by Snow, Jenika
Deeper
Underground, 3
Jenika Snow
DEEPER (Underground, 3)
By Jenika Snow
www.JenikaSnow.com
[email protected]
Copyright © September 2018 by Jenika Snow
First E-book Publication: 2013
Photographer: Wander Aguiar :: Photography
Cover Model: Michael Giovanni Rivera
Model image provided by: Wander Book Club
Editor: Kasi Alexander
Line Editor: Lea Ann Schafer
Proofreader: Liz Murach
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Contents
Newsletter
The Underground Series
Deeper
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Out Now: The Bear’s Capture
The Bear’s Capture
Chapter 1
About the Author
Newsletter
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The Underground Series
Something Fierce
His Wrath
Deeper
When Stella Vincent's father gambled away her childhood home, it was up to her to get it back. But when she finally met the man who held the deed, she realized just how dangerous he really was.
And how much she wanted him.
Tate Wessen knew he was dangerous, and he counted on others realizing the same thing in order for him to get what he wanted. Running an illegal underground fight club wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done.
When Stella walked into his office, the obsession was instant. She'd do anything to get her father's house back, and he was depraved enough to use that to his advantage. What he offered her was very simple.
She must submit to him in any way he saw fit for two weeks. After that, her father's debt would be absolved.
The only problem was, he found himself falling for Stella and knowing that letting her walk away wasn’t going to be an option.
Warning: This story was previously published under the same title. It’s since been re-edited, revised, and new content has been added. There may be graphic material some readers find offensive.
1
When Stella prayed for a way out of her blind date, she hadn’t been talking about picking up her drunk father—again. The drive to the Horseshoe, the new casino that had just opened up off Sunset and Broadview, was slow going given the fact it was Saturday night and prime time for the partiers to be out.
When she pulled up to the curb, a line of people wrapped around the building. The casino had only been open for a few months, but every day when she drove by, there was always a line. There was no disputing the fact that the casino increased the revenue in their town, but there was a part of her that loathed the idea of it being built just three blocks from her apartment building. It also didn’t help her disposition that her once-recovering addict of a father had fallen off—or gotten on the wagon, whatever the hell the saying was—and could be found at either the casino or the twenty-four-hour bar.
It didn’t take long for her to spot her father, seeing as he was sandwiched between two burly-looking men in suit jackets with white tees underneath. The men had a hand under each of her dad’s arms. Whether it was to support his drunken ass or keep him from running off was still unclear, but Stella knew it was probably a little bit of both.
The burly guys saw her get out of her car and made their way toward her, her father in tow. Each time she had to pick up Henry Vincent, it was always the same scene. Her father had been a great man at one time, a celebrated contractor who’d built many of the homes in their town. But her mother, Bonnie, had died of breast cancer when she was seven, and that was when Henry’s life went down the drain to addiction.
Now, fifteen years later, Stella was still making sure he was home and in bed, just to wake up the next morning to start the whole vicious cycle once more. Oh, he’d tried rehab, had even been sober for a year, but there was always something life threw at him that would make him pick up the bottle again.
It didn’t matter what Stella told him; she’d learned that early on. When Henry wanted something, there wasn’t anything or anyone that could stop him. His years of building houses had made him a big man, and that, coupled with all his pent-up emotions from her mother’s passing, made him a scary man at times. There was never any abuse, but she’d walked in on enough of his bar fights to know how that aggression could become flying fists and broken bones at the drop of a hat.
The men brought her father right up to the passenger door, and she opened it while they folded him inside. He groaned and grunted, and the smell of liquor that came from him was so strong she wouldn’t have been surprised if she got drunk just from being in the same vehicle with him.
“Um, thanks.” It was always awkward talking to the men that had to drag her father to her car. She’d shut the door and started rounding the front bumper when one of the men’s deep voices stopped her.
“Mr. Wessen would like a word with you, Miss Vincent.” They came closer to her, and she wondered if they would take her to him by force. They certainly were big enough to.
“Okay, but can I maybe come back tomorrow? I can’t just leave my father in the car passed out.”
“Not to worry, ma’am.” The one with a bald head and dark, trimmed goatee took a step toward the passenger door. “While you’re speaking with Mr. Wessen, I’ve been instructed to wait here. I’ll keep an eye on your father and your belongings.”
A glance at her father showed he was blissfully unaware of the trouble she was no doubt in because of him. She could only imagine what the owner of the majority of the properties in their town wanted to speak to her about. “Okay.”
She was led through the main doors of the casino, and instantly the sound of slot machines and ringing bells surrounded her. The vestibule was gorgeous, with white marble and an impressive crystal chandelier hanging from the cathedral-style ceiling. If she was being honest, the casino looked a little out of place in their small town, but it had become an instant attraction.
The main part of the casino was straight ahead, but she was led to the left, down a long hallway that had bright red carpet with a gold ivy pattern inlaid through it. The walls were a muted cream, but the bland color didn’t take away from the fact that it was clearly expensively d
ecorated. Double doors stood to her right, the wood dark and glossy.
Her escort rapped on the door twice before a deep voice called from the other side for them to enter. She expected him to walk in first, but he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. For some reason the hair on her arms stood up and her heart pounded hard. There were a lot of reasons why she was nervous, but the main one was sitting behind a chrome and glass desk looking at her like he could see every one of her secrets.
He crooked his finger for her to enter farther. The door shut firmly behind her, and it was like the air in the room shot up ten degrees. Palms sweaty and mouth gone dry, Stella sat in the chair in front of his desk. He held a phone to his ear, and she tried not to take note of his presence, but there was no denying that trying to ignore anything about Tate Wessen was a lost cause.
“I am not going to argue this, McIntyre. You will fix those numbers and redistribute, or I will take my business elsewhere.” A beat of silence passed, and then he said in a deadly calm voice, “Just make it happen.” When he hung up the phone, he stared at her for a suspended moment. The tension started to escalate, and Stella found herself shifting in her seat.
He steepled his fingers in front of his face, watching her intently. Was she supposed to say something? If he expected that, he was going to be waiting for…like…ever.
“Miss Vincent, thank you for speaking with me on such short notice.” When he leaned back in his seat, the leather creaked from his weight. Like she’d really had a choice in the matter. She wisely kept that to herself, though. “Do you know why I asked to speak with you this evening?”
The way he watched her made her feel naked, despite the cotton skirt and white blouse she wore. She ran her palms over her thighs, thankful the black material would hide the sweat that was rapidly forming on her skin.
“I’m sure it has something to do with my father.” She wanted to say she would kill her dad for putting her in this situation, but the truth was, Henry Vincent was a shell of a man now. There was nothing that she could say or do that would make him the dad she remembered from her childhood.
She’d tried, desperately.
He started loosening his tie until he could undo the first few buttons of his crisp gray shirt. “I’m afraid it does have to do with your father.” He pushed away from his desk and stood. “Would you like something to drink, Miss Vincent?” She followed his movements to the bar on the far side of the wall.
“No, thank you, Mr. Wessen.”
The clink of ice dropping into a glass filled the room. “Please, call me Tate.”
She assumed the easygoing smile he gave her was an attempt to make her feel comfortable or lessen the blow he was about to deliver. He didn’t go back behind his desk, instead sitting on the edge of it, facing her. She was acutely aware of how close he was. The scent of his cologne filled her nose. It smelled rich, masculine, and very expensive. When sitting this close to him, she felt extremely feminine. Tate Wessen was a large man, with wide shoulders and massive arms. The shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest, the muscles underneath the material obscenely evident. It was obvious Mr. Wessen worked out. A lot.
And the tattoos that covered his arms and chest could also be seen beneath the light-colored material. She wondered if that artwork told his story.
Her gaze dropped to his hand, the one that held the square-cut tumbler filled with caramel-colored liquid. He brought the glass to his lips, his long fingers encompassing the perimeter. When he took a deep drink, she watched his throat work as he swallowed. She looked up his thick, tanned and tattooed throat, over his square jaw and full lips, across the sharp angles of his cheeks, and finally settled on his eyes.
The way he watched her let her know he was very aware she’d been looking at him. Her cheeks heated to the point she knew they had to be red as tomatoes. Clearing her throat just proved to make her even more uncomfortable because it caused Tate to smirk at her.
“Has my father done something wrong?” She desperately wanted to change the subject because his gaze was too intent, too knowing. like a light switch turning off, a composed mask slid over Tate’s face. He slid off the desk and made his way back to his chair. “I know he has a bad temper when he drinks, and I’m sure he probably started one too many fights, but I assure you I’ll speak with him about it all—”
“The fighting isn’t the issue.” The silence that ensued was thick, suffocating. “I’m afraid your father is in quite a bit of trouble, Miss Vincent.”
Her heart raced. “What kind of trouble, Mr. Wessen?”
He still gripped his tumbler, his fingers running up and down the smooth glass as he watched her. “I insist you call me Tate, Stella.” He smiled, but it seemed anything but friendly. It reminded her of a predator in the jungle, grinning right before it pounced on its prey. “I can call you Stella, right?”
Like she was going to tell a man like him no. She knew all about him, that he owned the majority of their town, that he was ridiculously wealthy, and that anyone that was smart knew to stay away from him because he was dangerous. She knew all of this, especially the last part, yet here she was, acting like a damn fool, sizing him up as if she wanted to take him out on a freaking date. Of course, if she was being brutally honest with herself, it wasn’t a date she was imagining doing with Tate. Her cheeks heated at the image that slammed into her mind.
Her naked, spread out on his bed. Tate pressing all those hard, defined muscles into her. The feel of his cock, which she had no doubt was just as impressive as the rest of him, brushing against the most sensitive part of her body. God, she was so aroused, and what a fucked-up time to let her libido take control.
She needed to stop thinking about ridiculous and dangerous things, especially when they concerned Tate Wessen. “Of course, Mr....Tate.”
His smile was all straight, white teeth. Oh yes, Tate Wessen was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
2
She was nervous as hell, but that was no surprise because anyone in her position usually was. Tate leaned back in his seat, his fingers wrapped around his drink as he rested it on his thigh. When he invited people into any of his offices, it usually wasn’t on the best of terms, and tonight wasn’t any different. It was a hell of a shame he had to unload her father’s bullshit on her, because the woman in front of him was a fine piece of ass. He knew all about Stella Vincent, knew that she lived in the Fallencrest Apartments off Harris Avenue. It was his job to keep tabs on the people who owed him money, and anyone connected to them. He needed to know their weaknesses … use it as leverage if need be.
And Henry Vincent owed him a shit ton of money.
“Your father is in one hell of a situation.” Her little white teeth pulled her bottom lip in and bit it nervously. He could practically hear the beat of her heart as it thundered in her chest. And what a fine chest it was. His gaze dropped down to her blouse, her breasts rising and falling against the material. Moving his attention to her once more, he knew she’d caught him staring, but he didn’t give a fuck.
Tate didn’t apologize for who he was. He wouldn’t be where he was in life if he did.
“He owes me quite a bit of money.” He took another drink and watched her over the rim. “I’m sure you’re aware of your father’s drinking and gambling problem, Stella.” He knew the answer already. She swallowed, and he heard it from where he sat.
“How much does he owe you?” Her voice caught, and he could tell she wasn’t surprised at the news. Then again, she’d been picking up Henry’s ass from his establishments for far too long—and most likely from every other bar and club within a ten-mile radius—for her not to have an inkling of what type of man he really was.
He didn’t mean to leave her hanging, but as he watched her, saw the play of emotions filter across her face, he found himself lost in her. Strange reaction for him, and frankly, one he didn’t care for. He wasn’t the type of man to do dinner and flowers.
The longer he watched her, the mor
e he found himself wanting her. Her tits were large, and her nipples were becoming hard. He was blatantly staring at her, not giving a shit if she realized it or not. Was his gaze affecting her that much?
“Mr. Wessen?”
Lifting his gaze from her breasts, he knew that he wanted her. Bad. Of course, it wasn’t wise to mix business with pleasure.
He wanted her to say his name, his first name. His business associates and the people that were scared of him called him Mr. Wessen. For some stupid reason Tate wanted his name to fall from her lips. He could almost picture her moaning it in the dim light while he fucked her.
Had he ever wanted a woman this much?
“Your father owes me twenty-five thousand dollars, Miss Vincent.” It would do him well to keep her at a distance. The blush that had once covered her cheeks vanished as she turned pale. The color drained from her face, and her eyes widened. Just staring at her, even the shocked look on her face had his dick rock-hard. He was a fucking dirty bastard for wanting between her thighs. But being a bastard had worked out well for him in his life, and he wasn’t about to change that.
“Oh God.” She wiped a bead of sweat that had formed on her forehead and looked around the room. Was she looking for an escape route? If she knew anything about him, she knew he didn’t fuck around when it came to his money.