin right off him and left nothing but exposed nerves. He’d go home, have a beer, and beat the hell out of a heavy bag. It was the standard treatment whenever he had a Darcy run in. Even temporary relief was welcome.

  When he reached his house, he grabbed the now warm six pack of beer and headed inside, pausing only long enough to utilize the old bottle opener still mounted to the porch rail. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by seventy-five pounds of fur and slobber.

  Bennett didn’t get angry. He just slid to the floor right there inside the door while the dog laid against his chest and whined. Scratching his ears, Bennett sighed. Big, dumb, drooling everywhere, and scared of flies, the dog was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he thought.

  “It’s been a hell of a day, Slick,” he muttered as the dog licked his cheek. “But I saw somebody you know.”

  The dog whined and cocked its head.

  “That’s just how I feel,” Bennett replied and took another swig from the bottle. “That is just how I feel.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Was she with him?”

  Clayton Darcy met his father’s gaze across the empty hospital waiting room and wondered, not for the first time, how cold the bastard really was. “Does it matter?”

  Samuel Darcy narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes. I’ve told her… warned her a dozen times about associating with the likes of him. All of the Hayes family is nothing but trouble, the lot of them!”

  Clayton didn’t bother to argue. He’d learned long ago that it did not a damn bit of good. “No. From what the sheriff told me, as best as it can be pieced together until Mia wakes up; she was driving on Fall Lick Road, rounded a bend, lost control of the vehicle and wound up in the creek. With the rain, it was deep enough to pull the car completely under. If he hadn’t been there, we’d be at the morgue and not here.”

  “And a Hayes just happened to be right behind her?” Samuel summed up. His dubious tone clearly indicated how unlikely he found the tale.

  “He does live on that road,” Clayton pointed out. “Less than two miles from your house.”

  Samuel grimaced. “I’m well aware of that! I tolerated his grandmother because it was the decent thing to do, but if I’d known she was going to leave that house to him I might not have been so generous! I think he stayed here out of spite.”

  Probably, Clayton thought. Not for the first time, he enjoyed the notion. Bennett Hayes had made himself a thorn in Samuel Darcy’s side and Clayton was ever so quietly cheering him on.

  The conversation, if it could be called that, went no further. The doctor appeared, wearing scrubs and a white coat, a mask hanging around his neck.

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  “Yes,” Samuel said. “How is my daughter?”

  “Very lucky,” the doctor stated. “She escaped a pretty catastrophic accident and her worst injury was a broken wrist. I’d say that borders on miraculous. We’ve set the bone and casted it. She’s got a couple of stitches and she’s still pretty out of it from the sedative we gave her. We’ll be keeping her overnight but most likely she’ll go home in the morning.”

  “Will she be scarred?” Samuel demanded. “We’ll need a plastic surgeon consulted immediately, if that’s likely.”

  The doctor blinked at him for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was perceptibly cooler. “The stitches are along the line of her eyebrow. Any scarring will be minimal, if not nonexistent. A few minor cuts and some very ugly bruises, but there’s nothing she shouldn’t make a full and unmarred recovery from.”

  Clayton rose. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?”

  The doctor spared another hard look for Samuel. “Assuming she wants to see you? Once they’ve transported her from recovery to her room, you’ll be able to visit with her.”

  Samuel sighed when he left. “At least she won’t need surgery. Thank God.”

  Quentin snorted in disgust. “How about, ‘thank God, she’s all right’ or ‘thank God, that bastard came along and fished her out of the creek before she drowned’? I don’t like him any better than you do, but if he hadn’t been there, she would have died… and you’re worried about her fucking looks?”

  Samuel gifted his younger son with a cool look. “I am relieved that she will recover, of course. But that doesn’t change the fact that Mia is the face of the distillery in many ways. She is in charge of our PR and marketing. How well do you think that would go if she were no longer beautiful? I suppose Erica could take over for her if it becomes necessary.”

  Clayton’s temper flared. No one got under his skin quite like Samuel did. “Erica will not take over anything. In case you’ve forgotten, our agreement makes you little more than a figurehead at Fire Creek and your own recklessness has made you a financial liability. You don’t make those kinds of decisions!”

  “I am still your father, boy! You won’t speak to me like that!” Samuel shouted. His voice was loud enough that several people in the hallway looked up in shock. Deciding on a different tactic, he turned the cajoling manipulation that was typically his first choice. “Just think what it would do to Mia if she had to see a scarred face in the mirror every day! Would you really want that for her?”

  Disgusted with him, Clayton stated, “Mia will always be beautiful… because it has nothing to do with her looks. Now that you know she’s okay, you should go. Quentin and I will stay with her.”

  “She’s my daughter!” Samuel’s reply was emphatic, but there wasn’t a great deal of emotion behind it. With him, it was always a show.

  “Really?” Clayton shot back. “Because from here it sounded more like you were talking about a corporate asset. You don’t give a damn about any of us, and while Quentin and I are okay with that, she’s still got a heart for you to break. So just go, old man.”

  Samuel pointed one finger at Clayton, “You’re not in charge of the distillery just yet. Nothing is set in stone, boy! Mia will always si
de with me… and without her that leaves you all at a paltry forty percent share.”

  Quentin rose then, getting up in his father’s face. “Then take the damn distillery and stop holding it over our heads… You can’t run the thing without us, anyway! You haven’t put in an honest-to-God day’s work in more than a decade and wouldn’t know what to do even if we did step down. You’ve been too busy running around with two-bit whores half your age… Hell, some of ‘em are half my age!”

  Samuel turned then to walk away, but as he reached the door to the small waiting area, he turned back to them. “You don’t like me, you don’t like the way I run things… You don’t have to be around to witness it! I’ll buy you out anytime.”

  “With what?” Clayton demanded. “We’re keeping you afloat, in case you’ve forgotten! You’ve wasted the money you married Mama for!”

  “Watch what you say to me, son,” Samuel admonished. “And watch what you say about your mother!”

  “All of a sudden you’re the devoted husband? How long has it been since you even saw her?” Clayton demanded. “You’ve left Mia to rot in that house, wasting her life and her youth taking care of the woman you broke!”

  Samuel lunged at him then, grasping Clayton’s shirt collar. They were face to face, the older man breathing hard and Clayton with his fists clenched.

  Quentin stepped between them. “Do not do this here. I’m not any happier with him than you are, Clay, but this kind of scene would be the last thing Mia… or Mama, would want!”

  “Talk to me that way again, boy,” Samuel warned. “Old as I am, I can still teach you a lesson.”

  “Any day,” In spite of Clayton's deceptively calm facial expression, there was an edge to his voice that let no doubt he would relish the opportunity. “Any time.”

  Samuel shoved him away and turned toward the door.