Risky Business_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Bethany Jadin

  Trigg

  Even though Jax is on his Harley, he hasn’t made it any further than me. The traffic on the road leading to our apartment building has become so congested from the inflow of emergency vehicles and curious people wanting to see what’s happening, he hasn’t been able to swerve in and out of traffic like he usually would during a situation like this. My patience is running out, and even though we’re still a block away, I decide I’m close enough. I dive into the nearest parking spot along the curb and ditch the car, setting off at a run to cover the last block in a fraction of the time it would have taken to drive.

  As soon as I exit the car, the screech of all the sirens hits me. We’re too late to call off the false alarm — if it is a false alarm. But as I dodge my way through the last intersection and cross onto our block, my curiosity about the true status of the fire alarms evaporates. Because I see him.

  Jeremy Fucking Brandt.

  We make eye contact for the barest second as I sprint down the final stretch of sidewalk before that asshole lurches into the backseat of a dark sedan.

  The roar of Jax’s chopper comes up on my right, and I look over as he rolls to a stop beside me. We exchange a glance — and that hard expression on his face tells me he spotted Jeremy as well.

  The sedan pulls away from the curb and gets into position to make a right at the next intersection. I look back at Jax, the alarm in his eyes mirroring my own, and I know we have the same thought — Emma’s in that car.

  Jax revs up his Harley and takes off, squeezing that big hog of his between a neon green hatchback and a silver minivan as he maneuvers into the narrow space between the two lanes of traffic. Going back for my car isn’t an option, and even if it were, I’d need a tank to smash my way through the bumper to bumper vehicles.

  Energy infuses my veins, and my fists clench as I take off at a hard run. I round the corner in enough time to see the dark sedan already several blocks ahead of me. Jax is gaining on them, but he’s getting cut off left and right by cars changing lanes and other vehicles merging into the flow as they pull away from the curb. I don’t even have to be face-to-face to sense the fury building in him with every car that veers into his path.

  Up ahead, the dark sedan takes a left at the intersection, disappearing from sight. Fuck. Jax is still tangled up in traffic, and there’s no way I’ll be able to sprint to the end of the next block in time to catch sight of the car before it makes another turn in God knows which direction and we lose it completely.

  Across the street, I spot the coffee store I frequently visit for my morning cup of Joe after an early run, and an idea hits me. I make a fast detour off the sidewalk, dodging between the slow-moving cars, barely slowing down as I vault over the hood of a red coupe parked at the curb in front of the coffee shop. I slam through the front door, and customers jolt to look my direction as I hightail it through the long and narrow shop to the rear entrance, which opens to a small gravel parking lot in the back. I plow through that door as well, upsetting a man carrying a large tray of coffees. He curses me, and I yell a quick apology as I keep going like a bullet across the lot, gravel flying under my feet, and through a small alley to the next street over. As soon as I’m out of the narrow channel, I lean my body hard to the right to balance taking the turn at high speed and take off down the sidewalk at a dead sprint.

  I get cursed at again as I jostle against a guy with a briefcase who exits a cab and steps directly in my path. I’m nimble, but when I’m moving this fast, I can’t dodge every pedestrian. I’m lucky the traffic is heavy, otherwise, I would have lost track of the vehicle carrying Jeremy and Emma back at the very first turn.

  I reach the end of the block and bolt left just as the Walk sign turns green, zig-zagging my way through the crowd of pedestrians crossing the street. As my feet hit the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection, I catch sight of the dark sedan in the distance. The rumble of Jax’s Harley comes into range, and I chance a look over my shoulder without slowing down. I see that he’s jumped the curb and is making his own path on the sidewalk opposite me.

  The congestion begins to break up as two traffic lights up ahead turn green simultaneously. Cars are passing me now as the traffic starts moving at a higher rate of speed. Shit. I pump my arms in time with my legs, straining to keep the sedan in my line of vision. A third light turns yellow, but the sedan sails right through. Goddamn it. I’m losing it. Jax is ahead of me now, nearing the end of the block, but he’s got company. A police cruiser pulls directly in front of him at the crosswalk, making Jax swerve and nearly loose his balance.

  My lungs are burning as I race down the sidewalk at break-neck speed, willing my legs to propel me forward even faster. I keep my attention focused on the car, which has finally slowed at a red light, waiting to make a right turn.

  As I run toward the sedan I notice I’m not the only one following them. My senses are on high alert, and the black SUV with tell-tale security upgrades and blacked out windows hasn’t escaped my attention. It’s been matching the sedan turn for turn, aggressively changing lanes and cutting off other vehicles to stay exactly half a block behind Jeremy’s car.

  No doubt the occupants have noticed Jax and I in pursuit as well, but right now I don’t give a shit who’s noticed. What matters is that I keep up, but it’s getting hard. The adrenaline surging through my body is the only thing still fueling me because I’m way past my stamina for sprinting. I grit my teeth and push through a wave of dizziness.

  The traffic light changes, and the sedan makes a right, disappearing from sight again. The black SUV turns on its blinker as I rocket past it and leap off the curb into the traffic to cross the street. A Cadillac has inched forward impatiently, nearly rubbing bumpers with the car in front of it, leaving me no room to pass. There’s no time to backtrack, so I barrel across the hood of the large car, and I’m rewarded with the blaring of its horn as my ass hits the fender. I slide across and jump off the other side, back to the sidewalk and off running again.

  My legs are jelly, and I wobble with my balance as I take the turn around the corner. I know I can’t keep up this pace much longer. It’s getting hard to take in air, and I’m gasping for breath, my throat raw. But the sedan is stuck at a red light just ahead, and I use every bit of willpower I have to summon more speed from my body.

  I can’t hear Jax’s Harley anymore as I narrow the distance. It’s just me, and this is my last chance. I grit my teeth, bearing down on the pain burning in my chest.

  Nine cars away.

  The pedestrian crossing light flashes, signaling that the light is about to change.

  Five cars.

  The first row of cars in line at the intersection roll forward as the light turns green.

  Two cars.

  The sedan begins to pull away just as I reach it, and I take the only option left — I throw myself forward as though I’m crossing a finish line and go airborne for a brief second before my knees slam onto the trunk of the car and my upper body crumples against the rear window like I’ve hit concrete, but I grab a firm hold onto the car.

  The car comes to an abrupt halt, and the rear passenger door swings open. A wild-eyed Jeremy Brandt jumps out of the back of the car, and as daylight floods the interior of the vehicle, I can see through the window that the backseat is empty — the only other occupant is the driver.

  “Hey! You! What the hell are you doing?” Jeremy shouts, waving his arms angrily.

  I turn my head to look at him, and the color drains from his face as our eyes meet. Yeah, it’s me, motherfucker.

  My right shoulder feels dislocated, and I’ve twisted something in my left knee, but I’m way past giving a shit about pain. I scramble off the trunk, grabbing onto the fucker’s tie as I jump down and slam him onto the pavement right there in the street.

  “Where the fuck is she?” I yell as I bend over him, one hand yanking him toward me by his tie and the other drawn into a fist, ready to strike.

  He looks absolutely bewil
dered as he lifts his hands to block his face. “Who? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Emma,” I yell, shaking him. “What the fuck did you do with her?”

  3

  Emma

  My screen lights up, and a long list of missed calls and text messages greets me on the lock screen. Twenty-nine missed calls, to be exact. Multiple phone calls from each of the guys as well as several text messages from Jax.

  I swipe to unlock my phone, but Desmond grabs my wrist. “No. Daniel told me he cleared that phone after the incident with Zoey, but it could have been compromised since then. Power it down.”

  I give him my best glare, but I know he’s right. “Fine.” I take another look at the list of missed calls and urgent texts, longing to get in touch with the guys. “Do they know I’m safe, at least?”

  Without sitting up, Desmond takes his own phone from his breast pocket and types something. “They do now.”

  He turns the screen to show me a single sent text to all the guys:

  Blue Jay.

  I give him a puzzled look. “What?”

  “Don’t know exactly what that means, but they picked it as the codeword to let them know you’re safe.” He tucks his phone back in his breast pocket and motions at mine. “Now, turn that off. We’ll have a burner for you to use at the safehouse.”

  I take a deep breath and power my phone off, willing myself to be patient. Ben is still driving like he’s just out for a cruise, but I can tell we’ve made it to the outskirts of the city, because the stops at traffic lights have become less frequent.

  “We should be getting close,” Desmond says as if he can read my thoughts. He turns his head toward the front of the car. “ETA?”

  “Half a mile,” Ben replies.

  Desmond motions to me. “Under the driver’s seat, there’s a bag. Can you reach it?”

  I wiggle until I have enough room to put an arm behind me, and I twist, stretching as far as I can until my fingers touch a smooth fabric. I tug it forward a little so I can get a firm grasp then pull it out from under the seat and hand the small, nylon rucksack to Desmond. “Here you go.”

  He pulls out a fashionable cool-weather hat and a large pair of sunglasses and holds them out to me. “Can you tuck your hair up in this?” he asks.

  “I think so,” I nod, taking the hat and sunglasses from him.

  “Okay, in a minute we’ll make one last transfer. We’re meeting up with someone from your secondary team then taking you the rest of the way to the safehouse.”

  “You think there’s a chance we’re still being followed?”

  “It doesn’t appear so,” Desmond responds, “but we need to be prepared. It’s likely they’ll be searching, watching for any sign of you to pop up on their radar.” He points at the items he’s just handed me. “This is to cover any video feed from businesses or incidental pictures taken by civilians. We expect they have the capability to run facial recognition software on traffic cams, commercial security feeds, and social media streams.”

  I can tell the momentum of the car is slowing, and a few moments later, the sunlight streaming into the car is replaced by darkness, and we roll to a stop, the sound of the engine reverberating. Ben and the other man in the front seat don’t move, but Desmond sits up and leans forward, opening the rear door at his feet. As soon as he scoots out, he turns and extends his hand to me, helping me scramble out of the footwell.

  As I step out of the car, I see that we’re in some sort of empty warehouse. A sleek, black limo is park beside us, and Desmond gestures at it. “Your next ride awaits.”

  Now I’m super confused. “How is that inconspicuous?”

  Desmond shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s meant to be attention grabbing. With the hat and sunglasses and a team of security escorting you, it’ll be assumed you’re a celebrity.”

  I can’t help but let out a laugh of surprise. “What? Me, really?”

  But he’s completely serious as he replies. “Yes, ma’am. We ran some digital mockups, and with the disguise, you’ll pass for any number of Hollywood stars.”

  “Okay, then.” I shrug, conceding to the plan. It seems crazy, but Jude trusts these guys, and they’ve kept me safe so far. I hold the hat between my knees as I twist my hair up into a loose knot. I pull the hat down over my head and check for any wayward strands, which I carefully tuck under the hat. Then I slip on the sunglasses.

  I almost ask Desmond how I look, but he’s busy scanning the warehouse, looking for anything out of place. The back door of the limo opens, and a familiar face peeks out — Suzanne, one of the ladies on my secondary security team.

  “The rest of the team is in place,” she says to Desmond before turning to me. “Are you ready, Emma?”

  “I suppose so,” I say, walking over to the limo. I don’t know what lies ahead, but whatever it is, I’ll find out soon enough.

  She scoots across the smooth leather of the seat, and I slip inside, taking a second to get my bearings, looking around the spacious interior of the limo. Up front, Desmond gets in the passenger’s side and nods to the driver, who is dressed in formal wear, complete with a chauffeur’s cap. The limo starts, and we exit the warehouse through a large bay door. From the view out the windows, it looks like we’re driving through the grounds of some type of industrial facility, but either it’s abandoned, or they’re closed for the day, because there isn’t another soul around.

  Beside me, Suzanne holds up a designer jacket – a half trench coat, half cloak thing. “Here, put this on,” she says.

  I realize my purse isn’t the only thing I left behind when leaving the apartment ― I didn’t grab my jacket, either. With everything that’s happened since the fire alarms went off, I hadn’t even noticed that I’m not dressed for the weather today. I hadn’t planned on going anywhere, so I’m just wearing an old t-shirt and a favorite pair of worn-in jeans.

  The coat Suzanne offers me is a trendy piece that looks like it belongs in a boutique in Paris, and one glance at the label tells me that it cost a pretty penny. I take the jacket from her and slip it on, buttoning it down the front. It feels like I’m wrapping myself in money.

  “And these,” she says, leaning forward to grab a pair of gorgeous boots from the seat facing us.

  I kick off the simple flats I’d slipped on earlier when I’d made the decision to evacuate the apartment. I slide my bare feet into the luxurious boots. “Wow, they fit perfectly.”

  Suzanne gives me a thorough head-to-toe inspection, her eyes narrowed as she scrutinizes every detail. Finally, she nods her approval. “This will work. You look the part.”

  The limo winds through the industrial park and takes an on-ramp for the freeway. I lean back, trying to relax, but all I can think about are the guys. Desmond has assured me that they know I’m safe, but I don’t know their status. Are they okay? Did BHC get to them?

  After a few miles, we take one of the exits that leads towards the airport. I sit up in surprise. “I’m not flying somewhere, am I?”

  Suzanne shakes her head. “No. But we’ve secured a floor at the Rosemont, and people will assume you’ve just flown in, which is exactly what we want. The devil is in the details when it comes to these things.”

  I only nod, speechless at how they’ve thought of everything. I turn to stare out the window, my mind whirling as we make our way past the economy motels near the interstate to the cluster of high-rise hotels and upscale restaurants on the north side of the airport.

  My nerves are beginning to get the better of me as we pull up in front of the elegant Rosemont hotel. I fidget as I wait for the driver to open my door.

  Suzanne lays a calming hand on my leg. “You’ll do fine. We’re going directly up to your room, so you won’t even need to talk to anyone. Eyes straight ahead; walk like you own the place.”

  I exit the limo as gracefully as I can manage and follow Desmond and Suzanne inside the grand building.

  As we pass through the lobby, I see a young man
sitting in a high-backed chair, browsing through his phone. When his eyes flick up to meet mine for the briefest second, I recognize him as a member of the security firm from the introductions Jude arranged at my request just after Zoey left on her trip. I wanted to know all of the people who’d be watching me, hoping it would help me feel more settled. But I had no idea the sheer number of people the guys had hired for surveillance and protection detail until I found myself face-to-face with an entire room full of men and women and two dozen hands to shake. I’m not great with names, but I do remember faces. And besides the young man in the chair, I spot two others who look familiar.

  We don’t head to the front desk to register, instead going directly to the bank of gleaming gold elevators. I adjust my sunglasses nervously, unused to the heavy frames, and try to make my face go slack as though I’m tired and bored, utterly unimpressed by the elegance of my surroundings. But it’s hard. My heart has been lodged in my throat from the moment Desmond first pulled me out of my apartment. It’s been non-stop activity and one surprise after another ever since.

  Suzanne hits the up arrow to call the elevator, and it glows for only a few seconds before the doors open. Desmond’s hand is at the small of my back, ushering me inside of the carriage. As soon as the doors whoosh shut, he produces a small two-way radio from his pocket as we begin to ascend and presses the talk button.

  “Eagle Two. Secure?”

  A voice I don’t recognize comes over from the other end. “Clear.”

  “When can I talk to the guys?” I ask as the elevator dings and stops at the twelfth floor. I’ve held the question in as long as I can, and my anxiety is spilling out now that this crazy journey is almost over.

  Desmond steps into the wide corridor, nods at someone on the left, then turns back to me. “Let’s get you in the room first.”

  A man dressed in a plain suit is stationed a few feet down the hallway on the left. He nods at me as I walk by, following Desmond, with Suzanne right behind me. Three doors down, Desmond flashes a keycard in front of the reader on the hotel room door, and the green light blinks to indicate it’s unlocked.