by Susan Arden
Beau leaned in close to her. He smelled of liquor and stale cigarette smoke. “I’m going to enjoy trashing his reputation, just like he’s done to mine. People in glass houses should watch where they throw boulders. Might turn into bombs,” he spat.
She glared at him. “You’re the one cheating people and pretending otherwise.”
“And you’re blind and stupid. I offered you a way out of this dead-end life. Living in this piece of shit apartment. We could have made some good money.” He leered at her, and Mia was sickened to think she could ever have trusted him. He’d preyed on her, used her, just like he used those people he’d swindled. He laughed as though her thoughts were transparent and insignificant. The sound repulsed her, and now she had to look away. He jerked her face back to him. “Just need to tie up a few loose ends, and that’s where you come in. You’re going to pay. In the most promising of ways.”
“Me? You’re blaming me?” Mia glowered at him disbelief. “You’re not going to get away with this.”
Dropping the knife, Beau lunged for her, taking hold of her arms and squeezing the bones in her wrists until it felt like they were going to fragment. “I am. Got it all set up.”
He had an unstable gleam in his eyes, as though any second he was going to do something atrocious. Shit, she had to get to the hallway. She wrenched her hands, thrashing against him while kicking her legs.
If she could just get him off her—she hunkered down, making some room between them, and brought up her leg, delivering a sharp knee to his groin. Gasping in pain, he stooped forward and she was ready.
“Fuck you,” she snarled, freeing her hands from his grasp and clawing his face with a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body.
He cupped his balls, but used his body to keep her pinned to the counter. “Bitch,” he said furiously.
“Stop!” Mia squeezed to the left, panting as she tried to pry him off her. She wasn't paying attention to his actions, until his fist landed a hammering blow to her jaw, then another to the side of her head.
Pain exploded in her brain. She tasted metal on her tongue, but worse were the flashing white lights as her knees buckled and she slid to the floor.
He stood over her, tiny pinpricks of blood dotting the scratch marks on his cheeks. “No, Mia, I won't stop. And fuck you. I hope you like groups. We’re going to a special party. First they can watch me fuck you, then everyone else will get a turn.” Reaching down, he pulled her up by her hair.
Her chest heaved, her limbs were dead weight, and for the moment the din inside her head made defending herself unimportant. Beau dragged her from the kitchen to her bedroom and shoved her through the doorway. She landed on the bed; her clothes were torn, her face damp, and her head throbbed, shredding her ability to think clearly. Without Beau looming over her she tried to sit up, clenching her teeth at the excruciating pain that flared long her jaw.
She leaned back against the headboard, watching Beau read something on his phone. “You fucking whore.” He regarded her with even more venom in his eyes. “I might not kill you for everything you’ve done, but I’ll make you wish you were dead. A private detective has been snooping around, questioning my family, on a Sunday. I don’t give a singular fuck about anything you’ve got to say. I’m going to take everything you’ve got for ruining my life. Then I’m going to go and fuck over your precious Dom. Isn’t that what he likes to call himself? He won’t be so high and mighty once he knows that his little whore has been repeatedly screwed by half of this community. His name will be ruined. You’ll be lucky the day I’m finished with you, but it won’t be for a long, long time. After that, you can rot in hell!”
“You first,” she replied, and launched herself off the bed, going for his eyes.
“You like this. Don’t you?” he said, slamming his fist into her face, making her chin spin to one side, and she followed, dropping to the floor. “Christ! Come at me again, and I swear, Mia, I fucking swear you’ll be sorry.”
For long seconds she lay sprawled on the floor as a blanket of numbness set in. It took her a few more moments to realize that Beau was talking on his cell phone out in the living room. She turned on her side as shards of pain darted along her temple, and she folded her legs closer to her body. Shit, it felt like she’d been thrown from the top of a building.
She pushed upright to a sitting position, and the room wavered around her. Blood ran down her chin from her nose, splattering on the front of her shirt. Leaning against the side of the bed, she dapped at her nostril with her sleeve wondering how she could get past Beau. The window in her room had a screen. Phone! My phone! She ran her hand over her pocket, feeling for her cell. She couldn’t call the police. The things Beau intended to accuse Brandon of would be volatile in such a close-knit community. If the police came, Beau's family would pay them off. Just like the last time.
She removed the phone from her pocket, dialing Brandon’s number with unsteady fingers. God, she had to warn him that Beau was going to ignite a ring of fire using gossip, lies, and his family’s connections to ruin Brandon. He said his family was in the dark about his club—but they wouldn’t be now, not if Beau could get his friends to spread blatant lies, accusing Brandon of dealing in the heinous business of sex slaves.
Information like that in a small town incited rioting. A lynch mob would be on Brandon's doorstep here and probably at the ranch as well, all because of her. Worry jabbed her chest, piercing sharp as a needle. She listened to the rings, counting each one that took forever and prayed he’d pick up.
His phone rolled to voice mail. Shit! Shit! Shit! Her trembling fingers did not make texting a breeze, worse with her heart tripping as she tried to think and type and keep track of Beau. She hit send and shoved her phone into her pocket when she heard Beau’s guttural laughter hike in volume. Instead of waiting for him to appear in the doorway, she stood up, only to wobble and sink back down on the floor next to her bed.
“We’d better get ready to make tracks.”
“Are you insane?” she asked, repulsed as Beau’s gaze slid over her like a mangy mutt slavering after a bone.
“You’re going to learn to shut that mouth.” He stood over her with a roll of duct tape, tearing off a long piece. “We’re going to take a little trip. I’ve got some friends waiting. We’re going to walk you out to my car, and then you’re going to learn what it means to obey. Hold out your hands, bitch.”
BRANDON arrived at the ranch well before Mia would have expected him. It was now or never to begin the transition of stepping away from running the club. He’d decided to turn over the management of S & L to someone else and for now, he’d let Trent take the reins for closing duties until a replacement could be found. He didn’t know if he’d sell the club or what, but he wasn’t interested in hanging out there while Mia was at home.
He drove past the Evermore gates, as the shining copper glinted in the setting sun. A few minutes later, he pulled up onto his circular driveway and hit the brakes. What in blue blazes? Mia’s car wasn’t there. One directive; just one simple direction. No way she could have parked in the garage, unless she’d rearranged the Jeep and two motorcycles stored there for the winter. He picked up his phone and dialed Mia, but when she didn’t answer, he called over to his parents.
“Hello,” his father said.
“Hey. You recovered from the wedding?” Brandon asked.
“We have. What’s going on?”
Brandon didn’t generally call on Sunday evenings, not since he’d opened the club. His father had never asked why, and he’d never offered a reason. “By any chance, is Mia there?”
“We haven’t seen her since yesterday. Did you try at Matt’s?”
“Not yet.”
“I have the walkie-talkie right here. Hold on. I’ll just shoot the question out. Easier than calling everyone.”
“Good thinking.” Apparently, his brain had turned to mush. While he waited, he picked up the roses he’d bought for Mia from his passenger seat, hop
ing to hear she’d been visiting one of his relatives nearby and was on her way back to him.
This could be another case of him overreacting, and wouldn’t that be just perfect? She’d told him to refrain from telling her he loved her…not to talk about their future…but that’s all he could think about. Mia occupied his mind every distracted moment of the day.
“So far, all negative,” his father said.
“Call me if you hear anything.”
“Is there something wrong?” Wade McLemore asked.
“I don’t know. She promised me she’d be here. Waiting.”
“Son, I hate to say this, but sometimes when the shoe is on the other foot, it ain’t that comfortable.”
Heat swarmed up his neck and blasted like a furnace in his mind. He unlocked his front door, holding back from barking a harsh response at his father, who had a point. “It’s about your timing, dad.”
“Or yours.”
“Just let me know if someone has something pertinent to say.”
“Right.” His father hung up and Brandon walked into a house that was still and quiet. In the streaming sunlight that poured in through the patio windows, dust swirled in currents. He knew it was a fruitless endeavor, but he called out anyway.
“Mia!” His voice echoed through the empty house and then his phone buzzed. He rolled his eyes. She’d probably gotten waylaid with those twins, or was held up at the library. Her life was busy—it wasn’t like he was the center of her orbit.
He stared at the number. What a dufus! He felt like a fool—an overprotective fool. He punched his message icon and stared at her text. Beau is acting crazy. He’s going to make trouble for you. Don’t call the police. HELP ME! PLEASE.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“For the love of God! I’m not going to repeat myself for the tenth time.” Brandon paced in front of his brothers and father. “This isn’t a case of me overreacting.”
“Bran,” Matt stepped into his path. “Yesterday, you almost decked a high school kid who wasn’t even trying anything with Mia.”
“This,” he held up his cell phone with her message, “isn’t the same. She’s not playing some game. Her ex threatened to do something to her.”
Shit. His father was here. The truth about what he did in Paris was about to come crashing down around him. He’d have to come clean about owning a sex club, but if it meant he got Mia back unharmed—so what? He’d own up to being a Dom and all that went with that admission. Every last bit of truth could come screaming out, he didn’t care. Not if it meant Mia was safe. He tried her number again. It rolled to voice mail. Didn’t make sense. The red flashing lights of the police car outside hadn’t stopped swirling since the cops had arrived.
“Mr. McLemore,” the officer came through the door again. “I heard back from the patrol officer in Paris. He went to Miss Santero’s apartment and no one answered the door. Gulliver’s Bend is huge and closed. We can’t do anything else until she’s been officially missing for twenty-four hours.”
Fuck. He knew they’d say that. “So you’re telling me that for almost a full day, my girlfriend is going to be held by a lunatic who's already threatened her?”
“The officer who went to Mr. Humphrey’s house said he wasn’t home. On your own word, you've reported that you two men had an altercation. It sounds like this is a good old-fashioned love triangle. Maybe…and I know this is hard to hear, but did you consider that she might have decided the grass was greener with him?”
“That’s not what happened! Why would she send me a text asking for my help? She agreed to meet me here!” Brandon’s voice rose in volume as his fear and frustration heightened.
“Brandon!” Matt grabbed him by the shoulder. “Calm down.”
The front door opened and Miller walked in. “Came as fast as I heard.” His brother wasn’t alone, and the man who accompanied him lingered in the shadows of the entryway.
“Mr. McLemore. Gentlemen.” The officer tipped his hat to Brandon and nodded to his father out of respect.
When the officer shut the front door, Brandon didn’t waste time. He faced Miller. “Do whatever you can. I don’t care what this takes.”
“Bran, this is Northrup. He’s here to help, you can trust him.” Miller nodded to the man in the shadows. “You heard what he said. Let’s get to work.”
“I’ll need the cell phone the message was received on,” Northrup gave him a curt nod as Brandon tossed the phone. The man glanced over to Brandon's brothers and father. They all stared back at him. Not one of them could say they didn’t know this side of Miller’s life existed. It just wasn’t openly discussed.
Miller was two years older than Brandon and a graduate of Texas A & M. For most of his life, Miller had been the one so far under the radar, no one seemed to be sure he existed. He came to Evermore during the week, did the books, handled investments, dealt with the insurance claims, and kept everything running. Smoothly.
He drank Scotch, belonged to a country club, and had married into a family of extreme—even obscene—wealth. Yet, when someone needed answers, it was to Miller everyone turned. The discussions were kept private, and the results were seamlessly delivered. End of story. Miller didn’t relish living in the limelight until he’d gotten married. At all other times, he kept a low profile. Brandon and everyone else didn’t question him. They all permitted each other room to operate in their own way.
“Use my office,” Brandon said.
Northrup wore a shoulder holster and Miller walked ahead of him, stopping at the doorway and pointing, then said, “Let me know what you find.”
It took all of ten minutes before Northrup appeared in the living room. “Got something.” He returned to Brandon’s office, not waiting to see if anyone followed.
Miller stopped talking and jerked his chin to Brandon. “Let’s go see what’s up.”
He and Miller walked into the office where Northrup waited, then closed the door. “She sent the text from the coordinates of Latitude: 33°39′39″ N Longitude: 95°33′19″ W.”
“Speak English for everyone present, North,” Miller grunted, taking a seat on the edge of the desk.
“Crosswinds Apartments,” Northrup replied.
Brandon sunk down into a chair, but his head snapped up. “What? Mia was supposed to be going to a ropes course. That’s her apartment.”
Northrup nodded. “She googled the address of Gulliver’s Bend for directions. But that park closed at four today. It’s government property. If she was going there, it was hours ago. She probably went back home.”
“That makes no sense. She doesn’t answer her phone.” Brandon said, confused about why she’d be there and begging for help when they’d talked about not going there. She’d agreed to stay the hell away. “Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to go there. That’s why she’s been staying here.”
“She isn’t alone. What she texted was true. There were other calls made from within the apartment that I intercepted. It’s not good, from what I overheard. Does a Charles Humphrey ring a bell?”
“He’s a sick fuck,” Brandon said, coming out of the chair, his heartbeat accelerating. “What did you hear?”
Miller retorted, “Christ, he’s the one involved in the financial bullshit. He’s some form of twisted.”
“Made mention of something about the Clock Company.” Northrup glanced at the tracker screen. “Has an appointment there in a little over an hour.”
“A nickname for Ansonia’s Lounge.” The walls closed in as if time had stopped, and Brandon’s blood ran cold. Ansonia was the hardest of the hard-core bondage clubs in Texas. “We need to get there. I’m not sitting around here. I’m heading over.”
“I’ll come with you, but you’ve got to understand one thing about what we’ve just done,” Miller said, handing Brandon his cell phone back.
“I get the picture.” Brandon nodded to his brother and Northrup. “This info doesn’t leave this room.” The only thing that concerned him was getting to Mia
. He’d find Beau Humphrey, and this time he wouldn’t settle for letting the motherfucker walk away.
“I still have a tracer on the phones and we can track them with this.” North held up a small digital machine with a blinking light. It beeped and he pressed the screen. “Another text intercepted. From Humphrey.”
“What’s it say?” Brandon asked.
Miller peered down at the tracer. He veered away, opening the metal case, and picked up a gun.
“You know something,” Brandon growled. “Exactly what the hell did you read?” He stared at Miller then regarded Northrup. “This isn’t the time to hold back.”
“The son of bitch is planning on some sort of gang thing,” Northrup replied.
“You’d better call the police and fill them in, light a fire under them. They might push forward. That asshole is after retribution. He’s probably threatening Mia. That’s why she reached out to you instead of calling the police,” Miller said.
Brandon had his phone out, punching the numbers 9-1-1.“I’m dialing right now. But you already know his family owns the police. Shit, you gave me the report.” He paced in front of his desk, the muscles all over his body constricting as he fought to calmly explain the situation to the dispatcher.
“This is the second time you’ve phoned, Mr. McLemore,” the dispatcher replied. “And in less than an hour.”
“Let me talk to your captain,” he clenched his jaw.
“He’s not available,” the dispatcher replied. “The captain doesn’t work evenings. Especially not Sundays. You’d do well to wait until the morning before calling in again. Is there anything else?”
Mia had said she wanted to leave this part of the world because it was small. Well, Christ Almighty, she was right if the police were only available during banker’s hours for emergencies, for some people. He refused to hang up until the dispatcher promised she’d have a detective contact him.