Regret at Roosevelt Ranch

by Elise Faber

  Bella stepped back, putting the chaise between them.

  His name was Raul and he was the one who’d so effectively subdued her at the diner.

  She’d barely made it two steps into the hall before he grabbed her, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her wrist and twisting her arm behind her back. He’d had her completely immobilized in under ten seconds.

  In the back of the SUV in ten more.

  And at the private airfield in less than an hour.

  Now Raul dropped the bag onto the bed. “Get dressed.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  His deep brown eyes narrowed. “Get dressed or I’ll do it for you.”

  Part of her felt like she should continue refusing, just on principle. She didn’t want to be here. She was desperate to find a way to get out and going along with any of his—and presumably, her father’s—orders didn’t help her cause.

  But one look at his expression warned her that she really didn’t want to refuse.

  He’d get her in whatever was in that bag and it wouldn’t be difficult for him, no matter how big of a fight she put up.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Makeup. Hair. Thirty minutes.” He spun around and left the room, and despite the seriousness of her situation, Bella had a hard time not sticking her tongue out at the clipped-out orders.

  “Sit. Stay,” she muttered, waiting for the door to shut completely before she crossed to the bed. She would have locked it behind him, but for obvious reasons, the lock had been removed.

  Sighing, she unzipped the bag. A gorgeous navy dress with ruching on the bodice and a lace overlay on the skirt was inside.

  No doubt it would be a perfect fit, but it was all Bella could do to not throw the garment out the freaking window. Just the thought of dressing up for her father, for Sergio, for playing the fucking doll all over again turned her stomach.

  Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t eaten for close to twenty-four hours.

  She hadn’t trusted the food on the plane—her father had kidnapped her already, why would he balk at a simple thing like drugging her into submission. So, she’d refused the food, readying herself to throw a tantrum at customs.

  Except that opportunity never presented itself.

  Her father had stepped off the plane, exchanged some words with an official—and no doubt some bills alongside them—and then they’d been allowed to disembark. Raul had been by her side, the grip on his arm a painful reminder of how easily he could subdue her, and Bella hadn’t known whether to show her hand and fight or to go along and try to find a way to escape later.

  She should have fought.

  Because security at her father’s compound had intensified since the last time she’d snuck out.

  Before it had felt like protection, safeguards to make sure she wasn’t at risk from someone who might try to get to her because of her father’s business interests—not that anyone ever seemed to recognize her. She was the floor lamp positioned artistically in the corner of the room, pretty scenery that no one remembered.

  But now, it was clear the security was in place to keep her there.

  How naïve she’d been.

  And now she worried she would never see Henry again.

  The way Sergio had looked at her on the plane—

  Bella shivered. He’d been furious, expression frosty and some dark emotion in his eyes that had her keeping a careful distance from him. She’d embarrassed him again. Not only that, she’d made him look like a deranged fool with a dangerous lack of control, and she’d dared to bring charges against him. Then there was the fact that she’d taken up with Henry.

  If her father succeeded in marrying her off to him?

  She was petrified to consider what he might do to her in retribution.

  He’d pushed her down the stairs, had tried to choke her, had chased her, yanking her by the hair. And most of those had been in full view of the public.

  Or at least somewhere that they could be easily discovered.

  If she were in his home?

  Well, Bella thought she wouldn’t survive the year.

  Because she would keep trying to get out. And keep trying. She would never stop trying to get back to Henry.

  Never.

  Her eyes drifted back down to the gown in front of her and her sigh was despondent.

  Because, for now, she needed to get dressed.

  Her heels pinched like a son of a bitch. The dress was way too tight.

  Either she’d gained weight since moving to Darlington or Bella’s father was trying to punish her.

  She stifled a snort.

  Because, one, of course he was trying to punish her and, two, she had probably gained weight.

  All those late-night meals with Henry. All the taste-testing of new desserts she’d planned for the bakery she wanted to open. All the—

  Her jaw dropped open as a group of men entered the room.

  She’d been shuttled downstairs and into an empty parlor they’d often used for her father’s business gatherings. As usual, all the chairs had been removed, replaced by several tall cocktail tables—the kind people stand up to eat at—the sideboard covered with a variety of her father’s favorite dishes.

  Also as usual, she’d been left standing alone in the space for close to an hour.

  Well, alone except for Raul, who was standing near the room’s only door.

  But that wasn’t what made her jaw drop.

  “Justin?” she whispered, hope making her heart buoyant.

  Aside from dinner at the ranch, she’d only met Kelly’s husband a couple of times, but he had to recognize her. Or, her heart swelled with hope, maybe they’d found her.

  Maybe he’d come to rescue her.

  She knew enough about him to understand that his family business was powerful and well-respected.

  He could—

  But then his eyes connected with hers and her heart sank.

  Because he wasn’t looking at her with concern or even recognition. No, instead he gave her a faintly appraising once-over, starting at her face and ending at her toes, but other than that, he barely paid her any mind, turning to focus his attention back on whatever her father was saying.

  Part of the act.

  It had to be.

  But . . . what if it wasn’t?

  What if Justin wanted her family’s business more than he wanted to help her? What if—?

  No.

  Kelly wouldn’t have married such a man.

  She couldn’t have.

  But as Bella straightened her shoulders and crossed over to where the men were chatting, she couldn’t stop the niggling in her brain that Justin would be able to get her out.

  She’d barely reached them when her father shot a glare in her direction. “Wine, Isabella,” he snapped. Her hesitation, her moment spent trying to meet Justin’s eyes earned her a sharp pinch on her arm. She sucked in a breath, trying and failing to hold back her wince.

  “Now.”

  “I’ll help you,” Justin said.

  Relief coursed through her. He was going to get her out.

  He trailed her to the refreshment table, waving off her father’s protests. “I’m a guest in your home, it’s the least I can do.”

  Bella grabbed a bottle, positioned herself so her father couldn’t see her face.

  “Justin,” she hissed. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  He froze, head jerking.

  There was something about his eyes . . .

  Blinking, she forced herself to focus, to go as slowly as possible as she positioned six glasses and began carefully pouring the red wine made from her father’s favorite variety of grapes, Sangiovese.

  “I’m . . .” He pressed his lips together, expression bland, as though he were carefully considering what to say. “I’m married.”

  Bella shook her head. “I know that. Kelly—”

  Fingers gripped her wrist, and she nearly dropped the bottle of wine. “Wha
t the fuck do you know about Kelly Hamilton?”

  Her breath caught and she steadied the bottle. “It’s Kelly Roosevelt now,” she whispered. “It’s me, Justin. Bella. You know I know her and Abbie and the twins. You know me. You know I’m Henry’s—”

  “Isabella!” her father bellowed.

  “Coming,” she called, grabbing two glasses and hurrying over to give them to him and Sergio before rushing back over to the table and snagging two more.

  Justin caught her arm. “Twins?” he asked, hoarsely.

  And that was the moment she knew, the moment the pieces aligned in her head and her heart sank to her toes.

  “You’re not Justin, are you?”

  He shook his head, left the sideboard with his glass in hand, rejoining the circle of men.

  Bella dropped her gaze to the carpet, blinking back tears as she walked over to distribute the rest of the wine to her father’s business associates. Then she strode back to the sideboard, leaning her back against the wall.

  Sergio shifted, as though he were going to join her, but her father took him by the back of the neck and whispered something in his ear.

  Something that made dark, angry eyes shift in Bella’s direction.

  Shit.

  He listened for a long moment before nodding.

  “Food, Isabella,” her father ordered in Italian after he’d finished speaking to Sergio. “The others will be here soon, but they can serve themselves.”

  The men laughed, all except Justin—or the not Justin—who probably didn’t speak enough Italian to understand the remark.

  But she got the message loud and clear.

  These men were the inner circle.

  These men mattered.

  And Bella was expected to serve them.

  If she didn’t—

  She shuddered to consider it. Her father had always been demanding, but not like this, not ordering her around in front of the others like she was no better than a servant, and she understood that in her father’s eyes, she was worth exactly that much. There was no more slack on her leash, no room for her to go live her own life.

  She would do as he wanted, or she would pay the consequences.

  He’d find her, no matter where she went, and he’d drag her back here.

  She’d never get out.

  She would never have the life she’d dreamed of with Henry.

  Eyes burning, she began to prepare the six plates, hardly aware of what she was putting on the white porcelain.

  “I’m Rex,” the not-Justin said, having come back over to refill his glass of wine.

  She nodded, moving past him to pile a few shrimp onto her father’s plate.

  “I’m Justin’s twin.”

  Her breath caught. Of course, he was. “Did he—” Hope bubbled up, and she whispered. “Did he send you?”

  Silence.

  And fuck, hope fizzled like so much smoke.

  “No,” he finally said.

  She nodded, picked up the plate and bringing it to her father, who promptly sent her back to remake it.

  “The pastas are touching,” he said, as though she were daft and a little marinara mixing with garlic cream sauce was the worst crime she could commit.

  But she was reeling and upset, feet screaming, heart aching . . . and so, she remade the plate.

  And then again when he said the shrimp were cold.

  Never mind that they were supposed to be cold.

  Finally, she produced a plate he didn’t reject, and she worked her way through the others, who all had their various requests.

  All except for Rex.

  “Henry?” he asked, accepting the plate she thrust at him.

  Her eyes shot up, and she nodded.

  An eternity passed, several indiscernible emotions crossing his expression, before determination set in. “Trust me,” he whispered, and that damn hope bubbled to life again.

  But, really, Bella should have known better.

  It had been one fucking evening and it already felt as though her heart had spent an eternity on a roller coaster. Maybe she had a chance. Maybe she didn’t. No, of course she didn’t. But maybe—

  Rex’s fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Just trust me.”

  Except, he didn’t do anything to warrant that trust.

  Instead, Rex ignored her the rest of the evening, demanding more plates of food and eating like a glutton as the rest of the men—the lower circle of her father’s associates—joined the party. And that said nothing of how much he drank.

  He kept refilling his glass. Over and over. Until Raul had to sling his arm around Rex’s shoulders and escort him from the room.

  Until Bella was alone, all over again.

  Rex Roosevelt was just like the rest of them.

  She’d just hung the dress back up in her closet when she heard a noise that sent the hairs on her nape prickling and her movements into high gear.

  Someone was breaking in.

  Or rather, someone had let themselves into her room since her door didn’t have a lock.

  She’d shoved a chair in front of it, for all the good that did her in this moment. The screech of its feet sliding against the tile floor was what Bella had heard.

  Hurrying, she threw on the first clothes she could reach—sweats, a T-shirt, even bare feet into sneakers. Both because she didn’t want to be in just her underwear if it was Sergio who’d come in and also because she wanted to have the chance to run if the opportunity presented itself.

  Then she searched for a weapon.

  The fancy suite she was being kept in had a designer wardrobe and makeup filled drawers, silk sheets, and plush rugs. A luxurious prison, to be sure, but not one exactly rife with weapons.

  In the end, footsteps prompted her to grab the first thing she saw.

  A curling iron.

  She darted into the bathroom and snatched it up then hid behind the partially open door.

  “Isabella?” came a hushed male voice. The footsteps drifted closer.

  She clenched the plastic handle tightly, lifted it above her head.

  A shadow crossed the threshold of the bathroom then a leg . . . a torso.

  Bella closed her eyes and swung.

  Thunk.

  “Fuck!” the voice said, stepping fully into the bathroom and wincing as he rubbed the top of his head.

  She froze. “But you’re drunk.” A whisper.

  Rex’s mouth curved. “Either that or I’m really good at pretending I am.”

  “I saw you drink those bottles of wine.” Two of them. By himself.

  “I drank a few glasses,” he admitted. “But your father’s fern drank more. I probably killed it”—a shrug—“though I don’t think that’ll bother you much.”

  Bella smiled. “Not at all actually.”

  “Good,” Rex said. “So, you want to get out of here?”

  She laughed at the casual tone he used, like they were getting ready to leave a restaurant or a boring party.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’d like to go home. But what about the guards?”

  “I was busy while I was passed out drunk in my room. I called in some help and”—he held up a bag—“I found your passport.”

  Hope bubbled up in her. “But—”

  He took her arm. “There’s too much to explain now. We need to be in position in ten minutes. Can you trust me to get you out?”

  She looked into his eyes, saw earnestness but also the barest hint of a shadow, as though he expected her to say no.

  But, fuck, what choice to Bella have?

  Stay and—

  She shuddered to think of it.

  Or trust Justin’s brother and hope that he kept up his end of the bargain.

  A nod. The decision not one that took long to ponder. She wanted to get home to Darlington, to Henry.

  She’d do whatever it took.

  “Get me out of here, Rex.”

  Twenty-One

  Henry

  He was sitting in the
kitchen of Roosevelt Ranch when Justin’s phone rang.

  Two days without a word from Bella, forty-eight hours with no sightings of her or Sergio, but still Henry’s heart leaped at the vibration.

  Maybe—

  Justin shook his head slightly. “Just Rex.”

  Once Henry would have thought Rex to be pretty much the worst kind of scum out there, but now he knew differently. Rex was an asshole, but he was on a completely different scale than Sergio.

  Justin rejected the call, slid it back into his pocket. “How are you—” He broke off with a sigh and pulled his cell back out. “Let me get this. Otherwise, he’ll just keep calling.” He swiped, put the phone up to his ear. “Listen, Rex. This isn’t a good—what?”

  Henry straightened at the shocked tone but then rolled his eyes.

  The bastard had probably made another shitty business decision. Or knocked up—

  “Okay,” Justin said. “Okay, I’ll—we’ll be there in . . . fuck, I don’t know. As soon as we can.” He hung up. “Let’s go. It’s Bella. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “I—” Shock had Henry in its grip for one long moment, but then Justin rushed for the front door and the action sprung Henry into motion.

  They ran to the garage, bypassing the wedding, but spending precious minutes navigating around all the cars before they managed to make their way to the main road. All the while, Henry’s head was spinning, wanting to demand information, but knowing he needed to wait until, at the very least, they maneuvered past the reveling guests.

  The moment they were clear, Justin dialed Rob and put him on speakerphone.

  “I just got a call from Rex,” Justin said. “He’s on the private plane and will be landing at the airfield in less than an hour.” His eyes shot to Henry’s, and he said the unbelievable words Henry had been hoping for since Justin had mentioned her name. Impossible, because how could Rex have anything to do with Bella, but still wishing for them all the same.

  “Rex says Bella is with him. Apparently, he met her father in Italy, they were going to do business, but then Bella was there and—” Justin shook his head. “Well, that’s all he would say. That she’s fine and next to him, and they’re landing at the airport in just under an hour.”