The Iron Tiara: A Nine Minutes Spin-Off Novel

by Beth Flynn

"What makes you think Anthony is in love, Kitten?" he asked, his voice gentle.

  "I could see it on his face," she said, her eyes closed though she was still smiling. "He looked at Christy the same way you look at me."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Naples, Florida 1978

  After dropping X and a jug of gasoline at Christy's abandoned car, Anthony headed back toward Florida’s west coast.

  "You're sure you’re okay?" he asked as he cast a tentative glance at Christy. She was pressed up against the passenger door. She was hugging her knees to her chest, and staring out the side window. She looked over at him and watched him stiffen as the sight of her bruised and swollen face incited him. Or was it something else? she wondered.

  "You're mad at me," she said, and observed the not so subtle clench of his jaw.

  He looked over at her and his face immediately hardened. "Yes, Christy. I'm mad. Running off was stupid. I can't even let myself think about what would've happened to you if Grizz hadn't been at the motel."

  Her eyes widened and she gulped. "I heard what you said to Alexander on the phone. About killing people," she said softly. "After not being able to contact Valerie for help in locating Van, my imagination started getting the best of me. I'm so sorry for not trusting you, Anthony."

  His face softened in reaction to her words, and she added, "I was in the bathroom at the motel. I heard what happened out back."

  "And?" he asked, glancing at the road and then back at her.

  "And it doesn't matter." Her voice was barely a whisper.

  "You didn't answer me before," he said. "Are you okay? Physically?"

  "I'd be lying if I didn't say everything hurts and I feel like I could sleep for a year." She gave him a small smile.

  He reached out his arm. "Come here, Princess."

  She unbuckled her seat belt and slowly scooted toward him. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She buried her face in his side and broke out in heavy, gut-wrenching sobs. He let her cry as he stroked her hair softly. She'd been through a lot the last two days. She had to be physically as well as mentally spent. He'd never felt so protective of anyone since bonding with Nisha all those years ago. And like Nisha, Christy was strong and feisty and would most likely protect herself or die trying. It was a quality he admired and respected. It was also a responsibility he wanted to own.

  After she collected herself, she looked up at the side of his face and asked him a question. “Can you do me a favor?” Before he could answer she added, “Can you stop calling me Princess?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you used to say it with so much contempt your lip curled. I know you don’t say it like that now, but I guess it still bothers me a little,” she admitted.

  He didn’t reply right away. “Alright then,” he said softly. “From now on, I’ll try not to call you that, but I can’t promise that I won’t slip from time to time. Fair enough?”

  She nodded her head. A sharp crack of lightning lit up the sky and Christy gave a cry and burrowed deeper into his side.

  "Another weird fact," she said, her voice sounding muffled against his shirt. "I'm deathly afraid of storms." And apparently not at all shaken by knowing the man I think I'm falling in love with just murdered a man right under my nose.

  With his left hand on the wheel he awkwardly disengaged from the embrace and brought her chin up to his face. "You'll never have to be afraid of anything, Christy. Ever."

  She gazed into his eyes and before returning them to the road he saw her subtle nod. "Sleep, baby," he told her. "We have another hour."

  She laid her head warily on his right thigh and moments later he recognized the breathing of someone who'd fallen into a deep and instantaneous slumber.

  "Another weird fact," he whispered to no one. He glanced down at her silky white blonde hair, the gentle rise of her breasts as she steadily inhaled and exhaled, and the soft curve of her neck where it rose to meet her perfect jaw. "I've never been in love." Until now. He turned on the radio and after fiddling with the stations, he settled on “Already Gone” by the Eagles. After all, he told himself, I’m beginning to think it’s true.

  Anthony saw Lourdes locking his front door as he pulled into his driveway. X had caught up with him by the time he exited the Alley. Anthony pressed on his garage door remote and one of the three bay doors quietly rolled up. After parking Christy's car inside, X made his way toward the truck. Anthony roused Christy from sleep and marched her past Lourdes, aiming at leaving her to sleep in the bedroom. "I'll be in soon," he told an exhausted and weary Christy.

  "Did I have any visitors?" Anthony asked the woman who stood there and watched as he shut the door behind Christy. X had walked up to them and stood now with his arms crossed.

  "Yes, Mr. Anthony. Several."

  His brows knitted.

  "The police came with a paper but I told them they didn't need one. They could look all they wanted. They showed me the pretty girl's picture. I told them she must be the friend you said was missing and that you were out looking for her."

  Anthony nodded approvingly.

  "The other men, they did not bring a paper. They insisted on speaking with you and did not believe me when I said you weren't here. They said they worked for the girl's father and he thought you might have his daughter or know where she was. Again, they show a picture and again I tell them you were out trying to find her," she managed in her broken English.

  Anthony and X exchanged glances. "You're sure they said they worked for her father?" Anthony asked Lourdes.

  She nodded.

  "Yes, and they look around too, but like I told the others, no one is here and I never seen the pretty girl before."

  She gave Anthony a look that said she understood that should someone happen to ask her again, she would deny having seen Christy.

  "And, I brought some things you like to eat. They are in your refrigerator and freezer."

  After Anthony thanked and paid her, Lourdes started to walk away when she turned around. "Mr. Anthony, I know it is not my business, but the pretty girl's face..." She paused and looked away.

  "I'm taking care of her, Lourdes. No one will ever hurt her again," he told her.

  "I knew you would do the right thing, Mr. Anthony. I knew you would. It is time for you to settle down. She would be a good one, yes?"

  "You're a romantic, Lourdes," Anthony replied.

  "Ah, but so are you, Mr. Anthony. So are you. You just don't know it."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Naples, Florida 1978

  After saying goodbye to X, Anthony found Christy passed out on top of the bedspread. He took a blanket and covered her. He lay down next to her, but sleep wouldn't come. He stared at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was almost four o'clock and he could hear another storm as a low rumble of thunder announced itself. She stirred and inched her way toward him as if subconsciously seeking warmth and safety. He extended his arm and pulled her close. She murmured something into his chest as her hand found its way to his stomach. He sucked in his breath, knowing she was asleep, but the thought of her hand going lower caused an all too familiar ache in his groin. One that he would need to relieve soon.

  His restlessness caused his mind to wander down unfamiliar paths. Was he really developing feelings for the woman whose hand was splayed across his stomach or was it something else? Something carnal? Was he confusing physical desire with emotional yearning and would ten minutes with a woman provide an answer? He knew he was horny and had been too long without female companionship, but he had a hard time believing he could mistake physical desire or need for actual want and longing. Then again, he'd never cared for a woman before. How would he recognize the difference? His mind was a jumble of confusion laced with a tad of self-anger at not understanding his own feelings.

  He knew what he had to do. He would have X come back to the house tomorrow to stay with Christy while he paid a visit to the camp. He would burn off some of his pent-up testosteron
e between Shasta's legs, get his brain back where it needed to be and return to business as usual. He was just horny. The testosterone build up was messing with his head.

  Satisfied with his new revelation, he smiled as he let out a long breath, certain that sleep would overtake him. But it didn't, and by six o'clock he'd already called X to come back to his house. He met him at the door with a scowl, telling X that Christy was sleeping and he would be back in an hour.

  He drove to the camp and headed straight for what was originally the office and camp administrator's cabin. It had all the conveniences of a small home and was usually where he found Shasta. He'd noticed that several bikes were in front of one of the bunkhouses. Hopefully he wouldn't have to drag her away from someone else's bed. He walked inside and flipped on the light switch.

  "Shasta?" he called out before heading for the only bedroom. She wasn't there. He turned and made his way to the small infirmary. He'd had Veronique set it up so his men wouldn't need to go to a hospital if they were ever injured as a result of their criminal activity. She'd visited the camp more than once to administer medical help to his rowdy crew. He wondered if she'd continue to show up since he'd stopped sleeping with her months ago. Maybe, he thought. Veronique had stayed away before, but could never seem to resist an invitation that might get her back in Anthony's good graces, and caring for his men would certainly shed a good light on her.

  He found Shasta on a cot. He roused her and she opened her eyes and smiled.

  "Hey, Anthony, haven't seen you in a while," she said as she sat up and shook her hair.

  "My sister was visiting," he said flatly as he stared down at her. The realization that this was a bad idea landed with a thud in his brain.

  She immediately stood up and pulled her shirt over her head. She hadn't been wearing pants and she now stood in front of him, ready to slip out of her black panties. He gave her a look that caused her to shrink back, doubting herself and what she thought he was there for.

  "We’re all out of rubbers." Her voice was hesitant. "Dr. V ain't been around for a while, but I can please you another way.” She stared at his crotch and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. She remembered Anthony always used a condom with the girls, no exceptions. "Or, I can see if there's a spare one in the bedroom," she offered, motioning toward the door.

  "No," he answered gruffly as he turned his back on her. What was he thinking? He ran his hand through his long hair and scoffed out loud. There was only one woman he wanted to be with. Whatever demon had whispered in his ear that he just needed to burn off testosterone had been a liar. There would never be another woman for Anthony. The only one he wanted was exactly where he intended to keep her.

  At his home. In his bed.

  “Go back to sleep, Shasta,” he said as he headed out the door.

  He returned home and found X sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee.

  "She hasn't budged," X commented.

  "I didn't think she would," Anthony replied as he headed to the kitchen. He returned minutes later with his own mug and sat down in front of X.

  "What's going on with you, Bear? What's really going on?" X asked as he leaned forward and set his cup on the coffee table.

  "I wish I knew, X."

  "I know you went to the camp to see Shasta." He paused. "You told me last night Christy was your woman." X rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. "You still feel that way now?"

  Anthony stared at the wall behind Alexander's head and slowly began to nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

  "I guess this is a game changer in more ways than one in our search for Van."

  "Yes and no," Anthony said as he sat up straight and looked at X.

  "I still want to find Van. He's responsible for his own debt, not Christy."

  "Agreed," X added.

  "But she's under my protection now. I seriously doubt those men that Lourdes met last night work for Van Chapman. I want to know who they are."

  X stood and stretched. "I'm on it." He headed for the door and stopped. He turned to look at Anthony and said, "I know you probably haven't had a chance to keep up with the weather, but thought you might want to know there's a storm brewing in the Gulf. You might need to hunker down for a few days. Can't say for sure if it's going to hit us, but thought you should know."

  Anthony nodded and headed for his office. He watched from the window as X drove away. A storm is brewing all right, he thought as he scratched his chin. A storm that had completely ravaged his heart and pierced his soul.

  A storm called Christy Chapman.

  Chapter Twenty

  Naples, Florida 1978

  Christy stretched and let out a big yawn before opening her eyes. When she did, she saw Anthony standing over her smiling. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his long black hair clung to his skin. Her eyes widened as she sat up.

  "You almost slept the whole day away," he remarked.

  "How long have you been standing here?" she asked.

  "I just got out of the shower and walked over," he told her.

  She glanced at the towel and then at his face. "Um...yeah, I can see that." She looked away as a blush crept up her neck.

  Anthony knew what she was thinking and he’d already considered he might need to take things slow with her. He walked toward his dresser and grabbed some clothes. As he headed out the door he called out to Christy, "The bathroom's all yours, sweetheart."

  A nice hot shower and clean clothes were what Christy needed to feel human again. She found Anthony sitting at his desk. He looked up from what he was doing and admired the view. She was standing in the doorway looking perfect, even with a bruised forehead, swollen nose and partial black eye. Her wet hair was tucked behind her ears and a stray lock hung over her forehead. She wore no makeup and tiny pearl drop earrings. A casual peach-colored blouse with three-quarter sleeves hung down right above her belly button. She had on hip hugger blue jeans and a belt with a silver heart-shaped buckle. She wore no shoes and Anthony noticed that her toenails were painted the same color as her shirt. He gulped when he noticed a shiny ring on one of her toes. He'd never seen a toe ring before and he found it extremely sexy.

  He stood and approached her and noticed when she shyly looked at the floor.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked her.

  She looked up and smiled. "Yes, I am and I could use a couple of aspirin too."

  He walked with her to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “My cleaning lady is an excellent cook and she left a few things when she was here last night. Lady's choice," he announced as he stood back and waved his hand in front of the open door.

  "No chicken soup?" she asked.

  "You liked my sister's chicken soup?" he asked, incredulously.

  "No, not really," she laughed. "I just know that I didn't empty the container and it seems rude to throw it away."

  "It's not rude to toss it. It's toxic and I can't believe you actually ate it," he told her.

  "I have to admit it occurred to me that you might've been trying to poison me with it," she teased.

  Twenty minutes later they both stood in front of the small television that sat on the mahogany bookshelf in Anthony’s office and watched the weather report.

  “Do you think you need to take specific precautions?” Christy asked. There was concern in her eyes.

  “Nah. Looks like we’ll get some outer bands as it moves up through the Gulf. Best prediction is that it might hit Texas. We’ll be in for a storm, but probably nothing out of the ordinary.” He noticed her expression of relief and he reached out and gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You’re safe with me, Christy,” he stated, his eyes serious.

  She looked up at him while simultaneously reaching for his hand. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the back of his huge brown hand. “I know,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her. "You've told me that more than once."

  She sensed the shift in his body language and realized he’d mo
ved around to face her and was caressing her cheeks with both of his hands. She opened her eyes and looked up into black eyes so dark, she could see her own reflection. Her expression held a mixture of anticipation, curiosity and a little apprehension. Anthony smiled at her, revealing a dimple so deep and teeth so white she wasn’t sure she was looking at the face of the same man who’d instilled so much fear in her three short days ago. Three days that seemed to span a lifetime.

  He slowly bent his face toward hers and gently nipped at her lips. She relaxed and welcomed his playfulness. He could feel her smile, and he moved his tongue along her lips, an exploration so light, it tickled. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting him inside. His kiss was gentle at first, but became more passionate when she moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist. He knew the moment she sensed his need, and he pulled back. Still holding her face in his hands, he recognized the relief in her eyes. She wasn’t ready, and he was okay with that.

  “Um…I’m sorry, Anth—” she started to say, her voice quivering.

  “No, don’t be sorry.” He let go of her face and took a step back. He brushed his hand down his face and exhaled loudly. “We’ll take it slow,” he told her, his voice sounding throaty.

  Take it slow? he asked himself. Why would he do that? He obviously wanted her, but why was he willing to wait until he sensed she was ready? Because you care, the voice in his head told him.

  “Thank you,” she answered quietly without meeting his eyes. Her gaze landed on the wall behind his desk. He turned around to see what she was looking at. She was surprised she hadn't noticed it before and was shocked at its implication.

  "Do you believe in God?" she asked.

  "No," he told her.

  "Then why do you have that?" she queried, looking at him curiously. She couldn't fathom a reason why it would be hanging on his wall.