WARNINGS: Language and Violence . . .

Elle ducked and rolled to her feet. Aiden's fist punched the mattress where her head had been just seconds ago. Her high heel caught in her skirts and ripped the fragile material. Adrenaline pumping through her system, Elle kicked off her shoes so as to be able to move more freely.

"What the hell do you think you are doing," she demanded of her wild-eyed brother.

"You want to walk out of here? Give me back my company," Aiden growled at her.

She backed up, attempting to get near the door so that she could make a run for it. "That's not going to happen, Aiden."

"You don't want it," he snarled. "You've never wanted it!"

"It doesn't matter. Poppa didn't want you to have it. I won't disrespect his memory by standing by and watch you run it into the ground," she told him.

"I guess that I'll just have to settle for you, then, won't I?" Aiden smiled.

The expression was off though. Disturbing. It wasn't the kind of smile he would ever show the public or paparazzi.

"D-Did you just threaten to bury me?" Would Aiden really bring down his father's company just to get at her?

She didn't want any misunderstandings between them, even if asking him to clarify his meaning meant that she was fanning the flames of his current dementia. Her eyes swept the room for potential weapons.

Aiden ignored her question. "You will fail."

"Then you should thank me for sparing you the public humiliation by doing it for you," Elle snarked; another step closer to the hall.

"Bella, when will you learn that you aren't smart enough to run father's company? If you were, you would have learned a long time ago that I never lose," he took a step toward her.

"I guess some lessons never take . . ."

It wouldn't matter if she screamed, but it might just be enough to set Aiden off. She had sent her guards home. With Franklin gone, she was alone in the house with her crazy brother. She probably shouldn't antagonize him, but submission was waving a red flag in front of a bull and telling him it was okay if he brutalized her.

"So why now all of a sudden? Is it just to hurt me? Just another thing that you want to take from me," Aiden asked of her.

"Hurt you?" Elle frowned. "What baby hurt could I have possible inflicted upon you to deserve this amount of animosity? I have never had a desire to hurt you, Aiden. I just want to get away from you. Despite what you might think, I don't exist merely to plague your little world."

"And yet, here you are . . ."

"Why did you fire Franklin?" She asked him in a bid to keep him talking.

"Because you loved him and I could," he sneered at her.

"What is wrong with you," Elle cried out in frustration. "He did nothing to harm you!"

"You weren't here to stop me, little girl," Aiden laughed. As if you could was silently tacked onto that. "I'm contesting the will," he told her.

Big surprise there, she thought snidely. "Go ahead, but you're wasting your time. My lawyers went through everything already. Poppa's will is solid. It will stay that way. Oh, and by the way, even without me, you still wouldn't get any of it."

His eyes narrowed.

"My will hands over my property to Dick in the event of my death. Poppa will finally get his wish for a merger with Wayne Enterprises."

"Then what's to stop me from beating you to death right now just for the joy of it," he asked her.

Elle blinked. He hated her that much? Their father didn't leave him destitute. They could go their separate ways and never see one another again!

"W-What?" She stammered and backed up a little more. How close was she to the door? She wanted desperately to turn around and look, but was afraid to turn her back on him. "But why? Why would you do that?"

"Because I know what you are," Aiden told her, closing the distance even as she tried to increase it.

"And what is that?" Elle's heart jumped to her throat when she stepped on her skirt and stumbled.

Her hand shot out and caught the edge of her father's secretary desk. She knew where she was in relation to the door, at least, as she jerked the material out of her way. She was prepared to run . . . But she wasn't prepared for Aiden's answer.

"A demon . . ." he hissed.

It was starting to snow again when the Yugo skidded to a halt in front of the closed gate to the Hamilton Estate. Dick remembered the code Elle had given him the last time. He punched it in and waited impatiently for the scrolled metal to slide out of his way. It took only twenty seconds for him to realize that the code had been changed from the last time they had been here, only a few weeks ago.

He buzzed the intercom and waited several minutes for someone to answer. He understood that he had arrived at four in the morning and it might take some time for someone to answer him, but after five minutes, he knew no one was going to come to let him in. It crossed his mind that Elle might have gone into the city. The family had a penthouse there, but Cedric had mentioned that he preferred staying here at the house that he had built for Elle's mother.

He had to assume that he wasn't welcome. He raised an eyebrow. Like that had ever stopped him before . . . And a locked gate stood no chance of keeping him out of someplace he wanted to go.

Dick climbed out and retrieved his escrima sticks and his lockpicks from his bag. Better to be prepared for anything. He held a hand out to the gate cautiously. No telltale hum of electricity and the hairs on his arm remained undisturbed. Reassured, he took a running start and climbed two thirds the height by placing his feet on the detailed scrollwork. He gripped the metal and flipped his body over the top of the gate and landed softly on the asphalt on the opposite side.

The long drive was lined with solar powered lights. He wouldn't be needing his flashlight. He took off at a fast jog; happy to be stretching his muscles after so long sitting cramped behind the wheel. As the house finally came into view, Dick noted the lack of lights. He hoped that meant that Elle was tucked safely up in her bed, sleeping, but the closer he got the more that the generalized feeling of grief that had been his constant companion for the last four hours began to turn into something else . . .

Fear.

Anger.

Fear, unfortunately, was winning the war of supremacy. He poured on the speed and sprinted the last four hundred yards to the front door.

"A d-demon? I'm not a demon, Aiden," Elle cried out. "Where would you get that idea? I'm your sister! We're family!"

"You're no family of mine. I should kill you right now." He spoke calmly.

Too calmly. Where did his anger go? Strangely enough, Elle thought she would prefer to deal with Aiden's anger than this creepy calm.

"Y-You'd never get away with it," she told him. "The police would know it was you! Hugh and Edward would know it was you. Franklin would testify at your trial . . ."

Shit! Was she really trying to talk her brother out of murdering her in cold blood? Oh God! She knew he hated her, but not to this extent! She bumped into the wall behind her and slid along it. There! There was the door. Her hand fumbled along its panels, searching for the doorknob.

"I've wanted to since the day you were born . . ." Aiden took another step toward her. "I tried once or twice, you know. I held you under the water when you were just three. No one would have suspected a thing . . . You loved the water and were constantly wandering out to the pool, much to the consternation of the servants. No one would have been surprised if you were found one day floating in there; a victim to your own childhood obsession."

Her eyes widened. She didn't remember the scene he was describing to her, but somehow she didn't doubt it that it was true. He had actually . . . Her breathing became erratic, and her stomach churned uncomfortably.

"But you thought it was a game. You just blinked those big eyes at me and grinned for five minutes . . . then ten. I was about to give up before someone could catch me when I saw that webbing between your fingers." He shuddered dramatically. "You laughed at me that day."

That would have made him fourteen . . . If he had been capable of doing that to a small child, what might he be capable of doing to her now?

"Then I pushed you down the stairs when you were five," he shook his head sadly. "It would have worked, too. You were a klutzy little thing. You had already fallen down those stairs before although nearer to the bottom. I started you off at the top that day, but you managed to survive that even. Compound fracture and concussion and a sprained wrist," he grimaced. "Pure luck on your part. I doubt even you could have survived had you broken your neck."

She did remember that incident . . . Or rather people telling her about it, afterwards. The pain that she endured in the weeks that followed, though; the concussion hadn't been successful at erasing those memories.

Her stomach lurched suddenly, and saliva flooded her mouth as her head spun. The sickness was back! Oh no, no, no, no . . . Not here! Not now!

"It might even be worth the jail time," he was saying as if truly considering what he was contemplating. "One hundred million dollars would be more than enough to make bail. I could run. I'm not that attached to Chicago. Always wanted to visit Indonesia." He smiled that weird smile again. "No extradition from there."

Elle's right hand closed over the door knob as she shoved her nausea down as best she could. Her eyes darted to the desk and found a vase. She grabbed it and threw it at Aiden's head, even as she yanked open the door. She didn't bother to see if she had managed to hit him with it. Elle knew better than anyone she was a lousy shot. But there were potential weapons downstairs, if she could just reach them . . .

She ran.

Aiden's heavy footfalls thumped after her. His hand grabbed at her shoulder. It didn't matter that they were alone in the house with no one to hear her.

Elle screamed.

Dick dropped his lockpicks when he heard Elle scream. No more room for finesse; he kicked the door. It said something for the home's security that it took Dick three kicks before the door frame shattered and he was able burst into the house.

But there were no more screams to help him locate her. Where was she?

"Elle," he yelled, palming his escrima sticks.

He ran to the stairs. Her father's body would be laid out in his room mostly likely. That would be where she was . . . He took three at a time.

By the time Dick reached the hallway her assailant was gone, but Elle lay crumpled on the floor half the distance from the open door to what he assumed was the master suite beyond. Dick ran to her side and carefully turned her over.

She was unconscious. Her dress was torn and there were bruises on her shoulder that were clearly a large man's fingerprints. Her left cheek was cut and bleeding, and the skin around it was already darkening into an ugly black bruise.

He checked her over for other hidden injuries, but found nothing more. It hadn't been more than a few minutes between Elle's scream and Dick arriving on the scene. His kicking the door down must have scared the guy away. He really didn't want to think about what would have happened had he waited for morning to drive up.

Dick wanted desperately to track down her attacker and beat him into a bloody pulp, but he couldn't risk the guy doubling back to finish the job once Dick had been lured away. Surely, Elle would be able to identify him once she woke.

He knew who he would lay money on it being . . .

Elle groaned and opened her eyes; her hands flying up automatically to protect her head. She gasped as Dick grabbed her wrists to prevent her from hitting him and received a knee in his ribs for his efforts.

"Elle! Stop, honey, it's me! It's Dick!"

"Dick?" Elle's eyes were huge and terrified. She scrambled back from him until she hit the wall; drawing her legs up in a defensive position and wrapping her arms around them. It took her a moment before his name finally registered in her mind. "Dick?"

He approached her again, slowly.

"It's me, Elle. I'm here now. You're safe," he crooned to her.

"Dick!" Elle suddenly threw herself into his arms and burst into tears. "Oh God, oh God! Dick . . . He . . . H-He . . ."

"Sh, baby. It's okay. I've got you," he told her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"P-Poppa's dead," she cried into his neck. "I wasn't here for him . . ."

"I know, honey. I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know what else to tell her. "Elle . . . I need you to listen a minute. Who did this to you? Who hurt you? Was it your brother?"

"What?"

He pulled away long enough to touch her cheek gently with his fingers. "Was it Aiden? Did that sonofabitch do this to you? Where the hell are your bodyguards?"

"Aiden?"

Elle's hand came up to explore the hurt. She winced and frowned, hesitant in answering him. Her eyes met his and drifted away; down and to the left.

Damn it! She was going to lie to him! Why? Why did she continue to protect that piece of shit?

Her gaze finally made its way back to his. "H-He . . ."

"Elle, please. Tell me and I'll take care it," he promised her.

She shook her head. "No . . . Don't . . ."

"Goddamn it, Elle," Dick raised his voice. "Don't lie to me! Stop protecting that son of a bitch!"

"I-I'm not," she whispered. She made the tiniest of flinches, but he saw it. It made his gut twist.

"Then tell me what I need to know, Elle," he demanded, giving her a little shake. "Was it Aiden? Did your brother do this to you?"

Panic flared in her eyes, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

"What? What is it?" Had he missed something when checking her for injuries?

"I've got to . . . I'm going to . . ." Elle shoved him back and dove for a potted palm that graced the top of the stairs.

"Elle!" Dick scrambled after her, only to gape as she lost everything in her stomach to the poor plant.

He started to reach for her as she huddled there, panting, but before he could touch her, Elle lurched forward again. He grimaced; kneeling beside her. Ugh! Forcing back his own bile, he held her hair out of the way as she clung to the glazed terracotta pot.

A noise sounded downstairs and Dick surged to his feet, preparing to pursue the bastard when Elle threw up yet again. A few steps and he could see the ruined door hanging by two hinges. Whoever it had been, and his bets were still on Elle's asshole brother, was gone. He heard a car door slam and an engine turn over in the distance.

Elle was sobbing and wiping her nose and mouth on a piece of her ruined gown. She propped her elbow up on the side of the pot and held her head, miserably. He hadn't suspected a concussion when he found her, but the nausea suggested that she had one and it was severe. He couldn't safely leave her to chase after the perp, but he could get her to bed and call the cops.

He crouched down beside her; scooping her up into his arms.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured to her. "Let's get you to bed. You've had a long, hard night."

She curled unhappily in his arms, covering her mouth again with her hand as she gave a little burp.

"You can't go to sleep yet until we determine the severity of your head injury, but you can rest. Don't worry about anything," he told her as he carried up the hall to her bedroom. "I'll take care of it all."

REACTIONS?

Yeah, I know . . . Damn it! But Dick's arrival brought Aiden to what few sensibilities he had left and he fled the scene. Should Dick have pursued him? Was it wiser that he stayed close to Elle?