Chained by the Don

by Brook Wilder

  As if the thought alone had conjured him, Maurice strode though the greenhouse door, his stance all cocky arrogance as his leering gaze swept over her. Nausea followed that look and she kept her head down and pretended not to notice as best as she could, but it became almost as impossible as he circled closer.

  “What is it, Maurice?” she finally asked, having to say something to break the tension that was filling the greenhouse like noxious gas. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at her in a way that was meant to be coy but just looked greasy smeared across his ruddy face.

  “Nothing. Nothing. This is my business after all and I need to make sure I take care of every single aspect.” The way he clipped every word, all the while looking at her with his beady eyes filled with sick lust had her quickly moving to the next row, and as far away from him as she could get while finishing up. Carla hastened her movements, trying to rush to get done so she could leave. It was starting to feel claustrophobic even though the greenhouse spanned eighty feet long and over twenty feet tall. It didn’t matter. She could be in the middle of the freaking Sahara Desert and, if he were there, it would still feel too small.

  “Hey, what’s the hurry? You have a hot date tonight? You want one?” his voice slid like an oil slick as she tried to shrug off his question, deciding not to answer because she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would quit then and there, and she still desperately needed this job. But he wouldn’t let her ignore him. Suddenly he was there beside her, moving quickly despite his bulk and his hard grasp on her upper arm had her hissing out in disgust and surprise.

  “What the–”

  “I asked you a question, Carla. You don’t want to be rude, do you? Now, tell me you’ll be a good girl.” He was so close she could read the intent in his dark eyes, partially hidden by the folds of his eyelid, and the sweat that marred his brow. She jerked her arm away, taking several stumbling steps away as she fought against the sudden trembling in her legs.

  “No. No, I um, I should go. Everything is done here. I have to go,” Carla mumbled hastily while she ducked down another row, ignoring Maurice’s next words. She knew whatever they were, she didn’t want to hear them.

  She was practically running by the time she got to her truck and she didn’t spare a single glance backwards as she threw it into gear and tore down the long drive out onto the main highway. The road was nearly empty and she was glad because she could barely concentrate on the pavement as the miles went by, the sky moving from dusky blue to deep indigo as stars started to wink to life.

  But she didn’t see any of it. All she could feel was Maurice’s sweaty hand grasping her arm, his meaty fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. By the time she pulled down her own driveway, she almost had her nerves under control but, after she turned the engine off, she still she sat there, her mind replaying it over and over in her mind. Maybe she should just quit and deal with finding another job. But the only other thing she was qualified to do was waitress and that didn’t make nearly enough. She was barely keeping her head above water as it was.

  If she just kept her head down and keep focused, maybe she could save enough so that she could quit. Carla gave a mental shake of her head, knowing it would take far longer than she could stand to work there to make what she needed. No, what she needed was a big cash boost. Despite herself, her mind went to the shipments they sent out every week. Shipments that went to local dispensaries and she knew exactly how much was in even just one of those. Enough to last her a year. Five years.

  But who would she sell it to? The logical part of her brain tried to interject, but the desperation she felt outweighed it. She knew there was a shipment due to leave in two days, and she knew if she stayed at the farm Maurice would try something again, maybe worse next time.

  A sharp tap at her window jolted her out of her seat and made her swear as she rolled down the window.

  “Fuck, Elle, are you trying to kill me?” Carla said, and tried to slow her heart rate back to normal. Elle gave her a look over her cat-eye glasses.

  “You know I hate when you say that,” her friend said archly, but there was a glint of good natured humor in her warm brown eyes. The same humor that had finally won Carla over after she had moved into the rental house after graduation.

  “What, that you’re trying to kill me?” Carla asked sarcastically and Elle just snorted.

  “You know what I mean.” Her neighbor was a little bit of a straight edge, a piano teacher that always frowned at curse words and tattoos. She’d been horrified when Carla had shown her the ink sprawled across her ribs, but even she was sold by the undeniable artistry of the forest that grew up and around her shoulder blades and ended with its branches spanning like wispy fingers across half of her back. The scientific name of each tree and every plant was tattooed in beautiful script next to each one. Eventually, Carla had broken through to the real Elle, and when she finally learned how to relax, they had become great friends. Tequila had helped.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Elle asked, noticing her expression and her still trembling hands that clenched the steering wheel.

  “Yeah. It’s alright,” Carla said softly, as she remembered her last few awful minutes of work, “Maurice.”

  That’s all she had to say. Elle knew all about her problems with her boss’s unwanted attention and she encouraged her to go the police or do something to make him stop. But he hadn’t really done anything criminal, and what was worse was that it would be her word against his, and then she knew for sure she would get fired.

  “Ugh. That guy is such a creep. I can’t wait till you can quit that place.”

  Hopefully in two days, I can, Carla thought to herself. “Yeah, me neither. Well, I better go in. I’m exhausted and I gotta be at the farm early tomorrow.” Carla dragged herself from the truck and Elle gave her a big hug, which instantly made her feel better. With one last wave goodbye, she walked into the small house, wishing that tomorrow would never come.

  Chapter 2

  Carla took a deep breath of the crisp Colorado air that was tinged with the pungent smell of marijuana and rich soil. She let it sink into her, releasing her tense muscles as she walked through the misty greenhouse. There was always a thin layer of fog that hung low and swirled early in the morning and it transported her to someplace magical, someplace that wasn’t run by the world’s creepiest boss. Just her and the plants. The tiny sparks she had nurtured to life.

  It had been two days, and now that it was time, her nerves were almost getting the best of her. The plan that had popped into her head--of stealing the latest shipment of weed, selling it for the money she so desperately needed, and taking off--had latched on and wouldn’t let go. She’d done what she could to make sure that Eric wouldn’t come in today. Eric was the guy who regularly drove their deliveries. He was a nice enough guy, but he was kind of flaky anyways, and, like Carla, was known to indulge in a little bit of their own product from time to time.

  She had been on the fence, worrying about whether or not to go through with it, but yesterday at work, Maurice had been there, and as bad as the night before had been, this had been even worse.

  He had been there, waiting for her, first thing in the morning. And everywhere she turned throughout the day, he was there, leering at her with those eyes of his, tracking her movements like a predator eyeing its next meal and the tension had been worse than ever. She had felt trapped, claustrophobic and then she had been trapped for real as he’d cornered her in the back of the small shed they used to house tools and equipment.

  “You want this just as much as I do, stop trying to play like some innocent little girl,” he’d growled at her.

  “No, I don’t. Let me go,” she’d said as firmly as she could through the trembling of her voice. “I just want to do my job, that’s it.”

  “Well, if you want to keep this precious job of yours, maybe you should consider being a little more accommodating.”

  Carla had tried to duck
past him but his bulk blocked most of the doorway and panic had settled hard and painful in her chest. She knew she had to get out of there. Luckily, the sound of a cell phone ringing echoed through the shed just then and Maurice answered it. She’d used his moment of distraction to escape, but now she knew. He wasn’t going to stop. She didn’t really have any other choice anymore. She had to go through with her plan.

  It had been easy enough to switch a few dates around on the calendar. No one really paid attention to that unless they were checking for something specific which is why yesterday, no one had noticed the shipment date had mysteriously gone absent. She prayed that would be enough to stop Eric from coming in.

  She moved out of the greenhouse and towards the truck, almost full and ready for shipment. It was a big, seventeen-foot moving truck that had been repurposed with the Honey Bud Farm logo. While it showed plenty signs of wear, it didn’t matter, as long as it got her away from here. Carla walked back to where the final bags of dried and processed plant were stacked against the side of the house that held the office. She heard a raised voice and paused.

  “Damn it, Eric. What the hell is wrong with you! You knew there was a shipment due to be delivered today!” Maurice’s angry shouts were easily heard from where Carla was working just outside the open window to the office. Nervously, she crossed her fingers, and prayed her plan would work.

  “What do you mean it wasn’t posted on the schedule? It has to go out today, you asshole. I don’t care if you’re camping in the middle of god-damned nowhere, just get here. Now!”

  There was another long stretch of silence before she heard Maurice slam the receiver down. A moment later, he stormed out of the front door, his face beet red with anger and sweat drenching his face as he mumbled under his breath.

  “Hey, Maurice, is everything okay?” she asked, desperately trying to keep her voice normal, all the while hating to even bring his attention to where she still stood on the side of the house. He turned to her, his eyes automatically swept over her body and, as he spoke, the words were directed more at her breasts than at her.

  “Fucking Eric. He says he can’t deliver this shipment but it has to leave today. We’re on a tight schedule,” the last words were almost a shout as he swept a meaty hand over his face, wiping away some of the sweat but not all. Carla took a deep, fortifying breath. Now was her chance. It was now or never.

  “Maybe, uh…maybe I could deliver it?” she said as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve driven a truck before,” she lied through her teeth and kept her eyes on the knot she was trying to tie in the bag in front of her, praying that he would believe her, that he wouldn’t see the way her hands trembled.

  Maurice stared at her for a long time, one of his eyebrows arched doubtfully and she wished he would say something, anything as her heart rate doubled, and then tripled, pounding like a race horse in her chest.

  “Fine. Here, take it.” He tossed her the truck keys and she fumbled at them, barely catching them. “The address of the dispensary is in the truck. Just deliver it and come straight back,” his gaze changed, his dark eyes heating as they stayed glued to her breasts, “You still have other work to do.”

  His tone left her no doubt that she had no interest in the kind of ‘work’ he was talking about and she hastily grabbed the last of the shipment, loaded it in, and locked the back before she scrambled into the cabin of the truck.

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  Read on for an excerpt from Brook Wilder’s bestselling novel full-length novel – Taken:

  PREVIEW: TAKEN

  I TOOK THE DAUGHTER OF THE BASTARD WHO RUINED MY LIFE.

  She got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  But once she got involved, there was no way I could let her go.

  At first it was just out of necessity.

  But that was before I had a chance to take her in.

  Before I could have a proper look.

  And just like that, I was hooked.

  I can't get her out of my mind.

  Can't stop picturing her body pinned against mine.

  Her breath hot on my ear as she screams my name.

  There's no way anything or anyone can hold me back.

  No way I can stop myself from having her.

  From owning her.

  From ruining her.

  Again and again.

  Night after night.

  Until she forgets who she is.

  Until I make her MINE.

  Chapter 1

  The open sky stretched for miles overhead. Dusk was starting to settle over the hundreds of acres that made up Gold Creek Ranch. The sinking sun turned the bright greens and warm ambers of the prairie to indigo as the shadows began to lengthen. The sun sank westward over the heart of Texas, streaming clouds of bright fuchsia and fiery red in its wake, as Elsie McLaurel rode her horse across the sea of grass.

  A loose fitting old button-down shirt hung half untucked at her waist, and her blonde hair—usually worn long and wavy down her back—was pinned up underneath the wide brimmed hat that did its best to protect her fair skin from the harsh Texas sun. If you’d spotted her from the highway, you’d never have guessed that she was the heiress to a multi-million-dollar ranching business—one of the biggest in the entire state.

  Her riding boots and sun-bleached jeans were covered in mud from riding across the recently rained-on ground, chasing after each head of cattle that slowly churned the once green grass into sucking muck under their trampling hooves.

  Gold Creek was made up of several hundred thousand acres of open grassy fields that had long since fallen under hard times, until her father Mark McLaurel had started buying up every minor ranch in the area. In the matter of a few years, Gold Creek went from nothing more than a few acres and a title on a paper to one of the biggest corporate ranches in all of West Texas—land that would one day all belong to her.

  Elsie shook her head at the stray thought. The last thing she wanted was to take over her father’s corporation. She knew Mark McLaurel had a reputation as a ruthless, heartless corporate rancher and she wanted no part in it. Soon enough I’ll be able to get out of here, Elsie mused to herself. Out of this small town, away from Daddy’s reputation. Then, I’ll be able to make my own life.

  The sound of gentle mooing off to her right had her sliding down from the back of Goat, her chestnut gelding. Elsie patted Goat softly on the nose and he snorted in response. He’d been just a foal when Elsie had taken him in. His mother died birthing him and Elsie had felt an instant kinship. He didn’t have a mother, and neither did she. Against her father’s wishes, Elsie had taken him in and nursed him back to health.

  It had been a long fight to bring the tiny foal back from the brink of death, but he’d held on and fought like hell. ‘Stubborn as a goat,’ her father had said about him once, and the name had stuck.

  That mooing rose up again and Elsie cast a look over her shoulder at the heifer standing a few yards behind her.

  “Don’t worry, Bluebell, I didn’t forget about you.” With a small chuckle, Elsie reached into the canvas saddlebag she had strung over the pommel and found a handful of apple slices, a favorite among the cattle.

  Without an ounce of hesitation, Elsie walked up to the massive heifer and held out her hand. The cow dwarfed Elsie’s own petite five-foot one frame, but she’d spent her entire life around them. She knew they could be dangerous if she got in the way of a panicked stampede, but she also saw the gentleness in them, the sweetness in the big, brown eyes that rolled towards the apple slices that were held just out of reach.

  “Oh, here ya go, Bluebell,” Elsie said as she brought her hand closer. Bluebell munched happily at the treat.

  Elsie looked around as she petted the soft fuzz on the cow’s muzzle, surveying the milling cattle nearby. None seemed disturbed by her presence, although occasionally some would roll their big, heavily lashed eyes in her direction in hope of th
e special treatment Bluebell was getting. She recognized most of the animals and took a deep breath, staring up a sky that had now turned to a darkling purple.

  “It’s time we got going, Bluebell,” Elsie whispered softly. But she wasn’t talking about the cattle. She was talking about herself. About her future and what she would do next. A sudden thrill shot through her at the thought of the envelopes she’s snuck into the post just a week before. Her applications for Veterinary school.

  For as long as she could remember, Elsie had loved animals, whether she was working with them or treating them. It was her passion, the one thing in her life that she’d always known she wanted to do. But when she had brought up going away to school to her father at the end of last summer, he had told her in no uncertain terms that she would be staying on at the ranch to learn the ins and outs of the business. He wanted her to take over the ranch one day and there was nothing that could change his mind.