by Warren, Skye
HEAVY EQUIPMENT
Skye Warren
I’ve been raised as the good, obedient daughter, but I never expected to be sold to pay my father’s debts. Cold. Rough. Merciless. The foreman of the construction crew is going to make me pay every last cent.
WARNING: Heavy Equipment is a quick and dirty novella.
If you like your fictional men filthy, this one’s for you!
If you enjoy HEAVY EQUIPMENT, you’ll love the full-length novel OVERTURE. Liam North got custody of the violin prodigy six years ago. She’s all grown up now, but he still treats her like a child. No matter how much he wants her.
One-click OVERTURE Now >
“Swoon-worthy, forbidden, and sexy, Liam North is my new obsession.”
– New York Times bestselling author Claire Contreras
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Table of Contents
Title Page
About the Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
About Overture
About the Author
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
Cherry blossom trees date back to 1912 in the US, when Japan sent the trees in goodwill. The US sent back flowering dogwood trees.
The rumble that comes from downstairs seems to shake the house, loud voices and crashes that make my heart skip. Little ripples appear in the surface of my soup.
I stand, almost knocking over the small antique tray. I’m still in my strapless bra and panties, ready to get dressed for the gala as soon as I’ve eaten. The gown is already laid out on the bed, ready to step into—and even though it’s uncomfortable and constraining, it’s the fastest thing to put on. I step into it and rush into the hallway, working the zipper as I go.
When I hit the stairs, the voices get even louder. I’ve always been taught to whisper. Sometimes my father would yell, but he’d always close the office door first.
There’s a loud bang—like a gunshot. I grasp the railing and rush down the steps. As I round the curved staircase I see my father in his tux.
In front of him is a man in a leather jacket and jeans.
The strange man looks up at me—and instead of looking surprised by my presence, he smiles. The smile makes him look wolf-like, as if he’s caught his prey. “There she is now.”
“Papa,” I say, terrified. “What’s going on?”
I half-expect him to tell me to go back upstairs. He never tells me the details of his work. I always played in his office as a child, at least until he’d gently push me out and send me to a nanny. The fact that this new business seems darker, more dangerous, would be all the more reason for him to send me away.
Instead he looks at me, his eyes burning with something I can’t recognize. Fury? Defeat? “Come down here, daughter,” he says in Cantonese. The old language. He only speaks that way in front of family, but this man isn’t family. He isn’t even Chinese.
I’m trembling, but there’s no thought to question or disobey. He’s raised me to be the perfect daughter, and I do everything he asks. I attend every party at his side, standing in for the wife, my mother who died when I was a child. So it’s only natural that I go to him when he calls me.
His skin feels thin and papery when I take his hand. “Papa?”
“Something terrible has happened.” His expression is so grave. It scares me.
I squeeze his hands. “What is it? Let me help you.”
“Oh, you’re going to help,” the stranger says in a breezy way. I don’t even know this man but already I’m unnerved by how he’s acting, as if my father’s clear worry is some big joke. As if he’s the one in charge. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know this is my father’s house—and my house by extension. He has no right to stand there looking so commanding and handsome and terrible.
“And you are?” I manage to say coolly.
He doesn’t answer right away, instead giving me a long slow look from my head to my toes. I become painfully aware that I didn’t have time to tape my backless gown into place, that it’s showing more of the sides of my breasts than I would have allowed. The fact that I’m not wearing shoes somehow makes it more intimate, as if he’s taking me to bed instead of standing, uninvited, in the foyer.
“The name’s Asher Cook, beautiful.”
I manage not to flinch at the word, but it’s a close thing. The word doesn’t sound like a compliment coming from that hard face. It sounds like a curse. No man has dared to look at me like he does or speak to me like he’s doing now.
“June Li,” I reply, with the emphasis on my last name.
I’m a daughter of distinguished heritage, a member of the powerful Li family—even if that’s really only my father and myself. Sometimes it’s lonely, especially when he has to work so much. But I have always consoled myself knowing we came from a long lineage, something to be proud of.
Asher snorts. “I know who you are. Everyone does. We see you floating around the ballrooms like you’re some kind of modern day princess, yeah? Entitled to everything.”
Outrage feels hot in my chest, but before I can respond, my father pulls my attention. “I need to speak with you. I need to speak with you privately—”
“I don’t think so,” Asher says. “So you can hide her away? No, she stays where I can see her.”
How dare he talk to me that way? How dare he talk to my father that way? Except he did, and for some reason, my father isn’t telling him to leave. Why would I need to be hidden away?
A dark, cold suspicion builds in my gut. “Papa, who is this?”
My father closes his eyes, pained. “A bad man. A thief.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Perhaps you’d like to tell your lovely, naïve little daughter who’s been paying for those fancy dresses that show off your pretty little—” He eyes my breasts.
My eyes widen, shocked that he’d be so brazen. The Li family would never accept this insult. Papa would throw this man out of the house. Papa would make sure no one would do business with him.
Except Papa doesn’t seem powerful now. He looks weak. The lines in his face are deeper than before. He looks old. “We’ve had some money trouble. After the shopping mall project tanked.” His voice breaks. “I don’t have a choice.”
My heart thuds painfully. I look over at the strange man, at the shadow of a beard over his jaw, at the unkempt hair, and the glint of challenge in his eyes. “Don’t have a choice about what?”
“Is that anticipation in your voice, Ms. Li?”
“No,” I spit out. “The only thing I anticipate is going to the gala.”
“Cancelled,” he says with fake sadness. “Not the entire event, mind. But your appearance is definitely cancelled. I’m afraid you have other engagements tonight.”
The heat in his eyes makes it clear what he’s talking about. As is the wink he gives me.
I whisper to my father, “Tell me he’s not serious.”
After a painful pause, my father speaks in Cantonese. “It was more than just the shopping mall deal. It was this house and the others. My entire empire was crumbling before my eyes. We needed to sell the construction firm, only no one has any money in this economy.”
“I do,” Asher says with deceptive mildness. As if it’s completely normal for someone with scruffy blonde hair to understand my native language. “And so you gave me a call, isn’t that right?”
“It was supposed to be business,” my father cried. “I wanted to make a business arrange
ment.”
“We did,” Asher says with a cold smile. “Like you said, no one wants to purchase a construction business in this economy—especially one in the red.”
“I’ll pay you back,” my father says, sounding more desperate than ever. “Every cent.”
“You already have. The ink has dried. I’ll be extracting every red cent from your pretty daughter. Tell me, is her pussy well broken in? Or will I be the first?”
My father’s face turns red with pain and rage. “Why, you dirty—”
“Ah ah.” Asher holds up his hand, the skin callused and rough. It’s the hand of a man who does physical labor every day. One strengthened not by the treadmill but by working with stone and metal. It’s enough to stop my father in his tracks. “Now, how did I know you would make things difficult? But Mr. Li, a businessman always pays his debts.”
I’m shaking, still trying to understand what’s happening. Or rather, I understand what’s happening all too well. I just never thought anything like this could happen. I never thought my father would be struggling for money. And I definitely never believed he could use me in this way.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, his voice haggard.
Shock leaves me cold, and I shiver in the backless gown.
I want to run back up the stairs, to pretend I never heard anything, that I’m still eating my soup. I can’t believe this is happening but the painful clench of my heart is all too real.
Asher holds out his hand with a sarcastic, “My lady.”
I just stare at him, both fear and fury fighting inside me. “How long am I supposed to stay with you?”
One hour? Two? I don’t know how long it even takes for a man to finish with a woman. I’ve never done any of this. Never slept with a man. Barely even kissed one, at the end of dinner, my date drunk enough to dare a press of his lips. And I accepted it because my father arranged it.
I knew that one day I would marry for my family. I would lose the Li surname I’m so proud of, but it would be in service of my family. That’s when I would give up my virginity—not like this.
“I’m not sure how long,” Asher says thoughtfully. “How much is your pussy worth? A hundred bucks a pop? No, a high-class hooker like you would command much more than that. But even if we value it at a grand a fuck, that will still take quite some time to work off.”
I’ve never heard such crude language in my life. “How dare you—?”
I can’t even finish the question before he grabs me. First he takes my wrist, until I’m backed against the wall. Then his other hand goes to my throat. My gaze swings wildly, searching for my father—but all I can see is the dark, looming presence of the man who has me captive.
“Let’s get one thing straight, beautiful. I dare to say anything I want, to do anything I want to this gorgeous body, to take anything I want. When I say jump, you jump. When I say bend over, you touch those pretty pink toes. Understand?”
His grip isn’t firm around my throat, but it’s immovable. Even though my hands are gripping his arm, I can’t shake him off. He’s like a tree trunk in front of me, his arm a branch I’m dangling from, the ground a deadly drop below.
Every muscle clenches. I want to fight him.
Except I’ve been trained all my life to be a good daughter.
His voice drops. “I asked if you understood. The correct response is yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, sealing my fate.
He bends, pushing his face against my neck. With my vision clear, I’m shocked to find the foyer empty except for the two of us. My father left me here, knowing I might get hurt. He’s paying his debt with me as if I’m a thing, an extra zero in his bank account instead of his living, breathing daughter. Betrayal turns sharp in my chest, cutting me so I can barely breathe.
Asher’s lips are hot against my skin, and I shiver.
“That’s right,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be doing a lot of that.”
“You don’t scare me,” I say, but the quiver in my voice calls me a liar.
His laugh brushes over my skin, strangely pleasurable despite the mocking sound. “Your heart is racing, beautiful. I can feel it.”
Then he runs his lips over my neck, right where he’d take my pulse—and then I feel my pulse too, as if it’s too large to be contained in my body, as if I’m spilling over into him.
He runs his hands over me, from my shoulders to my elbows to my hips. It’s like he’s measuring me, seeing what he bought. I push against him, but he’s as hard and unmovable as a concrete wall, like the kind he’ll be able to build with my father’s company.
“Go ahead and fight,” he murmurs against my temple. “I like it rough.”
“I don’t,” I say, biting out the words.
He pulls back enough to meet my gaze, lids heavy, eyes dark. “Don’t you? I think you like what I’m doing to you. I think if I dip my fingers in that pretty little pussy of yours, I’m going to find it wet.”
I hate that he’s right. “Is this what you need to get off? Forcing yourself on a woman?”
Something flickers in his gaze, as if I’ve wounded him.
It’s gone in a second, and I don’t know if it was ever really there. Instead his gaze turns sharp. “I was going to wait until I got you back to my loft to fuck you, but I think I want to test my theory right here.”
Then his rough hands are pulling on the silky fabric, bunching it up in his large meaty hands, tugging the fabric against his calluses. Cool air washes over my legs, and I close my legs, humiliated. This is how he wants me—humiliated and broken.
I refuse to break, even when his large hand slides up the inside of my thigh.
Even when he’s proven correct, when his fingers push aside the thin fabric of my thong and touch wetness. I expect him to laugh, to gloat. Not groan like he’s in sweet agony. Not pant against my shoulder as if he can barely contain himself.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice sounding thick. “You’re so soft. So fucking hot.”
I shudder against the wall as he slides a finger in deep. This is wrong. This is sick, with my father somewhere in the house. With maids who could walk in on us at any time.
“Spread,” he says.
When I don’t move, he pinches the inside of my thigh. “I said spread.”
I jump and make a small sound of pain and desire. It’s the last one that terrifies me. How is he able to make me want this? What’s wrong with me that his hands on me feel good?
Because they do, so rough and firm, fingers pushing deep inside me. He’s knowledgeable in ways I can barely contemplate, going slow when I need him to, moving fast to increase the intensity. And that’s before his thumb finds my clit.
I gasp and jerk away from the wall. “Asher.”
His eyes blaze with lust and something else. Possession. “Like that. I want you to say my name just like that, again and again. You’re mine, beautiful.”
I want to tell him no, that I won’t say his name. That I’m not his. But his fingers move faster, reaching a spot deep inside me, making me slick. His thumb is insistent on my clit, moving in a knowing circle, pushing me close. I’m gasping around my protest, unable to say a single word.
“Let go,” he says darkly, his voice pure command.
Maybe it’s all those years of being obedient or maybe it’s his hot gaze on me. I can’t hold back. Climax washes over me in a rush, stealing my breath. I can only moan low and loud into the foyer, the sound of my pleasure echoing around me.
He brings me down gently, working me softer with his hands, placing gentle kisses over my chest. It’s disconcerting, the way he’s treating me. Suddenly nice. Almost kind. Until I see his eyes.
They aren’t kind. They’re the eyes of a predator who’s enjoying the chase.
He lifts his hand to stroke the skin left exposed by my dress from my collarbone to the tops of my breasts. In my sated, sex-drowsed state, it takes me a second to realize what he’s doing. He’s not just touching me. He’
s writing on me, his fingers still wet from my pussy, leaving a trail of my arousal on my skin.
MINE.
He lifts a lazy eyebrow, daring me to contradict.
I close my eyes, because I know it’s true. Because he means to humiliate me with the act. Because it’s working. This is how it will be with us—pleasure and embarrassment, intensity and shame. And I have no choice, because I’m the good daughter. I do what I’m told, even if the man in charge of me is no longer my father.
CHAPTER TWO
Japan tried to send over cherry blossoms once before 1912, but the Department of Agriculture was concerned about insects. The US burned the trees, nearly causing a diplomatic crisis.
There are Town Cars and limos. The occasional Escalade.
Once my date for a ball picked me up in a Tesla so new it was not yet for sale to the public.
These are the vehicles I’m accustomed to. Asher Cook steers me with his hand on my elbow, his touch light but unmistakable, to the foyer where the front doors hang open, letting in the sunlight. A large white truck sits in front of the marble steps. This is the man my father turned to for help.
This is the man with enough money to bail out Li Industries.
“What do you do?” I ask, growing more nervous with every passing step. Wind brushes over my skin, cooling the come on my chest, making me shiver.
“I’m surprised your father didn’t mention me,” Asher says, his lazy smile making it clear he’s not surprised at all. “We’ve been working together for years now.”
He opens the door and holds out his hand. I don’t want to accept his help, but the truck is ten thousand feet off the ground. I’m not sure I can make it inside gracefully, even with his support.
My chin rises. “In what capacity?”
“I’m the foreman. All those shiny shopping centers your daddy likes to build, like the world’s his very own Monopoly board? I’m the one who built them.”
A laborer. I can almost hear the word in Papa’s voice. Dismissive, that’s what he would be. Asher Cook wears a plain white T-shirt and jeans that look soft from wear. His boots have probably walked through a thousand worksites. “And your money?”