Nick UnCaged: Sanctuary, Book Four

by Abbie Zanders

  Nick UnCaged

  Sanctuary, Book 4

  by

  Abbie Zanders

  Copyright © 2020 by Abbie Zanders

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at https://abbiezandersromance.com

  Cover Designer: Graphics by Stacy

  Cover Photographer: Eric McKinney / 6:12 Photography

  Cover Model: Justin H

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Epilogue

  Ready for Jake?

  Connect with Abbie

  Chapter One

  Bree

  “Stone, you’re on the Calder story.”

  Gabriella De Rossi schooled her features into a polite, I’m happy for you mask even though she was disappointed.

  Of course, her boss had given the undercover sex-club story to Hunter Stone. If she were the chief editor, she would have made the same call. Hunter was the whole package. Journalism degree from Northwestern University. Paid internships at the Times and the Post. Not to mention, the man was charming, smooth, and had more connections than the city’s free Wi-Fi.

  What did she have in comparison? A BA from State, an empathic nature, and a knack for stumbling unaware into virtual hornets’ nests.

  “And, De Rossi ...”

  Bree’s ears perked up along with her hopes that her next assignment would involve something more interesting than a pygmy-goat rescue in Utah or a tree-hugging nudist colony in North Carolina, comprised entirely of senior citizens. The goats had been cute, but she still had nightmares about the nudists.

  “There’s a new place opening up in Pennsylvania for veterans with issues. Take a week, check it out, find the angle.”

  Veterans with issues. Just like that, her bubble of hope burst with a silent pop. She wasn’t going to a scandalous sex club in Vegas, but a facility for troubled service people. In Pennsylvania.

  Hunter gave her a sympathetic smile. Or was that pity?

  “Sure, boss,” she said squaring her shoulders. She picked up the file her editor had pushed in her direction and gave it a cursory glance. She’d look at it in more depth later—after some of the frustration at being passed over again for a good story had a chance to fade.

  Charlie, a.k.a., editor-in-chief of the Sentinel Voice, handed out several more assignments—all of them more interesting than hers—and summarily dismissed the half-dozen journalists assembled in his office with a few terse commands.

  Bree stepped to the side while the others filed out, then closed the door and turned to look at the man gathering his papers.

  He exhaled heavily, and without turning around, said, “Stop looking at me like that, De Rossi. You know I couldn’t give you the Vegas story.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, keeping her voice low enough not to be heard beyond the room. “Hunter’s been with the paper for six months. I’ve spent the last six years working my way up from a grunt in the mailroom to getting that cubicle in the team room. Are you ever going to give me more than puff pieces and human-interest stories?”

  “Stone doesn’t have the same family history you do, De Rossi. Doesn’t your family have controlling interests in half the casinos out there?”

  Bree bristled. “They’re not my family.”

  Charlie continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Besides, you’re good with the human-interest stuff. You actually give a shit.” He grumbled the words, as if caring about people were a bad thing, and dismissively waved his hand.

  “But—”

  “Look, kid, you’ve got heart, but you just don’t have it in you to go for the jugular. You need those killer instincts to get the big stories, capisce?”

  She had killer instincts! She did. In fact, she was feeling rather stabby at that very moment. And it wasn’t just because Charlie felt the need to use the word capisce every time they had a conversation.

  Instead of doing something she’d regret, Bree swallowed her frustration and headed back toward her workspace—one of many identical desks in a large, open-air space. The closed-door window offices around the perimeter were reserved for interviews and people higher on the publication’s food chain.

  A wave of expensive male cologne arrived a full second before the man wearing it appeared.

  “Don’t look so glum,” Hunter commanded, leaning casually against Bree’s cluttered desk and reaching for one of the Squirrel Nut Zippers she kept readily available.

  “Says the man who’s flying out to do an exposé on a super-secret sex club of one-percenters in Vegas,” she replied miserably.

  “A week in the Poconos sounds pretty sweet to me.”

  “Then why don’t we trade? You interview a bunch of moldy old vets and I’ll go to Vegas.”

  Hunter tapped the tip of her nose with his finger, his eyes sparkling with affection. “You? In a BDSM club? They’d eat you alive, sweetheart.”

  Bree sniffed, indignant that Hunter believed she was such a marshmallow even if it was true. Since it had been ages since the last time she’d had sex, even longer since she’d had good sex, getting eaten alive didn’t sound like such a bad thing.

  Hunter leaned back again and smiled, daring her to disagree. The sad thing was, he was right. Beyond reading a few popular erotic romances, she didn’t know the first thing about what really went on in sex clubs.

  “And you do?” she challenged.

  “Maybe you should ask Toni.” He winked.

  Toni�
�or Antonia to those who didn’t know her well—was one of the researchers for the Sentinel Voice and Bree’s best friend, favorite cousin, and current roommate. Toni also happened to be head over heels in love with Hunter Stone. Bree was pretty sure Hunter felt the same way about Toni, but both were stubbornly denying their feelings.

  “I’ll pass.” Bree felt the heat rising in her cheeks and turned her attention away but not before she saw the flash of amusement in his eyes.

  She focused instead on topping off her candy dish. Her Squirrel Nut Zipper stash was running low, so she added in some Mary Janes, too, making sure she locked her drawer afterward. The candies were a big hit with the staff, and if she didn’t, they’d disappear the next time she visited the ladies’ room.

  “Where do you get this stuff anyway?” he asked.

  “Special order.” A very niche shop in fact, which specialized in old-fashioned candies and sweets. “So, no trade?”

  He chuckled, a low, sexy sound. “Charlie’s right. You are good at the human-interest stuff.”

  “Eavesdropping, Stone? You’re better than that.”

  “Don’t underestimate the value of putting an ear to the wall. It’s an effective method of finding out what’s going on behind closed doors,” he said with a grin. “But seriously, Bree. You have a gift. People like telling you things.”

  People did have a tendency to tell her things, sometimes at the most inopportune times. Like the day before, when the middle-aged male checker had decided to launch into a diatribe about his recent divorce at the sight of Bree’s basket of frozen entrées. Or when she and Toni had gone out to lunch last week, the server had felt compelled to share her mother-in-law troubles. The waitress had talked so long that they’d ended up getting their meals to go, so they wouldn’t miss an afternoon staff meeting.

  Toni said it was because Bree was a “cream puff” at heart—soft and gooey and afraid of hurting people’s feelings. Bree, however, preferred to think that it was because she was more of a listener than a talker.

  “I bet those old guys have some great stories to tell,” Hunter said thoughtfully.

  Bree didn’t know if Hunter genuinely believed that or if he was just trying to make her feel better. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had his assignment, and she had hers.

  “I suppose.” She exhaled and then grinned widely, holding out her hand. “Let’s wager. Whoever comes back with the best story springs for takeout.”

  “You’re on.”

  He snatched another handful of candies from the dish, grinned at her mock scowl, and stood to leave.

  “Hey, Stone! What happens in Vegas ...better make a damn good story.”

  His deep, rich laugh echoed all the way to the elevator.

  Bree sighed and made her way over to Toni’s desk. Toni’s eyes were still peeled on the now-closed elevator doors, frozen in silent feminine appreciation.

  “I swear, that man gets finer every day,” she said with a sigh, turning to Bree.

  “If you say so,” Bree agreed.

  Hunter was Hollywood handsome, charming and polished, but unlike Toni, Bree was drawn to guys who were less perfect and more like her—aka slightly damaged. Perhaps that was why she was approaching thirty and had yet to feel a special connection with anyone.

  “Trust me, he’s been working out, and believe me, beneath the tailored suits, he’s packing.”

  “TMI, coz. TMI.”

  Toni sat back and gave Bree her full, undivided attention. “When was the last time you had a screaming O anyway?”

  Bree opened her mouth to answer.

  “And not one you gave yourself.”

  Bree clamped her lips shut and said, “None of your business.”

  “That long, huh? Rosa’s cousin Tomas is flying out to LA next week. Maybe we could—”

  “No.”

  “You thought he was hot when I showed you his picture.”

  “I just said that to not hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s not like you have to marry him or anything. Just let him take you to dinner and remind you that real men are better than battery-operated ones.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, Dick is better than BOB.”

  “Every damn time,” Toni said with conviction.

  Clearly, Toni had had better experiences than Bree had if she believed that. But she was feeling rather restless, and if the photo was accurate, Tomas was smacked together pretty well.

  “Let’s leave it at a firm maybe. Right now, I’ve got to get my butt on a plane.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Sumneyville, Pennsylvania. Charlie wants me to stay a week, but I can’t imagine it taking that long.”

  Toni’s fingers tapped away at the wireless keyboard in front of her. “That’s near the Poconos. Beautiful area. If you finish up early, you can do something fun, maybe go hiking or boating.”

  “Have you met me?” Bree asked, smirking.

  “Right. Well, New York City is only a couple hours away. You could hit up Fifth Avenue and do some shopping or ...” Toni realized what she was suggesting and backpedaled. The day they’d left, Bree had sworn never to step foot in the city again. “Scratch that. I’m sure you’ll find something to keep you occupied. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even meet the man of your dreams.”

  Bree laughed. “Yeah, sure I will.”

  Chapter Two

  Cage

  “Pizza,” Nick “Cage” Fumanti replied firmly and without hesitation. “New York style.”

  He and his partners—Hugh “Heff” Bradley, Steve “Smoke” Tannen, Cole “Doc” Watson, Chris “Mad Dog” Sheppard, and Matt “Church” Winston—lingered in the Sanctuary dining room after breakfast, as requested by Kate.

  Kate Handelmann, their newest addition and head chef-slash-cooking goddess of Sanctuary kitchen, scribbled into the notebook in front of her as they offered meal suggestions. Everything Kate made was good, and they weren’t picky, but she looked so earnest that he felt the need to say something.

  “Old Forge style’s better,” Heff drawled. He leaned back and wrapped his arm around his fiancée’s shoulders.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Smoke in a deep, growly voice.

  “It’s phenomenal. Rectangular instead of circular. Comes in trays, not pies. Light, thick, fluffy, crisp, deep-fried flavor with lots of onions and cheese ...”

  Smoke snorted.

  “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. It’s orgasmic. And you know how fond I am of orgasms.” Heff grinned wickedly at Sandy, making her cheeks flush.

  “I can do both,” Kate said, nodding, ignoring Heff like a seasoned pro. “Maybe a calzone, too. I’ve been wanting to try one of those.”

  “Is it any wonder I love this woman?” Mad Dog murmured.

  If there were such things as soul mates, then Kate was definitely Mad Dog’s. Just as Sam was Smoke’s and Sandy was Heff’s.

  Cage wondered absently if he would ever find someone to put a dopey smile on his face like that, then pushed that thought away. It wasn’t likely, especially since he wasn’t looking. Nor did he want to. He was content with his life, just the way it was—peaceful, rewarding, and surrounded by good friends who didn’t meddle and appreciated his obsession with digital toys.

  That reminded him; he needed to drive down to Pine Ridge and pick up the sweet new components Ian Callaghan had set aside for him. Now that Mad Dog and Kate were off nesting in their own cabin, Doc had moved into Mad Dog’s trailer, and Cage had the place all to himself. He was well on his way to filling every last inch of it with sexy custom tech.

  “Thanks, guys,” Kate said, closing her notebook. “Great ideas. I’m going to make a list and talk to Sam about placing an order.”

  Kate pressed a quick kiss to Mad Dog’s cheek and scampered away. Mad Dog watched her go, his expression morphing from adoration to concern.

  “What’s going on?” Doc asked. “Kate seems off today.”

  “Maybe Mad Dog isn’t sa
tisfying his woman.” Heff smirked, earning a scathing glance from Mad Dog.

  “I’m satisfying my woman just fine.”

  “Luther and Kylie publicly announced a date,” Sandy explained. “They’re tying the knot next month.”

  Cage grimaced, feeling a pang of sympathy for Kate.

  Luther Renninger was Kate’s ex, a sneaky little weasel who had “invested” thousands of dollars from local businesses in shady funds and was currently being investigated by the IRS.

  And Kylie was Kate’s younger sister. Despite the fact that Kate’s family’s business was one of those Luther had “borrowed” money from, her family had stood staunchly by the weasel—and turned their backs on Kate in the process.

  Now, Kate was living at Sanctuary with Mad Dog and hadn’t seen or spoken with her family for months. For someone with a heart as big as Kate’s, who’d put her family first for years, it was a hard pill to swallow.

  “Next month? That’s fast,” Doc mused aloud. “They just announced their engagement a few weeks ago, right? Think he’s trying to protect his assets before the IRS takes everything?”

  Cage shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way.”

  Heff sat back, looking amused. “My guess is, there’s at least one shotgun involved.”

  Mad Dog’s scowl deepened, which suggested that Kate was probably thinking in a similar line. Criminal activities aside, Renninger was a narcissist and a playboy—not exactly a father figure or paragon of family values.

  “Hey, while everyone’s here ... an inquiry came through the website yesterday,” Sandy said, wisely changing topics. Not only was Sandy Heff’s fiancée, but she was also a talented graphic designer who’d created and maintained their business website. “It’s an interview request from some national publication.”

  “Forward it to me,” Church suggested.

  “Already done,” Sandy said.

  “You’re not seriously thinking about granting it, are you?” Cage asked.

  “We’ve got enough trouble with the locals as it is,” Mad Dog added darkly. “The last thing we need is some nosy reporter snooping around, stirring up shit.”

  Cage couldn’t have agreed more, especially since Sanctuary was intended to be a safe, private space, not only for guests, but for those who lived there permanently as well—himself included. He’d just as soon not have anyone look too closely at his past.