Then there was the way it would affect her. What would they all think at the ranch? They’d be horrified in all likelihood.
“Fuck,” he muttered again.
So much for being the perfect Tate heir. How many more mistakes can you possibly make?
Yeah, well, he wasn’t perfect and he never had been, and this was proof positive of why. He’d let Chloe meet de Santis and then he’d let her get taken.
This is what happens when you fail to handle a situation.
Van’s jaw was so tight it ached. Ah, Christ, he had to fix this. He had to.
Okay, so de Santis had apparently left him without options. If he gave de Santis Tate stock, the asshole would still have that footage, and Van didn’t trust the man not to keep it so he could have something on Van for a future rainy day.
If he rescued Chloe, the footage would go out on the internet and the shit would hit the fan for both him and Chloe. He could possibly protect himself from that, but Chloe had to return to the ranch. How would that affect her when it came to managing the place? Christ, the ranch aside, the media were misogynistic assholes and she would be hounded anyway. Even if she left New York, she’d still find herself the center of a media storm that would be there forever. Oh yeah, and the Navy would probably ditch him and he’d never be able to go back.
There was the option of finding the footage and destroying it, but he wasn’t a hacker and he suspected that de Santis would have gotten the file locked up tight behind layers and layers of firewalls that Van wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting through. Not when the man used to own a company that provided digital security to the military, which meant his own computer security would probably be at least military grade.
You really are fucked.
Unconsciously, Van’s fingers curled around something hard, and he realized he was still holding the stone Chloe had given him. The little stone to remind him of home.
But it wasn’t the Tate ranch he was thinking about now. He was thinking of her. She’d reluctantly put her physical safety in his hands, and then, when she’d given herself to him that night, she’d trusted him with even more.
She wasn’t merely a mission he’d been given by his father, or a responsibility he hadn’t asked for. She was more than that, no matter how much he hadn’t wanted her to be, and she certainly deserved more than that from him.
He’d promised he’d keep her safe, and he meant it.
Which meant it was time for him to stop thinking about how quickly he could get this over with before he could go back to the Navy. Time to stop acting like the responsibilities he’d been given were simply a fucking burden he didn’t want to deal with.
He had to step up. He had to take control.
He was the Tate heir and it was time to claim what was his.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chloe woke up with a start, staring at the ceiling above and wondering where the hell she was. Because she wasn’t in her room at the ranch, or at the Tate mansion. And it certainly didn’t look like the ceiling in Lucas’s apartment either. So … where was she?
The memory of the night before came crashing in all of a sudden.
Leaving with de Santis, watching Van running after her, shouting her name. Then listening to de Santis talk, telling her things she didn’t want to hear. All about a friendship. A betrayal. Stolen oil. Revenge.…
And, oh yes, de Santis was planning to blackmail Van by using her and the footage of them kissing at Rockefeller Plaza.
Yeah, she’d sure had a great evening.
She closed her eyes, for a second hoping reality would change itself to suit her better. But sadly it didn’t.
Forcing herself to sit up, Chloe took a look around. She was still on the couch where she’d curled up the evening before, after it had become clear that de Santis meant to keep her there at least for the night. She felt cold, her neck sore and her back stiff, so she slid off the couch and paced around to get warm.
Glaring at the windows that faced the street, she stuck her fists beneath her armpits to get some feeling back into her fingers. She didn’t bother trying the windows again. They’d been locked the previous night and trying to break the glass with a nearby vase had shattered only the vase. Clearly they were bulletproof and nothing she had on her was going to break them.
She turned toward the door, sparing it an especially evil glare. She’d tried pulling on that too, but it had remained securely locked and she couldn’t imagine that had changed overnight either.
Pacing over to the fireplace then back to the couch, she tried to ignore the rumblings in her stomach and the growing urgency in her bladder.
Okay, so she was locked in a room. What was her next step? Basically her options were either sit and wait for de Santis to blackmail Van, or sit and wait for Van to rescue her.
Dammit. She’d told Van she’d be able to handle this. Especially when rescue might be a little tricky if de Santis really did have footage of that kiss. If Van rescued her, she had no doubt de Santis would release it and that … wouldn’t be good. A sex scandal wasn’t exactly what either of them needed right now.
Even if you manage to escape, he’ll release it anyway.
Well, what else was she supposed to do? Sit around and wait to be either rescued or hurt in some way? Continue to let herself be used as a pawn the way her father had used her most of her life?
No. Just no. She’d have to risk it. She had to do something.
Chloe turned and paced back to the fireplace.
They would come for her, that was for sure. And when they did, she needed to be ready. No, she had no fighting skills to speak of, but she wasn’t completely defenseless. She’d broken in horses, fixed up fencing, helped shift hay bales, done all sorts of hard, physical labor on the ranch. She wasn’t exactly some weak little kid.
However, de Santis no doubt thought of her as such, which meant they probably wouldn’t be expecting her to attempt an escape and definitely wouldn’t be expecting an offensive attack.
Chloe took a quick look around the room to see if there was anything, anything at all, she could use as a weapon. There wasn’t much—a couple of glass vases, which looked too delicate to be of any use. She imagined she could smash them and use the glass shards as weapons, but she’d never used a knife or anything similar. If she got into a fight, she was more likely to get hurt than to hurt someone else.
No, what she needed was something heavy. Something that she could use to hit someone over the head to render them instantly unconscious.
There was a lamp on the sideboard opposite her, yet it looked far too big and unwieldy to handle easily. But … her gaze dropped to the fireplace and the set of elegant tongs hanging on a small stand. Ah, that might do.
She went over and picked them up, weighing them experimentally in her hand. They were iron and heavy, yet not too heavy to lift or to potentially whack someone over the head hard with. Yes, that could work. That could work very well.
Gripping the tongs in her hand, Chloe moved to the door and put her ear against the wood. There was no sound from the other side. She stepped back again, staring at the closed door. How long would she have to wait until they opened it? Ah, but what did that matter anyway? It wasn’t like she could get out of there any sooner.
She went to stand behind the door, leaning back against the wall, keeping her fingers wrapped tightly around the tongs. Hitting whoever came in over the head and making a run for it wasn’t the greatest plan in the world, especially if more than one guard came into the room or if there were more out in the hallway. She didn’t think they’d actually physically harm her—at least not if de Santis wanted to use her against Van—but then, who knew? They might decide she was more trouble than she was worth and shoot her as she tried to escape.
Too bad, though. It was the only plan she had.
Her palms began to get sweaty, her mouth began to get dry, and her rumbling stomach was now replaced by an uncomfortable, churning fear.
&nbs
p; No, she couldn’t let herself think about what they might do to her. She had to believe de Santis wouldn’t want her harmed. And if he did …
Well, if he did, she had nothing left to lose anyway.
For some reason the decision calmed her, the fear settling, making way for a kind of grim determination.
She didn’t know how long she’d have to stand there, but she eventually heard footsteps, then the sound of the door being unlocked. Pushing herself away from the wall, Chloe gripped the tongs tight and raised them above her head. She wouldn’t have much time before they’d discover where she was, a couple of seconds max. She had to make those seconds count.
The door opened and one black-suited man came in.
He hesitated, obviously taken aback by the fact that he couldn’t see her.
Chloe didn’t hesitate. Using the element of a few seconds’ surprise to her advantage, she came up silently behind him and smashed the tongs down on the back of his head with all her strength.
He let out a sharp grunt then fell heavily to the floor, lying there unmoving.
She blinked, her hands shaking, slightly shocked at herself. Oh God, had she killed him?
Now is not the time to be second-guessing. Run, you fucking idiot!
Chloe sucked in a breath, spared a precious second to pick up the gun the guy had been holding, then turned and ran out of the room.
There didn’t seem to be anyone immediately in the grand hallway outside, but she didn’t pause to look around, heading straight toward the mansion’s big front doors instead.
Please God, don’t let her be seen. Please let her get out.
She had her hand on the front door when a casual voice behind her said, “I’m afraid you can’t get out that way, Chloe. The door’s locked.”
A bolt of real fear caught her and she whirled around, lifting the gun toward the voice.
Cesare de Santis was standing behind her, dressed in an exquisitely tailored dark blue suit with a tie the same sapphire of his eyes, the very picture of a wealthy, powerful businessman. He didn’t even look at the gun she had pointed at him, and no wonder since he had two goons standing behind him, each with a weapon trained on her.
Crap.
His mouth curled. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah.” She lifted her chin, not lowering her own gun one inch. “Is there a Starbucks around here because I really need a goddamn latte.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “The lattes will have to wait. Clearly we’ll need more of a guard, though where you’re going, that won’t be too much of a problem.”
Trepidation twisted inside her, but she didn’t let it show. “And where am I going?”
“Somewhere more secure. Not that this place isn’t, but it’s not really set up for … guests. At least not unwilling ones.”
Chloe kept the muzzle of her weapon trained on his smug face, ignoring the men standing behind him and the guns they held. “Why?”
“Why take you anywhere? I don’t like leaving loose ends lying around, Chloe, and you’re one hell of a loose end.”
“If you don’t like loose ends, why not simply kill me, Dad?”
De Santis’s eyes widened as if genuinely surprised by the question. “Kill you? No, of course I’m not going to kill you. You’re my daughter and I’m not a monster. Besides, you’re far too useful. I’m going to keep you for a rainy day, so to speak.” He gestured to the pair of massive, black-suited men behind him. “Get her gun then put her in the car. If she gets away I’ll have both your heads.”
Chloe swallowed, part of her wanting to pull that trigger anyway, shoot de Santis right in the face. But that wouldn’t help anything, not when his goons would then just shoot her. No, there was no point trying to get away now. De Santis had her and he knew it.
Belatedly, she tried to make a dash out the door, but the men came for her, ripping the gun from her hand and gripping her arms so she couldn’t pull away. The front door was opened and she was hustled out and down the steps to where a car waited at the curb. Five seconds later she found herself sitting in the back seat flanked by the two huge guards, while a third, the driver, pulled the car out into the traffic.
She couldn’t escape now, she was trapped. Even if she was able to unlock the doors, she’d have to somehow climb over one of the guards before hurling herself into traffic.
Oh God. How the hell was she going to get out of this one? She’d promised Van she would handle this, that she would be safe, and she very clearly wasn’t.
You kind of fucked up.
Chloe sat back in the seat, feeling the unwelcome prick of frustrated tears, but she swallowed them down, clenching her jaw tight. No, she refused to accept she was helpless. She was just going to have to come up with another plan.
It was morning rush hour, so the car moved slowly through heavy traffic, but the driver didn’t seem worried. Clearly they weren’t under any time pressure and were confident they were going to get her to wherever stupid de Santis had ordered them to take her.
They pulled up to a set of lights, the loud purr of a motorcycle engine rumbling beside them. Chloe glanced over at it, the sound distracting her. It was a massive bike, black and lethal-looking, its black leather–clad rider sitting casually astride it as if it weighed nothing at all. He had one booted foot on the asphalt for balance, one gloved hand on the handlebars, while the other hand …
Chloe blinked as the man drew out what looked like a long-barreled pistol. And before she’d even had time to think about what was happening, he pointed the muzzle at the driver’s window and pulled the trigger. The glass cracked, the driver shouted a sudden curse. The biker pulled the trigger again and the driver slumped over as the glass began to fall away from its frame.
The two guards beside her began to react, reaching into their jackets for their weapons, and Chloe knew that this was her chance. She had no idea who the man on the bike was—Van?—but whatever, she had only a few seconds to get out of the car while the guards were distracted, and hell, she’d take it.
She launched herself out of the back seat and into the front. Someone swiped at her hoodie, grabbing a handful of the fabric, but she slid out of their grip and jerked open the front passenger-side door. There was a shout behind her and a curse, then the sharp, percussive sound of a silenced gun. But she’d already flung herself out of the car and onto the street. Horns blared as she stumbled into the traffic and she had to dodge a couple of cars to stop from getting run over. But she kept going, gaining the sidewalk, then sprinting down it, putting as much distance between her and the car as she could.
She didn’t know how long she kept running, but eventually her lungs began to burn and her muscles started screaming, so she ducked into an alleyway and came to a halt, her breaths sawing in and out.
The low throb of a bike engine neared.
She jerked her head up and there he was, at the curb, waiting for her. The man on the huge black bike.
Van.
Her heart swelled up suddenly, huge and aching in her chest. She didn’t even care that she hadn’t managed to get herself out of the situation. All that mattered was that he’d come for her.
Then the man pulled up his visor and she met a pair of cold, silver-blue eyes.
Lucas.
The disappointment was so bitter she could almost taste it, which was kind of ungrateful of her, seeing as how he’d just rescued her. Nevertheless, she felt it.
She fought it back as he scanned her from head to foot, obviously checking to make sure she was whole and uninjured.
“Are you okay?” he asked shortly. “Did that bastard hurt you?”
“No.” Her voice sounded breathless and husky and the question came out before she could stop it. “Where’s Van?”
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “He’s dealing with de Santis.”
“Oh? How?”
“You can ask questions later. We need to go.”
She didn’t move. “What about those men in the c
ar? Did you kill them?”
“You really think I’m stupid enough to kill a couple of assholes in the middle of the street in broad daylight? No, of course not.” He jerked his head toward the back of the bike. “Stop asking questions and get on. Now.”
Chloe let out a breath, swallowed down the rest of her questions, and climbed on the back of the bike.
* * *
Van stepped out of the limo, letting Walker, Noah’s old driver, shut it behind him. For a moment he stood on the sidewalk, doing up a single button on his suit jacket. Adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Smoothing his tie. Taking his time and being as ostentatious as fuck about it.
His phone went off and he grabbed it from his pocket, glancing down to check the screen, hoping it was who he expected it to be. And sure enough, it was. The message was short and sweet: Got her.
Lucas. Right on schedule.
Pushing aside the intense rush of relief that flooded him, Van shoved his phone back into his pocket.
Right. Phase one had been accomplished. Time for phase two.
He headed straight for the front door of de Santis’s mansion.
Once he’d made the decision to act, the plan had come together easily enough. Lucas, predictably, hadn’t been impressed with either Van’s decision or the orders Van had issued when he’d called to give him the news. But Van hadn’t given a shit. He’d reminded his brother that if he found rescuing one woman from a bunch of little boys too tough for him, then maybe Wolf might be up for the challenge. Lucas had growled at that, then said, “Fine. What do you need?”
Van had decided to keep phase three of his plan on the down low, because he didn’t need the extra aggravation that would come from his brothers once he announced it. He also needed to talk to Chloe first, since it was all a moot point if she didn’t agree.
And if she doesn’t agree?
Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he had to deal with de Santis.
The door to the mansion opened immediately since they were expecting him—he’d already gotten Margery to call de Santis and tell him to expect a visit. He’d decided he was going to handle this particular situation in full corporate mode, rather than as a SEAL. It was a risk since the corporate world was de Santis’s battlefield, not his, but then Van had never been one to shy away from a challenge.
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