Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  “Right. You’re right. It just took me off guard,” she pants. “God, my side aches. I always wondered what it felt like to get shot.”

  “You need to start having better fantasies. I’m clearly not doing my job right.” Cradling her against my chest, I give her both guns to hold and then start the process of walking up the stairs without jarring her.

  “No, you’re doing a great job. This was just a weird thought I had before I met you. Back when my life was boring and all.”

  “I’m sorry for bringing this into your life.” Christ, she should hate me.

  “Nah, I mean, who doesn’t need a little excitement in their life from time to time? I shot this gun. First time.”

  “To hurt Cecilia?” I ask astonished.

  “No, just to scare her. It did the trick. She was yammering about how I didn’t have the guts to shoot her. I didn’t know if I did, but I wanted to live. I love you. Your love made me strong.” Her smile blinds me.

  Your love made me strong. Had I once thought love weakened me? I’d gotten it all wrong. Love made me a better person, and with Tiny, I had all the more in my life than one person could ever acquire. She’s right. Love does make you strong.

  “I’m pretty much done with excitement,” I manage to joke. “I’m even rethinking the house. Maybe the Long Island Sound isn’t far enough away from the city.”

  At the top of the stairs, I see Steve and Jake. “How’d you guys get in here without me hearing?” I ask, disgruntled. There’s no question I sounded like an inept burglar when I broke in.

  “Ninja skills, mate,” Steve responds. Jake is on his phone.

  “I hope you’re calling emergency services,” I say. When we reach the top, Jake gestures me toward the kitchen. Steve hurries in front of us and clears the table with one swift motion of his arm. Flowers, candles, and place settings all tumble to the ground.

  “I hope that was some priceless, irreplaceable shit I just broke,” Steve remarks, gesturing for me to lay Tiny down.

  “No need to give speeches,” Tiny jokes. “I’m not dying yet.”

  “Speeches?” Steve asks. He glances toward me, but I’m more interested in what Jake is doing. He’s on his knees looking at Tiny’s wound.

  “Yeah, usually you give me only one- or two-word responses. This time you used several words. Like, I don’t know, seven or eight.”

  “Eleven,” I murmur.

  “Ouch,” she says. “Do you have to poke me there? I’m wounded.”

  “Just a graze,” Jake says and stands up. He washes his hands and finds a cloth he dips in water. Offering me the damp towel, he asks, “Do you want to do the honors?”

  “Just a graze?” I ask, dizzy with relief. I brace myself on the table so I don’t collapse.

  “Just a graze?” Tiny asks, completely affronted. “I got shot, dude. She shot me. Or actually, I kind of shot myself. But still, it hurts like a motherfucker.”

  “You shot yourself?” All three of us yell.

  “I was struggling with Cecilia for the gun, and it went off, and it ricocheted off a bottle and hit me.”

  “You lucky girl.” Jake begins to laugh. “I think you may have been grazed by a piece of glass from the bottle. I wondered why the cut was so jagged. Didn’t look like any bullet hole I’ve ever seen. Don’t wrestle any crazy women with guns in the future, and you’ll be fine.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and Jake goes to see who it is.

  “I got shot,” Tiny insists.

  “Of course you did. It’s a grievous wound. I think we should take a picture of it and post it on Facebook.”

  “Fuck you, Ian Kerr,” she says grumpily.

  “You have already,” Steve mutters.

  And with that, I can’t hold it in any longer. I start laughing and I don’t stop, not even when the paramedics show up or the cops, who take Cecilia away. I laugh because Tiny and I together are an undefeatable team. Strong enough to overcome hate, revenge, and loss.

  We will take control of our lives together.

  CHAPTER 27

  Tiny allows the paramedics to load her in to the ambulance. There’s no danger, but her side needs to be sewn up. At the hospital, the police show up and take our statements.

  The baby carriage was empty, as Tiny suspected.

  The press will have a field day with this. Several people show up to check on Tiny’s status including her friend, Sarah, and Gary, the driver.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I say, handing him my card. “But I’m buying you a car. Pick out whatever one you want and call me. I’ll arrange to have it delivered.”

  “Nah, man. It’s all good. I can’t take a car.”

  “You have to accept,” Tiny pipes up from the bed. “Or he’ll keep coming after you. He’ll wear you down.” She waves her ring in the air. “I kept saying no and see where that has gotten me.”

  “True story,” I say.

  With a grin, Gary takes the card and nods his head in Tiny’s direction. “Seems to me that we’re both getting the better end of the deal.”

  “Trust me, you’re not.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and walk him to the door.

  “I should probably get going as well,” Sarah says. She leans over and gives Tiny a hug. “Call me for lunch later this week.” As she leaves, she pats me on the back. “Take good care of my girl.”

  “I will.”

  One night, a few weeks after she recovers, we arrive at Club O2, an oxygen bar that Kaga is interested in buying. As I hand my keys to the valet, Tiny tugs at my arm.

  “Isn’t that Richard Howe?” she asks, pointing to the line of patrons waiting to be judged worthy of entering.

  Toward the middle is a man wearing an ill-fitting suit, his hands in his pockets as he hunches his shoulders forward. It is Richard.

  “Go inside,” I say. Tiny shoots me an uncertain look but does as I ask.

  I step aside and walk a little ways beyond the club so I can observe without being noticed. And then I wait.

  Richard fidgets in the line, but unlike the rest of the crowd, he doesn’t pull out a phone to text or read something to pass the time. It’s possible that he can’t afford a phone or doesn’t pass the credit check for a cell line.

  When he arrives at the doorman, he says something like a plea. One hand is on his chest and the other is pointing inside the bar. I’m meeting friends. They are already inside. I guess at what he might be saying.

  The doorman shakes his head and looks past Richard. He waves the next three people inside. Richard moves toward the entrance, but the bouncer pushes him aside as if he’s a pesky fly, still not looking at him. Richard starts to froth and rage. Both arms are in the air. Do you know who I am?

  People behind him point their phones toward him and begin filming. Maybe it will be put online, or maybe no one will care about some drunken sot being kept out of O2.

  Richard continues to shout and soon a NYC plainclothes policeman appears from the inside. I edge closer so I can hear.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the officer says to Richard.

  “On whose orders?” he responds belligerently.

  The officer flashes a badge. “NYPD.”

  I’ve seen enough. Tiny is waiting for me.

  “Ian. Ian Kerr,” Richard calls out as I brush by the line, nodding my thanks to the doorman and bouncer.

  “Do you know him?” the bouncer asks. I turn and look at Richard.

  “Never seen him before in my life.” Pulling a bill out of my pocket, I hand it to Richard. “Go and buy yourself a warm cup of soup tonight. Get off the street.”

  His face turns red with humiliation at the insinuation that he’s a homeless person. The officer takes his arm and starts dragging him away.

  Inside by the coat check are Tiny and Sarah.

 
“Everything okay?” Tiny asks.

  “It’s perfect,” I answer. “Just perfect.”

  Her face turns upward to receive a kiss, and I plant a leisurely one on her that is so thorough Sarah blushes.

  We marry at the Frick gardens in a civil ceremony. Tiny wears an Elie Saab haute couture gown made out of blush tulle with hand-sewn Swarovski crystals and organza flowers. She complained it weighed a ton. It has an empire waist because by the time things settle down enough for us to wed she has begun to show. She looks like a glittery fae princess.

  I send everyone down to the warehouse after our vows are said.

  Drawing her into my arms, I whisper, “Can I take you here?”

  “No, no you can’t,” she laughs.

  “I want to come here in the future and know that I made love to you right at this spot where we promised to love each other until death parts us.”

  “No.” She is adamant.

  I gather the front of her skirt, crushing the delicate fabric in my hands as I raise it.

  “Everyone can see,” she hisses batting at my hands.

  “No one can see a thing.” I scoff. “There’s enough fabric here to hide a child.”

  I slip one hand between her legs, enjoying the feel of the tissue thin fabric as it rubs against her skin. “See,” I whisper. “No one needs to know.”

  “You cannot finger bang me here,” she insists.

  “Really?” Under her skirt she is wearing the knickers she modeled for me in my office. Her sex is swollen and wet.

  “What were you thinking about, bunny?” I laugh, lightly caressing her delicate flesh.

  She blushes fiercely.

  “Stop it. We are not doing it here. I’m in the Frick gardens for heaven’s sake.” She sounds completely scandalized.

  “Where then? Inside? In the Fragonard Room where the cherubs stare down at us?”

  “That’s like having sex in a church.”

  “How will you make it up to me?” I stroke her again. Her eyes flutter shut.

  “Rooftop sex?” she offers.

  “When?” My finger dips inside and she grips my arms.

  “Before the party?”

  “Done.” I withdraw my fingers, giving her a good-bye pinch that has her leaning into me. I raise my slick fingers to my mouth and lick them clean.

  “Did you just hustle me?” she asks, clearly suspicious.

  “Love you, bunny.” I wink. Taking a handkerchief from my pocket, I wipe my fingers dry.

  “I’m going to get you back,” she vows.

  “I look forward to it.”

  EPILOGUE

  Despite a few rocky moments, Kerr Inc. ended the fiscal year with a 20% increase in its stock valuation. The upward trend is positive. The dividend to stockholders this year looked to be in jeopardy during the summer months, but after rumors were put to rest and a few stunning new acquisitions in the fall—including a Japanese solar company that wowed exhibitors at a recent clean tech summit—Kerr Inc. rebounded in a decisive way.

  Nearly every market investor and analyst on the street has marked Kerr Inc. stock as a buy. After all, Ian Kerr has proven time and again that he has legendary instincts for this business.

  “That’s a nice article.”

  “Is that the trash you’re reading these days? I’d think you would want to enjoy a novel, rather than the gossipy financial pages.” I lean over and brush my lips over Tiny’s cheek as I set down a tray of coffee and pastries. Her reading skills are improving. She would still never read for pleasure—it is an onerous task, and one she mostly does only when her work demands it—but she practices, and with each day her skill increases. When we get back from our honeymoon, she’ll sit for her private investigator’s license and be a full-fledged field agent for Jake. Likely the only one with her own bodyguard, but still.

  Jake is getting two investigators for the price of one. Tiny objected at first, but when I wouldn’t budge and then poked her in the side where her scar was, she acquiesced.

  I suspect that Marcie will do quite a bit of their paperwork, but the important thing is that Tiny doesn’t feel so disempowered anymore.

  “The financial pages are rather boring,” Tiny admits. She takes a long sip of coffee. “Ahh, this is so good. I don’t think I’d want to be pregnant if I had to give up coffee.”

  I glance at her belly. The sight of her rounded stomach makes me instantly hard.

  “Oh no,” she says.

  “What?” I murmur, distracted. The skin of her belly is soft. I can’t stop touching it. “Is our son asleep?”

  “For now.” Her hand joins mine. “But the coffee should wake him up. If not, you will. I recognize that look on your face.”

  Leaning over, I press a kiss against her hand and then against her belly. “I love you, son,” I whisper.

  Still holding her hand, I tug the sheet lower until I’ve exposed her completely. She’s naked from our earlier lovemaking. “Are you too tender?” I ask, sliding a finger lightly along her lower lips.

  “No.” Before I can test the veracity of her statement with my tongue, she stops me and tilts my chin upward to look me in the eyes. “Do you think we can love too much? Too deep? Too strong?” she asks, widening her legs for me in clear invitation.

  “How can loving someone be a bad thing?” She looks vulnerable and concerned.

  “I’m afraid we have too much. That we’re too happy.” With one hand, she rubs the taut skin stretched across her womb.

  “Are you happy, Tiny?”

  “Happy is not the word I’d choose. I feel like I could float with the joy that’s inside me. But part of me feels like I should be scared, too, because it can all be taken away so quickly.”

  She’s thinking of her mother. Or maybe my mother. I understand her fear. We both lost our parents too early, and she worries about the future of our child. “Our children will not grow up alone, Tiny. We’ll live a healthy life. We’ll be safe.”

  “Can you guarantee that?”

  “I can’t,” I admit. “But I can tell you we can love each other every day, and that love will be remembered. Don’t you feel Sophie with you always?”

  She nods slowly. “Yes, even more so since I got pregnant. But it’s weird because I miss her more, yet I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more in tune with her.”

  “I have legendary instincts. The paper just said so. And those instincts tell me that we are going to live for a long time and watch our children’s children grow old.”

  “Yeah?” She smiles and then lets out a little laugh. “You do have good instincts. I’m going to trust them just like the gossipy financial paper told me too.”

  “Good, now are you ready for something different?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Breakfast.”

  A soft laugh correctly interprets the kind of meal I’m referring to, but before I can move down her body, she lifts my face gently until we’re lip to lip. As her mouth slowly parts, I give her a good morning kiss, curling my tongue around hers and lazily stroking the interior recesses of her mouth.

  I could kiss her all day, but there are other parts of her body I’m just as anxious to place my lips upon. One hand tangles in her hair, angling her head for deeper penetration, while the other roams her beautiful body. There is the growing curve of her belly and the extra lushness in her breasts. A slight brush of my fingers against the tips of her nipples wrests a gasp against my lips.

  “Tender, are we?”

  “Mmmm,” she purrs.

  We touch each other until the night recedes around us and there is only Ian and Tiny and the fruit of our love.

  “I love you, Ian,” she finally sobs. “I love you so much. Make me yours.”

  “I love you too,” I gasp into the delicate shell of her ear. “You are
mine. Forever. Always. Mine.”

  Then we are both shuddering as the cataclysmic pleasure crashes around us. Behind my closed eyes, I can see her face thrown back in ecstasy, her eyes glowing with desire and love. The purity of her heart shows through everything, making this coupling a reverential event. Our mouths find each other repeatedly, and we kiss until our lips are tender and bruised.

  “I adore you, Mrs. Kerr.”

  A smile more transcendent than every work of art in this great city appears on her face. “You love saying Mrs. Kerr.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Maybe I do. Because I can’t stop saying I love you, Mr. Kerr, my man, my lover, my heart.”

  Did I say love made you weak? I was so wrong. I could conquer the world so long as I have Victoria Kerr at my side.

  When we get back to the city it is much the same—loud and vibrating with energy. While Paris was beautiful and we enjoyed our time there, particularly our private early morning tour of the Louvre, it is good to be home. Unsurprisingly, Tiny liked the Orangerie, a small museum in Paris’s Tuileries Garden, better than the Louvre. It reminded her of the Frick in scale.

  Sitting in the oval rooms surrounded by Monet’s Water Lilies was peaceful and captivating at once. We’d held hands as we sat on the bench and she’d told me of the first time her mother had taken her to the Frick.

  “I was ten and I hadn’t wanted to go. Museums were boring and I hated everything I thought was educational because school was so painful for me. But we tagged along behind a tour guide and as I listened to her explain how each piece of the museum was acquired and how I could look at the paintings and learn, museums became one of my favorite places,” she’d explained.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t become an artist,” I’d said.

  “You have to have skill to be an artist and since I can barely draw stick figures, I decided that being an admirer of the arts was good enough.”

  “And now you are a patron of the arts.”

  She’d traced the veins on the back of my hand before answering. “I find that incredible,” she’d admitted.