The Sandbar saga : Age Gap Romance

by Debra Kayn

  Anders raised his fists, ready to attack. They'd talked over their plan for almost a year. The only way they'd gain their freedom and stay alive was if they fought their way out. They had to do it during one of the days they each were taken separately to the dogfights.

  The men who usually watched the outside of the building would be occupied inside the barn.

  The lock on the other side of the door rattled.

  Anders whispered, "Make sure Joney knows where we're going before we run."

  The door crashed open. Quint and Will jumped on Mateo, the escort. Unable to take the three-hundred-pound man down, Anders attacked, punching the large man in his face, over and over.

  Freedom spurred him on. Fear put the power behind each hit.

  The others pinned Mateo down, keeping the man from swinging back. Anders used the only opportunity he had to escape and used all his anger and distress over the last two years to beat one of the men holding them hostage.

  Every punch released the rage consuming him. The loud grunts as he pushed his muscles to work harder than ever shouted his pain. Blind to the act, he let his humiliation and fear out, hitting Mateo, spreading the contamination in his life.

  Mark fell into Anders, pushing him to the ground on top of Mateo. He continued to swing. Left, right, left, right. Sweat rolled into his eyes, but he no longer looked for a face to beat. He continued his attack until Quint grabbed his arm and Will pushed him off their capture.

  Breathing hard, he blinked, focusing on the man in front of him.

  "He's dead," whispered Mark.

  Quint pulled Anders to his feet. "Let's go."

  "Where's Joney?" Anders slapped out, trying to stop them from leaving. "We need to get him."

  "There's no time. They'll kill us if they see us around the pens." Will pulled him toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."

  "No, we need Joney." Anders looked around frantically. "We promised.

  Two-crow crouched to run. "How do we get him?"

  "I'll go to the back of the barn and look for him. You guys go ahead." Anders shook his hands free of the ropes.

  "Okay. Let's go," said Mark, looking over his shoulder as he ran forward.

  Anders ran with them until they reached the corner of the barn where the pens were located. Where they fought the dogs. Where Joney was taken.

  Changing directions, he ran to the back of the building, ignoring the other boys who called his name, urging him to run. He slid to a stop under the window and stood on his toes to view inside.

  His heart beat frantically, echoing in his ears. Fear of being caught made it hard to focus. He rubbed his fist against the dirty window, wiping the film of dust away.

  Inside, a crowd of men gathered. He couldn't see Joney.

  His concentration wavered. He couldn't leave without him. They'd made a pact.

  The men moved closer. The back door swung open.

  Anders plastered himself against the building. Caught outside, he'd never be able to outrun them. They'd send the dogs after him. The animals would smell his fear and take him down, the way he'd trained them to.

  A body flew out the door and landed on the hard-packed dirt. Anders sucked in his breath and stopped breathing.

  Joney.

  Staring at the lifeless body, he forgot about the others. He forgot about the men. He forgot about the dogs.

  The door slammed shut. Anders crept forward and fell to his knees beside Joney.

  "Hey," he whispered, jostling his friend. "Hey, Joney. Wake up."

  He shook harder. Joney's head lolled to the side, and Anders reeled back, falling on his ass.

  Half of Joney's face was gone. A bloody, meaty mess hung from his friend's jaw.

  Anders turned, knowing those in power had turned the fighting dogs on Joney for their entertainment and money.

  Stumbling to his feet, he gagged and ran away. Looking forward, he lost sight of the others. He ran toward the trees.

  He ran toward freedom.

  Chapter 1

  Two bodies collided behind the blackjack table. Anders Stone lifted two fingers, signaling security to take the two fighting men out of Stone Lair. Arguments, punches, and even a knife or pistol were common occurrences at the only source of entertainment around without going eighty-eight miles into Missoula.

  Anders called the Bitterroot Mountains home on the Northwest border of Montana—Out far enough, the law rarely set foot off the interstate.

  His rules were his own.

  He answered to no one.

  As the owner of Stone Lair, he controlled everything from the casino, the bar, the restaurant, and all those that stayed to enjoy the entertainment he provided under one roof.

  The building, built from the trees that used to populate the acreage he owned, provided a setting that blended into the mountains. Made out of lodgepole logs, the two-story building, at over twenty-thousand square feet, impressed every visitor.

  He lived above the establishment, taking the second floor as his private quarters. The Lair stayed open twenty-four/seven and also had a gas station, pole building, and ten cabins.

  Mac, his manager, approached him. "Our crew is outside making sure those involved in the fight drive off the property."

  "Good." He gazed around the room. "Let security know I'm going upstairs if any problems arise."

  Mac dipped his chin and stepped away. Anders walked out of the casino, crossed the entryway of the Lair, and entered the bar. Two employees worked on the stage, setting up for the singer scheduled for the weekend. He headed to the back of the room to the locked door that led up to his personal residence when the music started.

  A husky feminine voice greeted the crowd. Forgetting about going upstairs, he turned as the singer made her way out to the front of the small stage.

  "She walked into the night...," she sang, lowering her gaze to the floor and turning sideways.

  Both of her hands held the microphone. Her billowing sleeves pooled around her elbows. He stepped away from the door, getting a clear view of the owner of the seductive voice.

  Tits and ass packed in a tight body, she flowed on stage. Pure liquid with soft movements. She could've worn a robe from neck to toes, and every man in the room would've wanted to fuck her for her voice alone.

  Her dark blonde hair highlighted with a brush of red shined in the spotlight. She swayed hypnotically as she continued to sing. He lowered his gaze to her hands, looking at her ring finger. Though he'd take her whether she wore a wedding band or not, he wanted her single and uncomplicated.

  The song slowed. His balls throbbed and he refused to leave the room.

  As soon as the first song ended, the second one began. Her gaze slid over him, and he wanted to call her back to him.

  People moved to dance in front of the stage. His view of her polluted by customers, he could only see her shoulders on up.

  The soft rock song excited the room. He wouldn't stand here and share her with a room full of customers. Turning away, he strode over to the bar and searched under the counter until he found a notepad and pen.

  He wrote one word and folded the paper. Taking out his cell, he texted Mac to meet him.

  Within two minutes, his manager stood in front of him. He turned his head to keep their conversation private.

  "I want this note and a bottle of Onus One delivered to the singer the moment she walks off stage." He straightened his shoulders. "Make sure she comes upstairs."

  Mac dipped his chin. "Of course, Mr. Stone."

  He turned toward the stage, took in the high coming off the singer. "What's her name?"

  "Iliana." Mac caught his silent question. "Just Iliana."

  He walked over to his door, keyed in the code, and slipped out of the room. Going straight to his office, he turned on the widescreen on the wall and sat behind his desk. Using the remote, he found the camera for the stage and enlarged it.

  Iliana sang straight to him. He removed one of the cigars from the box, clipped o
ff the end, and lit it, leaning back in his chair and propping his boots on the corner of the desk.

  Puffing away, the vision in front of him blurred and he let her voice wash over him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the words. He knew shit-all about music but what she could do with her voice stroked him until his cock hardened and he was determined to have her.

  He opened his eyes, set his cigar to the side, and called Two-crow. He and Two-crow went back far enough, they claimed to be family. Along with Quint, Will, and Mark.

  "Hello?" said Two-crow.

  "It's Anders."

  "What's up?"

  He gazed at the woman on the screen. "I need some info."

  "Business on a Friday night at ten thirty, and you don't have a woman in your bed. It must be serious."

  "I need you to find whatever you can on a woman named Iliana." He stared at the screen. "Five feet seven inches. About one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Blonde hair—natural. Blue eyes."

  "Last name?"

  "There isn't one, yet. She's a singer at the Lair tonight."

  "Let me Google." Two-crow paused. "Which you can do yourself or ask your manager who booked her for the Lair to do for you."

  "Shouldn't have to when I have you." He leaned back.

  He never watched television, listened to the radio, or learned about the internet. It wasn't needed when he had other people to do the work for him.

  Iliana finished the song. After the cheers and clapping faded, she excused herself for a ten-minute break. Knowing when she returned to the stage, she'd only have thirty minutes left of her show, he stood from the chair and flipped on the lights to the office.

  "Okay, her last name is Teel. She was born in Missoula," said Two-crow. "She's a local singer, popular from the looks of it. There's no tour, only local gigs in the Pacific Northwest and inner PNW."

  "Age?" he asked.

  "Twenty-five."

  "Family?"

  "That'll take me longer to find out," said Two-crow.

  "Go ahead and send me the full report when you get it. Thanks, Two-crow." He disconnected the call, shut the door to his office behind him, and walked down the hallway.

  Women caught his interest every night, but he'd never wanted to know more about them than if they were willing to have sex. Despite his business and position, he had nothing to give a woman.

  He'd spent his thirties bagging every woman that caught his eye and finding out they wanted an emotional connection that he found impossible. Now at forty-five years old, he'd become pickier. He wasn't looking for a relationship and preferred casually hooking up and spending all his energy on the Lair.

  Iliana's voice seduced him. He wanted to see where the feelings she brought out in him would go.