no turning back

• fifty •

gladys

The click of a closing door startled me from my dreamless sleep. I flew upright, my hair falling in my face, as I looked around in a panic. Instead of seeing the office I'd been in when last awake, I digested the bland walls and decor of a hotel room. My gaze bolted to the entrance of the room where movement set off all kinds of alarms in my half-asleep, fright-filled trance.

Dark bags underlay smoky eyes, gray stubble blanketing leathered cheeks. My gaze roved over the familiar yet altered male face.

"Ben?" I choked out.

His chest rose with a deep breath as he started toward me, tears shimmering in his eyes. I flung the covers off me and ran to him, where we met halfway. He scooped me up in his arms, hugging me tightly. An unexpected sob wracked through me.

I didn't expect to get so emotional at seeing him again, though I guess I'd suppressed how much I missed him all the time, knowing it was unlikely we'd see each other again. He stroked a hand through my hair.

"It's all right," he assured me, despite the little sniffles I heard from him. "Come here and sit with me."

He all but placed me on the edge of one of the queen beds, settling beside me. His thumb wiped the tears from my cheeks until we stared at each other through bleary gazes. Words refused to find me as I sat in utter shock and relief. None of that dread that I'd initially experienced upon hearing about his arrival reached me now.

"I know I don't have to say it," he said, breaking the silence, "but you have no idea how worried I've been about you."

I swallowed hard, long-standing guilt biting away at my heart. "I know it doesn't mean much, but I am sorry," I squeaked, my voice strained with emotion.

"Even if you weren't, I would still be here." He shook his head with a soft, sad smile. "It's something you'll only understand when you're a parent someday."

Even though he'd acted as a stand-in father for her for three years, hearing him refer to himself as a parent in this context, in my context, ruptured what little self-control I'd dammed away. I crumpled into him with another sob. I'd been an orphan for nearly as long as I could remember, and never having a steady parental figure took its toll. I never expected someone to love me unconditionally because of it. No one was expected to love me that way but my parents, and they were dead.

Yet here was this man who had been through hell to save me, protect me, and get me back, despite abandoning him and choosing his enemy. It wasn't that simple, but I knew that's what it seemed to him.

Ben let me cry for a while before he sat me up straight. "Now, listen," he commanded, and I did, wiping at my wet face. "Just because I pulled some strings to save you and . . . him does not mean I'm pleased to be in this situation."

I nodded and stared ashamedly down at my life.

"But I did follow up on the lead you gave me about Brant's father."

My gaze snapped up to his.

"He's being investigated right now," Ben finished. "The police didn't want to credit such an idea, but apparently his alibi fell through. So they're looking deeper."

"He did do it," I told him. "Whether or not they ever prove it, I want you to know the truth."

"I don't even want to know how you know that." He sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. "I really want you as far away from this as possible. You were nearly kidnapped by the mafia, Gladys. God knows what heinous, despicable things they would've done to you had the FBI not intervened."

Emotion knotted in my throat. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Doesn't matter how pissed I am with you, I'm gonna do what's best for you. Always. Okay, kiddo?"

I nodded and tried not to start crying again. "Does that mean you won't hold Elijah responsible for Bernice's death anymore?"

He looked away with a grumpy expression, grunting. "Yeah, but I got plenty of other shit to hold against him."

Though I expected nothing less, hearing him admit that made my heart so light again. It killed me every time I heard him blame Elijah for it in the past when I always struggled to believe it could be true. Elijah wasn't incapable of doing it, but he knew what she meant to me. Bernice wasn't the one who violated me, anyway.

"I understand," I said. "You don't have to like him."

His gaze found mine again. "So I guess that means you don't want to fly under the radar again."

"Absolutely not," I retorted, making him laugh. "It was awful. I never want to hear the name 'Gwendolyn' again."

"The names were terrible," he agreed, "but things weren't all that bad. We had some good times, right?"

I nodded. "Lots of burnt food and bad action movies."

"Hey, I did my best!"

We shared another laugh, leaning into each other.

"What about your girlfriend?" I asked. "Does she know about all of this?"

"Eloise . . . yeah, I broke down and told her. When I realized you were missing, I panicked. I called everyone I knew—the police, the FBI, some old contacts I know. She knew something terrible had happened, and I just . . . I couldn't lie to her anymore."

I squeezed his shoulder. "She knows about your past and everything? Aunt Layla and Bernice?"

"Yep."

"How'd she take it?"

He scratched at his balding head with a grimace. "Well, she didn't run out screaming like I thought she would. Before I flew out here, she kissed me and told me I better come back or else she'd hunt me down and marry me."

"Aw." I laughed, grinning hugely. "Sounds like she loves you." His humble shrug told all. "And you love her too! Let me know when the wedding is."

"Cut that crap," he chided, despite his own big smile. "I ain't getting married again. But I do love her and I see us being together a long time."

Before I could embarrass him with more mushy talk, his phone rang. He checked it and pulled away. "Let me take this real quick." Rising from the bed, he placed the phone against his ear. He hardly said two words before turning toward me, pulling the phone away from his mouth.

"Elijah's at the hospital," he said.

My body froze for half a second before panic launched me off the bed. "They found him? Is he okay?"

"He's not in good shape, but he's alive." He brought the microphone end of the phone to his mouth, speaking into it. "We're on the way. Thanks."

I was already pulling on my tennis shoes as he moved toward the door. He paused, his hand on the knob. I shifted impatiently between my feet while my mind ran through all of the worst-case scenarios. Was he in a coma? Did they shoot him? Cut off his hand? Did he have brain damage?

"Gladys," Ben said, "he's not in good shape. Okay?"

Fresh apprehension overcame me. "What did they say?"

He clenched his jaw, a grave sense about him that only intensified my dread. "Enough that I know this ain't about to be pretty."

"Well, let's go! I need to see him. As long as he's alive, I can take it, but I need to see him."

His eyes worriedly scanned me before he sighed, nodding resignedly. "Come on, kiddo."