Before I Die

by Nikki Ash

  With several cops on my dad’s and my payroll, including the Deputy Chief, my underground club gets overlooked, which is how I know Logan is up to something. Stephen wouldn’t bother making that threat because there’s nowhere to go with it, and as far as the money laundering goes, I have my shit locked air fucking tight.

  But with Logan acting strange, I let him believe I was worried, when the truth is I wanted to see how he would handle it all. Him killing the cop tells me one thing: Logan is hiding something way bigger than some wannabe gangsters selling X and coke to a bunch of people at a club, and you better fucking believe I’m going to find out what it is.

  I spot Luis standing at the door and he gives me a nervous nod, which tells me Logan has already warned him. “Listen, Ethan—” he starts, but I cut him off.

  “We’re not going to discuss this right now, and definitely not here. For now, just do your damn job. I see anybody selling in my club tonight, you will never work in this city again. Got it?”

  He nods in understanding, letting me through.

  I have two fights scheduled for tonight. I get downstairs and the place is already crowded, everyone with liquor in their glasses. The fights don’t begin until midnight and they go quickly, usually ending by 2:00 a.m. There are no rounds or rules other than no weapons and no killing the other person. My ref will stop the fight once one of the fighters is no longer capable of fighting back.

  For the next couple hours, I watch the fights, watch my employees, and watch the patrons. I have Rosco throw several people out for doing drugs. He checks the bathrooms several times and makes examples out of enough people that it should get passed around quickly that drugs in my club won’t be happening anymore.

  It’s been a long time since I was the last person to leave the club—that’s what managers are for. When you run your business right, you can delegate. Work smarter, not harder is my motto.

  By the time I leave, I have fired several of my employees whom I caught partaking in this mini drug ring in my club, including Carmen, who has apparently been selling that shit at the bar in exchange for getting a cut. I make a mental note to have Erika, my club manager, start gathering résumés to replace those I fired.

  On my way home, I realize it’s close to four in the morning and I still haven’t heard from Logan all night. I make a pit stop by his house, but he’s not home and the place is pitch-black. Using my key, I go inside to check things out—this feeling I have that he’s up to something has only strengthened.

  After checking through several drawers and finding his computer is password protected, I’m about to leave, when I remember he has a safe. He once told me the code is under his desk in case anything ever happened to him. I find the paper and input the code, and the safe clicks open. Inside, I find a couple insurance papers, his will, and in the back, I find his gun from last night. He should’ve gotten rid of that.

  Grabbing a hand towel from the bathroom, I wrap the gun up in it. I don’t know what Logan is up to, but I’m going to be taking this as collateral in case anything goes down regarding the cop. Like I said before… friends close, enemies closer.

  I close the safe, put the paper back under the desk, and lock up behind me. When I get home, I take the wrapped-up gun and put it into a baggy, and place it into my safe. Then I take a quick shower and go to bed. I’ll deal with Logan tomorrow.

  I wake up to my phone ringing and, judging by the light shining through, it must be at least nine or ten in the morning. It better be Logan letting me know he found the runaway woman.

  The caller ID says Pops.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “You asleep at noon?” His tone is concerned. I don’t usually sleep in. Life is too damn short to waste it sleeping.

  “I’ve been putting out fires at The Warehouse,” I say, sitting up and stretching.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’m handling it.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk when I get home. How’s everything else?”

  I pull the sheets back and get out of bed to take a piss. “Everything is good. I just got back from New York a few days ago and everything is running smoothly up there. How’s the Dominican Republic?”

  My dad is quiet for a beat too long. Jesus, is everyone hiding shit from me? “Dad, I swear to fucking God if you’re hiding something from me, heads are going to roll. I’m already up to my goddamn eyeballs in bullshit with Logan.”

  “Logan?” he asks, ignoring the part about him. “What the hell did he do? I told you not to hire him.” Fuck. I shouldn’t have let that slip. My dad has never liked Logan. I probably should’ve listened to him all those years ago when he told me not to mix business with friendship.

  “I can’t talk about it over the phone. What’s going on with you?”

  “I’d rather speak to you when I get home. I’ll be home in the next week or so.”

  “All right. I need to get off and go find Logan. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Son. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Pops.”

  We hang up, and I check my phone to make sure Logan hasn’t tried to text or call.

  No calls. No texts. Guess I’ll be paying him a visit later, but first I need to stop by The Warehouse to speak with Erika. There are a lot of spots that are going to need to be filled and I need her to get on it. I almost fired her ass last night, until Luis admitted they made sure to keep what they were doing hidden from her. I can’t fault her for not realizing what was happening, if I didn’t even know. So, I let her keep her job… for now.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon at the club, combing through every one of my employees and making sure only the ones I can trust are left on the payroll, while Erika sets up interviews. When I check my cell phone and see it’s almost 7:00 p.m. and Logan still hasn’t called or texted, I decide another visit is in order. Maybe this time he’ll be home.

  I pull into Logan’s driveway and notice his car isn’t there once again. I head inside to see if he came home at all last night or this morning before letting him know I’m here. The door is barely open when I hear screaming and crying coming from the back of the house. I close the door behind me and head to where the screams are coming from. There’s no sight of Logan, but his office door is closed and locked from the outside, and the screaming is twice as loud up close. What the hell…

  I turn the knob, but it doesn’t open. I get a knife from the kitchen and, sticking it between the doorjamb and the door, I bust the lock, the wood doorframe splintering in the process. Swinging the door open, I pull my gun out from inside my holster just in case. But when I see what’s behind the door, the sight in front of me stops me in my place.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Nevaeh

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  My screams come to an abrupt halt as the man standing in front of me takes my breath away for the second time in the last seventy-two hours. His familiar coffee-colored eyes meet mine, sending chills straight down my spine. I try to swallow and can feel the burning in my throat from the last several hours of screaming and crying. My chest tightens as I stare at him, my breathing becoming labored. My heart is pounding so hard, it’s pulsating through my body, and if my hands weren’t tied up, I would bring them to my chest in a futile attempt to slow it down.

  Ethan. The man who has owned every forbidden thought in my mind since Thursday night. Who I’ve secretly fantasized about while trying to escape from the nightmare that has become my life. The memory of his kiss, the way he stood up for me to Gerald, is what’s gotten me through every dark moment since I found my brother dead.

  My brother is dead.

  He’s gone and never coming back.

  No distraction or fantasy is going to change that.

  I briefly close my eyes to push away the grief and, when I open them, I find Ethan staring at me. What is he doing here? Is it possible he’s here to save me? None of this makes any sense. How would he even know I’m he
re?

  He looks different from the last time I saw him. I thought he was good-looking in the darkness of the club, but looking at him now in the light, he surpasses every fantasy he’s starred in.

  Trailing my eyes over him, I notice his hair is gelled neatly to the side, not a single hair out of place. His tanned complexion is flawless. His perfectly structured jawline makes him look even more intense than he did the other night, but it’s covered by a light stubble giving off a too lazy to care vibe. However, when you get to his suit, it’s clear he does care. His suit looks expensive—much like the other night—and it fits his body like it was made for him. His jacket is open, revealing his perfectly ironed white dress shirt, and the first three buttons are undone. This man is a walking contradiction. A walking sexy contradiction.

  That thought snaps me back to reality. I am tied up against my will, waiting like a sitting duck to be sold to God knows who by the psycho who murdered my brother. My thoughts need to be on escaping, not on how beautiful the man standing in front of me is—even if he has become the perfect escape.

  My eyes lock with his once again, and I force myself to look away, needing to gather myself to formulate a plan. Until proven otherwise, I can’t trust anyone—including him. I notice the sleek black gun in his hand, which reminds me of my brother being killed. My body goes cold, the blood draining downward. After seeing Stephen lying dead on his living room floor with a gunshot wound in his chest, I don’t think I’ll ever look at a gun the same.

  “Angel,” he says, bringing my attention back to his face. His eyes are cold mixed with a bit of confusion. Wait, he called me Angel. Does he think I’m somebody else? Does he not recognize me?

  “My name is Nevaeh,” I choke out.

  He walks into the room, the door staying open behind him. The closer he gets to me, the faster my heart pounds against my chest. This isn’t the same man I kissed in the club. He looks darker now, more dangerous. Oh my God! A thought strikes me. He’s standing in the house of the man who took me, who is planning to sell me, which means he must know him. My fight-or-flight instincts kick in, only I can’t do either because I’m trapped here, tied up and unable to run, unable to fight.

  Ethan squats in front of me so we’re eye level.

  “What’s your last name?” he asks, his voice silky smooth, as if he’s not the least bit concerned he just walked in on a woman being held against her will. I consider lying to him, but have a feeling if he finds out I lied, my situation could potentially worsen—if that’s even possible.

  “Hansen.”

  He nods slowly, then peers down at my wrists. They’re bound together with a thick rope and wrapped around the leg of a heavy oak desk, holding me in place and preventing me from getting up to run. His fingers brush against the blood-coated burns that the rope has created from several hours of me trying to get loose. When I flinch at the pain of his touch, he doesn’t apologize or even look sorry.

  “Are you here to save me?” The words come out hoarse, barely audible, but I know he heard me.

  Ignoring my question, he puts his gun back into his holster then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wooden pocket knife, pressing a button so the sharp, tiny blade pops up. My body jerks instinctively, wanting to flee but knowing it has nowhere to go. The hand that’s not holding the knife goes to my bare knees, stilling my shaking legs.

  “Relax, Angel.” I’m shocked at how quickly my body relaxes at his words. Angel. That’s the second time he’s called me that.

  “Why do you keep calling me Angel?” I ask, but Ethan ignores my question yet again, moving the knife toward my body.

  I almost say a prayer that he’s using it to help and not hurt me, but I catch myself before the silent words escape. Ethan places the blade between my wrists and, in a small sawing motion, frays the rope strings little by little until they fall apart, setting my wrists free.

  “Thank you,” I mumble, still sitting against the wall when what I should be doing is trying to run. Ethan brushes his thumb over my swollen lip, causing me to jerk away from his touch, the pain radiating through me.

  “I need to get out of here,” I say with a glare, trying my best to sound brave, but knowing I’m falling short in the intimidation department.

  He cocks a brow at me as a slight smile pulls at his lips, proving my words hold zero weight with him. “Feisty and beautiful. A combination I’m sure will fuck me in the end.” He murmurs the words so softly, I’m not sure if they’re aimed toward me or himself.

  “Please,” I beg, quickly changing tactics.

  “I wish I could, but I need to know what’s going on, so you’re going to have to tell me.”

  Does this mean he’s not working with the man who killed Stephen and took me? Or is this a trick—to see what I’ll say?

  When I don’t speak up, afraid of saying the wrong thing, he says, “Nevaeh…that wasn’t a request.” His voice is now cold and demanding, and if I were a smarter woman I would say something, but instead I keep my mouth shut, refusing to give this man anything. He’s intimidating, and calculating, and well, scary as heck, and what I need to find out is if these qualities will be used to harm or help me. If I speak up and he’s not on my side, I could potentially be digging my own grave.

  I feel helpless and unsure. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to trust. Normally this is the moment when I would turn to God. I would bow my head and pray for him to give me the strength to make the right decision. I would pray for his guidance, for a sign as to what to do, how to handle everything that is being thrown at me. But that’s the old me. The new me accepts I’m on my own. I’m all I have.

  Because Stephen is dead.

  Without permission, a loud sob escapes my lips.

  My brother, my best friend, isn’t alive to save me.

  I’ll never see him again.

  And according to the man who admitted to killing him, he was a corrupt cop with a gambling problem.

  None of it makes any sense.

  Through my lashes, I steal a peek at Ethan to see what he’s doing, trying to decipher where his head’s at. His gaze sears into me, making me feel dizzy and disoriented. The way he looks at me has me confused. I close my eyes, needing a moment to gather my thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of the sensations he’s invoking within me. It started the night at the club when we kissed and has gotten stronger the more I think about him. I should be associating him with the man who took me. I should be scared for my life. But for some crazy reason, I think I might trust him.

  Ethan lifts my left hand and gazes at the silver cross ring I have on my ring finger. The ring my mom gave me the day of my Confirmation.

  “You’re praying to a God who has left you to fend for yourself.” He chuckles softly, but it comes out almost sad as he lets go of my hand and brushes his thumb down the side of my cheek. “In your time of need he’s nowhere to be found.”

  He’s assuming, because my head was down, I was praying, and up until recently, his accusation would be spot-on. But now he’s wrong…

  “For your information,” I hiss, whipping my face to the side so his hand is no longer touching my flesh. “I wasn’t praying. Besides, between the two of us, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who would need the saving.” If he’s working with the man who took me, he better start praying, because there’s no way God is letting him anywhere near the gates of heaven.

  Ethan stands and peers down at me, making me feel small and weak, two emotions I can’t afford to feel right now. “Well, let your God know he’s wasting his time. I can’t be saved.”

  He’s no longer my God, I think, but don’t bother to say.

  As Ethan reaches to help me up, I quickly formulate a plan—fight-or-flight—I’m going for both. Sure, there’s a chance he’s here to save me, but what if he’s not?

  I lace my hands in his, and he pulls me up. Without giving him any indication as to what I’m about to do, I bring my knee up and connect wi
th his groin with every ounce of strength I have in me, preparing to run as soon as he stumbles back.

  Only, unlike the other guy, he doesn’t stumble. He grabs my arms with one of his strong hands and pushes me against the wall, bringing my hands over my head. His entire body presses against mine, caging me in. With his body so close, his hardness rubs against my lower stomach.

  I freeze, knowing I have no way to run. Nowhere to go. This man is stronger than I am. He’s like a snake, distracting me with his beauty, only to bite me when I least expect it. The fear I felt when I was taken is back in full swing. Ethan is even more of a threat than the one who took me, because when I’m around him, I can’t think. I become vulnerable. My body breaks out into a cold sweat at this realization. I thought I could fight, but I never stood a chance.

  Ethan gives me a half-smirk as if he can read my mind. Then he leans into me, his cool breath hitting my ear. “Are you going to behave, Angel?”

  A chill runs down my spine. “Yes,” I whisper. “Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything. I promise.”

  “What’s there to tell?”

  I shake my head, wondering if I’ve dug myself a bigger hole than I’m already in. My arms are starting to burn where he still has them pinned above my head.

  “I asked you a question.” His hold on my wrists tightens, and his grip ignites the pain from the rope burn, causing me to flinch.

  “You’re hurting me,” I whimper.

  Thankfully, at my words, Ethan yanks down my arms and releases me. “Answer my question. What do you know?” His eyes are ice-cold and demanding. When it’s clear I’m not going to say anything, he says, “Fine, I guess I’ll have to tie you back up.”

  There’s no way I’m going to let him do that. I need to fight, and I need to fight hard, so I can get out of here.

  As if my brother is with me, I hear him murmur the words he said to me the other night: Live hard. Love harder.

  I can’t live and love if I’m trapped here, or killed, or worse, sold to the highest bidder.