Page 70 of A Divided Heart

I push to my feet and scream Brant's name as loud as humanly possible.

Chapter 71

Jillian shoots to her feet, confused, and her gaze darts to the upper right. I take off in that direction, sprinting up the geometric staircase, moving faster than a high-heeled senior citizen can even think about going. I scream his name over and over as I tear down a marble hallway, my steps echoing through the halls, and skid to a halt when I hear my name. It was from a few doorways back, and I retraced my steps, pushing open a bedroom doorway right as Jillian appears at the top of the stairs.

She’s breathing hard, gripping the metal railing as if she needs it to stay upright, and I’m not certain, if she had a heart attack right here, that I’d even care. I hear my name again and I turn back to the bedroom and try to understand what I’m seeing.

There’s a bald man I've never seen, standing at the edge of a bed, in front of a thrashing figure entangled in sheets. The stranger and I stare at each other for a brief moment, then my eyes drop to Brant and he smiles and it feels as if my heart will explode. "Help," he gasps. "Get me out of here." Then he jerks his hands up and I see the restraints and my vision goes red.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I whirl as Jillian enters the doorway, skirted by two female employees. They stood there in a line between me and the door, three soldiers shoulder to shoulder as if preparing for battle.

"Layana," Jillian starts, her hands patting the air in a calming fashion. She’s still out of breath from the chase, and I’m reassured by the heave of her silk-covered chest.

"WHO THE FUCK HAS THE KEYS TO GET HIM OUT OF THOSE?" I point to the shackles that have Brant tied down like an animal. As if he is dangerous, or insane, or anything other the gorgeously brilliant man that he is.

"We had to restrain him. He was violent."

"No, I wasn't," Brant argues from behind me.

"You don't know what you were!" Jillian snaps.

"You," I snarl, pointing a sharp finger in her face. "You don't have the right to fucking talk to him anymore. I'm taking him with me right now."

“Now, now. Watch your language,” Jillian clicks her tongue. “How nice to see the trash that lies beneath that blue-blood smile, Layana."

I look at her in disbelief. "Mylanguage? That's what you want to discuss right now? While you have Branttieddown?" I look around at the other strangers in the room, all who look unsure. “Who theFUCKhas the keys to unlock him,” I hissed through gritted teeth, my body rigid with anger.

"I do." The man by the bed pulls a key from his front shirt pocket and looks to Jillian.

I move in between them, blocking his view, and point to Brant. "Untie him.” I use the sternest voice in my arsenal, the one I use with the kids at HYA.

"Don't move, George," Jillian's voice rings out.

I snatch the key from the man before he has a chance to think. I meet Brant's eyes while freeing his right hand. "I love you," I whisper.

"I'm sorry," he responded.

"Shut up, baby." I move to his leg strap and come chest to chest with Jillian, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with an iron grip.

"Please call Duane and Jim," she says crisply to the women behind her. "I need them to get over here immediately."

Duane and Jim. Her hoodlums, though she had always described them as “security personnel” for BSX. I twist my wrist until her fingers lose their grip and shove Jillian back. She lets out a cry as her legs give out and she falls backward to the floor.

"Wait!" I cry at the two women, anxious to catch them before they leave. "Right now,”—I gasp—"you have a decision to make. You are both BSX employees. If you have any interest in your job security, I'd suggest you get over here and help me free the owner of your company."

Chapter 72

My car burns rubber on its Nobb Hill exit, Brant's groan from the passenger side causing my foot to ease slightly, my eyes leaving the road for a moment to assess his condition. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just get us away from her."

I press a button on my steering wheel and speak when the tone sounds. "Call Home.” I reach over and grip Brant's hand, my fingers looping through his, an interlocking squeeze I don't want to ever lose.

The ringing through the speakers ends, replaced by the efficient voice of one of our security personnel. "Sharp residence, this is Len Rincon. Good morning, Ms. Fairmont."

"Len, I'm with Brant. We'll be arriving home in about ten minutes. I want the house on lockdown. No one coming in or out unless you talk to me. Especially not Jillian Sharp."

"Is Mr. Sharp also available, Ms. Fairmont?"

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