by Alexa Wilder
"Get off me," I ground out, fighting back the bile rising in my throat. If he wanted to do more than grope me, he’d have to untie me. My mind instantly shied away from the thought of him doing anything else. His hand on my breast was bad enough. Squeezing hard, he reached for the other breast.
"Don't complain,” he said. “I’m just trying to help you get used to it. Where you're going, a little groping is just the beginning.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want him to confirm my worst suspicions. As he'd already proven, Harper didn't care about what I wanted.
He moved even closer, straddling my legs and dropping both hands to my chest, squeezing and mauling my breasts while he leered down at me with a revoltingly greedy expression. My vision grayed out at the edges as I went light headed with fear.
“I knew your tits would feel this good,” he said. "I don't have to pretend with you anymore. I know you know everything. I know you've been talking to the FBI. And I know they don't have anything, or you wouldn't be here right now. So I can tell you Tsepov has plans for you.
“Girls like you, that red hair, that white skin, all these curves? You’re worth a lot of money. In a few minutes I'm gonna call him to pick you up, and in twenty-four hours you'll be out of the country. No one who knows you will ever see you again."
Harper’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glittered as they looked down into mine. My chest rose and fell in his hands as I gasped for breath, fear so tight around my ribcage I couldn't seem to get any air. Harper touching me, leering at me, was bad enough.
The threat of being taken by Tsepov was something else. I could survive an assault. I knew I could, I had to believe that I could because I was being assaulted right then. And I had no intention of dying.
A lifetime of assaults? I couldn't do anything but survive that, if they were determined to keep me alive, yet I knew it would be the worst kind of survival. My heart would beat, my lungs would draw air, but if Tsepov got me it wouldn't be me who survived. Everything that was me would be gone.
Harper inched closer and I caught a glimpse of his erection pushing against the front of his khaki pants. It wasn’t very big, but it was way too close to my face. The width of the chair and its height meant the best he could do was thrust his hips somewhere in the direction of my neck, but still, it was clear what he wanted. He wasn't going to get it. If that erection got anywhere near my mouth, he’d regret it.
Maybe he sensed his danger because he turned his attention back to my breasts and started trying to pull off my sweater. He’d tied the ropes too tightly, and the sweater had a crewneck, so he couldn't do more than ineffectually yank at it. He took a step back and let go, glaring down at me.
"I know you're a hot little slut," he said. "I had a guy watching you with Sinclair, and I know you fucked him the second time you met him. If you want things to go easy with Tsepov, I suggest you play nice before he gets here.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out. “I’ll take my chances, but if you fucking try to touch me again, I'll bite anything I can reach."
His fist flashed out and smashed into the side of my face. My head snapped back as pain exploded in my nose, my cheek, my eye, everywhere. I didn't care. I’d meant what I said, and I'd say it again. Just because he planned to hurt me didn't mean I had to go quietly.
Harper must have read something in my eyes, or he had a low tolerance for backtalk because he went to his desk and took out a roll of duct tape. Who had duct tape in their desk? But then, he’d also had the rope he’d used to tie me up. Either he'd been planning this, or he was one weird fucker.
Tearing a strip off the duct tape, Harper pressed it over my mouth, but not before I let out an ear piercing scream. It wasn't much. The houses in this development were too far apart to hope anyone had heard me, and it was unlikely a neighbor was out walking their dog at this hour. But as the sticky tape sealed itself over my lips, my scream gave me a moment of satisfaction.
"I was just trying to help you out," Harper said, pacing to his desk where he tossed the roll of duct tape in a drawer and picked up his phone. "I'm going to have you either way. Tsepov will see to it. It was up to you whether it went easy or hard. Since you didn't want to cooperate…"
Harper shrugged his shoulders as if to say It's all out of my hands now, like he was innocent and this was all my fault. Had I said Adam was the King of Assholes? I was going to have to demote him because it was clear William Harper held that title.
Harper picked up his phone and made a call. A moment later he said "I've got Emma Wright and the evidence. The FBI isn't going to be a problem any longer." He paused, then scowled. "No, I can keep her overnight if you want."
Another pause. My stomach churned. I wasn't sure what I wanted to hear him say. As creepy and awful as Harper was, I had a feeling he was a much safer option compared to Tsepov. Then he said, “Fine, fine. I'll be here."
He put the phone down on the desk and leaned back against it as he had before, his arms crossed over his chest. He studied me, this time his eyes lingering on my face as opposed to my breasts.
“Tsepov wants you untouched and unharmed,” he said. “You're not exactly unharmed, but most of that was Sinclair's fault, not mine, so I'm not going to worry about it. We’ll have to wait for a bit, Tsepov's men are tied up and can't come get you for an hour or so. Too bad he won't let me touch you. I'd risk it anyway if I could trust you not to talk."
I shook my head, then realized he wouldn't know if I was saying I wouldn't talk or assuring him that I would. I didn't even know which would be the better answer. I was too scared, and I felt too helpless to think things through. Worse, I had the sick sensation that, at this point, nothing I did was going to save me.
Harper pushed himself off his desk and strolled to the corner of his office where he had an antique bar cart. He poured himself a drink in a cut crystal glass as if he were entertaining company and not holding a woman hostage while blood dripped down her face.
Making his way back to the desk, he assumed his comfortable leaning position again and continued to examine me. I was starting to feel like a bug trapped under a microscope.
"I like seeing you so scared, Emma,” he said. “You were always so superior. So confident. So together. Everyone at the office likes you. Have a problem? Bring it to Emma, she’ll figure it out. But you wouldn't give me the time of day, would you? I asked you out once, and you turned me down flat. Me! William Harper! Not just your boss - I own the whole fucking company. Do you have any idea how rich I am? Richer now since I hooked up with Tsepov.
“You wouldn't believe how much money drugs bring in. Not to mention importing and exporting weapons. First it was Central America, before my time. Now it's Africa, and, the old favorite, the Middle East. All these wars, all this terrorism. It's great for business. Everyone wants guns these days.
“But I have to admit, the girls are my favorite part. I couldn't believe how easy it was, especially in a city like Vegas. So many young women, running away from home with dreams and no one to care what happened to them. How does it feel to know you're going to be joining them soon?"
Tears streamed down my face as I listened, unable to respond to the ugliness spewing from Harper's mouth. He had no remorse. He didn't care about anything but the money. He got off on breaking the law. On being the upstanding businessman William Harper to the world and knowing he was in bed with the Russian mob on the side.
I was beyond trying to figure out if I had any more options to get away. I was too tightly tied. My head was pounding, my face hurt, I was bleeding, and I was so scared I could barely breathe.
Then, a loud, melodious chime cut through the house, echoing down the empty hall to the office. I didn't realize what it was until Harper's head snapped up, and he looked out of the office in the direction of the front door. The doorbell?
Panic hit me, and I realized I was nowhere near the height of my fear, not yet, because at the thought that the Russian’s goon
s were at the door to collect me, my chest tightened even further, and my lungs froze.
Harper pushed off the desk and headed for the door of the office, muttering under his breath, “He said they would be another hour."
13
Emma
Harper’s footsteps echoed down the hall, and I heard the front door open. An unfamiliar male voice said, “Sorry to bother you, Sir, but we received a report of a disturbance. A neighbor called and said they heard a woman scream. I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I'm going to have to take a look around."
"I appreciate you coming so quickly," Harper said, his tone polite yet not inviting. "But I'm afraid I can't allow you in without a warrant." At the word warrant, my heart leaped. Was that the police?
"Actually, Sir,” the new voice went on, “While in most cases that might be true in this one I have probable cause to search without a warrant considering one of your neighbors specifically said they heard a woman scream. You’re welcome to call your attorney while I search."
“I’ll call my attorney right now," Harper blustered, and even in my own state of terror I heard the fear beneath his words. “You're not coming in my house without my attorney here and without a warrant."
“Sir, as I said, you're welcome to call your attorney. But in the meantime, I'm checking out your residence. If I have to arrest you for interfering with a police investigation, I will. But I don't see why this has to get that difficult. Unless a woman really did scream?"
My brain finally clicked into gear. My mouth was taped shut and the front door was down a long hallway from the office, but I could try to make some kind of sound to draw the officer’s attention. I started rocking the chair back and forth, screaming through my nose as loudly as I could. The noise was deafening inside my head, but I couldn't be sure how much of it was actually getting out through the tape.
I rocked harder in the chair, throwing my weight from side to side, not caring that I’d hurt myself even worse if I managed to knock it over. William Harper's office was decorated as a man's domain, and the furniture was both bulky and heavy. Rocking side to side wasn't throwing the chair off balance enough to tip it over.
I did the second best thing and tried to throw my weight backwards. The chair was as top-heavy as it was wide. Rocking back to raise the front just a few inches was enough to send the chair careening backward to the floor, the impact driving the air from my lungs.
"Did you hear that?" the police officer's voice said. Harper remained silent. "Sir, I'm going to have to insist that you stand aside. If you don’t, I'll arrest you right now, but I will investigate that sound."
I stayed very still on the floor, securely tied to the chair, which had tipped backward but hadn't broken. Wriggling in my bonds, I realized the chair wasn't even slightly damaged, and I was still securely tied. I couldn't hear if Harper gave a response to the officers ultimatum, but a scuffle in the hallway indicated that he hadn’t done as he was told. A few moments later, both sets of footsteps came back down towards the office, growing louder as they neared the door.
My heart sang at the sight of William Harper in handcuffs. Let’s see how he liked it. He was escorted back into his office by a police officer, complete with a crisp navy blue uniform and a shiny badge pinned to his chest.
The officer was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His eyes met mine as he entered the room, and I got the feeling he knew exactly who I was. His sea-green gaze communicated reassurance and comfort.
The tightness in my chest relaxed a fraction. I wouldn't relax completely until I was far away from Harper’s house. But I’d just about given up any hope of rescue, and this police officer was every Christmas present I’d ever wanted rolled into one.
His eyes narrowed as he took in my injuries, then he quirked a grin that softened his austerely handsome face, rounding his bladed cheekbones and making his well-formed lips even more attractive. After the debacle with Adam, I was swearing off men for the rest of my life. But that said, I’d have to be blind not to notice that my rescuer was hot.
His lips still twisted into a half smile, he looked from Harper to me and said, "I can see why you didn't want to let me in." His eyes on mine, he went on, “If you would like to leave, nod your head."
I nodded my head, hard, despite the pain it sent through my face and skull. Knocking over my chair had drawn the officer's attention, but it hadn't done my headache any good. The officer directed his eyes back to Harper. "It looks like this young woman doesn't want to be restrained in your home. Are you responsible for her condition?"
"No! No, she was like that when she got here. It's not what you think, officer! She attacked me. I just tied her up for my own safety."
"You're going to have to try another story, Sir.” His Sir dripped with irony, and Harper bristled at the lack of respect.
“Do you have any idea who I am? You can't just bust in here –" The officer gave him a shove, sending him reeling towards the couch on the other side of the room.
"If you know what's good for you, you will sit there and shut up. I do know who you are, and I don't care. You have a woman in your home who has been beaten and is tied up. She's indicated that she does not want to be here. You’ve got a whole lot of problems right now, and I suggest you don't make this any harder on yourself."
"I want to call my attorney," Harper shouted, but he sat on the couch. He was an asshole, but he wasn't entirely stupid. The officer knelt beside me and pulled the heavy chair upright.
As he did, he whispered in my ear, "I'm going to get you out of here. We’re safe, no one is going to hurt you. But when I ask, say you don't want to press charges. Understand?"
I gave a slight nod to indicate that I understood. I didn't know who this guy was, and what he'd said gave me the impression he wasn't a police officer. Wouldn’t a police officer want me to press charges? But he’d said I was safe, and that he was getting me out of here. That was enough for me.
He wasn't Harper's man, and he didn't work for Tsepov, because Tsepov didn't need any subterfuge to take me from Harper. Maybe he was with Agent Tierney. I didn't know. But I wasn't going to second-guess someone who was trying to rescue me. Whatever he wanted me to do to help him get me out of here, I would do it.
The chair settled back into its upright position. The officer made quick work of the rope and released the handcuffs, sliding them in his pocket. I hope he didn't plan to get them out again later. Gently, he peeled the duct tape from my mouth, careful not to bump my nose or my cheek. Helping me to my feet, he said, “Miss, would you like to press charges against this man?"
I shook my head and said, “No, I just want to go home."
"Then I guess you got lucky tonight,” he said to Harper. “If the lady doesn't want to press charges, I can't take you in for this. For all I know she tripped and fell into a doorframe and then asked you to tie her up.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. Harper nodded along with him but was smart enough not to verbally agree.
“Since the lady just wants to go home, I'll take her off your hands."
My rescuer steered me out of the office and into the hallway. At the sight of the front door, my heart pounded in my chest. So close to freedom. From behind me, I heard Harper cry out, “What about me? You can't just leave me here in handcuffs!"
The officer stopped beside me and said, “Can you lean against the wall for just a minute?" I nodded. He disappeared back into the office and I heard rustling, a grunt, and Harper say,
“What are you doing, you can't do this." Then more muffled shuffling and grunting. Less than a minute later, the officer was back, a wide grin stretched across his face. Gently, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, supporting my weight as he led me toward the front door.
"What did you do with him?" I asked quietly. He gave a chuckle and said, "I took my cuffs back and tied him to the chair he had you in with the rope he used on you. And I duct taped his mouth shut. I’m sure someone will find him and let him go. Eventually.”
I didn't know who this guy was. Maybe I was just making things worse for myself by leaving with him. But after finding out he’d tied William Harper to that chair and duct taped his mouth shut? I was willing to follow him anywhere.
I didn't speak again until we were out of the house. A big black SUV, identical to the one Adam had been driving, was parked in the driveway in front of the house. The officer led me to the vehicle, opened the passenger door, and helped me inside, saying, "Buckle up, and I'll get you out of here."
I did, fastening my seatbelt and letting my head fall back in relief. He rounded the car and was in the driver’s seat a moment later, starting the vehicle with quick efficiency. He shot a sideways glance at my face and said, “We’ll get you cleaned up in a few minutes. I heard his phone call, and I want to get you out of here before Tsepov's men show up."
"Sounds good to me," I said. "Are you going to tell me who you are?" I asked, suspecting he'd refuse. He surprised me and answered immediately.
"Griffen Sawyer, ma'am," he said in an affected drawl that made me smile.
"And that's your real name?" I asked. Based on everything I'd learned that night, I’d realized there was a difference between the name a person gave you and what their name actually was, Adam case in point. I knew Adam's real name was Sinclair and not Stewart. I still had no idea if his first name was really Adam. I wondered if I would ever find out. Beside me, Griffen Sawyer laughed.
"You're a quick learner," he said, with a smile. "Yes ma'am, my real name is Griffen Sawyer. At least according to my mama and the United States government."
Relief washed through me at the mention of the government. He must be with the FBI. Still, it seemed smart to ask. I’d trusted him enough to get me out of Harper's house, but that didn't mean I could trust everything he said. And it wasn't smart to make assumptions. I'd made enough of those; It had gotten me into this mess in the first place.