by Mia Allen
Karen was alive, but unconscious. She remained that way all the way to a hospital. Tyler hung onto her hand as the medics did their jobs. Caleb was in a separate ambulance. The bleeding had stopped, yet his shoulder hung useless at his side. The mob would come after him. He was a dead man walking. Caleb’s only hope was to testify against his backers and pray the government could hide him. Unless Tyler killed him first.
The emergency room was filled with FBI and police as Karen and Caleb were rushed in. A large man with dark hair slipped in unnoticed behind the group. Tyler was pushed aside as the still unconscious Karen was taken for a CT scan. He bullied his way into Caleb’s cubicle ignoring the agents guarding him. Tyler demanded, “Why hurt her, Nick? Your hatred was always for me alone. We could have settled this without bloodshed if you hadn’t tried to hide your identity. I’m a different man than I used to be. I was taking what I believed were your legitimate companies to save them from your illegal debts.”
Caleb was stunned to realize that Tyler knew who he was. He had to ask, “What gave my identity away?”
Tyler quietly answered, “Bros not hoes.” He left the room as a sob came from Caleb.
Chapter 10
Tyler sat at Karen’s side waiting for her to wake up. Her parents were on the way and he knew the nurses would soon make him leave. He kissed her forehead and sang her favorite love song into her ear. A tear ran down his cheek as she lay so still. He swore, “I love you, Karen. I would have given up everything for you. I’m so sorry for all that has happened. You deserve much better than me. Marry me anyway. Please wake up!”
Running feet were heard in the hallway. Obviously someone was in trouble. Tyler stepped from the room for just a moment and witnessed doctor’s rushing into Caleb’s room. He could hear yelling and the sound of an alarm. Caleb hadn’t been fatally injured, so what could be wrong? Tyler asked himself if he cared and discovered that, yes, he did. Caleb had once been a funny young man who was Tyler’s best friend. That young man still meant a lot to him. He turned back into the room as a moan came from Karen. Her eyes opened and nothing else mattered.
Karen healed quickly. Her parents took turns staying with her at the hospital and then at her apartment. Tyler was sidelined for a while. That was fine. He had a lot of things to deal with. Caleb had died. Actually he had been killed. The large dark haired man had dressed as a doctor, gone into his room, and injected an air bubble into Caleb’s IV. He slipped out of the hospital without being caught. Tyler was sad, but resigned. They would have found Caleb even if the FBI had managed to hide him. Tyler wanted to be safe and he needed that for Karen too. He was determined to marry her and have a family.
Tyler released all the companies he had taken over from Caleb to Malone Enterprises. The mob was welcome to them. He paid for Caleb’s burial in honor of their young friendship. He had one more errand to run before he headed to Karen’s apartment. Her parents left early that morning. She was his once again.
Karen looked beautiful in her silk robe. Her long shining hair hid the small mark where the bullet had gouged out a small section near her left ear. She smiled and guided Tyler to the couch. There were books piled on the coffee table. Karen loved to read anything from romance to sci-fi. There was a stack of books about flipping houses too. Tyler was ready to help her with that. It seemed to be her passion, so it would become his too. He pulled Karen into his arms and held on tight as he said, “I almost lost you. That can never happen again. I’m not taking over any more businesses. I’ll concentrate on the ones I already have and make them better. I want your help with that. Can I count on you?”
Karen kissed his lips and answered, “Of course. But I want something of my own. I want to start a business flipping houses. I want to start with a small house of my own. The money is already set aside. Please take this seriously. It’s important to me.”
Tyler replied, “Let’s start looking for your house tonight. There are hundreds of websites where houses are listed. You’re going to need to teach me all about this. I can rebuild a business, but I know nothing about rehabbing a house. Can I live in the first one with you?”
Karen looked confused as she asked, “Why would you want to? Your home is big and beautiful.”
Tyler smiled as he said, “I’m considering selling my place and investing the money in your business. Besides, I want to live with my wife. That is if you’ll have me.” Tyler slid off the couch and onto one knee. He held up a small blue box from Tiffany’s. He popped it open to reveal an emerald-cut diamond surrounded by sapphires.
Karen jumped up and tackled him to the floor, kissing his face. She said, “I thought I had been dreaming when I heard you in the hospital. You said you wanted to marry me. It was real wasn’t it?”
Tyler’s answer was lost in the kisses Karen rained upon his face. Their future looked bright.
***
A year later, Tyler entered a small blue and white house by the lake. Karen was in the kitchen arranging flowers in a vase. The tiny house had turned out beautiful and had proved to be the perfect home for the first six months of their marriage. Tomorrow there was to be an open house. Karen was ready to sell her first home and had already picked out a larger one. Two more small ones on the lake were waiting to be flipped. The large one was for Tyler and Karen. They would need it soon. Karen was pregnant with the first of many children, they hoped. Tyler vowed to protect his family at all costs. Flipping was more fun than takeovers anyway.
THE END
Bonus 6 of 20
A Sugar Daddy’s Secret
Description
Emily.
During her first gallery exhibition at a Soho studio, Emily locks eyes with a mysterious man. He radiates a sexual energy that makes her tremble with fear and drip with excitement. There’s no way she’ll be able to resist his powerful erotic charms—ripped abs, finely sculpted arms, full lips.
And she’ll be dripping even more when he reveals that he’s willing to invest heavily in her career and their relationship.
He only makes a few demands. What could possibly go wrong?
Thomas.
All his life he’s scored big in the boardroom. And the bedroom. Really big. A multi-millionaire in the financial capital of the world, Thomas is looking to invest his fortune in the career of talented young artists—especially young, attractive, curvy ones.
When he stumbles upon a naive painter just out of art school and desperate for a break, he licks his lips, certain that he’s found the perfect victim.
Chapter 1
I stood in the middle of the gallery smiling, excited that my first show had come off without any problems, yet I knew everything would be decided tomorrow when the review came out in The Village Voice.
Until then all I could do was hold my breath and hope.
My best friend Samantha came over and put her arm around me.
“Where’s the lucky boyfriend?” she asked.
“Working. He just made partner so they keep him late.”
“Have you decided whether or not you’re gonna do that nude photo shoot?
“I don’t want to talk about that tonight. Let’s just have fun and party and—”
“Have a threesome with some hot bearded hipsters.”
“Ha! You would never.” Samantha was the most prim and proper of my friends. I could hardly imagine her in bed with the grungy, artistic types that used to get me so excited.
“Don’t let the JD and the Park Slope brownstone fool you. I have a great appreciation for hipsters.”
“Oh, really. Did you make them shower and shave?”
“Shower, yes. Shave, no. I love that grungy smell of coffee and hand-rolled cigarettes in their beards.”
The gallery director, Simon, rushed towards us, waving his arms.
“Megan, darling, there’s someone who you must absolutely meet.”
A tall, sleek, confident man strode across the room. Our eyes locked. A strange, electric shock passed through my body. No man had eve
r stared at me that intensely, at least no stranger. Who was he? How hadn’t I noticed him?
He smiled, extended his hand. I stood frozen, locked on his eyes. He smirked. He knew he had me transfixed. I felt myself blushing even deeper until I finally extended my arm. His hand was almost twice as big as mine, and the roughness, the raw power it possessed sent a shiver through my body. He could crush me if he so desired. These hands were bigger than any man’s hands…and my mind started to drift… What power, what sex appeal. He must have been in his early forties. He was so well dressed, elegant and clean-shaven. The energy and vigor he exuded were those of man much younger, but his calmness and savoir-faire, made him seem older and more mature than his physicality would suggest.
In those brief moments in which we stood there gazing into each other’s eyes, my hand clasped in his, I felt my eyes being drawn, as if by some magnetic force, to his crotch. There appeared to be a bulge, a very impressive bulge. No, it was more like a thick snake unfurling itself down his leg. My body quivered. My panties began to dampen. I felt like I would pass out right there in the gallery. Oh, how embarrassing that would be! This hulk of man would have to take me in his arms, wrap in his warm powerful embrace and hold me tighter than any man had ever held me, and rush me to the hospital. But what the hell was wrong with me? I had a boyfriend, a wonderful, successful boyfriend who had just made partner in his law firm—the kind of boyfriend that most women would kill for. He made good money and hadn’t lost his sense of playfulness. I couldn’t believe how far my mind had rushed off into the imaginary fantasy scenario with this alluring stranger. But still, I couldn’t help feeling an intense coursing through my body, tickling all my nerve endings from my brain to my pussy to my toes. Everything in my body tingled with excitement. I was dripping wet and I felt as if everyone in the gallery was looking at me, pointing, reveling in the hypnotic spell that this man had put me under.
“Thomas is an art dealer. He got sick of Wall Street life.”
He must have caught me staring at his package, licking my lips lustily, imagining holding his large member in my hands, double fisting it, swirling my tongue around the head, then pumping it in and out of my mouth until he couldn’t hold it anymore and shot his huge load onto my pretty face. And I would suck every last drop from the head of the softening rod. Oh, I felt like such a whore. I wanted this man, I needed him. But it felt so wrong. It was wrong!
“Are you going to let go of my hand?” he asked, then tilted his head and smiled.
I hadn’t noticed that I was still holding his large, powerful hand
“Yes, yes. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
He laughed a deep, masculine belly laugh. I snuck another glance at his crotch. The snake had grown bigger, unfurled further down his leg. It wasn’t only long, but thick. I licked my lips again, felt the flood of moistness in my panties. What would this man do to me if he had me alone? The next time I masturbated he would be on my mind. I couldn’t wait to get out of the gallery and rush into James’ arms. I was a bitch in heat. I needed a good fucking tonight. I needed James to slam me up against the wall, pull my hair, smack my ass, and call me all the filthy names he could think of. I wanted to be punished for my slutty desires. Oh, God, I needed to be punished.
He said that he wanted to meet somewhere for coffee to discuss my work. He was on the hunt for an up and coming young artist to work with. He had heard my name from some people in the industry and he had come with the sole purpose of seeing my work. He added that my latest paintings were well ahead of those of my artistic peers.
I blushed deeply. I couldn’t believe that this man, this patron of the arts, who could probably have been chatting with any New York artist right now, offering to put his money behind their careers, was actually taking an interest in me.
“There’s a real European vibe, but also something uniquely American. Are you from the Midwest by any chance?”
“Ohio,” I said.
He told me that he used to travel to Ohio on business. But now he was full-time in the art world. He realized that artists were always looking for financial backing and he had the money to make that happen. It gave him great pleasure to be able to help out ambitious, young talents. He gave me his card and said he would call me, or have his assistant call me, to set up a meeting in a few days. My eyes followed him as he walked away.
“Watch out for him,” Simon said, “He’s a dangerous one, especially for sweet little things like you.”
I didn’t pay much attention to what Simon was saying. I was still under the spell of this gorgeous, mysterious man.
On the way home in the taxi, I thought how this night would change my life forever. My first show in an NYC gallery. Sure it was a small venue, and not many people had showed up, but there did seem to be a buzz in the air, as if people were really connecting to my work. After months and months of frustration and working in virtual obscurity, it felt like I was finally going to break through, like my name was going to spread throughout NYC artistic circles. And that critic, I think he was from The Village Voice, he had stood for a long time taking notes in front of all my paintings. A good review in tomorrow’s Art & Culture section was all I needed. It would finally put me on the map as an up and coming artist. I couldn’t wait to tell James.
I ran up the steps of the apartment building, my body buzzing with excitement. I heard loud sounds coming from down the hall. The sounds got louder as I approached my door. It seemed like they were coming from inside my apartment. Was James cleaning up or cooking something special for me? Maybe he was trying to surprise me. But he had said that he would be working late. As it turned out his idea of working late was a little but different than mine. There was a trail of clothes that led from the front door down the hallway. My heart sank. I heard wild screams coming from the bedroom, high-pitched screams coming from a woman who was probably quivering on the verge of orgasm. I approached slowly, sure of what I would see. I saw long blond hair draping down a young woman’s back, a woman who was riding James cock like it was the last cock she would ever experience.
I screamed. The woman jumped off of James and landed on the floor. James scrambled out of the bed, wrapped the sheet around himself.
“It’s not what it seems,” he protested. The woman on the floor covered her breasts and stared at me defiantly. Fucking bitch. I knew exactly who she was, Anne Marie Henderson. She had been a slut in art school. I guess she hadn’t changed much. We had been rivals during school, ever since she had seen me with James. Every young female artist wanted to snag a guy with a great job and powerful cock and I had beaten her to it. She had never forgiven me for that.
On what should have been the greatest night, the most monumental night in my artistic career, she had finally gotten him, gotten my boyfriend to succumb and fuck the hell out her. That cock was supposed to be all mine, it supposed to be the cock that I could call my own. But he had betrayed me, given it away to another, and not just any other but a woman whom I hated.
“Get the fuck out,” I yelled. “Just get the fuck out.”
Anne Marie got dressed slowly, seemingly enjoying the pain that she was causing me, knowing how much she had just ruined for me. James kept pleading for me to understand, kept telling me that it was a mistake, that there was an explanation for everything that happened. I slumped to the floor and started crying. When he came over to comfort me, I lashed out at him, scratching his face. He recoiled. There was fear in his eyes. He had never seen me so enraged.
“Fucking, bitch,” he said. “Stupid, fucking bitch.” Then he began taunting me. “Good luck trying to make it without any money, you little spoiled brat.”
I saw Anne Marie smirking. She would have his cock and his money. I thought that things couldn’t get any worse, that I couldn’t feel any lower, but I was wrong, very wrong, because the next day things did get worse.
Chapter 2
The next morning while I was still trying to recover from the previous night’s trauma, I received a
nother piece of bad news. Simon called. He said that there would be no review in The Village Voice, but he assured me it wasn’t because the critic hadn’t liked my work. No, that wasn’t it at all. He had said some nice things about my work and he was interested in seeing more of my stuff. The night had not been an artistic failure, but something much bigger had happened in the art world, something that people would be talking about for months, maybe years into the future.
A super talented young artist, one of the city’s starlets, a woman whose work had been featured in The New York Times and The New Yorker had been found dead. I clicked on The Village Voice website. The story was front page news:
***Rising Star in the Art World Found Dead in Her Apartment
New York—The NYPD is investigating the death of the promising young painter Amanda Lavreaux who was found dead at 5 a.m. this morning in her swanky West Village apartment. Lavreaux, a sensation in the New York City art world, was considered to be one of the most dynamic and innovative artists of her generation. Her death has been ruled a homicide.
I couldn’t read any more, the story made me sick. I had heard of Amanda, but had never had a chance to meet her or really appreciate her work and now she was gone. Her life of promise and stardom had been cut short. It appeared to be a crime of passion. An ex-lover, boyfriend, admirer? Maybe some sociopath who had fetish for killing female artist? No one knew, but everyone was talking. Her untimely death made me sad, but all I could really think about was the lost opportunity—my lost opportunity. This should have been my day to celebrate. I should have woken up in James’ arms. We should have celebrated by having a fuck fest all morning, going for brunch of lox, bagels and mimosa and returning to fuck our brains out some more before passing out in each other’s arms. This should have been our day. It should have been my day to celebrate finally making it, finally gaining the recognition which I had been so desperately seeking since I had arrived in the city five years ago full of hope and energy and dreams. But everything was destroyed. I was still an obscure painter in a city that eats up struggling artists. And it was even worse than that. I was now single, alone and forced to face this harsh world without the help of strong, financial man. There was no way I could make it. No way. The best thing to do would probably be to head back to the Midwest. All the doubters had been right. I couldn’t cut it in the big city.