Sweet Reward: A Last Chance Rescue Novel

by Christy Reece

  “Every fucking person in the universe,” the big man said.

  Sighing, Philippe turned. “Would it be too much trouble to tell me your name? I hate to keep thinking of you as Goliath or ‘gorilla man.’ ”

  “Feel free to refer to me as the man who’s going to nail your ass to the wall.”

  “I do like a man with confidence, but I’m afraid yours is quite misplaced.”

  “Why don’t you untie me and let’s see who’s got the bigger balls?”

  A blush ran up Philippe’s face at the crude talk. It was apparent that this man was no gentleman. Perhaps “gorilla” was the appropriate word for him after all.

  “Since it doesn’t appear you’re going to be immediately cooperative, I’ve invited one of my men to convince you otherwise. Remember, all you have to do is tell me who else is involved or knows about me and I’ll let you die a peaceful, painless death.”

  The man sneered. “Bring it, asshole.”

  Before going out the door, Philippe turned to Mia. “I apologize for what you’re about to witness. The moment you or your friend change your mind, please let Salvatore know. He’ll stop immediately. I promise.”

  “Go to hell, Philippe,” Mia snapped.

  Disappointed but not surprised, Philippe walked out the door. Seconds later, he heard the slamming of fists against flesh. He shook his head and headed back to the house for breakfast. Hopefully, by the time he finished his meal, Salvatore would have knocked some intelligence into Mia’s friend or she would be so overcome with grief at witnessing such brutality, she would give up the information.

  If not, then, sadly, Mia would be next.

  Mia clenched her mouth tight to keep from crying out in pain. The tattooed bastard pounding into Jared’s flesh wasn’t tall, but he was massively built. Every exposed body part was an ink-covered muscle. Massive fists that looked to be the size of catcher’s mitts delivered blow after stinging blow. She caught a glimpse of the monster’s face and his fixed, evil smile. He was enjoying himself.

  And Jared took all of it with only the occasional grunt. He had warned her that this would happen. Philippe either expected Jared to give up or Mia to stop the abuse and give him what he wanted to know. No matter whether she told him the truth or lies, he intended to kill them both. All they could do was hold on until they were able to escape or help arrived. Pulling in a sobbing, gasping breath, she did the hardest thing of all and kept her silence. Her eyes searched, then locked with Jared’s. If she could infuse him with strength and endurance through visual support, then she would never stop looking at him.

  As he watched her, his face as expressionless as usual, something flickered in his eyes, communicating to her. Mia didn’t know if it was otherworldly, psychic, or just her own wishful thinking, but those beautiful silver eyes spoke silently of caring, emotion … love. A connection she’d never had with another human being was formed. And in that moment, of all the times to discover the truth, she knew she loved him.

  How had she missed it? How had she not realized that this brave, beautiful, wonderful man was the love of her life? With that knowledge, a peace came over her. And Mia did her best to communicate her feelings to Jared. She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone, that she was right there with him, feeling the pain, if not physically, then emotionally. She was there for him … would always be there for him.

  Minutes or hours later—Mia had no concept of time anymore—the brutality stopped. Jared’s head dropped low for a moment, and Mia feared the worst. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth; bruises were already forming on his rib cage, stomach, and shoulders. Did he have internal bleeding? Dear God, was he dead?

  The tattooed man clomped out the door, and Jared raised his head. One eye was already swelling closed. Tears pooled in Mia’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If he could withstand that kind of beating, then she could damn well hold in her tears.

  “Think he got bored?” Jared asked.

  Swallowing a relieved sob, Mia said, “It seems so stupid to ask you how you feel … but I need to know.”

  He spat blood onto the floor and said, “I’ve had worse. No internal injuries. Maybe a bruised rib or two, a sore nose, and a busted lip. He held back on his punches. The guy wasn’t trying to kill me … at least not yet.”

  “What do you think is going to happen now?”

  He didn’t want to answer that question, because for the first time since his childhood, he was afraid. If the asshole who’d just beaten him turned his fists to Mia, he literally didn’t know if he could handle it.

  Before he could speak, Mia said quietly, “I can handle it, Jared. I promise.”

  He swallowed hard, tasting blood and fear. “We’ll tell him something to let you go. I’ll make a bargain with him.”

  “No, the instant you tell him anything, no matter what you tell him, he’ll kill us both. My hands are—”

  A loud sigh at the door told them they were no longer alone. Jared turned his eyes to the entrance. Philippe had changed into an elegant pair of pants and a cashmere sweater. Hell, the man did like his clothes, didn’t he?

  “Salvatore tells me you refused to talk.”

  “Didn’t have anything to say.”

  “This is not my choice, you understand. I am not a violent man.”

  “No, just a human trafficker and murderer,” Mia snarled.

  “Insulting me will get you nowhere.” He turned to someone behind him. “Try not to be too brutal.”

  Another man entered. In his hand was a long, thick belt; Jared knew exactly what was going to happen.

  He clenched his jaw and, as Mia had done, locked his eyes with hers. If there was any way to impart thoughts and emotions through eye contact, then he would do it. He would give her a lifeline to hold on to.

  The first whop of the belt hit her leg. She gasped but didn’t cry out. Her eyes clung stubbornly to Jared’s as the belt came down again and then again. Jared’s chest felt as if it would explode. Mia’s image blurred as tears flooded his eyes. Damn, damn, damn. He couldn’t handle this.

  She closed her eyes, and silent tears fell down her face.

  “Mia, dammit, look at me. Fight, sweetheart, fight. These bastards will not win. Do you hear me? Open. Your. Fucking. Eyes.” He bellowed louder: “Now, dammit! Now!”

  Her eyes blinked open, and in the depths of her pain, Jared saw a new determination enter them. Welts were already on her legs, thighs, and stomach. When the bastard raised the belt to aim at her face, Philippe shouted, “Stop!”

  “You fucking sadist!” Jared shouted. “You’re not a man.”

  Even Philippe looked shaken as he gazed at Mia’s welt-covered body. “I never wanted this to happen.” He turned to Jared. “Tell me, and I’ll make it painless for both of you. I promise.”

  Without raising her head, Mia whispered, “Go to hell, Philippe.”

  Philippe huffed a sigh. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss your options. Just remember, all of this can go away.”

  The door closed, and they were once again alone.

  “Mia?” Jared whispered hoarsely.

  Still not looking at him, her voice just above a whisper, she said, “Think he got bored?”

  He loved her. God in heaven, he loved her. He had loved nothing and no one since he was six years old, but in that moment, surrounded by pain, fear, and the stench of evil, he knew that he adored this gun-toting, cheerful, fiery, spirited, beautiful woman with every fiber of his being.

  And words he’d never thought he would say again sprang from his mouth: “I’m sorry, Mia. I’m so very sorry.”

  “Are you getting sentimental on me, Livingston?”

  Her voice sounded hoarse and thick with tears, but he heard a thread of amusement, too. He’d never been more proud of anyone in his life.

  “You know what a sentimental fool I am.”

  “It’s not your fault.” And then she added softly, “Please remember that … okay?”

  “I should hav
e been able to think of a way to get to him without putting you at risk. I should have—”

  The door swung open again and Philippe marched into the room. “This has gone on too long. My men have convinced me that the kindest thing I can do is to allow them free reign.”

  Jared glanced over at Mia, and the breath seized in his lungs. Her head hung limply, her chin touching her chest. She had lost consciousness. He refused to believe it was more than that.

  “Mia, did you hear me?” Philippe snapped.

  When she didn’t raise her head, Jared narrowed his eyes and watched her carefully. Her chest wasn’t moving. Holy hell, she wasn’t breathing.

  Fear, adrenaline, and something not quite human exploded within him. Roaring bellows raged from his lungs as he strained with all of his might to break his bonds. Philippe’s eyes went wide, and he jumped back. The bastard who’d beaten him earlier stepped up. The other men ran into the shed. And then, everything exploded at once.

  Mia raised her head; her arms came around to her front. Joy exploded within him.

  Since all the men were still focused on Jared, he kept bellowing and straining, acting like a wild maniac. No one noticed that Mia was bent over, untying the bonds at her ankles. The instant she was free, she leaped toward the nearest man.

  Flesh ripped at his wrists, blood saturated the rope as Jared tugged and pulled. Concentrating with all his might, ignoring the agony of torn skin, he managed to loosen them. With the help of blood-drenched rope, he slipped free. His tied ankles didn’t stop him from swinging out and slamming his fist into one man’s throat. The man gurgled once as he felt backward and slammed into Philippe.

  Jared squatted down, untied the rope at his ankles, and then sprang forward. He caught another man in the throat with his fist, and as a third man ran toward him, Jared slammed the side of his foot into the guy’s gut, then lifted him and threw him against a wall.

  Whirling around, he saw Mia dodge a sweeping fist and slam her fist into the man’s face, then deliver a quick kick to his chest. As the man grabbed for her, she spun and sent another kick straight into the guy’s nose. He fell face-first to the floor.

  Jared took in the scene. Four men on the floor, none of them Ricard. Dammit, he’d escaped.

  “You okay by yourself?”

  Her grin cheerful and determined, she said, “Got it covered, Livingston. Give Philippe’s ass a kick for me.”

  Wishing he could stop and kiss her, he settled for a wink with his good eye and ran out the door.

  His heart pounding with dread and fear, Philippe ran toward the house. His world was shattering around him. All of the men who had come with him were now lying on the floor of the shed. The captives were free. His mind raced with different scenarios of what he should do. The car—not the Hummer, but the other one. He would drive back to his house and destroy the papers in his safe. Those were the only records. It would be his word against an obviously emotionally damaged woman and her large, stupid companion.

  But what about Kinsey? He was back there with Mia and her friend. The man knew everything. Would he talk? Of course he would. He cared for no one but his own skin. Philippe’s only option was to destroy the paper files and then find a way to get to Kinsey before he gave them the information. With his money and power, he could hire a hit man and have Kinsey eliminated. It had been done many times before.

  He ran to the side of the house and jumped into the car. His hands were shaking so badly, he had to stop and take several breaths before he could get the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life. Gravel kicked up, pinging against the sides of the car as Philippe took off. Driving as fast as he dared, he zoomed down the road. He was only a few miles from his house, he could—

  Bam! Something slammed onto the hood. Incredulous, Philippe stared. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The big man, Mia’s friend, had leaped upon the hood and was hanging on. The man glared at him through the windshield. Though one eye was completely closed from his beating, the other one had a look that was beyond frightening.

  “Get off!” Philippe screamed.

  “Not on your life, asshole,” the man shouted. “Stop the car. Now.”

  His hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, Philippe swerved left and right to throw the man off. He stubbornly hung on. Philippe slammed on the brakes, expecting to see the large body fly off and land on the road. But no. He still clung on to the hood. Philippe could see that his fingers were white with strain as they tightly gripped the edge.

  He slammed on the gas, then the brakes. Every few feet, he repeated the process. Surely he could dislodge him at some point. The man’s body barely moved—he didn’t budge. Philippe slammed on the gas again. Fine. He would continue to drive until he could figure out a way to dislodge him.

  Straining his neck to see over the man’s head, Philippe did his best to ignore the fierce stare through the glass. There was a curve up ahead. He made a quick decision and twisted the steering wheel, heading straight for a treed area. His foot slammed hard on the accelerator as he targeted the largest tree. The man glanced behind him, and Philippe saw him curse a second before impact.

  The car crashed into the tree; the hard impact vibrated through Philippe’s body. The air bag exploded, slamming into Philippe’s face and chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Dazed, he pulled his face out of the air bag and raised his head groggily. He blinked, certain he was hallucinating. The man hadn’t moved … he was still there, on the hood. And he was still glaring.

  In disbelief, he watched as the man rolled off the hood and dropped to the ground. The car door creaked and screeched as he opened it. A deep voice growled, “Come on, you bastard. You’re not going to get away that easily.”

  A warm, wet feeling slid down his face, and, for the first time, Philippe realized he was bleeding. His head must have struck something. The buzzing in his ears sounded like a million bees. A hand grasped his sweater and jerked him from the car. The instant his feet touched the ground, darkness overwhelmed him.

  “Well, shit,” Jared growled. Laying the unconscious man on the ground, Jared assessed the bastard’s injuries. Nothing more than a bump on the head. Good. He wanted Ricard healthy enough to spend many years behind bars.

  Since the car wasn’t drivable, Jared quickly searched for a cellphone. Happy to find one in the glove compartment, he loaded Philippe onto his shoulder and started back to the toolshed. On the way, he punched in a number.

  “McCall?” Jared growled.

  “Livingston, where the hell are you?”

  “Not sure. About ten miles from Ricard’s estate. Can you trace me?”

  “You bet. And we can be there in minutes. I convinced the chief of police to come along with me. We’ve been camped out at Ricard’s since yesterday. You and Mia okay?”

  “Yeah, just a few bruises.”

  “And Ricard?”

  Jared gave a sweeping glance at the man hanging limply over his shoulder. “He’s had a real bad day.”

  twenty-six

  For as long as she lived, Mia knew, she would never forget the beautiful sight of a battered, bruised, and almost nude Jared walking toward her with an unconscious Philippe on his shoulder as he talked on a cellphone. The bland expression on his bruised face told the story—just another day at the office.

  By the time Jared returned, Mia had Philippe’s men tied together. She’d stolen a shirt from one of them, and though the cloth stung the welts on her body, covering herself was worth the pain.

  She grinned her delight and said, “About time you made it back, Livingston. I thought I was going to have to come after you.”

  He dropped Philippe onto the toolshed floor beside the other men and with quick efficiency, tied him to his companions. “Had to make a stop for a tree.”

  Mia glanced down at a pitiful-looking and unconscious Philippe. He had a large bump on his forehead, a small cut on his mouth, and he was covered in dirt. When he woke up, he was going to be very upset.

 
She moved her gaze to the larger-than-life man before her. “What’s up next?”

  “McCall’s on his way with the police. As soon as they get here, we’ll go to Ricard’s estate and get those names. If I’m lucky, I can get Lara’s daughter back to her before the end of the day.”

  An odd tightness developed in Mia’s chest. The case was almost over. The police would soon take over, and all the children would be returned to their parents or legal guardians.

  “How are you feeling?” Jared asked gruffly.

  “Not bad, considering.”

  He stooped down and tugged a pair of pants from one of the unconscious men. After sliding into them, he frowned as he gazed around. “Dammit, why’d I have to have such big feet?”

  Mia smiled at his size 12 feet. “Did you tell Noah to bring you some clothes?”

  “No, but he’s about my size.” The one eye not swollen shut glinted as he grinned. “I’ll just take his.”

  Mia paced back and forth outside Philippe’s private office. Noah and Jared had been inside with Philippe and the police chief for over an hour. She had been questioned separately, and then Noah had insisted that she be seen by a medic. When she had protested that Jared needed a doctor worse than she did, she’d gotten a “stop acting like a baby” look, so she had sucked it up and allowed herself to be examined.

  The EMT had treated her cuts and the welts, suggested an ointment to help with healing, and given her a tetanus shot. Now she was dressed in men’s pants with the cuffs rolled up, a long-sleeve men’s shirt, and a pair of slippers someone had found for her. The clothes she had brought for the weekend were still in the room she was to have stayed in, but since the entire mansion was being searched, she couldn’t get to them yet. That was fine … she was fine; she just needed some answers.