“No.”
“Well, it might pay to read the newspaper. It seems that your father is at it again, hogging the limelight and seeking hero status. I’ll be in touch, Brax.” The line goes dead.
And that is that.
I’m now unemployed, and to be honest, I’ve never been more relieved in my life.
“Sweetheart, have you collected the paper today?” I ask Elle as I walk back into the bedroom. She’s lying down on our bed, reading one of her romance novels that I love teasing her about.
“Yeah, it’s on the coffee table with the mail,” she says, looking up at me with those soft green eyes of hers. God I love this girl, and I’m the lucky bastard that gets to keep her.
I rush to the living room, grabbing the paper off the top of the pile, and open it up. The headline screams at me, “Michael Evans Shoots Kidnap Suspect After Freeing Victim.”
Well, f**k!
Devon and I are having breakfast at the campus café when I see a man in a table beside us open his newspaper. I almost choke when I see Michael Evans’ face staring back at me with the headline, “Michael Evans Shoots Kidnap Suspect After Freeing Victim.”
“Hey D, grab a paper for me, will you?” I ask as he stuffs a breakfast muffin into his mouth.
“Dude, grab it yourself!” he mumbles with mouth full of food.
“I think you’ll want to see this one,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Fuck. Okay, okay.” He gets up and grabs a paper from the counter and opens it. I watch in slow motion as his mouth drops open in shock. He walks back to our table, paper in front his face as he reads. He bumps into a few chairs on the way, apologizing but not able to rip his eyes away from the story.
He takes his seat opposite me and drops the paper. His eyes are wide, his look full of disbelief.
“Damn,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “The old man is still as slippery as always.”
“Seems that way. Any idea what happened?” I ask. We were all too wiped last night to talk about anything. And to be honest, the intensity of what went down, of how Brax lost his shit at Gibbons, beating him within an inch of his life, and how Elle pulled him out of it, all hit us hard. When I saw Evans’ car pull in, and that he was driving, not one of his henchmen, I knew shit was about to get real.
The look on Brax’s face when he got into the car and said “get the f**k out of here” said it all. I’ve kept my distance from them this morning. They need time and space to deal with the ordeal. I just hope that now that Gibbons has been taken out, and Brimstone is being charged, this whole threat has been neutralized. All the main suspects have been dealt with, even Evans’ in his own way. Although, I’m still uneasy about that creeper in the black Honda. He’s been conspicuously absent of late, and that doesn’t sit right with me for some reason.
We passed three police cars on our way back last night, so there is no way Evans could have covered anything up in that time. But yet again, Evans is like Teflon; I’m starting to believe that nothing will ever stick to that man. The newspaper headline says it all, really. Evans stepped up for his sons, covered their asses, and admitted to killing Gibbons. But in true Evans’ style, he turned it around to make himself look good. But this is the closest he’s even come to redeeming himself for the sins of his past and present, especially the things he’d done to his own sons.
“We need to check in with the police, man. Probably make statements to explain what went down and shit. Tie up any loose ends so that we’re not pulled into this shit storm,” he says, his expression emotionless.
“Good plan, bro. I’ll get the bill, then we’ll head over to Elle’s. I wanna check in with her and see how she is,” I add. “I think we all might need a debrief, too.”
“Sweet,” he replies, folding the paper and putting it under his arm as he stands and walks towards the door. I swear to god that man looks like he’s just had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. And if anyone deserves it, Devon and Brax do.
Brax has remained quite calm this morning, despite the newest revelations from his past. He’s surprised me. Sylvie was understandably upset about his reaction, and his anger, but was also relieved to hear that I was safe and relatively unscathed following the kidnapping.
“Darlin’, I think you should come see this!” I hear Brax shout out to me. I hop off the bed and make my way to the lounge, finding him sitting on the couch with the morning newspaper spread open in front of him, a large photo of his father, Michael Evans, on the front.
“What happened?” I stare at the photo of Brax’s father. The resemblance is so obvious now. Those ice blue eyes and their brooding stare are unmistakable.
“Evans is being hailed a hero. This report says that he shot Gibbons in self-defense just moments before the cops arrived last night. Apparently, Gibbons was armed and had his weapon drawn,” he adds, looking up at her with a raised brow.
He continues to read the article. “Apparently, Gary Gibbons was shot twice and died instantly. After being questioned, Evans gave a press conference this morning outlining exactly how he came to save billionaire heiress Elle Halliwell, and subdue her kidnapper long enough for her to run to safety,” he explains with a frown.
“Babe, he did that? For you?” I sit down beside him, shell shocked. Just twelve hours ago, that man, the one who snatched me from the restaurant and held me captive for three hours, was alive. And now he’s dead. For what? What did he achieve by taking me? He told me he needed money, but as much as I tried he wouldn’t let me call anyone to get it for him. He was desperate, he told me as much. He was so unsure of himself, like he was second guessing his actions. He told me about his wife, how she’d left him because his gambling debts had cost them their house. How he worked with Harry Brimstone to monitor me, and how when Harry was arrested, he snapped. He told me everything in those two hours before Brax and Shay barged into the room and knocked him out cold.
“He didn’t need to die, Brax,” I say, my voice wavering.
“I know, but Evans plays by his own set of rules. I’ve never agreed with them, but I’m not gonna say that I’m sorry about this, Elle. I can’t.” He drops his head to lean it against mine. “It’s over, Elle. You’re safe now. No one can hurt you,” he says as my tears start to fall.
It’s really over. I’m safe.
Thank god for that.