Thrill Ride

by Lane Hart

  Thrill Ride

  Lane Hart

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part II

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Also by Lane Hart

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.

  The authors acknowledge the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.

  © 2019 Editor's Choice Publishing

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor’s Choice Publishing

  P.O. Box 10024

  Greensboro, NC 27404

  Edited by All About the Edits

  Cover by Victoria Cooper Art and Marianne Nowicki

  WARNING: THIS BOOK IS NOT SUITABLE FOR ANYONE UNDER 18. PLEASE NOTE THAT IT CONTAINS VIOLENT SCENES THAT MAY BE A TRIGGER FOR INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE BEEN IN SIMILAR SITUATIONS.

  Synopsis

  They say you never forget your wedding day.

  Except, I never made it to the church.

  Instead of walking down the aisle to marry the man who has promised to love me forever, I’ve been kidnapped by a man from my past.

  I haven’t seen Hendrix Blake in over three years, and we didn’t end things on the best terms either. He thought I had betrayed him, so he left me behind, shattered and broken.

  Still, I haven’t forgotten a single thing about him, especially not his dark eyes or the way they always seemed to pierce straight to my soul.

  Now, I’m locked inside a limousine with the criminal who once owned my heart, speeding down the highway, headed to who the hell knows where.

  With no money, no phone, and no clothes, hundreds of miles from home, I find myself completely at Hendrix’s mercy, which is exactly where he wants me.

  Thrill Ride is a standalone romance with a HEA.

  Part I

  “Before”

  Chapter 1

  Libby Price

  The present

  Bracing my palms on the bathroom counter, I look at the reflection staring back at me. I don’t even recognize myself. My blonde hair is twisted up in a beautiful style with flowers interspersed and my lace wedding dress is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever worn, but even with a makeup counter worth of beauty products on my face, I’m almost as white as the gown.

  “Libby, dear, it’s time,” my mother’s voice calls through my closed bathroom door.

  “Ju-just a second,” I yell back.

  Today’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but every time I close my eyes, I see the face of a man who is not my fiancé staring back at me with his dark eyes that seem to penetrate through my soul.

  Even after three years, that bastard is still hurting me.

  A sob tries to escape my throat, but I swallow it down and grab a handful of tissues from the dispenser to dab at my leaking eyes threatening to destroy an hour worth of makeup application.

  Damn him. Hendrix doesn’t deserve a single one of my tears after what he did to me.

  Carter is not just a good man, he’s my best friend. He’s such a great father and I know he’ll treat me and Abigail like queens for the rest of our lives because he already does.

  So why can’t I just walk out the door and go marry him?

  “Libby, honey, there’s a limo waiting downstairs for you. How about I take Abby on to the church to make sure everything is perfect?” Mom asks through the door. She apparently realizes that I need a few minutes to myself before our hectic day begins.

  “Sure, sounds good,” I call back, steeling my voice. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Carter didn’t tell me he was sending a limo to pick me up. That’s just one more way he always goes above and beyond for me.

  My phone buzzes on the counter and I don’t even have to look down to know who it’s from. I wipe my nose with the tissue and then reach for the device to pull it closer.

  Hey, beautiful. I can’t wait to make you my wife.

  God, he’s so sweet. And kind.

  I don’t deserve him, or everything that I’ve put him through. Carter saved my ass when I almost lost everything. The least I can do is be the wife he wants me to be.

  Swiping over to my photos, I scroll through them until I get to the three of me with the man I still love even though I shouldn’t. My finger hovers over the trash can icon for several seconds before I finally hit it over and over again.

  There, Hendrix, you’re gone.

  “You’ve been gone, but now it’s time to admit to myself that you’re never coming back,” I say aloud to the miserable bride staring at me in the mirror.

  Finally, I hike up the sides of my skirt in each hand to make sure it doesn’t drag on the ground and get dirty, then walk out of the apartment, locking the door behind me. I won’t be needing a purse or my phone today. Everyone we know will be at the church, along with a photographer to capture every second. And then Carter will have his key when we get home tonight.

  Tonight, when we’re husband and wife…

  “Congratulations, Miss Price,” our doorman says when I exit the elevator.

  “Thank you, Jerry,” I reply with a smile as he holds the door open for me.

  “I’m guessing that’s your ride?” he asks, nodding his head toward the enormous, white SUV-style limo.

  “That would be it,” I agree as the driver climbs out. He’s a tall, lean man, wearing dark sunglasses and dressed in a black suit. I notice he even has on the ridiculous little hat when he goes around and opens the rear door for me.

  “Thank you,” I say as I slip past Jerry, concentrating on not ripping my gown as I slide into the leather backseat and the driver shuts the door behind me.

  The privacy window is lowered when he gets back in the car, so I say to him, “I take it you know the address for the church?”

  “I do,” he answers ironically.

  Panic grips my throat again at the idea of being moments away from walking down the aisle and repeating those two words.

  “Could you maybe take the long way?” I ask.

  The driver answers with a simple nod of his head before the partition rises, separating us.

  I finally relax against the seat as the limo slowly pulls away from the curb and starts driving through downtown Charlotte. Even on a Saturday morning, the streets are crowded with stop-and-go traffic.

  It takes the limo ten minutes to go a mile down the street. But this ride won’t last forever. Soon we’ll be pulling up in front of the First Methodist Church where Carter’s family has been members for decades, his parents and family watching as I walk d
own the aisle. My side will be mostly empty, with only a few friends from work, my grandfather, and my mom holding Abby.

  The interior of the limo suddenly begins to grow uncomfortably warm. I reach over and turn up the controls on the air conditioner even though it’s a cool January morning outside. When that’s not enough, I press the button to try and roll down the window. It doesn’t budge. I try again with the window on the opposite side and nothing happens.

  Scooting up to the seat closest to the partition, I knock on it and it lowers about two inches.

  “Hey, could you unlock the windows? It’s a little stuffy back here,” I tell him.

  “No.”

  “No?” I repeat indignantly, surprised by his refusal. “Why not?” I lean forward to see him better. That’s when I spot the sign for the highway through the front windshield…and the driver is turning on his signal to take it. “Wait, where are you going? I said the long way, not a loop around the whole damn city. It’ll take an hour to get back!”

  The car continues to follow the ramp and then when the highway opens up, the driver hits the gas so hard I’m thrown backwards against the leather seat.

  “Hello, did you hear me? You’re going the wrong way!”

  The partition lowers a few more inches, enough for me to see the man’s face in the rearview mirror. He removes his sunglasses before meeting my eyes. “You’re a beautiful bride, Libby, but you’re marrying the wrong man.”

  Cold chill bumps shoot up and down my arms and legs as I look into the dark eyes of the man I haven’t seen in three years.

  “Hendrix?” I ask on a gasp. “No, this is impossible,” I say to myself as I fan my overheated face. “I’m obviously hallucinating.”

  “Have you missed me, sweetheart?” he asks, flashing me his all-too-familiar grin that’s equal parts evil and sexy.

  Holy shit. It really is him! His face is clean-shaven for once, but otherwise, he still looks the same after three years.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yell. “Take me back!”

  I hear him grumble something that sounds like, “That’s what I’m doing.”

  I reach for the door handle, but it’s locked. Even if it wasn’t, we’re going so fast that jumping out would kill me or I would get immediately run over by another vehicle. The windows don’t work either and they’re so tinted no one will see me banging on them.

  “I’m doing what I should have done three years ago when I left you behind,” he replies.

  “Left me behind?” I scoff with a roll of my eyes as I begin to tremble all over from anger and confusion and every other emotion known to man. “That’s one way to describe how you left me strung up and terrified until Carter found me!”

  “Hey,” he huffs, “I didn’t have to leave the address with Carter. I could’ve waited and called in an anonymous tip with the police hours later.”

  Scoffing, I ask, “Are you waiting for a thank you? If so, don’t hold your breath, you murderous, thieving bastard.”

  “I wasn’t a murderer until I met you,” he says with a glare in the rearview to remind me it was my fault he killed a man. “Should I have not killed old Lester? Are you regretting that decision now? Because, from what I remember, it was either you or him…”

  “So, is this…this kidnapping on my wedding day some form of payback?” I ask in confusion rather than answer his rhetorical questions.

  “No.”

  “Then, what is this? You disappear for three years and now, on the happiest day of my life, you decide to show up and abduct me?”

  “You don’t want to marry him,” he says confidently.

  “How would you know what I want?”

  “Maybe I don’t know what you want,” he replies. “But I do know it’s not him.”

  “Stop the car, Hendrix,” I say as calmly as possible, trying to talk sense into him. “You’re already a wanted man. It was stupid of you to come back here.”

  “Oh, I know it’s stupid,” he agrees. “Van and Sawyer tried to talk me out of it.”

  “Then why are you back?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond with anything other than silence. “Are you…are you going to hurt me?”

  Dark eyes meet mine in the rearview for a second before returning to the road. “Have I ever?”

  “Yes!”

  “No, Libby, you are the one who did all the hurting when you fucked me over,” he snarls.

  “If you’re not going to hurt me then why come back, today of all days?”

  “I already told you.”

  “For me?” I say. “Y-you want me? After three years?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I can’t be with you, Hendrix! I have a daughter and a man who loves me. He’s standing at the altar of a church, ready to marry me!”

  I continue to wait but there’s still no response from the stubborn asshole.

  Finally, he meets my eyes again in the rearview and says, “In case you forgot, sweetheart, I don’t have it in me to give up. And I always get what I want.”

  Chapter 2

  Hendrix Blake

  The past

  Someone who doesn’t know me would probably assume I rob banks because I’m a risk-taker, an adrenaline junky, or I’m just a lazy son of a bitch who is desperate for cash.

  And they would all be wrong.

  I’m a hardcore, strategic planner. I haven’t done anything spontaneous in almost ten fucking years. There’s too much on the line for any unnecessary risks. It takes at least two years to plan a bank heist, ensuring that I’ve eliminated every possible danger of getting caught.

  Does my pulse race when we’re stealing millions from a vault? Nope, not even a little. I’m calm, cool, and always level-headed during a job because I know there’s not a damn thing to worry about, thanks to my careful preparation.

  Which brings me to the last and final assumption—that I’m a slacker who does it for the easy cash.

  I own a legal business that’s incredibly successful and profitable so I’m no stranger to hard work. Each morning, five days a week, I wake up at six a.m. I work out at the gym for an hour, shower, and then I’m opening up Blake Heating & Air a few minutes before eight. My day consists of taking calls and scheduling appointments. I only leave the building to go out and give estimates for new installations, and rarely get my hands dirty. Since I’m the one always on call, I never make plans after work during the week because they would probably get cancelled.

  On Saturdays and Sundays, I let myself sleep in until eight a.m. before I get up, go to the gym, shower, and head into work to catch up on paperwork. Then, each Saturday night at seven p.m., I meet my boys at Harper’s for dinner, drink no more than two glasses of beer, and try to find a woman to distract me from the monotony of my boring-as-fuck life before my phone rings with an after hours emergency.

  So why do I rob banks?

  Because it’s the only way to amass the kind of money for the life I’ve always dreamed of, the one my father tried to have and failed miserably. It’s money that’s free and clear of Uncle Sam’s greedy hands, and enough that I can retire at the age of thirty while I’m still young enough to enjoy it.

  Growing up, my old man gave me three simple rules to live by when it comes to women and being a successful thief:

  Never get involved in anything more serious than a one-night stand.

  Don’t ever bring women home.

  And most importantly, never, ever let them get involved in our illegal business.

  My boys and I have always adhered to these three rules because deep down we know Pop was right—women are nothing but trouble. And he would know. My father’s first wife snitched on him and sent him to prison when he was only twenty. His second robbed him blind at twenty-five. And his third, may my Ma rest in peace, died in a police chase when he crashed their car. Pop went to prison for twenty years that time, and my wild and beautiful mother went into the ground when I was only eighteen.

  Sure, women may be soft
and supple, mesmerizing creatures. They’re impossible for any man to resist completely, which is why we have the one-night rule on the weekends. That’s plenty of time to get off and get them out of my system.

  Speaking of which…

  “Dibs,” I mutter under my breath Saturday night when I spot the new waitress at Harper’s, making my two knuckle-headed buddies grumble in protest. Thank god for summers in the south where women wear the least amount of clothes possible, making men like me think a million dirty thoughts.

  Van and Sawyer nearly snap their necks craning them around to see her since they’re sharing the opposite side of our booth.

  “Dammit! How the hell does he do that?” Sawyer asks Van while they both continue gawking at the blonde beauty.

  “Fuck you and your dibs,” Van grumbles.

  It’s classic bro code. Once dibs is called, that means that the girl is off-limits to the other two men until I’ve had a turn with her. Thank fuck, because I have a thing for blondes. This one’s fine, bubbly ass is practically spilling out from underneath her Daisy dukes, and don’t even get me started on her tits. From ten feet away, I can see the pink lace bra holding those babies up through her thin, white tank top. It would’ve been a shame to have to get sloppy seconds on such perfection. There’s no doubt in my mind that by midnight, little Miss Waitress Barbie will be bending that fine body over a crate of beer for me and begging me to take her harder, faster…