I've always told myself that being alone is the best way to be, but that's just another defense mechanism. If you're alone, no one can hurt you – because there's no one there to hurt you. And yet, I'm hurting now...
~~~~~~~
“Ten minutes now,” Tony says, still hunched over his phone. I glance over, and at the edge of the map I can see a new marker, a red one, inching slowly towards the center and the blue marker. What the fuck?
“That red one,” I say. “Is that showing your phone or my car?”
I already know the answer.
“What?” he says belligerently. “You think I'm gonna let you drive my daughter around all day without keeping tabs on you, too? No way, mister. You're damn right it's your car!”
It's tempting. God, it's tempting. I want to point out that all his 'keeping tabs' have led to nothing. His daughter still got taken. And all his 'parenting' – the over-protective jailer routine – that doesn't work either. Yeah, he might have known where my car was twenty-four hours a day, but he didn't know what we were doing in it. The harder he squeezes, the more she slips through his fingers.
I want to tell him all about Honey and me, but I don't. Because what's the point? Anything like that – it can wait. Until after. Until we know what's waiting for us up ahead...
We're out in the middle of nowhere now, and the road is barely a road at all, just a hard-packed dirt trail leading through scrubland and bushes. We must be close.
Tony has stopped looking at his phone. His head is up, swiveling from right to left as he tries to make out anything – a car, a building – through the vegetation. His gun is drawn.
“You packing?” he asks.
“In the glove box,” I answer. “It's yours.”
“Good,” he says grimly, fishing it out and handing it to me. “Whatever goes down here, I don't want a trace of it reaching the cops. We handle this ourselves, you understand? Whatever happens.”
I feel a grudging sense of admiration for him. He's managing to pull himself together enough to fight, and he's steeling himself for the worst. That takes balls, more balls than I thought he had left in him.
“There!”
He points with the barrel of his gun, and I see it. A twinkle of metal through the trees. It has to be a car. I slam on the brakes, and we jump out, guns drawn, and run towards the car. It is Carl's car, of course. It's parked outside a tumbledown stone shack. This has to be where he's keeping her.
The adrenaline is surging through my veins as we creep along the wall of the shack, headed for the door.
“Wait,” Tony hisses. He crouches down and moves silently across the yard towards Carl's car. Quickly, quietly, he takes a switchblade from his pocket and buries it in the black rubber of his back tire. The soft hiss of the tire deflating sounds like a siren in the quiet.
But then, it's drowned out completely by the sound of high pitched screaming.
“Go!” Tony yells at me – I'm far closer to the door than he is. But before I can move, the screaming is upon us. A figure bursts through the shack door, flailing and staggering – face a mask of blood. A second person runs out of the shack in hot pursuit, wielding a dented metal bucket.
I watch in awe as Carl trips over his own feet halfway across the yard, and falls flat onto his ruined face. Honey sets about him with the bucket, relentlessly smashing it down on him.
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” she yells, barely audible over the sound of Carl's screams.
BANG!
Tony fires a shot into the air, and she looks up in total shock, first at her father, crouching behind the car, and then at me, by the door, both armed and ready to shoot.
“We've come to, er, rescue you,” I say, looking at the beaten, semi-conscious figure lying in the dirt.
“From Carl,” Tony adds.
She drops the bucket, and tears start to well up in her eyes. I run over to her and take her in my arms.
“Are you okay?” I say.
“Yeah,” she manages. “I'm fine. I'm glad you're here, though.”
“I love you,” I say, and I realize that I'm crying, too. All the fears that I'd been trying to quell – finding her beaten, finding her dead – finally overcome me, and I cry like a baby in her arms, for the first time in years.
Tony is here, and there are more hugs and tears. It is over – we have won.
Chapter Twelve - Honey
It's been six months since it all happened, and most days, it feel like a bad dream, or a story that happened to somebody I've heard of but never met.
Everything in my life is different now – and everything is better. Better than I ever dreamed it could be. Today, though, it feels real. I'm reading the newspaper as I eat my breakfast, and I see the story.
A body has been found, up in the woods beyond the interstate. No formal identification has been made, but police believe that it may be Carl Peterson, the disgraced lawyer that they have been wanting to speak to for nearly half a year, now. Mr Peterson, the article says, is wanted for questioning after he vanished, leaving a multi-million dollar hole in the accounts of his former employers, a prestigious Los Angeles law firm. The body that they have found appears to have died from a single gunshot wound to the head, which the coroner believes was self-inflicted. Governor Nolan is quoted as saying he hopes this tragic discovery will lead to some much-needed closure for Peterson's mother and father, who have been living through every parent's nightmare for far too long.
And what about my parent's nightmare? I think to myself. The discovery of Carl's body isn't a shock to me. He managed to crawl away unseen, when everybody was crying hysterically, relieved that it was over. Seeing that he was gone, though, was like something from a horror film – the bare, empty space where he should have been lying.
Dragon had taken me home, and my father had called some of his men up to the small stone shack, to search the surrounding area for Carl. After all, he can't have gotten far in his condition. I still don't know what came over me that day. But after the first time I hit him with the bucket, right in his damaged face, he had crumbled, and after that I'd been like a wild woman, chasing and hitting him again and again and again. It had felt good – cathartic – but since then, I've left the fighting to Dragon.
Late on that evening, my father had returned home and announced that they'd found Carl, but he was already dead. He'd shot himself. I was fairly sure that Carl hadn't been armed when he was up there, but on reflection, I decided to leave that stone unturned. Some secrets, you just don't want to know, especially not between fathers and daughters.
That works both ways, I guess. We told my dad that Dragon and I had fallen in love without ever actually doing anything until that very day up at the shack, and he latched onto the explanation with an alarming amount of gratitude and acceptance. I think the shock of knowing that I'd met Dragon the same day he had would actually kill him.
He can barely cope with the knowledge that Dragon and I have moved in together, although we've been engaged for nearly a month now. That proposal was much less fraught than the first one, although there was one argument. My father wanted me to have my mother's engagement ring – but it is the ring that Carl gave me. Dragon refused to use the ring, because of the Carl connection. In the end, a compromise was reached – the stones were reset into a new band. I'm admiring it as the door opens and Dragon comes in, sweaty and breathless from his morning run.
“Hey there, sexy,” he says, sweeping me up into his arms.
“Argh, you're all gross,” I say, laughing as he rubs my face with his wet hair.
“You know you love it,” he says. “It's my manly man-ness.”
“I do not,” I say, but I'm kissing him at the same time, wrapping my arms around him and pressing against the length of his toned, hard body. I feel his cock responding immediately.
“Are you allowed to have sex on the day of a fight?” I say, teasing him. “Isn't there some rule about it?”
“Yeah, I think there is,”
he says, kissing my neck, running his hands over my body. “You should probably just blow me, to be on the safe side...” But he's tugging off my pants as he says it, and I know he doesn't mean it.
“You gonna come and watch?” he says.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, breathlessly. His fingers are inside me.
“If I win,” he murmurs in my ear, “will you come and see me, in the dressing room, after?”
“Always,” I say, but it comes out as a gasp, because now he's inside me. “Always.”
The End
About Danielle Slater
Danielle Slater writes romance stories involving the men we hate to love, and love to hate: the bad boys. She has always been drawn to them, whether she wanted to or not, and loves to tell stories on different relationships that have a multitude of consequences for both the hero and the heroine.
She hopes to become a full time writer, and currently resides in San Francisco as a secretary for a small law firm. Her goal is to entertain and move readers through her writing, and hopes you enjoy each and every story along the way.
About Lena Blackstone
When she was a little girl, Lena loved to write stories about brave knights and badass princesses who were saved by true love's kiss. Nowadays, the brave knights ride Harleys instead of noble steeds, and they do a lot more than just kiss. The princesses have traded their pretty gowns for tight jeans and killer heels, but they're still just as badass as ever...
Lena lives in California with her boyfriend, her dogs, and her crazy cat.
Also By Danielle Slater:
Brooke: When it comes to bad boys, I'm smart enough to look and not touch. When it comes to Nathan, all I want to do is touch...
To get my little sister out of trouble, I have to play the game, his twisted game. The worst part? I love it. I didn't intend things to work out this way. I knew I was in over my head, but some part of me believed in him, that he really would help us.
The whole crazy thing began with a pair of red shoes and a contract. Now he thinks I belong to him. The scary part? He might be right.
Nathan: Brooke thinks she's playing to save her sister. The truth? She's just another pawn running out of time...
So what? Her illusions aren't my issue. She also thinks I'm using her for my own dirty reasons, that I'm just another player. She might be right, but what I want is to move up in the organization and take my rightful seat at the table. I'm smart enough to realize that dream's likely never going to come true.
Still, the job has its perks, and one of them is that sweet redhead. I'm going to get my fill while I can--because the one thing the bosses can't take away from me--I play for keeps.
The Bad Boy Games: There's nothing they won't do, no line they won't cross...
Click HERE to read Made now!
Also by Danielle Slater:
Devlin: They call me heartless. But that's just because I always get what I want. And now I want her...
Devlin Masters has spent his entire life in the service of his family's business empire, working his way up from the mailroom to the boardroom of Masters In Style. As C.E.O. and heir to the billion-dollar hair-care company, Devlin's life is consumed by his work. But when a rival orchestrates his downfall, Devlin must rehabilitate his image or lose control of his cherished company.
Then he meets Ayron. He instantly wants her curvy body. He soon appreciates her mind just as much. But what if she wants his heart?
Ayron: His father hired me to help him. He's not supposed to know about this deal. I can't fall in love with him. I've got to be heartless...
Community therapist Ayron Winters loves helping people more than she craves a big paycheck. But when faced with losing her office space—and her beloved assistant's huge medical bills—Ayron knows she needs money, and a lot of it. Fast.
When the founder of the famed Masters In Style hair care corporation wants to hire Ayron to counsel his impulsive, bad-boy son, she's intrigued. When she finds out how much he's paying, she thinks it's a godsend. But the devil's in the details: she can't let Devlin Masters know she's a therapist. In order to gain his trust, she must pose as his friend. His confidant. But what happens if he wants more? What happens if she does?
Ayron can't lose her heart to Devlin. But more than anything: she can't let him find out who she actually is.
Click HERE to read Entitled now!
Also by Danielle Slater...
Dating? Marriage? Babies?
Kill me now.
Not happening. Not after my first (and last) fiancé ripped my heart out and stomped it into mush on our wedding day. I’m over it (mostly).
I’ve got my career. I’m going places. And the shortcut to the front of the line is by landing an exclusive interview with him—Leonardo Cruz, the bronzed, ripped sports superstar.
Only our first meeting starts with me on my knees with my hand wrapped around his big c@ck. Awful disaster or awkward destiny?
The next thing I know, we’re fake-dating to save both of our careers and the walls around my heart don’t feel as sturdy as before. Leo turns out to be so much more than advertised.
A cocky bad-boy with a heart of gold? Who knew?
But no one can have it all. The career. The guy. The family. That’s fairy tale bull$#it.
I want to believe, but I don’t think they make glass slippers in my size.
Click HERE to read Balls now!
Danielle Slater's entire catalog is available HERE – all works are Kindle Unlimited eligible.
Don't forget to sign up for Danielle's mailing list! Click here!
Visit Danielle on the web: danielleslater.com
Follow Danielle on Facebook & Twitter
Would you like to join the exclusive Danielle Slater ARC Team and receive free advanced copies of my latest releases in exchange for an honest review? Sign up here!
***
Lena Blackstone's entire catalog is available HERE – all works are Kindle Unlimited eligible.
Don't forget to sign up for Lena's mailing list! Click here!
Visit Lena on the web: lenablackstone.com
Follow Lena on Facebook & Twitter
Would you like to join the exclusive Lena Blackstone ARC Team and receive free advanced copies of my latest releases in exchange for an honest review? Sign up here!
An exclusive preview of Made, by Danielle Slater...
The club reeks of luxurious perfumes, sex, and a light overlay of sweat. The odors swirl below my nose. I take a sip of my martini and let the icy liquid trickle slowly over my tongue. I think about taking a man home, putting him in my mouth, feeling his girth and his heat. I let my gaze wander across the crowded space, skipping from one expensive suit to another. A few of the men fill out the sleek cuts of their silk and wool suits with massive shoulders and impressive pecs. My eyes linger on them. I have a weakness for big men who make me feel petite. What would it be like if I wore the red shoes? What kind of man would play a game like this?
That’s when I suddenly understand: this deal must appeal to men who have everything, men who can buy anyone. They don’t merely want a night with a young and beautiful woman. They can have that easily; probably have more opportunities than they have time for. The staid business address in New Jersey offers an experience, something unique; one they can’t have anywhere else or with anyone else.
What would that mean for the young woman who slides her feet into a pair of special shoes?
Butterflies in my stomach. . .
If I were wearing the red shoes right now, he’d be here in the club, somewhere, watching. Would he show himself to me right away? Or make me wait? Will he stalk me like a hunter only to take me without warning. . .
My nipples go tight imagining my fantasy mystery man and if he’s wondering how my tits will feel in his hands, how my pussy will get wet for him. Will he get hard just looking at me? Heat rushes from my pussy up my belly and across my chest.
“I don’t know what they put in that drink, but
oh girl, it must be good.” Caylee’s words jolt me from my reverie.
I toss her a sheepish grin and realize I’m blushing. She grins right back at me. “Admit it, you were thinking about sex, the really, really hot kind; the kind you dream about; the kind you need. Am I right?” When I don’t answer, she waves a hand at me. “Oh, don’t bother. I know I’m right.”
It’s my turn to shrug as I try to act casual. Fat chance of pulling that one off when I’m feeling anything but casual.
Reality check, Brooke. You’re too cautious to take a risk. Nobody delivered expensive red shoes to your door and no one in this place has looked twice at you, not to mention the fact you’re way too practical and conservative to show up at a random office in Jersey and sign a freaking contract.
Try telling that to my body. The ache between my legs is still pumping sexual energy into my veins like a drug. I could probably get off if a man dragged his gaze over me too long.
Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance Page 9