by Kelly Myers
I look into his blue eyes, searching for some sign of sense, but don’t find it.
“As much as I hate it, you’re the best chance I have right now to revive my career. If we get back together, we can be that Golden Couple that everyone loved so much. The job offers will pour in and I can get out of debt and be back on top again. Make sense?”
I nod even though I think he’s absolutely crazy if he thinks I’d ever be in a relationship with him again. Just play along, I tell myself.
“You need to be in Daniel’s movie with me because then everyone will forgive me for fucking up so badly and want to work with me again. Technically, it’s a win-win situation for both of us.”
He lays a hand on my knee and dread fills me. Oh, God, if he tries anything, I’m going to scream bloody murder. But, how do I fight off a man with my hands tied together? My heart slams in my chest and my stomach turns with revulsion.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” he continues, squeezes my knee and then sits back. “First, you’re going to sign the contract to appear in the film with me that Daniel is producing.” He taps a folder on top of the desk. “Second, we’re going to announce to the world how in love we are and I’m going to move into that ridiculously huge mansion of yours. And, third, you’re going to do whatever I want, whenever I want. If that means attending social events on my arm, then you better call your entourage and make yourself beautiful. If that means sucking my dick every night then you will drop to your knees without question. Whatever I want, Easton, be ready to do it.”
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“Maybe, but I’m hitching my wagon to your star. You owe me.”
“I owe you shit!”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, Lincoln backhands me across the face. My entire body reels to the side and I taste blood in the corner of my mouth. So much for playing along, Easton. Why am I so stupid?
“Either way, from now on, you’re going to do as I say.” When he slips a gun out of his jacket and points it at me, my stomach sinks. “Got it?” he asks.
Eyes glued to the pistol in his hand, I can only nod.
But, in the back of my mind, I’m remembering everything that Jax taught me and the first opportunity I have, I’m grabbing that gun.
And, I won’t hesitate to use it.
34
Jax
I exit the freeway and fly up San Pedro Street like a bat out of hell. My gut screams that Easton is in trouble and to get to her fast.
I study the app for the hundredth time. They’ve stopped moving and the blinking dot stands still. I make my way as close as I dare then park the bike beneath the shadowy overhang of some small business. I yank my helmet off and call Griff.
“Where are you?” I ask. The moment the words leave my mouth, a motorcycle’s headlights split through the inky night. I step out into the street and he pulls over to the curb.
“Right here,” he says.
Not far behind, Ryker appears, headlights off, and his Expedition slides up to the curb. He hops out and we start up the street together. They both pull their guns.
“The app shows she’s in there. Somewhere,” I say and point to a brick building that’s at least ten floors. “Let’s split up. I’ll head through the front. Griff you go in the back and Ryker you look for a fire escape and make your way up fast.”
“We’ll get her,” Ryker assures me.
“Easy extraction,” Griff promises.
I want to believe them, but I have this horrible sinking sensation in my gut. Like the next time that I see Easton, she’ll be dead.
I give my head a hard shake and watch as my guys melt into the shadows, skirting around the building. Doing what they do best.
Because they are the best of the best, I think. The tip of the spear.
Both Griff and Ryker have been to hell and back and there’s no one else I would trust with my life or Easton’s life except for them.
Meanwhile, I jog to the front entrance and reach for the door knob. It turns, pushing open easily, and I feel every sense go on high alert.
I slip inside, back against the wall, moving fast. I hold my Glock in close to my body, both hands on the grip, ready to aim and fire at a second’s notice.
A directory snags my attention and I scan down the businesses located inside.
DL Productions, floor 5.
I send a quick text-- the number five-- to Griff and Ryker. Then, ignoring the elevator, I race up the stairs on silent feet.
I’m coming, Easton. Hang in there. Please.
When I reach the fifth floor, I push the door open with the barrel of my gun and slip into the hallway. I make my way past dark doorways, clearing each one as I pass, expecting someone to jump out and try to take me down.
Then, I hear Lincoln’s voice drifting out of a doorway at the end of the floor. A small light shines beneath the door’s crack. I pick up my pace, focus on my target and lift the Glock.
As their conversation becomes clear, I feel the hot flash of rage and I want to kill him.
Or, at least, hurt him. Badly.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” I hear him say. “First, you’re going to sign the contract to appear in the film with me that Daniel is producing.”
There’s a pause and I move up outside the office door where a sign reads DL Productions. “Second, we’re going to announce to the world how in love we are and I’m going to move into that ridiculously huge mansion of yours.”
My knuckles turn white around the Glock’s grip and my trigger finger itches. Over my dead body, I think.
“And, third, you’re going to do whatever I want, whenever I want. If that means attending social events on my arm, then you better call your entourage and make yourself beautiful. If that means sucking my dick every night then you will drop to your knees without question. Whatever I want, Easton, be ready to do it.”
Not gonna happen, cocksucker.
“You’re insane,” she whispers.
She’s still alive. Relief floods me and perspiration breaks out across my forehead. I have to time this perfectly, take him by surprise, because I have no idea if he’s armed or the current situation inside the small office. The last thing I want to do is put Easton in further danger.
“Maybe, but I’m hitching my wagon to your star,” Lincoln says. “You owe me.”
“I owe you shit!”
Careful, baby, I think. When I hear the slap and her gasp, I want to shove the door open and take him down.
Not yet, my gut whispers.
“Either way, from now on, you’re going to do as I say,” Lincoln sneers. “Got it?”
I peer through the slit in the doorway and see the gun he points at Easton whose hands are in her lap, bound by a zip tie.
God-fucking-dammit. My heart lodges in my throat and panic flutters in my chest.
Unwanted flashbacks slam into me hard and fast. Images from a year ago when Maddy laid in my arms bleeding out. Nightmare dreamscapes where I take down three men and then an imagined fourth gunman shoots me in the face.
I summon all of my strength and push the fears aside. At the same time, I kick the door open. Eyes wide in shock, taken completely by surprise, Lincoln turns, gun pivoting in my direction. At the same time, Ryker steps out of the shadows of another office and grabs Easton’s chair, tilting it backwards to the floor, and moving over her fast, covering her with his big, muscular body, gun trained on Lincoln.
Lincoln fires off a shot that goes wide, completely missing me. Then, Griff dives out of another dark room, slamming into Lincoln’s knees and bending them backwards in a tackle. Something snaps when Lincoln goes down with a blood curdling scream and the gun goes flying out of his hands.
Holding his knees, Lincoln doesn’t move, just sits on the floor and whimpers. Griff snags the gun a few feet away and I race over to Easton.
Ryker and I pull her chair back up, and I grasp her face in my hands. “Are you okay?” I ask, running my ha
nds all over her, looking for any sign of an injury. She flinches when my hand glides over the wound on her upper arm.
“I’m good. Just one bullet wound,” she confirms and I pull her into my arms, relief pouring through my body.
I realize her hands are still bound and Ryker pulls out his military-issued k-bar and slices through the zip tie.
Now that I know Easton is safe, I turn to the fucker who caused all of this. The adrenaline still pumps hard through my veins and I feel my arm lift of its own accord. I gaze down the rear sights of my Glock, locking Lincoln in as my target.
“Jax,” Griff warns.
My finger curls around the trigger and it would be so easy to pull it. Terror fills Lincoln’s pathetic face and he cringes away. “Please,” he whines.
“He’s not worth it.”
Griff again, being the voice of reason, and I know he’s right. I glance over at Easton who stands there, arms wrapped around her middle, green eyes wide. She gives a small shake of her head.
It takes me a moment to get my anger under control and, instead of shooting him, I walk over and pistol whip him across the face with my gun.
Crunch. He collapses with a cry as blood shoots all over. I stand above him, feeling no regret, only satisfaction, as he cups his broken nose. Good luck maintaining your pretty, Golden Boy looks after that, I think.
Then, I turn back to Easton and she throws herself into my arms, her body sagging into mine with relief.
“It’s over,” she whispers.
My heart tugs at her words. It’s over for Lincoln Knight, but I hope to God it isn’t over for me and Easton.
35
Easton
After thanking Griff and Ryker, I stand up on tiptoes and place a kiss on each of their cheeks. And, they’re both adorable enough to blush. “If you ever need premiere tickets, let me know,” I say and they both laugh.
Detective Logan Sharpe and a squad of LAPD officers arrive on the scene not long after Jax calls him.
All three of the P.S. crew lay their weapons down and drop to their knees, hands in the air and identify themselves. These bad boys definitely know the procedure of making the police aware that they’re carrying.
The police swarm into the office, Sharpe on their heels. “They’re fine,” he declares and motions for the three of them to stand. He casts a glance down at Lincoln who sits in the chair where I did not long ago. Head down and zip-tied, he looks beyond pathetic, but I don’t feel the least sorry for him anymore.
He brought all this down on himself and I’m just so relieved it’s over.
While Jax and the guys speak to Logan, Lincoln finally looks up and makes eye contact with me. “You ruined everything,” he says. “We could’ve taken this town by storm.”
The moment Jax hears him talk to me, he spins around and stalks over. He takes my hand in his and sends Lincoln a scathing look. “You’re lucky I only broke your nose. I suggest you shut your mouth before I find something else to break.”
Jax guides me out of the office, away from Lincoln, and I’m grateful. He always seems to be there for me when I need him most. “I’m taking you home,” he says and squeezes my hand. “Griff and Ryker are going to finish up with the cops. I’m not exactly their favorite person,” he adds.
I remember him telling me that the “bad cop” stigma lasts a lifetime and my heart goes out to him. “I can never thank you enough,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay. I never would have forgiven myself if-”
His voice trails off and he inhales a sharp, shaky breath.
If I would’ve died like Madison, I think. Oh, my God, I don’t think he ever would have been able to come back from another tragedy like that.
“Take me home,” I say.
Once again, I find myself on the back of Jax’s motorcycle, wrapped in his large leather jacket. It’s going to be a cool ride home in this short dress, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face into his back.
“We could catch an Uber, if you want,” he offers. “I can come back and get my bike in the morning.”
“No, it’s okay.” I tighten my arms. Then, in a soft voice, I ask for the one thing I want most in this world. “Can we go back to your place?”
I feel his body tense and then immediately relax. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says and squeezes my clasped hands in one of his large, gloved ones. He starts the motorcycle and we pull out of the parking lot and head toward East Hollywood.
By the time we reach Jax’s apartment, it’s nearly two in the morning. And, I’ve never been less tired. The whole ride here, all I can think about is how I feel about this man. How in less than a month, he’s become my whole world.
We walk inside and I slip out of his jacket, unsure where we stand, but desperately wanting to clear the air and make my feelings known.
“Jax-”
“Easton-”
We both start talking at the same time and I smile.
“You first,” he says.
“Actually, I have a question. How did you know where I was?”
“I placed a tracker on your phone.”
I blink, completely taken off guard. “When did you do that?”
“When I put my number in your contacts, I installed a stealth app that would always tell me where you are, as long as you had your phone, of course. It also logged a list of your calls, emails and texts.”
“Huh. Well, then I guess I’m glad I didn’t lie about receiving a threatening text message when I didn’t.”
He raises a dark brow. “What do you mean?”
“I really wanted a reason to call you a couple of those nights,” I admit.
A choked laugh escapes him. “You never need a reason to call me, Princess. I’m always available for you. No matter what you need,” he adds in a low voice and my stomach flips at the innuendo.
Princess. The term of endearment makes my heart soar. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.” I reach up and lay a hand against his rough jaw. “You saved my life tonight.”
He wraps his fingers around my wrist then turns his cheek into my palm and places a kiss there. My eyes slide shut and he pulls me into his arms.
His warm body feels so good against mine. I feel so safe in my protector’s arms. More than anything, I want to tell him that I love him. That he’s the only man I’ve ever loved. But, a part of me is scared that he won’t be able to return the words.
Jax pulls away and looks down at me. “You were right about Daniel. I should’ve listened to you, but I didn’t. I think I was just jealous because you were defending him and I wanted to place the blame on him.”
“Well, you were the one who taught me to listen to my gut and that’s what I did. Besides, Daniel’s too self-absorbed to come up with a plan that involves anyone other than himself.”
His mouth edges up. “I promise to listen to you from now on.”
My heart skips and I wonder if I should read into his words. What is he inferring? That he wants a future with me?
I wish I were brave enough to say everything that’s going through my head-- all of my misgivings and fears and hopes and wishes.
Honestly, it’s better to just know than constantly deal with all of the doubts and anxiety, I think. I take a deep breath and decide to spill it. If he rejects me then at least I know that I tried. I can rest easy that I let my feelings be known and there was nothing more I could’ve said or done.
“You were right about something, too,” I say, suddenly shy. He tilts his head and that lock of hair falls in his eye. I reach up and push it back. “The moment I saw you, I wanted you.”
I hear his swift intake of breath. Then, he takes my chin in his hand and tilts it up to meet his caramel eyes. “Not as much as I wanted you,” he says. Then, he lowers his mouth, moving his lips over mine in a slow, sensual kiss.
The kiss changes and becomes hotter and more demanding. Suddenly, it’s like we’re bac
k in that dark corner at the Sunset Tower Hotel. Except now, there’s no one around and it’s perfectly fine when we start ripping each other’s clothes off.
My slinky silver dress lays in a molten pile by our feet and my undergarments soon follow. He kicks his jeans and boxer briefs off and, in my haste to remove his shirt, I accidentally rip it. I feel his muffled laugh against my neck and it tickles.
“You’re going to have to replace my whole wardrobe if this keeps up,” he says.
Then, he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. As he gently lays me back on the bed and slides up over me, I can feel the potent strength that ripples through his long frame. The way his muscles move and flex. How that body is capable of doing anything. And, I love it.
I rise up, pressing my breasts into his chest, and clutch at his hard biceps. I feel a frantic need overcome me and I reach down and wrap my hand around his arousal. He hisses out a breath, but I don’t stop, just start massaging him until he’s struggling to hold himself up on his elbows.
I do a little turn and wriggle out from under him, flipping our positions so he’s beneath me. His dark head falls back on the pillow and his hands grip the sheets in a fierce hold.
My tongue trails down, pausing to honor each round scar in his side from the bullets that nearly ended his life, and then I place a kiss on his flat stomach.
When I begin sliding my hands up and down his steel length, he groans. I take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue, moving it around with just the right amount of suction until his hips jerk off the bed.
“Easton! Christ!” he swears and pulls me up. “I’m going to explode.”
“Go ahead,” I say, and head back down to finish him off.
A minute later, he does and I swallow every precious drop of him. I slide back up and press a kiss to the St. Michael medal on his chest.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, stroking a hand through my hair, caramel eyes fixed on my face.