Blue Blooded

by Shelly Bell

  “So, what, you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “It’s a cause I feel strongly about, but only because I see the future.” He puffed out his chest as if he was giving a political speech. “Biological warfare is our biggest threat, and investment in our protection will benefit everyone, especially those with a financial interest in the pharmaceutical companies that manufacture the drugs. Just imagine how much money those companies will be worth when our country keeps stockpiles of the drugs available for its citizens.”

  “And let me guess. You own stock in the pharmaceutical company that manufactures Exulanab. This has all been about money?”

  “Of course I didn’t do it solely for the money. The money will help get me elected as president, but I’m doing this because I’m a patriot.” He stepped closer to her. “I love this great country of ours, and I’ve made no secret that my ancestry can be traced all the way to George Washington. My blood runs blue, unlike so many who live in our country now. It’s time to save this country and return it to its former glory. Reclaim the international respect it deserves.”

  She glanced at the iPad. “How will you do that?”

  His lip curled in disgust. “Our country will have a biological weapon and its cure. Everyone will fear us. We’d have the ability to wipe out our enemy without ever losing one of our soldiers. Just think of it. We could rid this world of every minority.”

  She shuddered, disgusted by his evil. “And how were you going to do that with the virus? It’s not as if it can pick and choose whom it sickens.”

  “No, but we can control who receives the cure,” he said, tapping his chest with two of his fingers. “The worthy Americans will remain safe while those less desirables will succumb to death by virus.”

  Distracted by a scratching from outside on the porch, Hutton turned toward the noise. Trying not to think about being shot in the back, she dashed to the kitchen. With Hutton on her tail, she looked for a weapon and panicked, picking up the wine bottle from the counter. She swung it around, catching the senator on his temple. His body slammed to the floor, knocked out cold.

  She didn’t wait for him to recover. She ran through the kitchen to the front door and flung it open. A dark figure filled the entryway. Before she could cry for help, a fist to her chest sent her careening back into her house. The door slammed shut for a second time, and the man she recognized from television as Senator Byron stomped toward her, menace gleaming in his eyes.

  They were working together?

  “I don’t understand,” she said, every breath painful to take as she sat up. She crossed her arms over her middle, sure she had broken a rib.

  Senator Hutton rounded the corner from the kitchen and handed Byron the gun. “Every good political fight needs a hero and a villain. We agreed that my chances of winning the White House were better than his, so I got to be the hero this time and fight for our nation’s safety.”

  She almost laughed. A Democrat and Republican working together. “And Rinaldi? How did he get involved?”

  Byron slid his hand up and down the barrel of the gun. “Communicating through Evans and Fink, Hutton and I negotiated to have all charges dropped against Rinaldi in exchange for his help. He never even knew who he was really dealing with. Rinaldi had an African mafia contact in Kinshasa, the capital of Congo, which was previously known as Leopoldville. The Leopold virus still sickens their monkeys from time to time. For a great deal of money, the virus was extracted from one such animal, and scientists on my payroll turned it into a gas form. Once Evans and Fink knew where and when to expect the shipment of the virus, Rinaldi’s usefulness came to an end.”

  Hutton stepped closer. “Just like yours.” He turned toward Byron. “She’s already turned over the computer data to Sawyer Hayes. We’ll have to eliminate him next.”

  Fear that she’d never known flooded her veins. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Hutton smiled. “Remember when I said I enjoyed torture?” He gestured to Byron. “Meet my torturer. He knows more ways to make you scream than you could count.”

  Rachel knew enough to know there were worse things than death. She believed these men would have her begging them to kill her before they were finished with her. “Please don’t hurt me. I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said, her voice coming out as though her throat was filled with gravel.

  Byron laughed sadistically. “That’s what they always say.” He kept the gun trained on her as he spoke to his partner. “Hutton, go to the kitchen and bring me a knife while I take her into the bedroom. Let’s see if she can’t take it hard up the ass like you can. Then we can carve us a pretty picture using her flesh as our canvas and blood as our paint.”

  Her tears and sweat dampened her T-shirt, and chills racked her body. She closed her eyes and imagined she was in Logan’s arms, safe and warm underneath the blankets. If she concentrated hard enough, she could smell him around her, feel his touch on her skin, taste his kisses on her lips. No matter what happened, she’d hold him close to her and know that before she died, at least for a little while, she’d been loved. Although he wasn’t there physically, she carried him in her heart and soul. He’d always be with her because she refused to let him go.

  When Hutton went off to the kitchen, Byron yanked her off the floor and slapped her cheek, its sting waking her from the cocoon she’d created in her mind to protect herself. Clutching her nape, he pushed her through the house until he found her bedroom. Then he tossed her on the bed, facedown, and straddled her, his erection digging into her butt.

  She wouldn’t go down without fighting. She’d rather die than endure rape and torture. She flailed her arms and legs, trying to throw him off. “No! No! Leave me alone.” His hands wrapped around her neck and tightened.

  Her world went blurry around the edges and a buzzing sensation flooded her body.

  “Get your hands off my wife.”

  Dazed, she fought to stay conscious. Was that muffled voice really Logan’s or was she imagining him?

  The hands around her loosened and she felt him shift on top of her. There was a loud blast that she heard even through the ringing in her ears from her lack of oxygen. The weight on top of her was gone, and then she heard the blast again, this time clearer as her lungs filled with air. Exhaustion didn’t keep her from rolling over to see what had happened.

  Eyes shining with unshed tears, Logan kneeled over her, a gun in his hands. “Byron’s dead. He can’t hurt you.”

  Forgetting about the pain in her ribs until she moved, she shot upright and looked on the floor beside the bed. Byron’s eyes were wide open, blood spreading across his chest in two different spots.

  Logan didn’t know the danger wasn’t over. She grabbed him by the shoulders, her mouth moving but no words coming out. She swallowed, her throat bone-dry, and tried again. “Logan, Hutton’s in the kitchen.”

  He held her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Shh. I’ve already taken care of him. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore. No one will. I won’t let them.”

  “How did you know?” she said, her throat sounding as if it had been scratched by sandpaper.

  “Lisa. She drove by to get her iPad and saw a man hanging out on your porch. She called me first to see if it was me, and then once she realized it wasn’t, she hung up and called the police. I got here quicker, but they’re on their way.”

  She listened to his heart thumping under her ear and held him closer. “I’m sorry. You were right. Hutton got suspicious by my questions during the interview and saw the app on my phone. I shouldn’t have put myself in danger.”

  He tipped up her chin. “No, don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were right. I was trying to control you. But you’re the strongest, bravest woman I know, and those are only a couple of the reasons I love you. And while it may kill me to know you’re putting yourself in danger, I respect the hell out of you for it. Besides, it couldn’t be any worse than living
without you. I love you, Rachel Bradford. Tell me you forgive me.”

  She softly pressed her lips to his in a promise of more to come. “There’s nothing to forgive. I love you too.” She smiled. “But now, I’ve got a story to report.”

  Epilogue

  Three months later . . .

  “I NOW PRONOUNCE you husband and wife, Master and collared slave,” the reverend said into the microphone. “You may now kiss and seal your vow to one another.”

  Underneath the clear blue sky, the two hundred wedding guests stood and clapped loudly. Hundreds of colorful butterflies were released into the air, their wings spread wide as they soared toward freedom. The orchestra played Vivaldi’s “Summer” as the handsome groom yanked his wife closer by her sparkling diamond collar and kissed the hell out of her in a display of ownership. When he pulled away, he dropped to his knees and tenderly kissed her swollen belly, gazing up at the love of his life with wonder.

  In the backyard of Cole and Danielle DeMarco’s mansion, Rachel dabbed a tissue at her eyes. The gazebo had been a beautiful location for Cole and Danielle to repeat their marriage vows and for the performance of the collaring ceremony. It didn’t matter that this was Cole and Danielle’s second wedding, the last one done privately out of state. She was so happy for her friends, who were expecting the birth of their first child in two months.

  “You’re crying,” Logan said, surprise in his voice. His arm snaked around her, pulling her to him, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

  She sniffed. “I always cry at weddings.”

  He raised a brow. “You didn’t cry at ours.”

  “That’s because we had two crazed FBI agents on our tails.”

  As everyone followed the bride and groom away from the gazebo and headed toward the reception just a few feet away, Logan dipped his head down to speak softly into Rachel’s ear. “So, do you think you might want to do it again, like Danielle and Cole, in front of our families and friends?”

  It had shocked the hell out of them when they’d discovered Jane had actually filed their marriage license.

  She thought of herself dressed in white, a veil in her hair, with Danielle, Kate, and Lisa beside her as the bridesmaids. That was someone else’s dream. Not hers. Just because she’d learned to balance love and friendship with her career didn’t mean she’d suddenly become a different person. She’d never wanted the traditional wedding. And that hadn’t changed.

  “Honestly?” She took his hand and squeezed it, bumping her shoulder into him. “Our wedding was perfect. There’s no point in trying to top it.”

  A grin lit up his face. “How ’bout I top you right now?”

  She winked. “Ah, you know just how to sweet-talk me.”

  Lisa had done a beautiful job at organizing this wedding for Danielle and Cole. Long tables were adorned by silver silk and tall vases of white flowers that had been dipped in silver sparkles. The orchestra continued to play, switching from classical to more modern love ballads. Lights had been strung above the tables and dance floor to illuminate the party when the sun set. And the heavenly scent of garlic and tomatoes from the Italian dinner menu made Rachel’s mouth water.

  Cole’s parents chatted animatedly with Danielle’s stepbrother, Roman, and Rachel’s friend Gracie. Some guests had gone into Benediction to play before dinner, but most had remained outside to mingle with other guests and drink champagne. It was strange to witness the vanilla and the kink communities interact with one another as the two worlds collided here at the wedding.

  “You’ve been working so hard on your story,” Logan said, snatching a glass of champagne for her off a waiter’s tray and handing it to her.

  She took a sip of champagne. “I’ll never complain about my family again. How could our country have been run by sociopaths as presidents?”

  Along with the financial records that Hutton had kept on his computer, tying him and Byron to the PAC that had paid off Fink, Evans, and Rinaldi, Maxwell Hutton had kept journals that read like an autobiography, chronicling his rise to power. The entries told the tale of a boy trying to understand how a benevolent God could allow such horrors to be inflicted upon a child. Rachel had vomited more than once as she read the atrocities he’d endured from such a young age. He’d been raised by a family of real-life monsters whom the country lauded as modern-day royalty, believing themselves to be the only real blue-blooded Americans. There had been no wonder that his parents had created a new generation of monsters in his brother and him.

  When Maxwell Hutton had become a grown man, he’d exchanged one set of monsters for another. Byron and he had begun their affair more than ten years earlier after Byron discovered Hutton’s penchant for extreme pain and torture.

  Senators Hutton and Byron believed that between them, they could take the White House for the next sixteen years and, during that time, eliminate every race but their own. It was white supremacy at its worst. The American people had been horrified to learn that the men they had believed were American heroes were actually the villains they needed protection from.

  The journals contained details of how the Hutton family had blackmailed politicians, foreign officials, judges, and others for more than fifty years. Many of those who had broken the law for the Huttons were arrested, but in their interviews with Rachel, several had thanked her for ending the Huttons’ reign of terror and for allowing those blackmailed to ease their guilty consciences.

  Of course, not all were thrilled with having their dirty laundry aired to the public. Two of the men under investigation had killed themselves, and she’d received more than five death threats, all which the FBI had traced back to various individuals whom Rachel had exposed through her investigation.

  Logan worried constantly, but he hadn’t prevented her from doing her job.

  It had all been worth it.

  Logan squeezed her hand as they searched for their assigned table. “I don’t think I say it enough. I’m very proud of you.”

  Since they’d decided to remain married and had moved in together, buying a small house together with a fenced-in yard for their new dog, Barbara, in a quiet suburb of Detroit, he’d supported her career 100 percent. They were still working on how to balance their lives, and they still battled for control sometimes, but as in any healthy relationship, they compromised.

  “The story isn’t done,” she said, her mind running away with her. “I think if I dig deeper, I’ll probably uncover some suicides and accidental deaths of prominent people were actually murders ordered by the Huttons.”

  He clinked his champagne glass against hers. “I’m sure you will, Tiger. But do you think you could take a couple weeks off before you jump back into your busy workdays? We never did get to take a honeymoon.”

  A honeymoon sounded wonderful. As an adult, she’d never taken a vacation. “Where were you thinking?”

  “Uncle Joe invited us to his new house down in the Everglades.”

  Joe had spent a few days in FBI custody, but once she and Logan had been exonerated, the charges against Joe had been dropped. Discovering he’d never truly been living off the grid had come as a shock to him, but he admitted he was enjoying the ability to try out some of the online dating websites.

  She walked her fingers down Logan’s chest. “Maybe we could stop by and spend a couple days with him before we go on a trip to Italy? I hear Tuscany is beautiful this time of year.”

  “I think that could be arranged.” He wrapped his hand around her nape and pulled her in for a kiss, his mouth tasting of champagne and her, that particular flavor lingering from earlier in the evening when Logan had decided to make an appetizer out of her pussy.

  She smiled as their lips parted and looked around the party. “Have you heard from Sawyer yet? I thought he’d be here by now.”

  Logan glanced at his watch. “He was running late. I gave him directions and gave security a heads-up to allow him through the gate.” He pointed at a man strolling toward them. “Speak of the devi
l—”

  “Hey, man.” Logan shook Sawyer’s hand. “Glad you could make it.”

  Sawyer gave her a quick hug. “Sorry I missed the wedding.” At the raise of her brow, he changed his tune. “Okay, sorry I’m not sorry. Weddings bore me. But as you know, I’ve been dying to check out Benediction, and since I had a meeting in Detroit, this seemed like the perfect night.”

  “I’m sure I could find a sub for you if you’re looking to scene,” Logan offered.

  Sawyer scanned the party. “Oh, I’m looking for someone in particular.” He froze for a moment before pointing at Lisa. “Her.”

  “Lisa? Do you want me to introduce you?” she asked, recalling he’d asked about her in Las Vegas.

  “Man, I told you before, she’s not into kink,” Logan said, warning him. “She’s only here at Benediction tonight because she put this whole shindig together, and she’s friends with the bride.”

  A smile pulled at Rachel’s lips. She’d kept her promise to Lisa. She hadn’t told a soul, including Logan, about Lisa’s past experience with kink.

  Maybe Sawyer was just the man to break Lisa’s dry spell.

  Sawyer’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, I remember what you told me. But something tells me you’re wrong.”

  Logan chuckled. “Okay, but after I introduce you, you’re on your own. Don’t come crying when she shoots you down.”

  The three of them crossed the grass to where Lisa was holding a glass of red wine. “Lisa,” Rachel called out, “I’d like to introduce you to Logan’s friend, Sawyer Hayes. Sawyer, this is Lisa Smith.”

  All the color drained from Lisa’s face and the wineglass fell from her hand.

  “Hello,” Sawyer said, standing much closer to Lisa than what was considered polite. “It’s nice to see you again, Annaliese.”

  “You know each other,” Rachel said, sensing a story.

  “You could say that,” Sawyer said, not taking his eyes off Lisa for a second. “She’s my wife.”