Raw Power

by Jackie Ashenden

  Isiah’s hazel gaze was thoughtful. “In that case manufacturing a death threat or two as an excuse for a bodyguard would be nothing. Still . . . Why bother to make excuses anyway?”

  “Maybe to generate sympathy?” Sabrina offered. “Could be useful for a political campaign.”

  “Holy shit,” Kellan muttered. “Good goddamn point. He gets something for his campaign and gets to keep track of his daughter twenty-four-seven. Perfect. I bet even that attempt on her life was something he manufactured to make the death threats look convincing.”

  Yeah, it made sense. It made a lot of sense. The attempt on Callie’s life the night at the club had been half-assed at best, and the driver had been way too nervous to be a professional. It had all been a front, Jack would have bet anything.

  But Isiah was right. What did not make sense was Hawthorne letting Callie go simply due to the threat of that footage. A man like the senator could easily explain it away. Easily.

  “He’s sure going through a lot just to keep tabs on his daughter,” Sabrina murmured.

  “Men like that do,” Jack said, because if anyone knew that, he did. “They’re possessive, territorial.” Like you. “And I know for a fact that he views Callie as his property.” Hadn’t she said something about her father wanting a dynasty? And that with her birth, his plans for that dynasty had ended because her mother hadn’t been able to have kids.

  “Mom always said that Dad never hurt her before I was born, but that he changed afterward. And that was my fault.”

  Something shifted in the pit of Jack’s stomach, something hard and cold.

  Men like Senator Hawthorne wouldn’t accept failure. And they wouldn’t accept losing what they considered theirs. He’d heard enough of his father’s jealous rages to know that.

  And you’re just the same.

  No. Fuck that. He wasn’t the same. He was different. Yes, he was territorial and he was violent, and sure, the issues he had with his own urges when it came to Callie were twisted. But she was right. Intention mattered.

  All he’d ever wanted for her was what she’d wanted for herself. To be safe and happy and free.

  Nothing else mattered.

  “Fuck,” Kellan said. “He’s not going to let her go, is he?”

  But Jack was already turning toward the door, heading straight for the exit, the cold feeling in his gut getting colder and colder.

  Because he knew the answer to that already.

  * * *

  Callie stumbled back from the doorway as her father advanced into the hotel room, shutting the door and his security chief outside.

  Adrenaline was pumping through her veins so hard she felt light-headed and sick.

  Did you really think you could escape? Did you really think this was all over?

  No. NO.

  She wasn’t going to panic. She refused.

  So her father was here. Okay, so he’d found her. But she knew the drill. She had to calm the fuck down and not let him get to her. Not be afraid.

  Because she was strong. Jack had told her she was and she believed him. She felt it inside her, every time he touched her, every time the menace and danger of him whispered over her skin. Every time she challenged him and he answered.

  Her father may have won for the past twenty-two years of her life, but he wasn’t going to win today. She wouldn’t let him.

  It was her turn to fight. And it was her turn to fucking win.

  He didn’t wait for her to speak, just started straight on in, “I have to say, I’m disappointed, Callie.” He put his hands in his pockets, white-haired and handsome and smiling. Unthreatening. Except for the cold glitter of his eyes. “I expected more than for you to take off so suddenly. And without even telling me or your mother where you were going.”

  She lifted her chin, met that icy gaze head-on. “You really thought I’d stay? Be forced to go on a date with whatever random asshole you picked for me? And let’s not even go into the years of abuse you put me and Mom through.”

  He frowned. “Years of abuse? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m only doing what’s best for you, you little fool.”

  “No.” She straightened her spine, drawing herself up, squaring herself off. “You did what’s best for you.”

  He shrugged. “What’s best for me is best for you, or haven’t you quite realized that yet? Anyway, that’s beside the point. You’re coming back to Boston with me and you’re coming now.”

  “How did you find me? I saw you giving that press conference. . . Did you get the police here to track me?”

  “There was no need. Not after one of my security team pointed out that there was a tracking chip in your guitar case.” Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. “Brought me right to you.”

  Oh shit. She’d never thought of that. Then again, she’d never thought there would be cameras in her house either.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter how you found me. It doesn’t change anything.” Callie looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Her father’s gaze narrowed, then sharpened as he took in her fighting stance. “Was I not clear? Then let me explain. Either you come with me without fuss or I get Hank to drug you, then carry you out to the car over his shoulder.”

  But Callie wasn’t the scared little girl who’d left Boston only a day or so earlier, and maybe she hadn’t been even then. She’d learned fear and suspicion at her father’s hand, but in a matter of a week, she’d learned something else from Jack.

  She’d learned how powerful she was. That she wasn’t helpless and she did have choices. More, she’d learned what it was like to have someone protect her. Someone keep her safe. Someone hold her like she was precious.

  Someone who cared about her.

  Her parents should have been the ones who’d taught her those things, but they weren’t. Jack had.

  And she wasn’t leaving him. Not for anyone.

  “What?” her father asked quietly, apparently reading her mind. “Are you thinking about your precious bodyguard? Who spirited you away like a knight in shining armor? Rescuing you from your evil father?” He laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s a nice fairy story. But you and I live in the real world, and we both know your place is with me. You promised me, Callie. You know what I’m owed and you said you’d give it to me.”

  She had. But only because she was afraid. Only because one look at her mother’s face and she knew she had nothing and no one, so what was the point of fighting?

  But she had something now, oh yes, she did.

  “No,” Callie repeated. “I’m not giving you a goddamn thing. My place is right fucking here.”

  “What? Here? With him?” Her father looked around the hotel room with a sneer. “In this shitty hotel room?”

  “This shitty hotel room is perfect.” She let every ounce of contempt she had show in her face. “It doesn’t have cameras in it for a start.”

  He laughed at that. Unpleasantly. Like everything else he did. “Ah, so he told you, did he? That’s unfortunate. Then again, it won’t be an issue anymore since you won’t be going back to your town house.”

  This time it was Callie’s turn to laugh. “If you think I’m upset about that, I’m not. I don’t want to go back to that damn place anyway. Not when I have everything I need right here.”

  Her father stiffened, then tilted his head, his gaze moving coldly over her, like he could see right into her head. “What did he promise you, hmmm? A white picket fence? The whole forever deal?”

  But she was ready for the way he used her own doubt against her, the way he manipulated her emotions. Probing for weaknesses. “He didn’t promise me anything but the fact that he’d keep me safe,” she said flatly. “And he has.”

  “Sure,” the senator said mildly. “But where does that leave you? Alone in a strange city. No friends to help you out. No job.”

  “I don’t mind being alone and I can find a job.”

  “What kind? Waiting tables? Scrubbing
floors? You have no experience, Callie. Of anything.”

  She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care.”

  “No, but he might.” There was an icy glitter in her father’s gaze now, she knew it well. He was starting to get pissed. “Face it. You’re a deadweight, girl. He’ll only help you out for so long, and then, once he realizes how much I can make his life a living hell, he’ll drop you so fast your head would spin.”

  She blinked, feeling for the first time a little shaken. “What do you mean you’ll make his life a living hell?”

  The senator smiled. “I mean, I’ve already got charges against Mr. King for kidnapping. Why not make it rape as well?”

  “Rape?” Callie struggled to keep her temper. “Jack never raped me!”

  “Did he not?” Her father shrugged again. “I’m sure we can find some evidence that would say he did. And that he threatened you into keeping quiet.”

  Now this, she should have anticipated. She really should have. She should have remembered to keep what she felt locked down, never let it show, because he always found her weak spot and he always took advantage of it. Mercilessly.

  It used to make her afraid. But she wasn’t this time. No, this time she was absolutely furious.

  “You don’t have to threaten him,” she said fiercely, taking a couple of steps so she was right up close. And even though he loomed over her the way he always had, her fury made her feel as if for once they were the same height. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “I won’t have to if you make the right decision.” He stared at her, his blue eyes boring right through her. “I’m not going to wait all day, girl. You either come with me willingly or you get carried out. Your choice.”

  Yes, and she knew what her choice would be. What her choice would always be.

  “I’ve already told you,” she said, and met that cold blue gaze without even a flicker. Because she was fucking steel all the way through, which he should have known. She was his daughter after all.

  Impatience rippled over his face. “You don’t understand, I will—”

  “Oh, I understand all right,” Callie snapped, interrupting him and relishing the fact. “I understand you’re a small, petty little man who likes to get his own way using threats and intimidation. Well now it’s time for you to understand something. That won’t work on me anymore, Dad. I’m stronger than that. Because the simple fact is, I don’t care. I don’t care about you or your threats, or anything about you. So do what you have to do.” She took another step toward him, getting up in his face. “But know this. I. Am. Not. Coming. Back. To. Boston. And if you want to get me out of this room, you’ll have to kill me first.”

  Her father’s mouth twisted. “You’re a stupid little girl and I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  Then he reached for her.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jack took the stairs rather than the elevator up to their hotel room, because he didn’t want to wait, and not even his injury slowed him down as he climbed ten floors, taking the steps two at a time.

  The cold feeling that had gripped him back at the 11th Hour HQ had begun to draw tight inside him, along with a deep and terrible dread that he just couldn’t shake.

  There was no reason to think that Hawthorne knew where Callie was or that he’d somehow tracked her, no reason at all and yet Jack didn’t slow down as he burst from the stairwell and headed toward the corridor to his and Callie’s room.

  But just before he rounded the corner, that instinct of his, the one he always listened to, suddenly kicked him hard in the stomach. Stopping him dead in his tracks.

  No, it was a mistake to go charging down there, not without a full goddamn reconnaissance. No matter how badly he wanted to get to Callie, he had to check to see if the way was clear first.

  Grabbing his Glock 9mm from the small of his back, Jack put his head around the corner to get a look at the corridor. Then he pulled back. Fast.

  Because there was a guy standing outside of Callie’s door. A guy he recognized instantly because it was Hawthorne’s head of security.

  His heart banged hard against his ribs, a savage, feral kind of feeling beginning to close tight like a fist around his heart.

  His instinct had been right. Somehow, Callie’s violent motherfucker of a father had tracked them down and now the prick was here. For her.

  Rage flooded through Jack’s veins, hot and dark, a real fucking problem. But he couldn’t seem to push it back.

  That asshole had hurt her for years, physically, mentally. Emotionally. He’d hurt her and hurt her, and he could not be allowed to continue. He had to be stopped and Jack was going to stop him.

  No one was touching Callie. No one was touching her ever again.

  She’s yours.

  The possessiveness swamped him, choked him. Yes, fuck, yes. She was.

  And the only way she was going back to Boston was over his dead fucking body.

  He moved without thought, full of righteous rage and the need to claim what was his. Rounding the corner, stalking fast and silent, his Glock held down at his side. The guy guarding the door saw him coming, opening his mouth to shout, reaching into his jacket for his piece. But the black fury propelling Jack made him too fast and the asshole didn’t stand a chance.

  The guy was lucky Jack’s Glock wasn’t silenced because Jack would have shot him without a second thought, but enough of his thinking processes remained that he knew discharging a weapon in a hotel right now was not exactly the best idea in the world. Murdering someone even less so.

  Instead he brought back his fist and punched the guy hard in the face before the man could utter a word. The prick staggered back, but Jack closed in, bringing the butt of his Glock down hard on the guy’s head, sending the asshole to the floor, out cold.

  Then he turned to the door to his and Callie’s room and he kicked it the fuck open.

  The lock should have prevented him, but anger was powering his muscles, giving him a massive strength, and the door burst open, bouncing hard against the wall.

  Callie was standing near the bed and he had a brief moment of dizzying relief that she was still here, that she was okay, before he realized what the hell was going on.

  Her father was standing between Callie and the doorway, looming over her, and he had one hand gripping her shoulder, the other raised as if to smack her over the face.

  Callie herself wasn’t cowering and she wasn’t afraid. She was staring at her father with contempt written all over her lovely face, her blue eyes glowing with the same rage that burned inside Jack. As if she was daring her father to do his worst. Daring him to hit her.

  And another brief moment passed when Jack’s heart pulsed once, hard, in awe at the wonder of her. Then that moment was gone, swept away by the most intense flood of possessiveness and rage he’d ever felt in his life.

  He strode into the room and he didn’t wait, didn’t think. He simply grabbed Hawthorne’s shoulder and jerked him back hard so the guy released his grip on Callie. Then Jack spun him around and put his fist into the asshole’s face.

  Hawthorne made a kind of groaning noise, his hands coming up to protect himself, but Jack punched him again. “Don’t you fucking touch her.” His voice was thick, guttural. “I’ll fucking kill you.” Then he slammed his fist yet again into the senator’s face, sending him down onto the floor.

  “Jack!” It was Callie’s voice somewhere nearby. “Jack, stop!”

  But he was in the grip of a rage so deep and consuming it didn’t mean anything. He moved over to where Hawthorne lay on the ground and put the toe of his boot under the man’s stomach and kicked him over onto his back. Then he stood over him and leaned down, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and jerking his head off the floor, so his bleeding face was inches from Jack’s.

  “I mean it.” The rage in his head pulsed like a giant heartbeat. “You touch her again and I’ll put a bullet in your motherfucking head.”

  Someone was pulling at
his jacket; someone was talking.

  “Jack.” A soft voice. Callie’s voice. “Jack, I’m okay. It’s fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

  But it wasn’t fine. Somehow her father had found her and had come to drag her back to Boston, and if Jack hadn’t happened to arrive right at that moment, that’s what would have happened.

  She would have been taken out of his reach. Taken by a man who would use her, hurt her.

  Rage danced in his veins, burning him alive.

  Hawthorne’s face, bloody and bruised, twisted, blue eyes glittering with an ice-cold fury. “I’m having you up on assault charges,” he said thickly. “Threatening to kill. Rape. You name it, you’ll be charged for it. And you’ll go down, I promise you.”

  “No,” Jack said. “No. You won’t.”

  The senator opened his mouth, but Jack let go of one of his lapels, brought his fist back, and punched the prick in the face again. And again.

  “No,” Callie was saying desperately behind him, pulling harder at his jacket. “Please, don’t, Jack. You don’t have to do that.”

  But he did have to. Because she would never be safe until he finished this once and for all, and there was only one way he could ensure that.

  Jack let Hawthorne’s head thump back on the floor. Then he straightened. He lifted his Glock and aimed it at the unconscious man’s head.

  “No!” Suddenly, warm fingers were wrapping around his wrist and Callie was jerking his gun aside, heedless of how stupid an idea that was when he almost had his finger on the trigger, and even though he tried to jerk free, she held on tight. Her blue eyes were full of fire as she stepped in front of him, blocking his view of her father. “No,” she said again. “You’re not killing my father. I don’t care what he’s done, you’re not doing that.”

  He blinked once as the words penetrated, the rage inside him beginning to turn to ice as he realized what he was doing.

  Hawthorne was lying at his feet, out cold, blood oozing from his nose and mouth, and if he turned to look through the room door, Jack could see the legs of the other man he’d knocked out, lying still on the carpet.