by Amy Brent
Not wanting to wake her, I carefully pulled myself out from underneath her. Despite my jostling – even as careful as I tried to be – she thankfully continued to sleep soundly. I grabbed my clothes off the floor and hurried to get dressed, making sure to place a gun next to her on the table – just in case. With those pricks out there, I wasn't going to take any chances.
And, as I'd witnessed that night in the car, my Emmy wasn't like other women out there. She knew how to take care of herself, and that included using a gun. She'd earned my respect and I trusted that she could defend herself, if the chips were down and she needed to. I gently kissed her on the cheek and made sure to grab a gun of my own – again, just in case – before shutting the door and making sure it locked behind me.
The diner – The Golden Pancake House – wasn't likely to have amazing food. I could tell just by looking at the cracked, fading sign, and the cheap dime store decorations. That and the fact that it was attached to a cheap hotel and all, more or less guaranteed the food would be substandard. But it would do. I didn't want to go too far, not without Emelia by my side.
I figured we'd head out once she woke up and then decided what our next destination was going to be. We'd talked about heading south, into Mexico and maybe even down as far as South America. But we didn't have anything set in stone yet. We had no firm plans and everything was on the table.
“Good morning,” the waitress said as soon as I walked into the diner. “Seating for one?”
“Uhh no, I'm taking it to go. My – my girlfriend,” it sounded so strange to say that, and honestly, I wasn't sure if I should even be calling her that, “is still sleeping. I wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed.”
“Of course,” she said and smiled as she pulled out a menu. “Just let me know what you'd like and we'll get that right up for ya.”
Honestly, I had no idea what Emelia liked. I was still so new to this – and new to her – that I didn't know if she preferred pancakes over waffles or if she was more of a French toast sort of girl. Not to mention that I had zero clue whether she liked bacon or sausage – or neither. Normally, I might not care, but for some reason, with Emelia, I cared. I cared a lot and wanted to make this right. She mattered to me, which meant that even the smallest little detail like bacon or sausage mattered to me. As crazy as that was to think, let alone say.
As I stared down at the menu, the sound of a gunshot ripped through the morning air outside. My head spun around and I stared out the glass windows with my stomach up in my throat. My heart was pounding and adrenaline rushed through me as I stood up from the stood. I couldn't see our room from where I was, which only made me more nervous. I dropped the menu and rushed outside to see what had happened – as did the waitress and several others.
“What's going on?” she asked. “What was that? Was that a gunshot?”
I didn't have the time or inclination to answer. All I knew was that I had to get to Emelia. As I rounded the corner heading toward our room, my heart was racing and the knot in my stomach constricted painfully. I was already fearing the worst.
And I was right to be.
I watched as a black sedan pulled out of the parking lot in a squeal of tires and plumes of smoke as it sped down the road. An animalistic growl escaped my throat as I stepped into our room. The door was wide open – and judging by the shattered wood, it had been kicked open – and as I entered, I saw the signs of a vicious struggle. Tables turned over, lamps knocked to the ground, bedsheets ripped from the beds – she had put up one hell of a fight.
But Emelia was nowhere to be found.
The gun had been used – hence, the shot we'd heard – but apparently it had been too late when she'd fired the shot since the weapon was on the floor beside the bed. I turned and saw that there was a hole in the door – she'd taken a shot but had missed someone who'd been standing there. But she'd tried. Oh God, she'd tried.
Which meant, she'd been taken against her will – as if the destroyed hotel room weren't proof of that enough. Whether it was her father or someone else though, I didn't know. All I knew was that no one had a right to take her like this.
No one.
My eyes narrowed and I felt my gut churning. There was a deep well of rage bubbling up within me. I was going to get Emelia back. And I was going to make somebody pay for taking her in the first place.
As I stood in the wrecked hotel room, feeling like I'd been kicked in the nuts, I made that vow to myself. Somebody was going to bleed for what they'd done. And they were going to bleed badly.
EMELIA
“Who the fuck are you?” I screamed, kicking at the seat. “What the fuck do you want with me?”
My hands were tied, but I could kick and scream all I wanted to. The men wore masks, but their thick, Italian accents sounded familiar. Very familiar. Too familiar, in fact.
“We work for your father,” the driver said.
Yeah, that figures. I wasn't really all that surprised to hear them say that – not after I'd heard their accents the first time. Fucking great.
“So that gives you a right to break into my hotel room and pull me our forcibly?” I yelled. “I didn't want to go with you pricks, in case you missed the ever so subtle warning of me shooting at you.”
“We were rescuing you, princess,” the driver said. “You need to relax.”
The guy in the passenger seat stayed quiet and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Rescue me, huh?” I snapped. “If that's the case, then why am I restrained like a prisoner?”
“For your own safety, Emelia,” he said. “We knew things were going to happen fast, and we weren't sure you'd recognize us. So we had to restrain you for your safety.”
“And yours, I presume?” I narrowed my gaze.
“We didn't know you'd be armed,” he said. “But it made me glad we had to restrain you so there were no – accidents.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want to be rescued?” I asked.
The two men looked at each other and laughed, but didn't bother to say anything to me – which only pissed me off even more. I struggled against my bonds, trying to find a way to wiggle out of them. When that didn't succeed, I did the only thing left open to me – vow to kick both of their asses and repeat myself.
“Hello?” I snapped. “I honestly have no desire to go back to my father. Did either one of you geniuss ever think of that?”
“Stockholm syndrome,” the passenger said.
“Has to be,” replied the driver.
“That took hold pretty fast,” the passenger said. “Faster than I would've thought.”
“No, it's not Stockholm syndrome, you assholes,” I growled. “I don't want to go back. Deacon and I – ”
“Deacon Murphy?” the driver asked as he looked back at me in the rearview mirror. “Where is good ol' Deacon?”
“He was – ”
I almost said he was there with me but stopped myself short. Because honestly, I had no idea where he was. He'd been there when I drifted off to sleep, but when they broke into the room, he was nowhere to be found. If he had been, I had no doubt they wouldn't have gotten away with me. I would have bet my life on the idea that they would both be dead and we'd be far away from that dumpy little motel.
But he hadn't been there. He'd vanished. And I was tied up in the back of a car, being dragged back to my father.
“I don't know where he is now,” I said sullenly. “He was staying with me, but it appears he left before you two assholes got there.”
I had no idea where he was and I felt a stab of pain in my heart when I thought about waking up to that empty bed. But I argued with myself because Deacon wouldn't have left me – not like that. He loved me. I had no doubt about that. But where was he? Where had he gone?
At first, I feared he'd been killed, his body somewhere in our room. But when the man asked me Deacon's whereabouts, it reassured me that he got away. That he was alive out there. And if I knew Deacon – a
nd I believed I did – I knew that he loved me and it would only be a matter of time before he found me. He would turn the world upside down to find me.
“What are you smiling about back there?” the driver asked. “Something funny, princess?”
“Oh nothing,” I said, stretching out in the backseat. “Just imagining what my boyfriend will do to you once he finds you, that's all. It's not going to be pretty and personally, I can't wait to watch him take you both apart.”
“Your boyfriend?” he asked. “Don't you mean, your fiance?”
By fiance, he of course, meant Tony. Just hearing the old man's name though, made me laugh out loud.
“No, I'm no longer Tony's. Truthfully, I was never Tony's,” I said. “No, I'm talking about your worst enemy, Deacon Murphy. He's going to come for me and he will burn you all to the ground to get me back.”
“You and Deacon?” the passenger asked, turning to look at me for the first time. “You two are a thing now? Seriously?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Not that it's any of your business,” I said. “All you need to know is that once he finds you two, he's going to have some fun with the both of you. At least for a little while. After that, I'm going to run off with him again, so you might as well enjoy the last few hours you have left on this planet.”
I couldn't see the man's face thanks to the mask he was wearing, but I didn't have to see it to know what was going through his mind. The way he looked over at the driver told me all I needed to know. He was worried. They feared Deacon and the hell he'd inflict upon them both for taking me – as they should.
But what they didn't realize is that they should fear me as well, because there was no way – no way in hell – I was going to back to my father. And there was even less of a chance that I was going to marry Tony. Never in a million years.
I'd been resigned to my fate for a long while. But that was before Deacon came into my life. And now that he had, I knew I had options. And having options meant I could be free. For the first time in my life, I had experienced freedom with Deacon and there was no way I was giving that up again. There was no way I was going to let them put the shackles back on me and the albatross that was Tony around my neck.
Not when Deacon was out there. He would come for me and we would be together again. We would live free and build the life that we wanted to live. That wasn't even a question in my mind.
Besides, we had a child to raise together. I rested my hand on my tummy, feeling blessed and ecstatic to be carrying his child. No one would keep me away from Deacon. Nobody was going to keep me from my baby's father.
No one. Not even my own father. I would tear this world apart to make sure that didn't happen.
ooo000ooo
“Emelia!” my father said, rushing over to me and embracing me the moment we got back home. “I can't tell you how happy I am to see you standing here. I feared the worst had happened to my little girl.”
“I'm fine, father,” I said, my words coming out a little harsher than intended.
As much as I loved my father, I realized now that I was nothing but a pawn to him. A means to an end. A way to build the reputation and esteem of my family name. A real father wouldn't give their daughter away to somebody they didn't want to be with. A real father wouldn't force a marriage upon his daughter simply to secure some deals with their rivals. A real father wouldn't treat his daughter like a commodity. A bargaining chip.
No, if he really cared for me, he'd want me to be happy. Even if being happy meant that I would be with Deacon. But I knew he'd never, ever let happen. He would see me dead before he ever saw me walk down the aisle with Deacon. I knew that with absolute certainty. I felt it down deep in my bones.
My father sat down at his desk and motioned for me to sit down across from him. He looked at me for a long moment, smiling wide. I was growing uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny and found myself fidgeting with my hands, avoiding his gaze.
“Tony and I have been worried sick about you,” he finally said.
I cringed at the mention of Tony's name. The idea that he was out there looking for me, hoping to find me and bring me home just so I could marry him and give him children – well, that just disgusted me more now than it ever had before. I had no desire to ever see his face again. And even less desire to feel his hands on me for even a second.
“Nico and Pauly said you appeared to be showing feelings for your captor, dear?” my father asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have to tell you, I find that more than a little concerning.”
I knew I couldn't tell him everything. I couldn't shoot my mouth off the way I had with the two men who'd taken me from my hotel room. Not if I wanted him to allow me some freedom – at least freedom enough that I could reach out to Deacon. If I did anything to upset him or raise the red flags in his head, he was going to have somebody watching me every minute of the day. And if that happened, there was no way I was going to be able to get a call out to Deacon – not without being observed and overheard.
Honestly, I should have kept my mouth shut back there in the car. I was kicking myself now for my lack of discretion. But I was so angry and frustrated that it had all just come out before I had a chance to check myself and think it through. I'd let my anger spill over and I'd said too much. I needed to keep my feelings secret for now. I needed to be smart about this. At least until I could get ahold of Deacon and get him a message. Let him know where I was.
“Maybe so,” I said. “Honestly, Deacon Murphy took very good care of me. He was kind and even gentle with me. So, I have no complaints. He was a gentleman, father.”
“He didn't harm you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”
“Not at all,” I said. “He made sure his men didn't lay a hand on me either. Like I said, he was kind and took care of me.”
My dad looked surprised, but then a sinister smile crossed his face. “Probably because he knew I'd make him suffer mightily before I killed him if he hadn't treated you well. He's wiser than I gave him credit for.”
I knew it went deeper than that though. I knew that Deacon wasn't like the other men who lived this life. But no matter what I said, no matter what defense I mounted, I knew my father wouldn't believe me. He hated Deacon and his family with everything in him and would never hear, let alone accept, that they hadn't mistreated me.
“As it stands, I'm just going to kill him quickly,” he said. “Get it over with before he knows what hits him. Consider it a kindness. A thank you for not harming my daughter, of course.”
“Please, father,” I said, choking on my words. “Can't we just let him go? There's no reason to hurt him. No reason to kill him. He's done nothing.”
“Let him go?” my father scoffed. “He stole the heir to the Antonelli family fortune. Kidnapped her. I can't just let something like that go. No, I cannot let that pass. What sort of message would that send? I'm sorry, but kind or not, he needs to pay for his crimes, Emelia. And pay he will.”
I knew that arguing with my father would be futile. It might even make thing worse. I'd need my freedom to warn Deacon. I'd need it so I could escape and join him again. Which is exactly what I planned to do. Because when I did get back to him, we were going to disappear completely. We were going to go somewhere neither his family nor mine would ever find us.
We were going to go somewhere we could live our lives and raise our family. Together.
DEACON
I'd checked out of the hotel room shortly after Emelia had been taken and was driving back to Chicago as fast as I could. I wasn't sure where Emelia was being held – not with any certainty – but I had a fairly good idea. I figured that either her father or my Brothers had her. And when I found out who it was and where they were keeping her, I was going to get her back and them make them pay once I found them.
I was going to hurt them like they'd never been hurt before. And I was going to enjoy every last second of hearing them scream.
As I drove down the lonely roads of Illinois, my
phone rang. I picked it up, not recognizing the number. Ordinarily, I wouldn't answer an unknown number, but something in my gut was telling me to answer.
“Hello,” I said.
“Deacon?” It was Emelia. “It's me.”
“Oh thank God,” I said. “I've been so goddamn worried about you. Where are you? Who has you? Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” she said, whispering. “It's my father, Deacon. He thinks he rescued me from you – ”
She cut herself off and I heard what sounded her putting her hand over the phone. There were muffled voices in the background – she was talking to someone, but I couldn't make out who it was or what they were saying.
“No, I'm fine. Really, I am,” she said to the other person. “I don't need anything, but thank you Esme. May I please have a little privacy? I'm on the phone. Yes, thank you.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “The maid. Where was I?”
At least it sounded like she was safe and wasn't being held hostage. That was a good thing.
“You're safe then, Emelia?” I asked.
“I am,” she said. “At least for the moment. I don't know what's going to happen when my father brings Tony around.”
For a moment, I feared that maybe this was goodbye. I thought that perhaps now that she was back at home, was safe and happy, that what we had between us was going to evaporate. That it had all been an illusion – or at least something that was temporary and easily cast aside. My heart ached at the mere thought of it, but if that was what she truly wanted – I would have no choice but to honor her wishes.
“Please come get me, Deacon,” she said, her voice choked with tears. “I'm begging you. I can't be here anymore. I only want to be with you.”
“Everything is okay, right?” I asked. “You're not being hurt or anything like that?”
“Of course everything is okay. And no, I'm not being hurt. Everything is back to normal around here. The status quo has been restored,” I said. “My dad doesn't even suspect that there's anything between us. And he doesn't know about the baby. Not yet. And he won't until I'm far, far away from this house. I can't stay here. I won't. I miss you, Deacon.”