KNOCKED UP BY THE BAD BOY

by Nicole Fox

  “I . . .”

  “You what?” he pressed.

  “I'm probably pretty messed up in my own way for admitting this right now,” she said, as she reached across the desk and touched his hand, “but I care about you, Dane. I really do.”

  “So, you'll help me then?”

  “What?” she asked, letting out an exasperated sigh. “No! That's the exact opposite. I'm not going to help you with this!”

  # # #

  Dane

  He could see it in her eyes, even though she didn't use the word. She loved him as much as he loved her. Why else would she not want to involve the cops?

  After all these years, after all his time away, and, finally, after all he'd spent chasing after a defense for his brother, he finally had something worth keeping. She was like the calm in the midst of the storm, the first sign that the new dawn was going to be peaceful, and gentler than the torrential night.

  She was beautiful, intelligent, successful, funny, and determined. He couldn't have found a better woman if he'd created her himself. And he knew she wanted him forever. It was in the way she begged for the pleasure only he could give her, the way she pleaded for him to be inside her, and even how she crawled into his lap the day after he'd violated her in so many delicious ways.

  And he could keep her, too. He knew it. She could be his for the rest of his life. And what a life it would be. He would have money, success, and amazing sex. Of course, Dane would still go back to work, so he could be his own man and earn his own income. The possibilities were endless with this inside and outside beauty.

  All he had to do was give up this crusade to save Benton. All he had to do was throw away the last few years of his life, throw his hands in the air, and say goodbye to his twin brother.

  There was no way he was going to do that, though. He locked eyes with the woman of his dreams and shook his head. “If you won't help me,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and dug out the dog collar, “then I'll just have to help myself.” He dropped the collar and leash on the desk next to his BLT.

  Emily's eyes looked down at the collar, then back to him. “You can't be serious, Dane.”

  “I'm serious. When have I not been? Look, if you care about me like you say you do, you'll help me with this. You'll help me get this story out, and you'll help me with Benton's legal fund.”

  “But the cops are going to come here looking to put you down.”

  He shook his head. “I'll survive the cops, don't worry. I'm not worried about them at all.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Fine,” she said, finally giving into his plan. “What do you need me to do?”

  “I need you,” he said, licking his lips again, “back in the chair. And a little roughed up.”

  “A little?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

  “Not too bad,” he said. “Just enough to sell it.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dane

  Her body certainly looked like it had been abused, even though he hadn't laid a hand on her in anger. The closer he looked at her as she sat in the glaring light, wearing only her bra and panties, he realized how many bruises he'd been leaving on her perfectly marked skin.

  “Still think this is a bad idea,” Emily said, as he finished duct taping her into the chair he'd previously used for the punitive timeout sessions.

  He stood up in front of her, tape in hand. “And I still think is the best idea we've got,” he replied, as he stretched out a strip of duct tape, producing that weird tape-tearing noise only duct tape can make.

  “Are you putting that on my mouth, sir?”

  “I am. We need to make it look authentic.”

  She sighed.

  He leaned down and sealed her mouth shut with the long, silvered strip of tape. He sealed down the edges and brushed his hands down her fingers. “Perfect,” he purred.

  She mumbled her thanks as he turned around and grabbed his cell phone. He brought up the video recorder and looked to Emily. “You don't need to do anything. Don't worry about having to struggle or anything like that, okay?”

  She nodded, and he hit record with the camera trained back on him, like he was taking a selfie.

  “Charlene Padilla, my name is Dane Bishop. My brother is Benton Bishop, who is on death row for murdering his wife and children while in the midst of a psychotic break caused by years of service in the United States Army. This is a matter of public record. What is not a matter of public record is that Benton was taking a medication named Hymalete, manufactured by BioSphere. It clearly didn't work, and may have made his symptoms even worse. Hymalete is currently being marketed to first responders and service members suffering the same symptoms Benton had, with the promise of helping them to get back to normal mental health.

  “What is also not a matter of public record is that BioSphere has proof on its servers, showing that their medicine doesn't work, proof that they were able to fake their data, and to push the approval process through federal oversight.” He paused, licked his lips, then stuck the barrel of the pistol against the side of his love's head.

  Emily flinched as the cold steel touched her temple, her eyes frantically flickering up to the gun. It was perfect enough that Dane was pretty sure she wasn't faking as he moved the camera around to capture her. “I have Emily West, CEO of BioSphere in my custody. If my demands are not met within twenty-four hours, I'll begin cutting pieces off of her, one piece for each hour, so she can understand what losing a piece of yourself to psychosis and insanity feels like.”

  He hit the stop button, then switched over to text messaging and sent a copy of the file to Charlene Padilla's cell phone number. He let loose a deep breath, grateful he'd been able to do it in one take.

  A moment later, his phone began to ring. Charlene Padilla, already. Perfect timing.

  “Dane? Is that you?” Charlene said, almost desperately, into the phone. “Dane, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “You got my recording, I take it?”

  “Of course, I got your recording! What are you thinking?”

  “I'm thinking I'm getting you to run the story,” Dane said. “And getting the story the exposure it needs.”

  # # #

  Emily

  Emily squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming hard and fast as Dane answered the phone. Just listening to his words and hearing the tone of his voice almost made her believe it was possible he'd do that to her—that he'd willingly cut her apart bit-by-bit. She knew, of course, he'd never do that. He'd never seriously hurt her. But, if even she thought he sounded sincere in his promise, what would the world think?

  Dane took the phone from his ear and put the call with Charlene on speaker phone. “Charlene?” he asked gruffly. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Charlene said, her voice tinny and hollow in its digitization, “I can hear you, Dane.”

  “Do you have a pen handy? I have a list of my demands.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I'm ready.”

  “Thirty million dollars deposited for my brother, for payment of his defense fund. Admittance by BioSphere that Hymalete is a failure. Publication of the true documentation on their experiments. And an exclusive interview with you, Charlene. I want a chance to tell my side of the story.”

  Charlene sighed into the phone. “Dane, do you know how crazy all this is?”

  “I don't care, Charlene,” he growled. “This is my brother's, and now Ms. West', life on the line. If BioSphere won't deliver, I'll start putting pieces of Emily aside for safe keeping. Maybe they'll be able to explain to their shareholders why their CEO was cut to pieces, but I doubt it.”

  “Okay, Dane, okay. I'll see what I can do.”

  Dane hit the end button and hung up. He immediately began to help Emily out of her bonds, taking the tape from her mouth and cutting bindings on her wrists and ankles. “You all right?” he asked, soothing her hair with his hand and kissing her.

  She leaned her forehead against his. “You're sure about
this, right?”

  “I better be. If not, this is all going to go out of control really fast.”

  Together, they paced the house for the next hour. Dane kept her from the windows with their closed curtains. His phone rang, finally, with Charlene on the other line. “Turn on the TV,” she said simply. “You're making more than just headlines, Mr. Hess.”

  They flipped to CNN and saw the anchorwoman talking about the hostage crisis. A crawler across the bottom of screen read: “BREAKING: CEO OF PHARMA-VITAE (PHV -3%) TAKEN HOSTAGE IN HOME BY DISTRAUGHT FAMILY OF CUSTOMER ON DEATH ROW.”

  “That making enough waves, Mr. Hess?”

  “Yeah,” Dane said. “I think it is. Any comment from Pharma yet? They say anything about releasing their papers?”

  “Nothing yet,” Charlene admitted. “But, I'm sure we'll hear something soon. Oh, and Mr. Hess?”

  “Yeah, Charlene?”

  “I wouldn't try anything stupid. Cops are on their way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emily

  With the news helicopters beating their rotors overhead, and the SWAT trucks pulling up outside to form a nearly impenetrable ring of guns and steel, Emily quickly realized how important she was in the grand scheme of things. In less than two hours, they had her entire neighborhood on lock down, with media vans and satellite uplinks dotting the landscape.

  To be honest, she almost felt bad for the neighbors. Except for the Johnson family, on the left. They always let their dog shit in her yard, then denied it afterward. They could go fuck themselves.

  For appearances sake, she and Dane had decided that she needed to be tied up in her chair again, but, this time, down in the living room with all the curtains drawn. They needed to keep everything on the up and up, like this wasn't just some stunt designed to draw media coverage. Although, even if they tried to pull the curtain back and yell, “Surprise! You've been duped!” at this point, she didn't think anyone would listen to them.

  Still, this was definitely not turning out exactly the way she'd hoped. She was growing increasingly worried that things were spinning out of control. He'd never said anything about SWAT, or these many police showing up.

  The whole time they waited for Charlene to arrive for her interview, Emily's phone rang. Dane ignored it, and he couldn't exactly let Emily answer, either. “It's probably Jas,” she said, “calling because she's worried about me.”

  “She called earlier,” Dane replied. “Edward’s calling now.”

  “Barker?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Asshole.”

  Soon, he got a call on his phone from Charlene. He answered it, spoke to her for a moment, then hung up. “Okay,” he said. “She's coming in. You ready for this?” He stretched out a long strip of duct tape and tore it off, ready to put it over her mouth.

  Of course she wasn't ready for this! Any of this! But, still, this was the only plan they had going for them, as fraught with danger as it was. “Yes, sir,” she groaned.

  She was getting really tired of the tape over her mouth. She much preferred the neck tie.

  Charlene knocked at the door a short while later. Dane nodded to Emily, then headed up to the front. She strained her neck back, craning so she could get a view of the door. It was far from perfect, but she could at least get a good profile of him as he drew his pistol from his shoulder holster and peeked through the peephole.

  “It's her,” he said, before unlocking the door and throwing it open.

  “Inside,” he barked, as he reached out to grab the reporter and pulled her inside the house. “Now.”

  Emily could see something on his shirt, a sharp, electronic red dot like one of her old professors used to use during lectures. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a clearer view of it. Yeah, it was a laser pointer. Definitely.

  Why would someone be . . .?

  Oh no! “Dane!” she wordlessly screamed through the duct tape, kicking as best she could to get his attention.

  He glanced down at the dancing red dot and, faster than a cheetah after a pot of coffee, he snatched Charlene in front of him, covering his body. He scooted back inside, using her as a human shield, and slammed the door shut, throwing the deadbolt back into place.

  “Oh my fucking God!” Charlene gasped, as she leaned back against the wall, hand daintily pressed against her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

  This was Emily's first good look at Charlene. She was a little older than Emily had expected—maybe in her mid-thirties. Her skin was olive, her hair ebony, and Emily could tell from across the room that she had large, expressive green eyes.

  “Well,” she groaned, taking it all in stride. “That was exciting, wasn't it?”

  “Are you hurt?” Dane asked brusquely as he looked her up and down, pistol hanging at his hip.

  She shook her head. “No, I'll live.”

  As the two of them walked down the entry hall and back into the spacious living room, with Emily as it taped-up centerpiece, Emily had a moment of clarity. Those were laser sights on guns that were searching all over Dane's body for the proper place to shoot. This was going to end badly. Like, Bonnie and Clyde badly.

  The man she loved wasn't going to make it out of this alive.

  # # #

  Dane

  “Off the record,” Dane said as, gun still in hand, he led Emily into the living room, “I have no intention of hurting anyone, and definitely not Emily. In fact, I care about her a great deal. I'm just trying to get my brother's story heard. When the Times turned down the story, despite the evidence I'd gotten, I didn't know what else to do, Charlene.”

  “Right,” Charlene said, clearly skeptical as she glanced down at the big automatic pistol in his hand, “I hope you understand that I'm a little doubtful of your claim.”

  Emily made a wordless noise, getting their attention. Her eyes went to Dane's, and she gestured to her mouth with her fingers, the only parts of her hands she could still move.

  She was right. Let it come from her lips, not his. “Right,” he said. “Well, here, take it from the horse's mouth.”

  The woman he loved glared at him a little bit for his poor choice of words as he removed the piece of tape from her mouth, gently peeling it from her upper and lower lips.

  “God, I hate that shit,” Emily groaned as it came free. She immediately fixed her eyes on Charlene. “He's telling the truth. Believe me, he is. This is about BioSphere trying to cover up their trials on Hymalete and the damage they've caused with the medication. Nothing more.”

  Charlene raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “I've heard it all, now.”

  This was it, Dane realized. This was his moment. But there was no way he was going to do it without Emily. She was the key in all this, and he knew it.

  “You ready to start recording?” Dane asked Charlene. “I have a feeling we don't have much time.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Charlene said, digging in her bag and pulling out her phone. She sat down in a chair adjacent to Emily and fiddled with the device for a moment. She held it up in front of her, saying her name, the date, and where she was recording. With it still recording, she focused the phone on Emily. “Ready when you are. Go ahead, state your name and who you are, so there's no question on authenticity.”

  Emily leaned forward, still taped up. “Emily West, current CEO of BioSphere.” She looked to Dane.

  “Me?” he whispered.

  “You're the one at the center of this, aren't you?” Charlene asked, as she trained the phone's camera on him. “You might as well be on record here, too.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his chin. “Dane Bishop, former Air Force Lieutenant.”

  Charlene moved the camera back to Emily. “Go ahead, Ms. West.”

  Emily took a deep breath, going back through her memory and organizing all her thoughts into as succinct a story as possible.

  “It all started, I think, about a week ago, when Mr. Bishop showed up at my office. At least, my part in this did . . .” />
  Over the next few minutes she retold the story, more or less, as they had told Jas the day before. She left out all the kidnapping details, all the sex, and the other minor events, like the dog collar. From the point of Jas on, though, the story aligned close enough to reality that there were no hitches in her story at all.

  “You're contending that Edward Barker, the head of sales, and the board of directors, are setting you up to take the fall for Hymalete, and its poor performance?”

  “As far as Edward Barker has said,” Emily reminded her, “the directors are involved, or at least have knowledge of what is going on with that specific product line. Have I been able to see any direct evidence? No. But, the evidence on the drug trials themselves, I think, speaks for itself. And I have plenty of that.”