Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I’m about to protest but Makayla beats me to it.

  “LIke hell you will,” she snaps. “If you so much as...” Her voice trails off and her cheeks blossom with red.

  I grin, quirking an eyebrow at her. She gives me a confused look, clearly not expecting this exchange to have turned out this way..

  Hunter is fuming, apparently not sure who he should be pissed at or what’s even happening.

  Becca leans back in her chair, laughing through her nose without taking her eyes from Makayla. She opens her mouth to speak and I interrupt her, tired of this mess.

  First I turn to Becca. “I’d rather cut my dick off than put it anywhere near your poisonous ass, so you can stuff it.” I look to Hunter next. “And if you put your fucking hand on Makayla one more time I swear to God I will snap it off.” Lastly, I look at Makayla. “You and I are going to talk privately. Now,” I add.

  She flexes her jaw and her chest heaves, drawing my eyes to those perfect tits again. Instead of taking my offered hand though, she turns and walks back to the table where Kennedy sits.

  Hunter walks after her, fists bunched at his sides, making him look exactly like the spoiled brat he is. I plop down and glance at Becca, who is openly fuming. I grab her wine and kick it back. “Get over it,” I mutter, turning to watch Makayla.

  But something catches my eye. I notice another waiter who looks out of place. His movements are precise and his eyes are hard, harder than any waiter’s eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s something really fucking familiar about him. I watch him and realize he’s pulling a small container from his pocket and drizzling something into a man’s glass before handing the wine back to him.

  Poison?

  I’m brought back five years ago to a craggy, rock-strewn field in Afghanistan. We had ten days to take out the surveillance equipment in a terrorist camp near the border. Command wanted us to infiltrate the camp and sabotage the equipment quietly, but gave us carte blanche to get the job done however our team saw fit. I was going to go along with command and take the safe route, but one of my men took it upon himself to find a simpler, more brutal method. We were positioned upstream from the camp, and Liam dragged as much rotted meat as he could gather in a day from the surrounding plains and he piled it in the river. In a few days the terrorists were so sick we just walked in and took the place from them and turned off the equipment without wasting a single bullet.

  It worked, but I always thought it was a dirty play. Poison is for pussies, as far as I’m concerned, and I only knew one man who resorted to it. I look at all the waiters and waitresses with renewed interest, realizing the majority of them have hard eyes and hard bodies. Professionals. All of them. This is a fucking trap and Makayla is right in the middle of it. Meanwhile fucking Edwards and Rosenthal are scanning the perimeter. Useless.

  I stand, ignoring whatever Becca says as I rush toward Makayla’s table. A server reaches to refill her wine glass, which she just chugged, and he taps a drop of something in the glass just as I arrive.

  “What do you have there?” I ask.

  He looks at me, eyes betraying his desire to handle this with fists. “Pardon, sir?”

  I take the wine glass from him and smash it on the floor. The room falls silent as heads turn to look at the waiter and I.

  “Don’t drink the fucking wine,” I say, projecting my voice so that everyone in the room can hear. Rather than try to explain to the entire room, I grip the waiter by the neck, squeezing him tight and frisking him with my free hand. There are a few gasps and murmurs as I search. I pull a gun free from his waistband and hold it by the barrel, showing the room. This time there are screams and the screech of hundreds of chairs being pushed back as people rush to leave the room. The men posing as waiters push their way through the panicked crowds, eyes intent on Makayla and I.

  I shove the waiter to the ground and let him get trampled beneath the escaping crowd, using my size to bulldoze a path to the back exit I spotted when I came in to the large banquet hall. I have a firm grasp on Makayla’s arm, but she keeps tugging me in the wrong direction.

  “Kennedy!” she yells over the noise. “I can’t leave Kennedy!”

  “They want us,” I yell back to her. “The farther from us, the safer she is. Just stay with me.”

  It seems to work, because she stops resisting my pull. A few seconds later, the room is considerably more empty, and I have no way around one of the waiters. When he spots me, he reaches behind his back for a weapon. I snag a plate from the nearest table and frisbee it at his face. He’s too slow and the plate shatters against his forehead. A second later, I’ve grabbed a steak knife and closed the distance to him, still gripping Makayla’s arm. I jam the knife in his chest and strip the gun from him. His eyes widen as he falls to his knees, clutching at the wound.

  I push past him, not having time to finish him off because now that the room has mostly cleared out, the waiters will have a clear shot at us any second. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a man aiming a pistol at us. I flick the safety off the stolen gun and sling Makayla behind me, shielding her with my body as I take aim. I squeeze off a round, favoring quickness over accuracy. The first bullet takes him in the shoulder, jarring his aim so when he fires a split second later, the bullet zips over my head. I fire two more times, dropping him. More gunshots follow, tearing into the plaster and showering Makayla and I in dust as we duck out the exit.

  I’m running on pure instinct and training. I scan our surroundings, assessing our options. An alley to our left leads to the main street where I can see crowds of people from the party running past. Too obvious. They will have someone watching the main exit for us. To our right, the alley leads to a wider back alley behind the theater. I yank her to the right and just as we’re about to round the corner I plow into someone, knocking them to the ground.

  I’m pointing my borrowed gun at the man’s face before I even register who he is.

  “Edwards?” I ask.

  He shakes his head a little. “Yeah, fuck. Remind me not to piss you off,” he says, reaching for the hand I offer to help him up.

  “Where’s--”

  “Here,” says Rosenthal, moving smoothly around the corner.

  Just looking at the two incompetent assholes makes my blood boil. They didn’t know I would be inside to look after Makayla. Their “perimeter checks” left her completely vulnerable in there. If I hadn’t been here… Fuck. Just thinking about it turns my stomach. I want to lay into them, but now isn’t the time. Still, I don’t plan to let them out of my sight until I’ve had a chance to rip them to pieces.

  “Come on,” I say quickly, “we’ll run a few blocks and then find a place to lay low till this blows over.

  Rosenthal slides his hand from behind his back, pointing a gun at Makayla’s stomach. I raise my gun to his head in the same instant, finger tight on the trigger, heart pounding. Edwards shifted to move slightly behind my back and I didn’t even notice. I was so pissed off at the two of them I let my fucking guard down. I run through all the possible outcomes and keep coming up short.

  “Nothing personal,” says Edwards.

  “You better fucking believe it’s personal,” I growl. They’re betraying us. But why? Money?

  The exit door we came out of bangs open and a small group of waiters file out, pistols in hand. They are followed by a man in black with a golden goat mask. I can already tell by the way he moves that it’s Liam.

  I clench my jaw, holding Makayla tightly to me. I failed her. The thought burns like acid in my mind. I failed her, just like I failed all the men who trusted me to protect them in the war. My finger twitches on the trigger and I feel it pull back slightly. Dangerous. It’s not my gun, and I don’t know how sensitive the trigger is. I could’ve just blown Rosenthal’s brains out and gotten both of us killed. It rips me up inside to do it, but I lower my gun, knowing this isn’t a situation I can fight my way out of. The only hope we have is to wait for a better opportunity, hope for some ki
nd of fuck up on their part, as slim a hope as that might be.

  If it was just me, I would happily kill Rosenthal and try to drop one or two more before they brought me down. But with Makayla beside me, it’s out of the question. As small as the chance may be, we have to take it.

  “I expected better,” says Liam, lifting his mask to reveal his scarred face. “The great fucking Jesse Slade only killed one of my men and wounded another before being captured.” He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “And I tried telling these clowns he would never fall for their double cross, but you really have lost your touch, haven’t you?”

  “You don’t care about Makayla,” I say. “Let her go and you can torture me as much as you fucking like. I won’t fight.”

  He sniffs, smirking at me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You get to suffer through whatever I put you through knowing you did it for her.” He rolls his eyes, stepping forward and reaching to touch Makayla’s face.

  My hand flies out, gripping his wrist so tightly I can feel his bones straining not to snap. Half a dozen pistols are pointed to my head, but all I see is red. If he so much as fucking touches her…

  Liam’s face is strained, but he manages a twisted smile. “It’s okay, boys. He’s going to let me go, because he knows I could take his fucking bitch apart piece by piece right now if I want to. But if he behaves, who knows? Maybe he’ll find some way to stop me.”

  I grudgingly let go of his wrist, glaring hard enough to burn holes in his skin. “What do you want?”

  He looks down, smiling. “Since you’re mine now, I think I’ll let you in on a little secret. You too, honey,” he says, looking to Makayla. “Your stepfather has made arranging your death a can’t-miss opportunity. Imagine my delight when I realized I could get the revenge I wanted and cash in on your pretty little ass at the same time.”

  “You’re lying,” breathes Makayla. Her voice sounds thick with emotion, and it tears at me to hear it.

  The need to protect her throbs within me, nearly overwhelming me and driving me mad because we’re in an impossible situation. There’s no amount of strategy or cleverness that could do anything about the number of guns pointed at us. The only option right now is to wait.

  “Not that I have anything against lying,” says Liam, “but no. Hubert’s up to his eyeballs in debt and the people he owes money to are just about ready to collect his balls as collateral. Do you recall agreeing to be covered for life insurance?”

  Makayla doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face says she does.

  “Well, I guess you didn’t bother to read the terms. He and his lawyer apparently managed to get you covered for a lot of money. And since Hubert is the primary benefactor in the event of your death, well, he’s ready to cash in and get his business back on the ground.

  A tear streaks down Makayla’s cheek. “He wouldn’t. He loves me.”

  Liam shrugs. “I’m sure some farmers become attached to their cattle, but when the family’s stomach starts to rumble, the cow gets slaughtered all the same.”

  “You’re lying. They could have hurt me whenever they wanted,” she says, looking to Edwards and Rosenthal. “If he had paid them to betray me, they wouldn’t have waited so long.”

  “I only just managed to find a price they both found agreeable. Besides, you’re worth about three times as much if the death looks like an accident. Putting a bullet in your head would lose us a lot of money. I’m thinking a car accident will do the trick, but I don’t plan to let this body of yours go to waste before at least giving it a taste,” Liam steps forward and reaches for Makayla.

  I land two thundering cross hooks. The first connecting with his eye and the second with his nose. His head snaps back twice, eyes glazing. Something hard and metallic slams into the back of my head, followed by two more blows. I fall to my knees, vision going black. I have just long enough to hate myself for failing Makayla before I lose consciousness.

  40

  Makayla

  I’m being kept prisoner in a classically elegant room. The furniture all looks antique but well-maintained, and the room is furnished with seemingly endless ornamental pieces that each look priceless. I have half a mind to trash the place just to spite these assholes, but I know it wouldn’t be smart. Because it might make them kill you faster, whispers a small voice in my head. A wave of chills washes over me.

  It still doesn’t feel completely real. The last few hours have been such an emotional rollercoaster that I still can’t completely wrap my head around it. Hell, the last few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster, except it seems like there have been way more downs than ups.

  I can’t seem to go more than five minutes without thinking about Jesse. Without worrying about Jesse. Those men hit him with their pistols so hard I thought they killed him. I nearly cried with relief when I saw that he was still breathing as they dragged him into the car. But God, as horrible as it is, part of me almost wished he wasn’t breathing. I know what Liam plans to do to him and it’s eating me up inside.

  I know I should be completely focused on getting myself out of here right now, but I’m finding it hard not to give into despair. Jesse is gone. They took him and he can’t save me. If I’m going to get out of here I’m going to have to do it myself. Easier said than done.

  I pace around the room, thinking of every possible way out of this I can. I don’t know how long I have. All I really know is that Liam had some “business” to set in order before he could come “fuck the bitch”. I feel bile rise in my throat. I’ll bite off my own tongue before I let him touch me. But it’s not going to come to that, because I’m going to find a way out of here. Somehow.

  I stupidly reach for my purse to grab my phone on impulse. I have neither, of course. I still vividly remember watching my purse fall to the concrete when they dragged me to a car, its contents spilling to the concrete. As I remember the image, I fixate on my inhaler tumbling from the bag and an idea strikes me. I haven’t had an asthma attack since second grade, but every time I’ve changed purses, I’ve always just moved the inhaler from purse to purse. Now that it sparked this idea, I know it might not have been a complete waste of effort.

  I have to wait a few minutes until I hear men outside my door. I quickly put myself in the zone. Lights. Camera. Action.

  I clutch my throat, gasping dramatically, wheezing in a pained breath like it might be my last. I choke out a strained “help”, pressing my mouth close to the door. I keep gasping and clawing at my throat as I fall to my knees, banging a hand on the door. It’s only a second before I hear a key scrabbling at the lock and the door swings open to reveal Edwards and Rosenthal.

  Rosenthal looks annoyed, but Edwards’ face is lined with concern.

  “The fuck?” asks Rosenthal.

  “Asthma… attack…” I gasp. “Inhaler…”

  The two men exchange a look. “Fuck, man,” says Rosenthal. “Liam’s going to be pissed if she dies before he gets to play with her.”

  “We need to take her to see a doctor or something,” says Edwards.

  “Are you fucking stupid?” asks Rosenthal. “That idiot told her we’re planning to kill her. We can’t take her anywhere.”

  I squeeze my throat discreetly, making the blood rush to my face as I gasp, letting spit drip down from my mouth.

  Edwards picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, heading toward the front door of the large house.

  “Put her down,” says Rosenthal. “If she dies, she dies.”

  “I’m not going to watch her suffer. This isn’t what I signed up--”

  A gunshot blasts my eardrums. Edwards’ tall frame crumples beneath me and I’m slammed to the ground as he drops me. He falls to his knees, pulling a gun and turning in time to shoot once at Rosenthal before Rosenthal empties the rest of his clip into the man, squeezing the trigger several times after he’s out of bullets, making the gun click uselessly. I barely manage to crawl out of the crossfire.

  I look to Rosenth
al in horror.

  He takes a step toward me, face contorted in rage. His steps falter and he falls to one knee, clutching his stomach. “Fuck!” he shouts, slamming the butt of his pistol on the ground. I realize his gun is empty and Edwards’ weapon is only a few inches from my hand. Rosenthal is looking down at his wound, pulling his bloody hand away and cursing again. I suck in a deep breath and grab Edwards’ gun before I have time to talk myself out of it. I aim it at Rosenthal just as he looks up and realizes what is happening.

  “You fucking--”

  I fire three times. The first two shots are above him and to the left, but the third catches his forehead. I see his head snap backwards before I look away, closing my eyes and bending to throw up everything I ate at the party.

  I hear footsteps thumping from upstairs and raised voices. I force myself to my feet and run to a nearby closet, shutting the door and watching through the slits in the wood.

  Men come down the stairs a few seconds later, cursing and making disgusted sounds as they take in the scene.

  “What the fuck?” asks one. “Weren’t they partners?”

  “Maybe they wanted a bigger cut?”

  “Hey!” shouts someone from down the hall. “The girl’s gone.”

  “Shit!” yells another man as they all rush out the front door. I hear shouting from outside and car engines starting.

  Within a minute, I’m completely alone in the house, except for the two dead bodies.

  41

  Jesse

  I wake and my hands are tied to the chair. I jolt with pure, liquid fear as I realize where I am. I’m in Afghanistan. I’m being tortured by that terrorist fucker. I suck in deep, hard breaths through my nose, trying not to hyperventilate. But as my vision clears, I realize this isn’t the war. I see the broad back of Liam bent over a table, sifting through metallic tools carefully.